Peter "DJ Watson" Covelo

Peter is one of the many passengers you can pick up in Night Call.

Passidex entries
 - You have met Peter.
 * This is unmissable. You'll get it upon your first interaction.

 - You fell asleep.
 * Listen to his music.



Transcript
« Porte de Versailles... »

The door opens and your passenger collapses into the back seat. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of large, dark glasses... his clothes reek of sweat and booze... A clubber. He mumbles his destination and you start driving. * A few words are exchanged...the weather, taxes, traffic. Then...you can tell it's coming...the inevitable conversation about the killer. Some bit of information, rumours, things overheard. You make a mental note of what you've heard... Who knows? It might come in handy... Your mind wanders. Your eyes vaguely scan the store windows. The sodium light coming off the streetlamps feels like it's dripping into your brain. You're falling asleep. You need a bit of music to keep you awake...

(Turn music on.) (Ask your passenger.)

TBA

See below...

You glance at your passenger.

HOUSSINE: "You mind if I put a little music on?"

He waves his hand as if to say "who cares?" You turn the radio on, pressing on the dial to find a station you like. 80s rock ballad... too soft. Behind you, your passenger is snoring... barely, but you can hear him. Atonal classical music... sounds like the orchestra is badly tuned. Raï... not tonight. Two journalists discussing new evidence in the investigation into the Judge's murders... The information they share -- salon talk, nothing more -- seems important nonetheless. An ad interrupts the torrent of words and you change station. Classical music again... The flute grates on your ears. Electronic music... You like the rhythm but just aren't in the mood.

PETER: "Stop."

You lift your hand from the dial. The music plays on.

PETER: "Not bad. Turn it up so I can hear better."

« I didn't want to wake you... »   (Say nothing.)

See below...

TBA

His voice sounds like it's coming from a deep cavern.

PETER: "I wasn't sleeping, just sobering up."

He leans forward.

PETER: "Not bad at all."

You can hear the touch of an accent... probably an American, but someone who's lived most of his life in France.

PETER: "Leave it on until they say the musician's name."

The music continues. There's something turning in the background... a persistent melody that gets higher and higher. Your client mumbles.

PETER: "I bet..."

The song is coming to an end and the announcer, in a piercing, foghorn voice, throws out the name of a DJ you've never heard of. DJ Blunt.

PETER: "I knew it."

« He famous? »   « You like his stuff? »   (Say nothing.)

TBA

See below...

TBA

PETER: "Yeah, it's a good product. It's pretty conventionally structured but it's super popular."

He snickers.

PETER: "Still... I taught that dude everything he knows. Everything. In '94, at a party at the Rex Club, there was this kid who started buying me rounds."

He waves his hand around.

PETER: "A kid... no older than 17. I thought he was hitting on me..."

He chuckles.

PETER: "He would have been disappointed..."

He shakes his head.

PETER: "No, he wanted me to teach him how to spin. I told him 'no... but you can watch.' And that's exactly what he did every week until we moved to the Osiris. He sold X to pay his way in."

He briefly snickers.

PETER: "And now he's on the radio..."

Silence fills the cab. Weighted silence. You can tell your passenger's mind is spinning.

PETER: "You know what he did this summer? He was the opener for the soccer championship. At Stade de France. It was huge. Wonder what people'd think if they knew he was selling drugs at 17."

He lowers his voice a bit.

PETER: "If they only knew..."

Your passenger clams up.

(Watch him.) (Keep an eye on the road.)

See below...

TBA

You stare at your passenger... and notice little details revealing how old he must be... The thinning hair on top of his head... The creases in his forehead... His worn blazer... that he can't quite fasten anymore.

PETER: "We ran into each other in Ibiza four or five years ago."

You almost jump at the sound of his voice.

PETER: "I was spinning in this little club... yeah... really little... but it was something. He totally ignored me, of course."

Even with those dark glasses, you can see how angry he is.

PETER: "DJ Motherfucking Cunt."

He suddenly starts waving his arms around. He rummages through his pockets as he says...

PETER: "Uh, your radio... can it take a flash drive?"

You glance at your radio... You don't really know what he's talking about.

« I don't know. »   « No, only CDs... »

See below...

TBA

PETER: "No worries..."

He lays his phone in the space between the two front seats.

PETER: "Listen to this. It's what I played tonight. It's mine."

He sets his phone to play.

PETER: "But... you know... people were barely dancing...."

A drum machine playing a hard-edged beat in the background.

PETER: "They were talking... taking each other's picture..."

Four notes start to dance in the cab.

PETER: "They barely touch... never kiss anymore..."

A perfect dance beat becomes progressively audible.

PETER: "All that..."

A purely electronic crescendo plays.

PETER: "...is over."

There's a break in the music. Synthesised strings calm the song down, without slowing it down.

PETER: "At least..."

The song is getting intense again... explodes... as your passenger drifts off.

PETER: "...I got people dancing."

The song keeps going for another minute. Then stops. Your passenger doesn't budge. You drive to the rhythm of his snoring; the sound fills the cab. Ideas are bouncing through your head like they do every time you find yourself alone. The guy in the backseat is too old to be young. You look at your own hands. They look like they're suddenly aging in time-lapse. You close your eyes a second... Only a second... When you open them, you've reached your destination and have pulled over to the sidewalk. You tap your passenger's knee and he wakes with a start.

PETER: "Shit... yeah?"

HOUSSINE: "We're here, sir."

PETER: "Ah. Yes. Great."

He rummages through his pockets and hands you a few rumpled bills for fare.

PETER: "Thanks, I hope you liked it..."

Silence.

PETER: "The music... I mean, MY music. The song I played you. I should've been in the spotlight, you see? Fifteen minutes of fame. Just a minute of..."

He stifles a burp. You hear him mumble as he leaves the taxi.

PETER: "Those whisky and Oranginas really screw with my system."

You see him stagger toward his building. It takes him several tries to get the door open. He finally disappears inside. You heave a long sigh.

HOUSSINE: "Ok, come on."

