"Everything's still cool here, officer," the street vendor assures you.

"Alright, this should help you get back on your feet." He takes a ten-note from a leather pouch.

"You said I was a cool cop, but it's not very cool to freeze to death on a cold park bench."

"Invest into me not telling your employer about your operation here."

"It's an investment in me, a highly experimental human being. My risk/reward ratio is insane."

"I guess it can't be any riskier than speculating in exotic derivatives... how much are we talking about here?"

"I'm a policeman. It's an investment in good relations with the RCM."

He looks you straight in the eye. "I hear you, officer," he agrees. "What kind of a sum are we talking about here?"

"Oh, okay." The man stops, his face suddenly serious. "But why, officer?"

No need to dress this one up, just tell him what you want.

"You, I want your money. Now."

"It's very cool of you to ask again -- it's the third time now. How about you give me money and I give you cool pants and sneakers." He points to them.

"Wow! So cool... you keep saying the same sentence, mister. No difference. Same words." He grins in amazement. "Let me donate you some sunglasses. For only 20 cents to 2 reál."

"Oh, okay." Siileng stops, his face suddenly serious. "But why, officer?"

"Because I want you to bribe me. I'm a police officer, remember? That's what you're supposed to do around here."

"But officer, bribe you to do what?" The street vendor's expression is dead serious.

"I don't think you really understand how bribes work, detective..." He looks at you, then the vendor.

"Sorry, detective." The man grins as if the entire incident is already forgotten.

The air between you becomes a little awkward as it becomes clear you don't know the first thing about bribes.

"You see, I'm an honest entrepreneur. I can't help you if you don't give me a good reason as to why I should -- sorry, detective." The man grins as if the entire incident is already forgotten.

"Because I... am corrupt? I don't really remember how it works, though -- being corrupt, I mean."

"Ah, yes. Lots of cops are." The street vendor nods, dead-serious.

"Are you trying to ask for a bribe? If so, you're not doing a very good job..." He looks at the vendor.

The air between you becomes a little awkward as it becomes clear you don't know the first thing about bribes.

"I don't know, it was just the only thing I could come up with in my head -- to ask you. I need to get money somehow."

"Ah, yes. Money is very important." The street vendor nods, dead-serious.

"The food packages you're selling have humanitarian aid written on them. How come?"

"You mean these delicious pre-packaged, shelf-stable meal kits? Really easy to cook, no hassle, really cheap too -- buy some, try them out!"

No hassle? There's a little of a hassle here, it appears. A moral hassle.

"Doesn't that beat the idea of humanitarian aid? It's supposed to be free. That's what makes it humanitarian."

"It is -- practically free. Yours for five cents a piece! Rock that tuna -- why not some macaroni too?"

"I think one said 'Not for Resale' on the packaging."

"No problem here, officer. I get all this from one of my suppliers, an extremely reputable guy."

Wait... HUMANOX, humanitarian aid...

"And who is your supplier, exactly?"

"Oh, he's a good guy. I think you'd get along. I'll let you know the next time he's around."

"Interesting." The lieutenant whips out his blue notebook and makes a note.

We'll need more if we're going to pin this one down, he thinks -- good questions, though. Sharp eyes, officer.

It's for show, my liege. He knows you need more than this to bust this guy. Later, perhaps?

"Does your supplier drive that HUMANOX lorry over there?" (Point at the lorry with the big HUMANOX sign on it.)

"What?" The street vendor looks over his left shoulder and stares at the lorry -- as though he's never seen a lorry in his entire life.

A convincing performance, bravo!

"Look, officer. I'm just the retailer. You'd have to talk to my supplier if you got questions about the supply chain. That's how the game works."

"Okay, well -- if they're delicious it's okay."

"They're very delicious. And shelf stable. You can keep all this out in the sun come summer! Try it -- buy some tuna. Won't rot. Un-rottable."

"Don't play games with me, hawker. What's going on?"

"Hey, a quick question -- do you sell any tapes?"

"Tapes, you mean like music tapes? No, music is out! Don't listen to music. I sell extremely cool sunglasses if you want get your mojo going." He points at the shoddy box on the left.

"Alright, so you have no idea whatsoever where I could find tapes?"

"Tapes?" The notion sounds preposterous to him. "Tapes are everywhere! They're worthless, kids throw them in the trees -- there's one in the bushes, right behind this lorry."

He nods at the empty lorry cabin behind his back. "No one would ever throw a good pair of high quality plastic sunglasses in the bushes, mister." His smile widens.

To the west, dark brown ribbons of tape hang from the tree, flowing in the wind...

You should have a look. It's better than nothing.

"I'll look around, thanks." [Leave.]

"Sure, mister, very cool. Take a nice long look, I've got all sorts of things here."

"So, Siileng -- what's your stance on drugs?"

"Drugs?" For a moment he's unsure how to respond. "I don't go in for that, officer. Drugs ruin lives."

"Unless you're into drugs, of course -- in which case, drugs are excellent." He kisses his fingers. "Tasty-tasty drugs."

(Proceed.) "We're looking for a lorry driver who is transporting drugs out of the harbour. He or she is in this traffic jam."

"That's even cooler -- you investigating that and all. But --" he points to the goods. "I am not a lorry driver, I'm just a street vendor. I don't know anything about that."

A blatant lie, sire. Yet he tells it with such conviction. We'd believe him -- if we didn't know better.