Evidence

“I despise people?” said Helga.

“So you said the first time we met.”

“You, Policeman, need to stop decoding literally.”

Milo snapped his fingers. “I knew I should’ve paid attention in metaphor class.”

Helga ran a manicured finger under chopped black bangs. “A policeman who has studied the dictionary.”

“Started with A and working all the way to B. Unfortunately, I kinda got hung up on boom.”

Helga didn’t answer.

Milo said, “The house on Borodi-”

“I burned some twigs. So what?”

“Twigs.”

“A heap of rotting wood, a monstrosity. I did the world a favor.”

“By burning down the house-”

“Not a house,” Helga corrected. “Ruins. Twigs. Garbage. Monstrosity. Shit. I cleansed in the name of aesthetic righteousness, structural integrity, epistemological consistency, and meta-ecology.”

“Meta-ecology. Didn’t get even close to that in the dictionary.”

“It won’t be in there. I constructed it.”

“Ah.”

Helga Gemein held up the rotating finger. “It means stepping back from trivial components of the gestalt that endow the system with no functional autonomy.”

Milo said, “Looking at the big cosmic machine, not the cogs.”

Helga studied him. “You can’t hope to understand because you are American and Americans are all religious.”

“We’ve got a few atheists.”

“In name only, Policeman. Even your atheists are religious because American faith is infinite. The suckling pig that never stops offering its flesh.”

“I’m not sure I’m-”

“You people have convinced yourself possibilities are endless, endings are happy, puzzles are to solved, the future is an advertising jingle, your way of life is sacred, might makes right. If Americans would tear themselves away from their twigs and their shit and use their eyes and ears and noses to dissect reality, they would alter their cognitive structure.”

Maria Thomas muttered, “And become clinically depressed like Europe.”

Helga said, “Americans are the domesticated pets of the world. Submissive and eating their own shit. Until they turn vicious and then we have war.”

Boxmeister said, “Talk about a cuckoo clock.”

Thomas said, “I’ve been to Interpol conferences. She’s just another spoiled Euro-trash brat.”

“But maybe a little whack, too?” Boxmeister nudged me. “What do you think, Doc?”

Thomas said, “Bite your tongue, Detective, and don’t answer, Dr. Delaware. It’s going to be pain enough dealing with a foreign national, last thing we need is diminished capacity.”

Milo was saying, “So burning the twigs was an act of cleansing.”

“Refuse removal.”

“Taking out the garbage.”

Helga’s blue eyes narrowed.

Milo said, “Wouldn’t altruism be a better word?”

Two sleek, black-nailed hands clenched. “It would be a stupid word.”

“Why’s that?”

“Altruism is nothing more than a mutation of selfishness.”

Milo crossed his legs. “Sorry, I’m not decoding.”

“I do what society says is nice so I can feel nice. What is more narcissistic than that?”

Milo pretended to contemplate. “Okay, so, if it wasn’t altruism, it was-”

“What I told you.”

“An act of meta-ecological cleansing. Hmm.”

“Don’t play stupid, Policeman. You have enough natural defects, there is no need to supplement.”

Boxmeister said, “Ouch. Heil, Helga.”

Milo uncrossed, scanned his notes again, edged his chair back a few inches. Removing a handkerchief from a trouser pocket, he wiped his brow. “Getting hot in here, no?”

Helga Gemein tugged at her wig. “I am comfortable.”

“To me it feels hot. I’d think that thing would make it worse for you.”

“What thing?”

“The hairpiece. Dynel doesn’t breathe.”

“This,” she said, “is genuine hair. From India.” He smiled. “So you’re not a hothead.” Helga snorted and turned away.

Milo said, “No, I mean that seriously. It’s clear to me that you rely on reason, not impulse.”

Maria Thomas leaned forward. “Yes, yes, go for it.”

Helga Gemein said, “Should I not rely on reason?”

“Of course you should,” said Milo. “We all should. But sometimes being spontaneous-”

“Spontaneity is an excuse for poor planning.”

“You’re into planning.”

No answer.

Maria Thomas was at the edge of her chair. “Easy, now.” Milo said, “Being an architect, I imagine you’d favor blueprints.” Helga turned to face him. “Without blueprints, Policeman, even chaos doesn’t work.”

“Even chaos?”

Up came the pedantic finger. “There is chaos that emanates from stupidity. Think of flatfooted policemen in brass-buttoned tunics and tall hats tripping over themselves. Then, there is corrective chaos. And that must be planned.”

“Burning those twigs didn’t result from stupidity,” said Milo. “You considered every detail.”

“I always do,” said Helga.

“Always?”

“Always.”

Maria Thomas punched her fist. “Yes!”

Helga Gemein sniffed. “This room smells like a toilet.”

“It does get a little stale,” said Milo.

“How often do you bring prostitutes here?”

“Pardon?”

“For your policeman after-hour parties.”

“Must’ve missed those.”

“Oh, please,” said Helga. “It is common knowledge what policemen do with women they’ve dominated. Down on the knees, the man feels so big.”

Boxmeister said, “I must work in the wrong division.”

Maria Thomas shot him a sharp look. He shrugged.