Part 33: 10:49-13:23: Building Bridges, Burning Buddies, And Being Boring
Chapter 33: 10:49-13:23: Building Bridges, Burning Buddies, And Being BoringContent warning: censored homophobic slur courtesy of our buddy Dennis. What, you don’t remember Denni—Shanky. I mean Shanky.
Let’s just say my two-month absence from this LP was at least partially because I realized that in the wake of the anti-police protests of May and June it would be considered gauche to glamori—no? No one’s buying that? Worth a shot.
ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Okay, next we should--
INLAND EMPIRE: [Challenging: Success] You blink and the weight of empty time slams into you full force. Not a minute has passed since Lena left, yet you feel as if everything—*everything*—has just snapped back into focus after a prolonged blackout.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: [Trivial: Success] No. You’ve been sober. It’s still Thursday, still 10:49 AM. Don’t blame me for you losing the plot here.
REACTION SPEED: [Legendary: Failure] You try in vain to close your fingers around wisps of thought and reason, watching helplessly as they slip and stream away at your touch. You might as well be trying to lasso a swarm of bees. What were you thinking about just now? Why can you not remember what you were about to do?
ARIST:Your eyes desperately search the hostel for something, anything to root you into place. Something new, some progress to make. You see the booth full of drunken dockworkers and sigh. Whatever. Talk to Titus.
TITUS HARDIE: “You’re coo-coo, cop.” His smile hides a flash of anger. “I’m the *only* man responsible for this unit—get with it, or fuck off.”
AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] How many times must I tell you…
TITUS HARDIE: “Sounds like you’re *making* her a suspect in this. Not on my watch you’re not. Ruby’s one of us. We’re not gonna throw her under your Moralintern steamroller, fuck that shit!”
SHANKY: “And fuck you too, moral-f*g!” He throws a glance at Titus as the last syllable leaves his lips. The big guy sighs.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] God, shut up, Shanky.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Ruby is missing. If you hide from the police in a murder investigation you become a suspect. You know how it works, guys.”
TITUS HARDIE: “That’s *nothing*, that’s just legalese. You don’t even have a *sound theory*.” He crosses his arms.” I don’t wanna be rude, but we’re trying to get some R&R here. Think you could fuck off now?”
DRAMA: [Trivial: Success] That’s not true. He did mean to be rude.
Seems like we’ve got a ridiculous amount of evidence in our favor.
TITUS HARDIE: “Because she was here *all night*. With us.”
ALAIN: “He’s cobbling together shit so he can put her away. It’s Cop 101.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “She was here all night?” the lieutenant ignores the tattooed man. “11:30 to 12:25—she was here during *all* that time?”
TITUS HARDIE: “No…”
TITUS HARDIE: “Alright, she took a fucking leak, okay? For one moment. *Maybe* went out too. She has a complex operation to run from her lorry.” He points to the intersection. She’s a busy girl—always has been.”
LOGIC: Of course! Ruby is the lady driver in this great big *Jam Mystery*! Probably. You’ll have to keep investigating—they’ll never open up about it.
TITUS HARDIE: “Just ‘cause she was gone for five minutes doesn’t mean she *magically* got to the roof and shot the merc.” He taps on his temple. “I’ve been through this—it’s not plausible.”
REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] He’s been through it. That means *he’s* suspected her too.
LOGIC: All right. We’re in, we got Ruby unaccounted for some time during the window. This was crucial. Now let’s place her on that roof.
TITUS HARDIE: “Hmhm. People say there was a pinball arcade here, some time before the hostel—what was it called, Theo?”
THEO: “East Delta Pinball Arcade.” The old man coughs. “*Weird* place—went bankrupt.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Okay, but…” The man looks around? How’d she get up? There’s no room for a staircase in this building. *Or* an elevator, for that matter.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Ruby could have gone up—shot him—come down—all under seven minutes.”
TITUS HARDIE: “That’s quite the theory…” He turns to Eugene. “We need to have a look at that secret passage, boys.”
EUGENE: “I’m on it, boss. Right when the law clears, me and Angus are going up there.”
