"So I talked to Klaasje about the tape."

Yeah... underdose isn't an actual word.

"Yeah, but I mean -- she has an actual drug problem. Not like you. Not like us." He glances at his beer. "I don't think I've ever seen her sober."

"You don't know?! She's a model! She won a pageant!"

"I knew it! Titus, I knew she was professionally trained -- by her walk!" Glen seems excited. "I told you she was a beauty queen!"

"Yes, Glen." Titus pinches the root of his nose. "I know she's a beauty queen. Everyone can see that."

"Sorry." Glen settles down.

"Titus, she has special training. And I'm not talking about Oranjese lit."

"I don't know what the fuck that means. Oranjese lit? What is that shit? Literature?"

"I've noticed the same." The lieutenant says to you quickly, then turns to Titus: "Yes. He meant Oranjese literature. Women are always reading, right?"

The lieutenant adjusts his electronic wristwatch. Psychological and physical training from an unknown government body. I noticed it. You noticed it. They haven't.

"Don't worry, Titus, we know her. Besides, you know how it is with bitches and books."

"She's not some helpless girl. She handled the mercenary well enough."

"Handled him?" He baulks. "She got into some stupid shit with that guy. Shit we had to take care of."

"Yes, yes, we heard all about it and the fact still stands: you were more disturbed by the tape than her."

"Titus, she has special training. And I'm not talking about self-defence lessons."

"Special like what? Like a professional dancer? Or..." He squints at you. "Are you trying to tell me she's a stripper?"

"I've noticed the same." The lieutenant says to you quickly, then turns to Titus: "Yes. He meant a professional dancer. Women are always dancing, right?"

The lieutenant adjusts his electronic wristwatch. Psychological and physical training from an unknown government body. I noticed it. You noticed it. They haven't.

"Don't worry, Titus, we know her. Besides, you know how it is with bitches and dances."

"I think you had a lie planned, but she didn't play along."

"I asked for your opinion, not a bed-time story. Tell it to your grandma."

"Sure, I'll do that."

"Yeah, why don't you?" He's still despondently looking at his beer.

"This tape was the last chance for her to do what was planned."

"But she didn't. She knows she can't lie to us. Unlike you."

Oh no... he's definitely compromised too. It's his hubris. Sadly not much to do about it now.

"Fantastic. So now you remember how to do your job..." He despondently glances at his beer. "I'm so sick of this piss -- we should get something harder in here."

"Yeah, guys, we should get a party going tonight!"

"Why?"

"Uh..." He looks at the old man in the corner. "Maybe not then."

Success. They admitted to unlawful collaboration to derail the investigation.

"Maybe she is still in denial. You know, like a defence mechanism."

"Yeah... maybe. That is a possibility."

He does not sound very convinced anymore.

"Be straight with me, Titus: What really happened?" (Wrap this up.)

"I already told you." He puts his giant face in his hands and sighs. "We fucking hanged him."

There's less gusto in his voice now. His men too are growing increasingly silent.

They're confused. This is growing over their heads.

"C'mon, Titus. We know you didn't hang him. He was shot." He taps on his notebook. "I know you're tired; so am I -- why don't you just..."

"You know what?" He gets closer. "I am tired. I'm tired of you and the whore upstairs."

"Next time you see her -- tell her Titus said FUCK OFF!" He throws his beer can down.

This is the petulant rage of someone who's at the end of their wits.

"That lying, scamming... We're done! This is over, you understand? Your little investigation -- is OVER."

"Yeah..." There is a silence in the room. Alain starts saying something -- then thinks best not to.

On the floor, beer drips out of the can, into a small puddle. No one does anything about it.

"What is this quiet funeral shit? What we need is some beers in us!" He looks around. "BARTENDER! Twenty beers for the Dockworkers' Union!"

"Why don't we make it FORTY, huh?" The man shouts from behind the counter. "Why don't we make it A HUNDRED beers, you're not loud enough!"

"A hundred beers -- now we're talking!" Glen livens up. "Hoppity-hop over here cafeteria manager!"

The window might be closing. The more beers they get in them, the less cooperative they will be.

"C'mon, Titus. The stakes are too high here. There will be blood on the streets -- the tribunal, remember?" He closes his notebook. "I know you're tired -- why don't you just..."

"You know what?" He gets closer. "I am tired. I'm tired of you, them and the whore upstairs."

"Next time you see her -- tell her Titus said FUCK OFF!" He throws his beer can down.

"C'mon, Titus, it's been a long day. I'm tired of running back and forth between you. I can see you're tired too -- why don't you just..."

The man is slowing down. Looks like a bad blood sugar crash. He can't keep track of all the variables anymore.

Who could? It's getting harder and harder to perform one's part in this sordid play. All it takes is a nudge...

You don't have to say everything out loud. Just mix and match.

"Right... right..." Titus mumbles, his lips barely moving: "No good goddamn psycho whore..."

"Titus, she said she would like to be a little doorgunner herself, if she could."

"The Doorgunner Megamix scared you more than it did her -- you need to accept that."

"Scared us?! It didn't scare fucking anyone!" The blond looks like he's about to jump up, but then settles down. "Titus, I'm fucking confused here."