"So I talked to Klaasje about the tape."

"So I talked to Klaasje about the tape."

"And?"

He tenses immediately. Chest tightens. Jaw sets. Ready for another blow.

"And nothing. She stands by what she said."

"That fucking fucker..." He stares at his beer for two seconds -- intently -- then turns to you. "You're the worst cop in Revachol! I gave you gold on that tape."

That 'fucker' wasn't aimed at you. It was at her.

You smell weakness. He's getting tired of the game he's been playing.

You caught him off balance. Push and he will give way.

"She pretty much laughed it off, Titus."

"Fucking fuckedy fucker!" He shakes his head in disbelief. "And what did she say then? That it's fine?! People are supposed to be like that?!"

Sounds like he wanted it to change her mind about the hanged man. This is definitely personal.

"She did not say whoopty doo."

"I can confirm that."

I see what you're doing there. Let's push him.

"She didn't? Well, whoopty doo then!" He's too angry to drink his beer. He just stares at it.

"It did not come as a surprise to her. And she definitely wasn't scared."

"Yes. In fact..." The lieutenant looks at you, then him. "I think she thought it was a little funny."

"Funny?" Titus mumbles, his lips barely moving: "No good goddamn psycho whore..."

Seems like they wanted to give Klaasje a second chance to play along -- she still didn't.

"Alright!" He slams his giant fist on the door frame. "All-fucking-righty then! I guess it's good then! That fucking..."

"Please try to control yourself in the presence of visitors, Titus." Her voice is a bit softer than earlier.

"This is just perfect. Just fucking perfect. Any thoughts on this, lawman?" Titus rubs his chin with his palm, as if trying to grind it smooth.

Women are crazy. Irrational. That's what you're thinking, right? Also, your fists are itching for a bump.

No they're not. And you're not itching for any bumps. Don't betray your inexplicable feminist ideals for cheap macho friend-points.

"I think this is personal for you. I think you had feelings for her."

"Pft!" Glen explodes with indignation. "Everyone's got feelings for each other! Where are you going with this?!"

"It's alright, Glen." He rubs his temple. "I just thought she... I thought anyone would come around if they heard that shit. Apparently I was wrong."

"Yeah, that was fucked up." He smiles sympathetically.

He wanted her to see the man for what he was. Now that you know, you might wanna lay off this topic -- or else you might antagonize him.

"I just got too worked up. Big man lost his shit." He shakes his head. "It's cool now."

"You know what I think? Women are crazy, man."

"You can say that again, copper." He holds out his giant fist. "Right here."

Here we go. Bump it hard.

Don't bump it.

"You just gonna leave a fella hanging like that?" Titus shakes his head. "RCM queers..."

"Yeah, they're all queers! Can't bump hard fist or anything."

"Who are these people? To leave a fella hanging like that..."

What is wrong with you? You would have made friends for life! These guys will never forgive you now.

Bump it. Hard.

Your fist connects with his. Hard. The slam is audible. You can almost hear his bones ring. Your knuckles tingle life-affirmingly.

A flash of pain, like slamming your fist against iron. He is stronger than he looks -- and he looks like Ramout Karzai.

"And now you, binoclard." His voice is chummy as he turns to the lieutenant.

The lieutenant adjusts his glasses, then extends his curled fist and taps Titus' bruised knuckles.

A bond has been formed.

Not bad.

Bump it.

You fist connects with his. The slam isn't audible, because you did not bump it hard. Still, your knuckles tingle life-affirmingly.

"Maybe she isn't who you thought she was."

"Nah... I know her." He looks upstairs, distracted. "She's just a girl in over her head."

"Titus, she has my whole skill-set compromised. She's some kind of a pro."

"What kind of pro? You're saying she's a hooker?" He forces himself to pick up the beer and take a gulp.

"No, he's not saying that. Forget about it."

"She's not a hooker. I know hookers." He thinks for a moment. "She's more like an escort or a...."

"Shut the fuck up, Shanky."

"Huh, I guess you do know her then."

"Yeah, he fucking told you he knows her!"

"She's a hard-core party girl with a bigger death wish than mine."

"Yeah..." He cracks his knuckles thoughtfully. "You're right about that -- she takes way too many drugs."

"Well, it's as they say -- you can't do anything with an underdose," the Mesque says with a philosophical look in his eyes.

With an overdose you can at least try to come off it. Take a bath, do breathing exercises, get medical attention as necessary. With an underdose you're just you.