SHANKY: “It’s a *dumbwaiter*, not an industrial lift. How about I go instead of…”
TITUS HARDIE: “Firmly?” He shakes his head. “Firmly doesn’t go well with *could’ve*. There’s a route to the roof. Me and boys need to check it out. That’s what we’ve *established*. But a route,” he forms a gun with his hand, “does not put that bullet in his head. A gun does that. And Ruby doesn’t carry one.”
LOGIC: Phase II: murder weapon. Get a gun in her hand. If not that, then at least a shadow of a doubt (in the shape of a gun).
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Just don’t contradict yourself. If it doesn’t sound like “RUBY DID IT”, maybe keep it to yourself?
EUGENE: “So…?” The man shrugs and looks at you.
TITUS HARDIE: “So it had to come from a breech-loading rifle. Military grade.” He turns to you. “Not even you militia-monkeys have those.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Cop—that’s *exactly* what it means.”
ARIST: Swing and a miss.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Twenty, maybe thirty rifles, Titus. Also broken—but still, there were many. And there must be other caches too.”
EUGENE: “Goddamnit, we need to close that dump down for good.”
Just don’t open the ice bear fridge. It’s full of corpse slime for… reasons.
TITUS HARDIE: He nods to it. “It’s a god damn breechloader too—find one that works and you got a military grade weapon—that shoots jacketed ammunition.” He shakes his head.
LOGIC: He sees it—this is coming together—he *must*.
GLEN: The blonde man looks at the mushroomed deathbringer in the evidence bag and says: “Yeah, the bitch is jacketed alright. 4 mm too…”
FAT ANGUS: “Whoaa…”
TITUS HARDIE: “Well, god damn…” His eyes follow the evidence bag back into your pocket. “It’s not proof, but it’s a possible murder weapon—close to her. Too damn close.”
TITUS HARDIE: “All right.” He nods. “Keep talking. I’m getting a bit *curious* about some things myself.”
GLEN: “T, we’re not seriously considering it, are we?!” He almost gets up from his seat. “Ruby wouldn’t do this. Why would she do something like this?”
LOGIC: Phase III: Motive. The last component.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Think about it—why go through all that effort? It was her idea, wasn’t it? The hanging? You went along, but she suggested it.”
SHANKY: The little man squints, eyes beady. “She had, like, a fully formed plan and shit. Right when she came back downstairs…”
EUGENE: “Really, Shanks? Klaasje wanted to talk to another girl, that’s all. She was just the first one up there; *I* could’ve come up with that plan, if I’d been first.”
SHANKY: “I didn’t do it, fucker! It wasn’t *my* plan.”
ALAIN: “You probably *did* though…”
SHANKY: “Fuck you, man, I would never fuck my guys over like that.” He squeaks with indignation.
GLEN: “She didn’t either! She would never do that.” The blonde man looks around. “Why aren’t more of you defending her? This is fucking stupid, Titus.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Glen.” Titus looks grim. “I thought the same thing when she skipped town and left us in this shit.”
ARIST: [Easy: Success] You’re doing it. You’re getting there. Or maybe Titus was more open to this all along than you thought, and he was just looking for a reason—an excuse—to buy in. Whatever. Seal the deal.
ALAIN: “Nah, man. That’s just Ruby. She’s got shit under control,” the man explains. “That’s her whole thing. That’s why she’s so good.”
EUGENE: ”Plus, man, it’s like *female intuition* you know. Women talk to women.” He peeks at Titus. “Which is sorta why we need someone on the team who they talk to.”
ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] Yeah, you know what? Let’s not. Not advisable.
TITUS HARDIE: Silence. He looks around the room.
THEO: The old man in the corner nods.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] A very small nod—and a trickle of tobacco spit on his lip.
AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] This is the only opinion he cares for.
TITUS HARDIE: “Yeah—I see it.” He puts his beer down. “There’s one more thing I’ve been *wondering* about. Ever since you asked me where she is. Add it to your list of suspicions, if you want.”
TITUS HARDIE: “She was afraid I would tell you.” He looks you straight in the eye. “Maybe she was right. By now I probably would.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “She knew there’s evidence on her—and she knew we’d find it. This is typical suspect behaviour. Why fleeing is always incriminatory.”
TITUS HARDIE: “No—you. As in the cop with the sideburns and the disco clothes.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Sure—*normal*,” He says without smiling.
