Part 18: 17:58-19:22: Why Won’t These Cops Go Away? A Hardie Boys Mystery

Chapter 18: 17:58-19:22: Why Won’t These Cops Go Away? A Hardie Boys Mystery

Content warning: mentions of rape






We don’t really need to know about “Monica’s titties.” Let’s just talk to Titus.






GLEN: “Hey asshole, up here! We’re talking to you!”



TITUS HARDIE: “Oh, this is about him?” He looks around. “A real looker, that one…”
SHANKY: “You sure took your time, huh?” He looks to Titus for approval. “Waited for him to get real ripe and pretty for you?”
GLEN: “Oh, he was a real pretty boy, hanging up there… Letting out that *pretty-boy smell*.”
TITUS HARDIE: “I can’t for the life of me understand why you did it.” He spreads his arms. “I mean… I would have just left him up there. You must really like cleaning up other people’s shit.”








PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Easy: Success] The emblem on his vest says ‘Rowing club’. A little patch below it reads: ‘T. Hardie, Captain’.



EUGENE: On his neck. Forget it. It’s not important.






VISUAL CALCULUS: Exactly. You’ve stood there for about four seconds, not saying anything. Hit them with questions—where’s the eighth Hardie?



TITUS HARDIE: “The Pretty Boy?” He takes a sip from his can. “You guys really love talking about that Pretty Boy…”




TITUS HARDIE: “Because we took it,” he says, “from the harbour where we work. Then we went out back and used it to *hang* him. We did this,” – he looks you dead in the eye – “together. All of us. Until he was dead. That’s why there’s a container belt around his neck.”





TITUS HARDIE: “How many people have you sent to the *chaise*? Ever felt remorse for them?”
ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] Chaise électrique is the method of capital punishment in Revachol under the Coalition. During the Suzerain’s reign it used to be the firing squad.





ELIZABETH: “Are you deaf? There will be no singling anyone out. You can’t arrest *a* Hardie boy without arresting *all* Hardie boys.” A shadow of a smirk passes her lips, as she tilts her head. “Do you think you could do that? Do you think you could arrest them all?”



ELIZABETH: “That’s for the courts in LE Jardin to decide, not for the officer making an arrest. Which we all know you won’t be.” She sounds almost helpful: “What you *can* do right now is go back to your station and write a *report*.”



ELIZABETH: “You don’t have to keep answering his questions,” the Fixer turns to remind Titus.



GLEN: “*Known* him?! We don’t associate with scum like that, asshole!”
SHANKY: “Yeah, who do you think we are?”
TITUS HARDIE: “Quiet!” Titus gives Glen a stern look. “He came around ‘bout three weeks ago, when that *Pines* cow first sailed into town. Happy?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “By the ‘Pines cow’ you mean Joyce Messier, the representative for Wild Pines?” The lieutenant pretends to check his notes. “The same company you’re striking against?”
TITUS HARDIE: “No,” he stresses, “I mean *the Pines cow*. The stupid-ass cow they sent in to fuck us over. But you know what…” He rubs his chin, pretending to mull it over. “Why don’t you ask *her* about the Pretty Boy? I’m sure she has interesting things to say—when you ask her *hard* enough.”




TITUS HARDIE: “*And* he stepped out of line,” he repeats, jaw clamped shut like a vice.
KIM KITSURAGI: “What kind of mercenary?”
TITUS HARDIE: “The kind that shows up when you start a strike. The *experienced* kind, too. Had Li Shmin and Seminine written all over him—ex-Oranjese special forces.”
EUGENE: “A live grenade.” The man spreads his arms. “Right here in *our* bar!”
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] This one has a special gripe with him coming here.



EUGENE: “Cause one night he walked straight up to the mic and said: I’m Oranjese goddamn Special Forces and I’m gonna fuck you all.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Really?”
EUGENE: “Yeah—really. Had a gin and tonic up there, sang some Oranjese paratrooper song, and said he’s gonna fuck everyone.”
SHANKY: “We couldn’t believe it either. But he fucking did. Right there,” he points at the stage, “like some kind of animal.”
DRAMA: [Medium: Success] Sire, the tale is true.



