Part 63: Addendum V: Botchcop Begs For Money

Addendum V: Botchcop Begs For Money

In this thrilling edition of the Botchcop saga… look, we’re mainly just gonna fuck around and kill time today, not a ton of botching in this one. Unless you count failing to bum another cigarette, naturally.



Here’s that picture we picked up last time. Next, we go pick up the key to the basement from Mañana:






CALL ME MAÑANA: “Hehe, I’m not so sure about the hustle-grind, but…” he waves at you. “You know, it doesn’t matter. It’s a good thing you’re doing. Thanks.”




Let’s see what Measurehead has to say about us kicking the shit out of him.




Over by the wall filled with bullet holes in the yard:



PAIN THRESHOLD: You peer into the faded marks in the stone… they peer back like an endless row of tiny black holes. Sweat starts trickling down your brow.






KIM KITSURAGI: “Plenty.”



Approaching the smoker on the balcony:




SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “Sorry, I don’t have time for this. I just want to finish my cigarette and be gone.”




I have already informed you of how this goes.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “Apologies, but this is my last one.” He takes another drag and shivers.





SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “I’m not throwing anything.”











KIM KITSURAGI: “We will remove the body as soon as possible. Now tell us, where were you last Sunday?”







SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “No, for god’s sake, I don’t want you to cry!” He takes a quick step back and looks around, clearly disturbed. “Listen, I really have to go.” With a flick of his wrist he sends the extinguished cigarette sailing over the rail.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: [Medium: Success] Ah, there is goes—*wasted*! You would have gotten at least a few good drags out of it.







SOUTHWEST ENTRANCE TO THE TENEMENTS: The door rattles again, but this time you hear an elderly woman’s voice calling out from inside…




CLEANING LADY: The voice replies: “No, I already told you, I won’t be responsible for any more strangers getting into the building… Go check the backyard door, maybe someone there will…” She trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished.




KIM KITSURAGI: “Madam, I assure you we’re real police officers,” the lieutenant repeats dutifully.






CLEANING LADY: “I know my rights! And don’t you ma’am me, boy!” the voice snaps back.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Miss,” the lieutenant jumps in, “would it help if we offered to show you our badges?”
CLEANING LADY: “Hold your horses…” You hear the click of a night latch, before the lady on the other side gets caught in a coughing spasm.

Before we go in, we talk to Cindy:






KIM KITSURAGI: “Let’s be realistic. What are you going to do, climb up there?”
CINDY THE SKULL: “You heard your partner, piggy. I’m unstoppable.”




Inside, talking to the cleaning lady:



CLEANING LADY: “I already told you I don’t care about any badges.”




CLEANING LADY: “Pea-brain, someone played a trick on you. Martin Martinaise is a name for *anyone* from Martinaise. Like Jim Jamrock or Raoul Revachol.”





KIM KITSURAGI: “He’s actually *not* wanted for murder. We just want to talk with him.”




CLEANING LADY: “The hell am I supposed to know?” The cleaning lady shrugs, her mouth puckered like a dried fig. “Another nut job, I assume.”





KIM KITSURAGI: “I’ll keep my Armistice handy, detective.”






From here, we check the door, make a note to come back tomorrow, and make our way over to Joyce.




JOYCE MESSIER: “I’m glad to see you here.” Her grip is tight and cold.



INLAND EMPIRE: [Trivial: Success] …is what you *want* to say. But it isn’t that easy, is it?




JOYCE MESSIER: Why yes! Tucked away under that sturdy green raincoat, almost rustic in its simplicity—a silk shirt and matching scarf around her gentle throat…



INLAND EMPIRE: Now look at you, you misery-clad simian, barely able to tie your own laces. Your armpits are lakes, a scythe of booze proceeds you. Your hair sticks to your forehead and your underwear feels uncomfortable…



INLAND EMPIRE: Shame? You haven’t really been in the presence of gentlefolk either, have you? What shame is there to be felt in front of these… dockworkers, cops and hotel clerks. But to *belittle* yourself in these eyes of Eau-de-Nil…






JOYCE MESSIER: “Of course.” She makes a slight bowing motion.




JOYCE MESSIER: “Yes, past a certain point numbers begin to seem *imaginary*. But they are quite real for the 72,000 employees who depend on Wild Pines for their pay checks…”





JOYCE MESSIER: “Excuse me, I didn’t hear you.” Her voice is kind, a little hoarse from the wind.




JOYCE MESSIER: “I am glad you see it that way. To repeal the act would mean *repealing* the Coalition government. The one that leases you the right to police West Revachol…”











JOYCE MESSIER: “Downright *haunting* if you ask me. The Wild Pines suspected foul play, but what could they do? It was a Union matter.”




JOYCE MESSIER: “What?!” She laughs. “I am afraid you have mis-read the situation, detective. This is not some feudal conflict, it is a negotiation.”



JOYCE MESSIER: “Well, I can’t stop you, can I? Just understand that I don’t *expect* you to share anything he told you with me. I’m not a *corrupt würm* myself.” There’s a pause. “However, if you felt like passing *some* information…”











JOYCE MESSIER: “You know…” she puts her foot on the guardwire. “I don’t mean to sound cold, but if you want something, you have to give something back. *More* than just guilt.:
SUGGESTION: You’re doing it! Despite your own best efforts you’re still getting in, somehow…




Talking to Kim in private:




KIM KITSURAGI: “This woman is running circles around us.”

Then back to Joyce…






JOYCE MESSIER: “I assure you, officer, these are *not* the sort of parties you’d want to attend.”