TITUS HARDIE: “Until you *have* something on her. She said she’s heard of you from Jamrock. That you’re a human can-ipener. That you play suspects against each other. Open them up, like cans.”
ALAIN: “Fucking hell…” The tattooed man shakes his head. “Titus, did he just…”
TITUS HARDIE: “…open Angus up like a can? Yes, he did.” He nods. “Now, we can whine about it, whack him, or we can go on with our lives. I’m having a ‘go on with our lives’ kind of day, Al. How about you?”
AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] It’s not an actual question.
TITUS HARDIE: “Yeah, there was something else. She wouldn’t tell me though. I could see she wanted to. It was *burning* on her lips: ‘This cop, Titus, this cop, he…’ But she was too scared.”
TITUS HARDIE: “She’s not far. We know that much—she didn’t take her lorry. So she’s on foot.”
ALAIN: “Good fucking luck, man… She knows this place like the back of her hand. You’ll never find her.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Yeah, Al.” He gives a sharp look. “And we won’t either.”
GLEN: “She’s not really a…” The man stares into his beer. “Hardie candidate any more, is she?”
TITUS HARDIE: “A little—on the coast.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Where have you looked for her, more precisely?”
TITUS HARDIE: More precisely? On the *coast*. Past the water lock.” He nods southwest. “She’s not here, so I’m thinking she’s there.”
TITUS HARDIE: “No one goes to tell Evrart anything. He knows what he has to know—fast.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Sure—there are some shithouses there. A cinderblock town. The fisher-folk there refuse to unionize, so that’s one place we haven’t looked. I hear they have a shack where junkies sometimes crash. Time for you to step up.”
TITUS HARDIE: His grip is firm and reassuring. Like holding a piece of unpolished granite.
TITUS HARDIE: “When are you gonna get it through your dumb head?” He scoffs. “I already *am*, I just wasn’t sure you were.”
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Nice work. What nex—
KIM KITSURAGI: “You?” He looks at you. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
-2 Inland Empire?! No thank you!
ARIST: [Easy: Success] Go chat with Tommy. He might have some information on this drug situation. Even if it doesn’t end up helping much with the Ruby deal, it’ll be worth it to have something to report back to Joyce to get some more information from her.
TOMMY LE HOMME: He shifts around, suddenly uncomfortable, then looks away. “I don’t want to talk about that…”
TOMMY LE HOMME: “I didn’t, man—I told you, I was *hoping* it’s not her. That she wouldn’t be mixed up in it.”
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] He still is—hoping. It’s just wishful thinking on his part, not trickery.
DRAMA: [Medium: Success] It’s true. We would have caught a lie. But… a *kind* heart is tricky.
TOMMY LE HOMME: A young-ish woman. Gruff, but… in a cool way.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “What colour hair?”
TOMMY LE HOMME: “Blue and violet, dyed.” He answers reluctantly. “It was violet when she got here. Blue before she went.”
LOGIC: [Easy: Success] Then she may have dyed it again.
TOMMY LE HOMME: “Damn, I don’t wanna…” He looks you straight in the eye. “Please just let it go. Whatever she did, it can’t be that bad. She’s not a bad person, I know that much.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “We can’t just *let it go.* It’s part of a police investigation.”
TOMMY LE HOMME: “That’s how it always is with you, isn’t it? All part of the investigation…” He shakes his head. “The girl’s *troubled*—if you hunt her down, she may not survive it. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “It won’t come to that. We won’t pursue her on this. This is information only.”
TOMMY LE HOMME: “She’s got the *darkness* in her. That young person’s darkness when you think it’s all over. And you’re looking for a way *out*.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “She shared this with you?”
TOMMY LE HOMME: “I heard the rumours. I saw the other drivers looking at me *strange* when we talked. And she told me too—that she’s had a violent life. But I wasn’t afraid of her, more like *for* her.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Did this violent life include drug trafficking?”
TOMMY LE HOMME: “Fuck, man… Go grill someone else with these questions, okay? There are plenty of drivers here who couldn’t stand her. Or were *afraid* of her. They’d be more than happy to rat her out.”
REACTION SPEED: [Easy: Success] He’s right, there are other options—the raceman, for one.
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] Hmh… the grey haired woman. Maybe she knows something?