TITUS HARDIE: “Wrong?!” he roars. “He harassed women. Raped one. Harassed workers. Threatened to kill some as a *warning*…” He wipes spittle from his mouth--
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] From rape—to harassment—to threats of violence—why the strange de-escalation?
EMPATHY: [Easy: Success] He regrets mentioning it, hopes you didn’t notice.
TITUS HARDIE: “…to kill us all if we don’t open the gates, if we don’t let the scabs in. If we don’t bend over.” He cracks his knuckles. “And that was *before* he started coming *here*.”
EUGENE: “Yeah, he said it was his ‘favourite joint’ now, started coming here every night! Drinking, grabbing girls—grabbed one of ours mid-karaoke. Right there on the stage!”
KIM KITSURAGI: “He grabbed someone?” The lieutenant is trying to make sense of this floodo of information.
EUGENE: “Yeah, this girl’s on the mic, a beautiful girl, young. Gets into the second verse of ‘Lover Lake’. The fucker grabs her legs, starts screaming…”



TITUS HARDIE: “Aren’t you fucking listening? My man is talking to you. He took *care* of it. They got the girl out before anything else could happen.”
SHANKY: “Yeah, me and Eugene got her out. Aren’t you fucking listening?!” he repeats like a parrot.
DRAMA: [Medium: Success] There’s something odd here.




Fiiiiiiiiiiine.

TITUS HARDIE: “We hanged him up by his neck until he got real still. Wasn’t that obvious, copper?”
SHANKY: “Didn’t they teach you *anything* at the cop school, idiot?”
AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] You’re pretty sure you’ve had at least two years of *cop school* and many more of active service.
KIM KITSURAGI: “The autopsy showed there were no ligature marks. His hands were not tied. Can you explain that?”
REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] The lieutenant goes in for the leg sweep—Titus does not see it coming.
TITUS HARDIE: “Uh… we, huh…” He looks even more irritated that before. “Look, I’m not gonna play Twenty Questions with you, coppo. I’ll say it again: we killed him.”
ALAIN: “Yeah, *I* knocked him out.” The tattooed one speaks up, banging on his chest. “Came up behind him and clubbed him in the back of the head. He went down like a sack of sand.”
TITUS HARDIE: “That’s right, lawman.” He spits through his teeth. “And then we hanged the fuck.”



ALAIN: “My fucking elbow, copper.” He looks you straight in the eye. “Samaran boxing style.”
ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] Samaran boxing, or *Sam Bo*, is an eloquently violent set of one-on-one fighting moves originating from the Samaran isola. *Sam Bo style* implies stealth, cleverness, and cool.



ALAIN: “Right fucking here.” He spreads his hands. “Eugene already told you that the fuck had started coming to *our* bar…”




Let’s go for it.



Woohoo, double sixes!

ALAIN: Alain—who looks like he might be Titus’ right-hand man. The least antsy of the bunch; definitely not his first time being questioned by the police.
SHANKY: This little rat-faced fellow is solid, too. Always fidgety, yes—but no change there.




FAT ANGUS: “No.” He looks up, startled, his forehead shiny from sweat. A few coiled locks are peeking out from under his warm woolen hat.
SHANKY: “Of course he’s having trouble breathing—just look at how fucking fat he is!” The man next to the big guy bursts out laughing.
TITUS HARDIE: “Fuck off, Shanky,” the big boss steps in. “Angus is a powerful guy. All muscle.”



TITUS HARDIE: “And fuck you, too, copper—picking on Angus like this. We’re done with this schoolyard shit. And just so you know, he *doesn’t* have trouble breathing.”
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] His ‘all muscle’ comment wasn’t sarcastic. He’s genuinely trying to look out for Angus.




