Part 39 (2/2)
Boxmeister said, ”Garsh, Gomer, when you gonna call for a hayseed and a spittoon?”
Milo said, ”Okay, you can drink that.”
Helga Gemein picked up the cup, sipped it empty. Power of suggestion.
Turning point in the interview.
She put the cup down. Eyes still on his notes, he said, ”So ... you planned and burned the twigs all by yourself. Tell me how you did it.”
”The fine is insufficient penance?” said Helga, smirking again. ”In America, money fixes everything.”
”Even so, ma'am. We like to have all the facts.”
”The facts are: As an architect with a strong background in structural engineering, I have a thorough understanding of structural vulnerability. I located the inherent structural defects of that garbage heap, set devices precisely, operated a remote timer, and watched as everything turned to dust.”
”So you were right there.”
”Close enough to bathe in heat and light.”
”A few houses down?”
”I didn't count.”
”But you parked the motorcycle three blocks away.”
Blue eyes sparked. ”How do you know I drive a motorcycle?”
”It was spotted and reported.”
”So you know the answer to your question. So do not waste my time.”
”Like I said, we need to verify,” said Milo. ”For our report, so we can let you go and be done with all this.”
”Proper procedure,” said Helga. ”Enabling you to pretend competence.”
”You know about procedure.”
Helga arched an eyebrow.
Milo said, ”That old joke? h.e.l.l is the place where the Italians establish procedure and the Swiss are in charge of design?”
”h.e.l.l, Policeman, is the place Americans gorge themselves to unconsciousness and delude themselves to mindless optimism.”
”Never heard that version,” said Milo. ”But you have to admit, the Swiss are darn good at design-who makes the best watches? Speaking of which, let's talk about those timers. Where'd you get them?”
”From Des.”
The quick reply caught him off-guard. He covered with a prolonged nod. ”Des Backer.”
”No, Des. .h.i.tler-yes, Des Backer. I want to go and pay my fine and be gone.”
”Soon,” said Milo. ”What else did Des supply you with?”
”Everything.”
”Meaning-”
”You have invaded my studio, you know what is there.”
”The fuses, the wiring, the vegan Jell-O. Des knew about all that because he was ...”
”He claimed to be an anarchist.”
”Claimed? You think he was faking?”
”Des indulged himself.”
”Des and women.”
”He was not a serious person.”
Milo said, ”Where'd you two meet? An anarchist convention-guess that's kind of an oxymoron, huh?”
Helga said, ”In a chat room.”
”Which one?”
”Shards.net.”
”As in broken gla.s.s?”
”As in broken universe,” she said. ”It has closed down. Anarchists are not good at self-perpetuation.”
”Poor organizational skills,” said Milo. Silence.
”So you met online ... Des being an architect must've made it seem perfect. Though the combination is kind of odd. Building up and destroying.”
”There is no contradiction.”
”Why's that?”
”As I told you, everything depends on context. But anyway, I am not an anarchist, I do not join movements.”
”So you're a ...”
”I am,” said Helga Gemein, with the first smile I'd seen her offer, ”myself.”
<script>