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Wait. This guy says they’re friends, then *acquaintances*. And he’s okay with others ratting her out?
TOMMY LE HOMME: “You’re not gonna put a bullet in your head if you blow it, are you? ‘Cause she’s on the *edge*, man.”
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Fine. Not much gained from Tommy, but not because he lacked to give. Try to find a better option—don’t break that poor man. Start with the woman. She was unresponsive before, but you should still see what she knows.
PALEDRIVER: “Where am I? Who are you?” Like a magician recalling a subject from hypnosis, you’ve jolted her back to reality.
PALEDRIVER: “Back in Mesque during the time of the revolution.” The smile returns to her face. The sidewalks and cafes are filled with young people… I was on my way to see a new boiadeiro picture starring Gabriel Buenguerro.”
Was IMG_4346.jpeg a picture of Gabriel Buenguerro all alo—NO! Bad joke! Bad Arist! Boooo!
PALEDRIVER: A strikingly handsome man looks straight at you, his head crowned with a wide-brim hat. His hair is dark as an oil slick and his jaw is the most perfectly chiseled thing you’ve ever seen.
SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] This man’s got a hold over her. Even fifty years later, you can feel it…
PALEDRIVER: “He was a the biggest star of his day Girls used to faint in the aisles of the cinema whenever he came on the screen, and school boys used to memorize all his lines…” She leans back, savouring the world she’s conjured up.
PALEDRIVER: “They are someone’s memories, boy.” She gets gruff, suddenly. “What difference does it make if it’s me or not? They’re beautiful. That is all that matters. Beautiful and true—and they will win. They’re *coming* for this, you know…” She looks around. “All of this.”
REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] All of what—the world? The present?
PALEDRIVER: “I wasn’t dreaming. I was *there*, lawman. It was early spring and *The Man Behind The Black Sun* had just come out. The posters were twenty metres tall. Everything was golden…” Her eyes narrow and she appears to take your measure. “While *you* people were tearing each other apart over your petty little revolution, in Mesque it was a golden age.”
PALEDRIVER: “Why not, *xerife*? It’s not like I have anything better to do in this hellhole.” She settles back against the railing of her motor lorry. Behind her, mountains of memorabilia, photos, and knickknacks line the dashboard.
PALEDRIVER: “Please?” She raises her boot, slowly, with contempt. “I think you should let me get back to the Gabriel Buenguerro. You’re no Gabriel. Gabriel doesn’t say please…”
PALEDRIVER: “Just before Gabriel it was the coronation of Franconegro—now there was a real man…” There is no aberration in the pattern that you can see. She puts her foot down.
VISUAL CALCULUS: [Easy: Success] Moreover, the boots were size 37. Tiny. There are too man discrepancies in all this.
PALEDRIVER: “It was,” she shrugs. “And then it was no more. And I was no longer holding my father’s hand. He was no longer descending the stairs in Raehl. The crowd had gone silent. Perhaps it was another *xerife* who came and woke me up, looking at my boots, asking questions? Or perhaps it was one of the others in this *carnaval*. I don’t remember.”
ARIST: [Easy: Success] Not exactly surprising, but it pays to be thorough.
KIM KITSURAGI: He takes a quick note. “I could have told you that from just looking at them. Her size is 37.”
PALEDRIVER: “Of course not. To truly understand the boiadeiro, you need to listen to ‘On the Western Plain.’”
PALEDRIVER: “Of course not. The boiadeiro returns from the Western Plain a *changed* man. One night, as he and his beloved are out walking along the River Magritte, she pleads with him to give up his riding and settle down…”
ARIST: [Easy: Success] What the fuck?!
PALEDRIVER: “You have to understand—a true boiadeiro needs a whole horizon to himself. He can’t be tied down by man or woman. His beloved was selfish. She didn’t know what it means to love a *boiadeiro*.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “She’s just a distracted old woman. We should maybe let her get back to her things…”
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] So he doesn’t think she’s the ladydriver?
KIM KITSURAGI: “Nothing. I just don’t think she’s connected to anything.”
PALEDRIVER: “Lomonossov’s Land. Udachnaya Zemlya. The Western Plain…” She nods and closes her eyes again, letting her mind submerge…
SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] A terrible cold comes over her. Rattling her teeth, as she stares inward.