TITUS HARDIE: “Huh?!” A sip of beer makes the surprise go down easier.
KIM KITSURAGI: “There was a bullet in the dead man’s brain,” The lieutenant checks his notes. “Why was it there, if you hanged him?”
TITUS HARDIE: “How the fuck do I know? Anyone could have shot him. Target practice maybe?” Another sip. He’s tight-lipped suddenly.
DRAMA: [Medium: Success] Interesting, sire. It’s as if he’s lying—to *protect* someone. He’s not very good at it.



TITUS HARDIE: “Yeah, lawman.” He takes a step closer as well, fixing his ball cap. “Why *don’t* you?”
CONCEPTUALIZATION: [Medium: Success] It’s almost an anthropological sight: watching him try to assert dominance over you.
SHANKY: “Not in the *arresting mood*?” His mean little eyes come alive with hatred.
KIM KITSURAGI: By your side, the lieutenant keeps his hand away from his holster. You hear the nylon of his coat hiss as he steps closer.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] Easy. Walk back from the provocation. They’re armed, and they outnumber us. The lieutenant tries to establish eye contact with you.



TITUS HARDIE: “Look, coppers.” Titus opens up his vest, revealing a holstered firearm. “I know you think you’re doing your job here, but there are *seven* of us and two of you.”



TITUS HARDIE: “Am I gonna have to?” He tilts his head like a hawk, eyes narrowing to a mere shadow beneath his ball cap.

Okay, that was a pretty good line.




Well, that went poorly. Just take a breath and step back into the fray.



TITUS HARDIE: “What are you talkin’ about, madman? There’s no eighth Hardie boy. There’s seven of us and we’re all here.” He sizes you up. “Or what-- *you* want to be the eighth Hardie boy? We ain’t hiring!” He shakes his head.
GLEN: “Actually, boss, we’ve been talking and we think she could maybe…”
REACTION SPEED: [Easy: Success] *She*? So there is an eighth Hardie and it’s a Hardie girl? Who might it be, Elizabeth? The gardener?
TITUS HARDIE: “Shut the *fuck* up Glen!” he roars. “I do the talking here! Now what the fuck do you want, cop?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “So let me get this straight… there *is* an eighth Hardie boy, it’s a *she* and you don’t like us talking about her?”
TITUS HARDIE: “That’s right, we’re not talking about this. This is a private Hardie boys matter, nothing to do with your shit. *And*…” he points at Kim. “You’re not cops here. Don’t go digging around, if you don’t want a bullet in the back of your head. I’m watching you.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Good—we’re all watching each other.” The lieutenant adjusts his spectacles. “Officer, your question?”



TITUS HARDIE: “You still on about that bullet?” He pats the back of his head. “A bullet in a hanged man’s head. You’re right, copper—that *is* mighty curious.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Indeed. *Mighty*. How did it get there?” The lieutenant is fixed on Titus.
TITUS HARDIE: He gives you an indulgent look. “Well there are so many bullets in the world and so many heads…” He sighs deeply. “I guess it’s only logical—at some point one of them bullets had to end up in one of them heads…”
ALAIN: “It’s bound to happen again, you know.” He taps on his right temple. “Just statistically speaking, of course.”



SHANKY: “Wow.” The little man leans in to inspect the leaden blossom. “He’s got it in a real evidence bag and all…”



TITUS HARDIE: “You know what I think?” He raises his finger. “I think he was shot in the head as a kid. And his brain grew around the bullet.”
ALAIN: “Around the bullet, man…” Alain pinches the root of his nose. “That’s a good one.”
DRAMA: [Medium: Success] All the goofing around is to avoid lying. It’s a technique.



GLEN: “Shit!” He throws his head back. “*I* probably did shoot him. I was drunk last night. You guys know me when I’m drunk…”
SHANKY: “Yeah, Glen likes to shoot his guns when he’s drunk.” The little guy looks you in the eye. “Better hope he stays sober.”

”Shanky” can’t get through a single line without threatening you. Keep your eyes on that one.

KIM KITSURAGI: “No, he meant *before* he was hanged. Did you shoot him *before* you hanged him?”



TITUS HARDIE: “Never been worried in my life, lawman.” He crosses his hairy arms, having forgotten his beer for a moment.