JOYCE MESSIER: “Unlikely, officer. I’m talking about the lorries. Once the ingredients reach Jamrock they’re distributed to a network of local manufacturers, well beyond our grasp. But in transit they may be *vulnerable*.”



JOYCE MESSIER: “A lot of it,” she nods. “It comes in from large Samaran factories. In Tien-En, Siigay and Hsin-Yao. The literage they must get from this terminal alone must be *oceanic*.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Well—at least this solves *one* mystery.”



We take the case.




JOYCE MESSIER: “Oh, we’re quite a way off. About…” She points across the water, where the skyscrapers rise…”





KIM KITSURAGI: “That is understandable—but *perhaps* it’s better not to eat all your candy at once?”

Fuck that, let’s learn!!!!




JOYCE MESSIER: “For the *Big Time*.” Her eyes light up. There’s a flash of teeth.








JOYCE MESSIER: “On the other hand…” She turns north, to the bombed out buildings lining the waterfront. “Maybe you’re right.”



JOYCE MESSIER: “Those would be the communists. Generally speaking, 40 million people got shot in the head during the World Revolution. But the communists—they *all* got shot in the head.”




KIM KITSURAGI: “This does not represent the official RCM opinion,” The lieutenant says from behind his notes.



JOYCE MESSIER: “Oh, lots of people. Even the king got shot in the head, or thrown beneath a horse. Or drowned. Accounts differ. It was unceremonious.” She shakes her head. “Just as well—he wasn’t actually the king. Just the king’s nephew.”



JOYCE MESSIER: “Yes, King Guillaume had a nose for bad PR. He ran before it—what is the expression—*went down*? Anyway, Gil got out alive and his nephew Frissel got shot in his place…”




JOYCE MESSIER: “Liberals are usually middle class people, detective. Or the remaining gentry. The beneficiaries of the pre-revolutionary *arrangement*.”







JOYCE MESSIER: “The moralists believe in keeping everything exactly the way it is. They believe in mineral rights—and not shooting people in the head… At least not in the same *manner and volume* as the others do. They are the long standing provisional rulers of Revachol now—the Coalition Government.”
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: [Medium: Success] The rulers of Revachol—and also *the world*. These guys are strong.




JOYCE MESSIER: “The Turn-of-the-Century Revolution?” She smiles, mischievously. “Don’t answer it—it’s a trick question.”








JOYCE MESSIER: “A city state divided into free market zones. Under the *everlasting* interregnum of the Coalition of Nations. And you, of course—the Citizens Militia.”










We unlock a new slot, and use it to internalize Jamais Vu (Derealization).



JOYCE MESSIER: “Good question.” She cranes her neck: “What would *you* have done differently?”




JOYCE MESSIER: “They are what they are—who knows, an afterbloom may yet come…”





JOYCE MESSIER: She nods, slowly.







JOYCE MESSIER: “I am the vilest of the vile,” she says with a sudden flash of teeth. “A traitor, a devourer of nations and infants… I am an Ultra.”




JOYCE MESSIER: “No,” she shakes her head, slowly. “Not like me. I am the nether creature of the forbidden swamp, who pushed the king under a *shitwagon* and betrayed the Revolution… Are you *liberated* enough to offer up your home on a plate for financial colonists?” She looks you in the eye. “No, I think not. Tell me—now that I’ve *uncoiled* myself—do you find me frightening?”



JOYCE MESSIER: “*A Deuill*,” she pronounces: “*Who being of great Charme and Guille, sneaketh into the homes of the Godlie*.”



JOYCE MESSIER: “…steal, kill and destroy?” She counters, quick as a whip. “That they say we’ve been doing for over four decades now. Perhaps regrettably, I’ve had my fill for this century…”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Hmh,” the lieutenant hums, reading his notes.
JOYCE MESSIER: “In any case, I’m glad we can remain collegial despite my scaly bulk. And my perverse need to infiltrate and betray both Kingdom *and* Revolution.”



JOYCE MESSIER: “With due respect to our overlords, the eternal *caretaker* government that keeps Martinaise a monument to the efficacy of its artillery…”
SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] While a gentle wind sweeps the streets in the rebuilt East, light drizzle washing it clean, lights go up and motor carriages circulate the tracts…
JOYCE MESSIER: “I would not have relinquished sovereignty to the Coalition. Not here in Martinaise—and not in the Stella Maris or Delta beachheads either. If not for my own sake…”




JOYCE MESSIER: “Yes, I suppose I am. But I wouldn’t be a patriot anywhere but here.”







JOYCE MESSIER: “Ah!” She spreads her arms almost as wide. “*This* is the pier of Rue de Saint-Ghislaine 33A, where the tenants have been kind enough to rent me a slot…”



JOYCE MESSIER: “A pre-revolutionary tenement. Old buildings are called *tenements*, you see, and new buildings *batiments*, after *les batiments noveau*. But 33A and 33B are not *noveau*, they’re old.” She looks up at the crumbling facade…



JOYCE MESSIER: “Mostly the urban middle class, I believe. This was once *primo* real estate. Before the cannons lopped four or five stories off…”






JOYCE MESSIER: “Yes—you and I belong to the supraculture. We’re common, the herd. The music on the radio, the food in the chain restaurant—those are all too *popular* for the girl in the old-lady rags.”



JOYCE MESSIER: “Young people who dye their hair funny colours and wear old people’s clothes are stupid and their little rebellion is self-defeating…”





Almost!





Then, we go talk to Cunoesse behind the fence.




And that’s all for this one. I wanted to finish Day 1 in this update, but we still have a lot more ahead of us. We’ll see if we can’t do that next time.