PALEDRIVER: She looks over and scoffs. “You’re right, lawman. *I’m* the one who should take *my* health more seriously. Thank you for looking out for me…”
ENDURANCE: [Easy: Success] A correct appraisal, you’re quite shabby.
PALEDRIVER: She cups her ear and leans forward. “Did you just call me a *lady*, xerife?”
ARIST: [Easy: Success] Nope, nuh-uh, not going there. Move on.
PALEDRIVER: “Then what *were* you getting at?”
AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] This line of questioning is going nowhere! Try harder!
ARIST: [Easy: Success] Full circle!
PALEDRIVER: “Easy. It’s the skinny man who thinks he’s a poet—never trust a poet…” She squints across the square. “Also, he’s the only one I can see from here.”
PALEDRIVER: “Where do you want me to go? This isn’t so bad. I can listen to music, or the seagulls. Look at all the colours and the features of this world. It’s a good pallet-cleanser, this jamboree… Or—I can just relax and let my mind carry me back where it will. To the great plains…”
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Well, that was… unproductive at best. You only have one lead remaining, and unfortunately, it’s that racist lorry driver. Go talk to him, or you’re going to have to force Tommy.
The context for this shot is that we stopped in at Frittte to collect one dollar and sixty cents for our tare haul and saw this message. That’s it.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Ugh. Get this over with.
RACIST LORRY DRIVER: “He did *something*. He stole his employer’s goods and another lorryman’s job. You should be thankful for the tip.” He grins—a wide smile.
KIM KITSURAGI: “No.” The lieutenant turns to the lorryman. “He means *La Puta Madre*.”
ENCYCLOPEDIA: A legendary—and not in a *good* way—crime boss from Jamrock. Controls what is probably the most powerful organized crime outfit in Revachol West.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] Looks like the lieutenant has a plan. Let him do this.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Then I presume you’re familiar with his *peones*?”
RACIST LORRY DRIVER: “Yeah,” he says, unsure where this is leading. “They’re his little bitches. He’s got them all over the unions.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Not just the unions. He has peones *everywhere*. Some say he even has them in the RCM.” He gets closer to him. “Dirty fucking peones who’d do *anything* for him. Multi-ethnic drug addicts…”
RACIST LORRY DRIVER: “You’re not peones,” he says. “You wouldn’t be investigating a drug-thing, if you were.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “No. Of course not. *We’re* not peonees. But *if* we were… and one of Madre’s drivers were to be stealing from him—then it’s a good peone’s job to find out who that is.”
DRAMA: [Medium: Success] He’s surprisingly good at this. Not bad at all… Look at him lurching.
KIM KITSURAGI: It’s not a hard job. It won’t take a long time. It won’t made Padre Madre *angry*.” He looks at him. “But a stupid fucking racist is standing in the way, *protecting* this fucking thief…”
RACIST LORRY DRIVER: His eyes dart between you and the lieutenant. “I’m not scared of you—or the mob. I’m under the protection of the Lorrymen and Carters Guild.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “You’ve seen that corpse in the ceramic armour there?” The lieutenant points to the yard. “Did his shitty little guild protect *him*?”
RACIST LORRY DRIVER: “Nah. You wouldn’t just leave him out there if you…” He tries to light a fresh cigarette, but his hands are shaking now. The sentence simply ends.
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant turns and gives you a barely perceptible nod.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] I’ve softened him up. As best as I could. Now it’s on you to finish the job.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Gotcha. Won’t let you down, Kim!
ARIST: Shit! Sorry, Kim!
RACIST LORRY DRIVER: “Make me, runt.” He blows a cloud of smoke right in front of your face.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Dammit. Seems we’ve no choice but to break this man’s heart.
TOMMY LE HOMME: I… I thought you were a different kind of cop.” Something breaks in him as he stares into your eyes.
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] The realization that you’ve used his friendliness and good will for your own ends.
TOMMY LE HOMME: “Here.” He takes a keyring from his pocket—then looks at it before giving it to you. In silence…
INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] The keys to a motor lorry. Pretty complex. Looks like a chain lock.
TOMMY LE HOMME: “She left them to me. Because she trusted me… So I can get it out of the way when the jam breaks loose. Otherwise…” He doesn’t finish the sentence.