TITUS HARDIE: “Again? Just get the dead guy’s autograph—since you’re his biggest fan.”



Fuckin’ Shanky! What a tool!

ELIZABETH: “Nothing,” her reply comes sharp. “Your investigation here is done. Leave Martinaise, go back to your stations, where you belong.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “I think we’re going to stick around, thanks. Some things don’t add up here, Titus.” The lieutenant closes his notebook. “I’ve done this job for long enouhg to know that people don’t just confess to first-degree murder. *Even* if it is a group responsibility. We’re going to look into this.”








TITUS HARDIE: He leans in. “You got a problem with *beer* now?”



TITUS HARDIE: “You saying we don’t *help* people?” He puts his beer down. “I’ve been doing this job for *ten years*! Martinaise was a dump before we put this outfit together.”
EUGENE: “They don’t know, man—they weren’t here.” He turns to you. We had three shooting a week, kids dead, fuckin’ *graffito* everywhere—you cops haven’t shown up since the thirties.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Congratulations on the graffito removal.” He turns to Titus. “All is see is you sitting around talking about *Monica’s titties* – while there’s a rape victim.”
TITUS HARDIE: “So what? What do you want from me? We took care of that fuck.” He picks the beer back up.



ELIZABETH: “Titus...” He looks at her.
AUTHORITY: She stops mid-sentence. That’s it—you got him. He’s going to give it up, but on his terms.
TITUS HARDIE: “You wanna *help* her, cop? Fine, I’m gonna let you help her—hut you treat her with respect. If you don’t—if you *question* her, harass her…” Titus taps his chin with his fist. “…a freight train of pain, buddy.”
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant takes out his notes. “What is her name?”




INLAND EMPIRE: [Trivial: Success] Shit! The girl… the girl upstairs?! That can’t be her. She knows you drank so hard you forgot you were a cop…








KIM KITSURAGI: “Nothing.” He gives you a sideways glance. “We just have a *few* more questions—then we’ll be on our way.”





TITUS HARDIE: “Relationship?! There was no fucking relationship! He raped her, that’s their relationship!”
SHANKY: “It was like that karaoke incident all over again. Or like some of the other girls he was harassing.”



TITUS HARDIE: “He did it before we killed him. He’s not gonna do it again.” He crushes his half-empty beer can. “So what does it matter?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “It would help if we establish a timeline.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Alright. Two weeks maybe? I don’t know… I need another beer.” He turns to Glen.



TITUS HARDIE: “I know her.” He looks around and an uncommon silence fills the room.
KIM KITSURAGI: “How well do you *know* her?”
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] A small twitch in the corner of Kim’s mouth. He has a hunch about what *knowing* means.
TITUS HARDIE: “Well enough, copper. We partied. She’s been here for a few months.” He crosses his arms.



TITUS HARDIE: “You mean Revachol? Nah. Our Miss Oranje Disco Dancer is an immigrant or a drifter of some sort. Been staying here over the winter.”
FAT ANGUS: “Don’t you give her any more trouble!” the fat guy blurts out. “She’s just had some bad luck, that’s all.”
GLEN: “Shut up, Angie!” He slaps his forehead. “She doesn’t need your help…”
TITUS HARDIE: Titus gives them both a look. They fall silent.





TITUS HARDIE: “No. We just fucked, that’s all,” he states matter-of-factly. “I’m not gonna give you any details if that’s what you’re after. So put your dick away.”
SUGGESTION: He really went out of his way to seem comfortable with this topic. That’s all you’re gonna get for now.





Kim has something to say to us.




KIM KITSURAGI: “The victim? Is there something I should know before we talk to her?”



I agree with Rhetoric, for the love of god, DON’T.



KIM KITSURAGI: “So she overheard you? Or did you *party* together?”



INLAND EMPIRE: What if you do—but you just don’t *remember* that you do?






KIM KITSURAGI: He nods. “We’ll be all right, officer. This is nothing.”



Kim believes in us




We might not head straight for the victim, though. We still have some other things to take care of today, especially considering Kim still hasn’t taken the body away. We’ll get to some of that next time.