The man nods at you, checks his watch and sighs, "Ai-ai-ai..."

"You wouldn't mind if I were to boil some boots here, would you?"

The man takes another drag of his cigarette and shakes his head, smiling widely. It's not clear whether he understood your question.

It doesn't matter -- you're a police officer, you can do anything you want.

You can always talk your way out if things go sour.

"Do you know what's behind that door?" (Point to the blue door.)

He looks up at you, then looks away quickly, shrugging and muttering something to himself.

Shrugging is an international sign for: 'No, I don't know what's behind that door'.

"I don't think I need anything else. Stay masculine!" [Leave.]

"You've got some impressive pots there."

He smiles and bangs his ladle against each of his pots in turn.

It's almost like music, especially with the sounds of assorted dishes boiling and simmering on the stove.

The man ponders his cooking utensils and gives you a little nod, acknowledging your presence.

A thin man is smoking below an exhaust hood, occasionally sipping from his mug. This must be the Whirling's cook.

As you step in, he nods towards the table and says something in a completely foreign language. The only words you can make out are 'gorący' and 'kubek'.

It must be his name. Gorący, Gorący Kubek... Sounds representative.

"Ah, Gorący! I have some questions to ask!"

The man puts his cup down and replies something, his left hand drawing arcs in the air.

"Hello, sir. Got time for a few questions?"

Ignore him. [Leave.]

"Mr. Kubek? I'm here on official police business."

Okay, it's definitely not his name. Whatever you do, please don't call him Gorący Kubek! Please. It's not funny.