KIM KITSURAGI: “The other drivers would have to tow it, or break in, to get the machines moving.” He nods.
TOMMY LE HOMME: “I bet you are.”
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Tommy hates you now. You’d like to say it wasn’t you, it was just your responsibilities, but that’s the core conflict of power: a conflict between who you want to be and who it makes you. Better that dissonance still exist within you than not, you suppose.
ARIST: [Easy: Success] Go find that lorry to recover from your rapid onset of melancholy.
ABANDONED LORRY: The glass on the side windows is tinted and covered with dust. You can barely make out the shape of a seat and two steering levers.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Challenging: Success] Posters cover the small windows in the back—you can’t make out what’s on them.
ABANDONED LORRY: The door is locked. The handle looks shiny, like it’s recently replaced.
ABANDONED LORRY: The smell of cigarettes and perfume welcomes you. The cabin inside is plastered with old movie posters, actresses smiling from the walls. There’s a radio transmitter in the front and a toolbox tucked under the driver’s seat. Some tools lie scattered near the pedals.
ABANDONED LORRY: “These are movie posters featuring starlets from long-forgotten films—from the twenties, the teens, even the nineties of the last century. One of them particularly catches your eye: A centrefold of an ingénue attached right above the back seat.
ABANDONED LORRY: The actress is draped in a sheath dress, one of her shoulders bared. The faded remains of an autograph run across the poster. She’s looking past the camera.
INLAND EMPIRE: [Challenging: Success] A feeling of tenderness washes over you—a longing even, perhaps. And gentle tragedy.
ABANDONED LORRY: Looks like the frequency dial is absent. It requires a key to work, but the key has been removed—likely by the missing lady driver.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim leans closer to the radio and hums: “Strange. There are so many radio stations saved here… must be over one hundred at least.”
Just busting your balls, Kim.
KIM KITSURAGI: “For contacting an entire fleet of lorrymen, for example.” He flicks a switch on the radio. “This is all shortwave, UW and UKV… Looks like we’re dealing with an impressive organizational tool—the nerve centre of a huge operation. With quite the range too.”
ABANDONED LORRY: You wedge yourself under the steering wheel to get a better look. Seems like the few tools lying around here—a hammer, a pair of pliers, a rusty wrench—have been casually thrown there by the disorganized driver. But one odd detail does catch your eye: A piece of sandpaper has been glued to the throttle.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes?” He likes where this is going…
ABANDONED LORRY: Voila! A stack of neatly folded papers has been stashed behind the seating fabric. You see three maps depicting a large metropolitan area. It’s Revachol, some of its route and highways have been outlined with a pen.
ABANDONED LORRY: This large map displays the elevated motorway called 8/81. The intake leading to Martinaise is marked with a blue X. There’s another X on the off-ramp at a place called the Old South. Tollbooths at the intakes are marked with a circle. It looks like there are scant few ways of getting onto the elevated motorway that runs over Jamrock—and this person knows them all.
ABANDONED LORRY: This municipal map from the thirties displays a complex system of storm sewers underneath a sub-district called The Pox (Old Military Hospital), right adjacent to the 41st Precinct.
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] No storm will ever drown Revachol, the great solution to the riddle of history.
ABANDONED LORRY: The final map displays a labyrinth of service tunnels left over from the construction of Motorway 8/81. A few routes have been marked with a pen—where the tunnels and sewers surface near the Eminent Domain and a traffic island in Central Jamrock, by the lake.
INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] These service tunnels were probably used during the construction of the foundation beneath the motorway.
KIM KITSURAGI: “So it would seem.” The lieutenant examines the maps with a furrowed brow.
KIM KITSURAGI: “A besmertie is a Revacholian crime syndicate. They see themselves as the inheritors of the 14 Revacholian indotribes, but really they’re just violent gangs vying for control on the West side of Revachol…”
KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s definitely not the Union. They just do *some* logistics. This operation has spread everywhere in Jamrock. If it’s that widespread, then Madre remains the most likely suspect. He’s *bad news*.” Kim removes his glasses and polishes them with a handkerchief. “There have been attempts at a serious investigation before, but they… haven’t ended well for those involved.”
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant nods. “Best not to disturb the scene—I’ll have forensics go over the lorry and pick these up later.”
