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[ INT . WELLS - O'CONNOR PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS . 23 : 11 . neon pours through the blindslats , backlighting a desk unmade and a man edging towards the same . the office is otherwise pitch . instinct pulls the face of a beleaguered " detective " off a pile of papers , there's a clamoring . someone is trying to break in . ]

so at least something interesting is happening . he lets the moment ride . why not . it sounds like a decent lockpicking effort . who is he to begrudge that . from behind him , in a casual leaning - against - the - window - liquored - up sort of way , the ghost in the room addresses the elephant . as it were , as it is .

" g͟͟͟u͟͟͟n͟͟͟ , ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟c͟a͟s͟e͟ ͟ ͟.͟ " oh , if only the dead would shut the fuck up . casey makes no motion for the .44 in his drawer . legs kick up on the desk . he leans back in the chair , testing the joints . nah , he mumbles . big fucking nah to the gun . the ghost comes again , that warm and exhausted fraternal voice .

" s͟h͟e͟'͟s͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟a͟l͟m͟o͟s͟t͟ ͟ ͟ ͟g͟o͟t͟ ͟ ͟ ͟t͟h͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟l͟o͟c͟k͟͟ ͟.͟ " the beleaguered detective looks up then , first towards the origin of the voice , where there is nothing , then to the doorway . where there is 2nd lieutenant anthony wells . and he is that . in uniform . medals and patches they pinned and sewed to his waxstuffed chest just to bury him in . " why are you wearing that ? " casey asks , quiet , affronted , before managing to hone in on the more crucial point : " she ? "

" m͟o͟n͟k͟e͟y͟ ͟ ͟ ͟s͟u͟i͟t͟'͟͟͟s͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟a͟͟͟t͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟t͟͟͟h͟͟͟e͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟c͟͟͟͟͟͟͟l͟͟͟͟͟͟͟e͟͟͟͟͟͟͟a͟͟͟͟͟͟͟n͟͟͟͟͟͟͟e͟͟͟͟͟͟͟r͟͟͟͟͟͟͟s͟͟͟͟͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟,͟͟͟ " says the poor shadow of his best friend . anthony starts to bleed out from the heartcenter , an unfortunate pattern of his . " t͟o͟n͟i͟g͟h͟t͟ ͟,͟ ͟ ͟ ͟w͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟s͟e͟t͟t͟l͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟a͟l͟l͟ ͟ ͟ ͟h͟o͟m͟e͟t͟o͟w͟n͟ ͟ ͟ ͟b͟u͟s͟i͟n͟e͟s͟s͟ ͟ ͟.͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟a͟n͟d͟ ͟ ͟ ͟y͟o͟u͟'͟r͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟s͟u͟p͟p͟o͟s͟e͟d͟ ͟ ͟ ͟t͟o͟ ͟ ͟ ͟s͟a͟l͟u͟t͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟m͟e͟ ͟ ͟.͟ "

" i don't recognize posthumous promotions . i still outrank you . " he points at what was anthony : " sergeant . " and to himself : " first sergeant . the war is over , deadboy , and i don't even salute living officers . who the fuck is at the door ? " he can hear the lock start to click in a cooperative fashion .

" y͟o͟u͟'͟r͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟n͟o͟ ͟ ͟ ͟f͟u͟n͟ . " the elaborate hallucination pouts . lights a spectral cigarette . he's dripping blood onto the carpet . it's starting to come out of his mouth . his hands shake around the lighter . the bottom - right drawer on casey's desk silently unjams itself , slides open . " '͟s͟ ͟ ͟ ͟j͟u͟s͟t͟ ͟ ͟ ͟a͟ ͟ ͟ ͟p͟r͟o͟p͟ ͟,͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟c͟a͟s͟e͟ ͟ ͟.͟ "

casey john o'connor balances the feeling of a gun on his palm . confirms a comforting absence of bullets . some fucking prop . the door busts open with a surprising force , unceremoniously cutting through his moral dilemma time with startling action . there's legs that go all the way to the floor , a coat , the collapse of a lamp . now the .44 finds itself sideways , trained . trained on . . .

ENTER : dove .

oh . tonight we settle all hometown business . he'd say she tripped over 2nd lieutenant jackass , as he is writhing in bloodied agony on the floor behind her , playing out his part , but it'd be hard to trip on something that isn't there . even if that something that isn't there appears to be laughing , under the red .

casey holds his gun level . but he has to think about it , which hasn't happened in a very long time . there is a sudden sense of calamity , of something set in motion a long time ago unspooling in earnest . and it's not really a wonder why . because there she is .

" you a'ight , doll ? "

the words leave him slow and genial and pained in a way like fireworks , or a bullet wound , or anthony's own hands driving nail after nail into casey's chest . pinning on posthumous patches . false hopes . he is kindling . again . and already . and without really a wonder why . because .

all this time . all this time and she found him . she broke into his office . on anything , that's why anthony's laughing in his echoing exit . it's why case would be , if that muscle still worked . he is kindling now . god put something he cares about back on the board . he is kindling . now . he knows it immediately , like smoke .

gunsteady : " that lamp was an antique . "

[ @killerdame. ]

#dialogues : casey #with : dovenoir #SKREEEEEEEEEEEE #cybernoir godfather (1972) references move along