"Yes," she looks at you. "What is it?"

"You called me sir. Why?"

"Well, I... uh..." She looks extremely uncomfortable right now. "I guess I..."

"Cut the shit." The words are addressed to you. "Every second you stand here running your mouth the case grows colder."

"Are you by any chance..." (Lean in real close.) "working class?"

"Well... raising two children and half a husband on a patrol officer's wage. Yes, I guess I am working class."

"That's nothing to be proud of."

"Okay..."

She's merely agreeing with you to reach the conclusion of this conversation faster.

"Good to know."

She merely nods in response.

"Do you want to rise up and tear down the entire fucking system with me?"

"No." She sighs. "Okay. Sort of. But not with you. Like you are now. Don't take this the wrong way..."

"Cool. (Give her a little wink.) I am too."

"Uh.... okay." Her tone doesn't suggest she's convinced.

"You're the police right? Cool. So am I!"

"I don't..." She looks around. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything, Judit."

"What are you -- the police -- doing here?"

"I'm just looking out for..."

You?

"NO ONE!" The man looks at her. "I'm just a man with sunglasses and you are..."

"A police woman."

"Yes..." Her voice is quiet. "A police woman who just wants to do her job, that's all," she says quietly and looks away.

Something about the man with sunglasses and you, the energy between you two, is making her uncomfortable.

Say nothing.

"I just want to do my job, that's all," she says quietly and looks away.

"A horse-faced woman."

"You're a fucking asshole." She says this with quiet dignity. "Are we done here?"

"Wait, is... he police?"

"Me? No. I'm just a man with sunglasses. I like wearing sunglasses inside. Sunglasses -- and a fucking wig."

Okay.

"I'm going to venture a guess. You're a nurse, right?"

She just looks at you and says nothing.

"Are you a nurse?"

"Cut the crazy act," the man with sunglasses interjects angrily. "She's being polite enough by not telling you to fuck off."

"No, it's okay." She raises her eyes to meet your gaze. "I am not. Polite. I'm just tired... was there something else you wanted?"

"Actually, I wanted to address other matters."

She nods in agreement.

"Okay. Good-bye." [Leave.]

"Did you hear that? Did you hear me sing? Did you like it?"

"That... that was pretty good, Harry." She pokes her companion with an elbow. "Wasn't it Jean?"

"Uh, that was..." He stares at you. "Yeah, that was absolute shit -- if you want my opinion. Drunken shit. Haven't wanted anything to end this badly since I had cluster headaches."

"Horrible, truly horrible," he continues. "I beg of you, don't ever subject anyone to this torture again. I mean seriously, you need to..."

"Jean..." she quietly interjects, giving you a compassionate side glance. "He's not right, don't make it worse and... and I really liked it."

She actually did!

Whoa, how does she know your name? She probably heard it from somewhere. You have to be more careful, karaoke-star. Names are dangerous.

Did she just call you Harry? These people do NOT know you! You don't have a name! Ha ha!

"You have a blue uniform and mine is black... what does this mean?"

"Uh..." she seems confused for a moment. "It means I'm a patrol officer, sir."

What was with that sir?

She's a woman, that's how women speak to men. With respect.

No...NO... NO!!! You're a feminist, remember?

It might be because you have the higher rank.

Something is seriously wrong with you.

"Look, something is really bugging me. Are we or are we not from the same police station?"

"Goddamnit, you leave her alone!" The man with sunglasses snaps at you. "Keep your weird bullshit to yourself and be professional for once, for fucks sake..."

"Can I actually help you with something?" She looks at you apologetically.

Yes, of course -- preposterous. I mean, you would remember if they were, right? Who forgets their squadmates? That's not possible.

The woman in an RCM patrol officer's uniform winces as she notices you.

"I would really prefer not to talk to you right now..."