ABANDONED LORRY: It looks like an article ripped out from a radio-enthusiast magazine. Complex mathematical equations explain the basics of something called ‘the ULAN frequency system’.
All right, let’s confer with Kim.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Honestly, I’m quite worried by what we’ve seen so far. The evidence seems to point to a rather extensive and well-organized operation. I’m especially intrigued by that radio transmitter—particularly the sheer number of stations it can connect. Looks like this alleged drug trade casts a wide net.”
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] This means it's well funded. Technology like that... a major player must be financing it.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I’m not sure what the ULAN frequencies are all about, but they may hold some significance. Perhaps it’s a better way to connect between fleets while avoiding frequency bleed, or maybe it’s used to tap into RCM networks… Oh, and the maps we found. They reveal the *geographical* extent of the operation—looks like they’ve used abandoned tunnels and access roads to stay hidden. This is useful info.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “One way or another they seem to be—logistically, if nothing else. But don’t expect to bust this open during our stay here. At best this is an angle we can use against them. To other ends. As extra ammunition.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Perhaps you’re right…” He stops to think. “This is one connection I find a little dubious, to be honest. I prefer not to profile people’s emotions. Perhaps it’s because I’m not very good at it, but still.”
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] Actually, he’s not bad at it at all.
KIM KITSURAGI: “We should return to the murder case. See what Joyce tells us about the lynching. When we’re done for the day, I’ll call my station and suggest our narcotics department look into it.”
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Let’s immediately head over and confront our new buddy Titus with this information.
TITUS HARDIE: “Like hell you have.” He leans back, unruffled. “There is no ‘local drug trade’. This place us as clean as a rifle. Go back to Jamrock and ask the local junkies how clean *your* streets are in Precinct ‘41-Kilos’.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “We’ll do that. In the meantime,” he points south, “did you know that there’s an abandoned lorry at the intersection that was used to move raw ingredients for drugs from Terminal B to Jamrock?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Thank you.” He turns to face the man. “You’re right, Titus. There is no local drug trade, because it’s all controlled by *you*. *You’re* the the drug trade.”
TITUS HARDIE: “That’s a mighty interesting theory.” He rubs his jaw, smiling. “I guess that’s what you would need to do, theoretically. A big, strong, state run monopoly *would* out-compete the runts on the street.”
EUGENE: “Yeah, man. *Theoretically* that’s what you would do—to get rid of the gangs, the dealers, even some of the junkies.”
TITUS HARDIE: “You would need good, trustworthy people to take their place, of course. *Hardy* men to run such a monopoly.” He grins. “For the good of the community, of course.”
TITUS HARDIE: “We haven’t *done* anything. But theoretically, it has to be someone’s problem. So it might as well be yours.” He takes a sip of his beer and smiles.
AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] He doesn’t let it show, but must be a little impressed. You’ve put a lot of things together, fast.
ARIST: [Easy: Success] You should probably go talk to Evrart now that you’ve mailed those “signatures.” But first, talk to Klaasje about the missing papers in the buoy.
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): Her eyes wide. “Oh…”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Did you take the documents?”
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “No, of course not. As I said, it would have been too risky for me to use those documents anyway—my employer gave them to me. In truth, I should have destroyed them.”
KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): She thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “They couldn’t know where I put it. I’m absolutely sure I was not followed. And I’ve told no one but you… You mentioned sea water? I was worried I’d been too careless with the latch. The documents were probably,” she waves her cigarette, “just washed away…”
ARIST: [Easy: Success] Ugh. How (in)convenient.
ARIST: [Easy: Success] You never actually followed up on that mysterious voice from the intercom. Might as well, you suppose.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Fuck. Maybe next time.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] On your way to Evrart, you spy the mysterious container once more. You feel a connection on some level to it, so you examine it once more.
ARIST: Your rhetoric will not open this container, that would be absurd, but you might as well try once more as a lark.
RHETORIC: Oh yeah, motherfucker?! Wanna bet?!
CARGO CONTAINER DOOR: The door stands silent.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Satisfied, detective?” A wry smile crosses the lieutenant’s face.
RHETORIC: BOOM!!!!
ARIST: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
ARIST: [Trivial: Success] What.