All language subtitles for The.Outsider.1983.FRENCH.1080p.BluRay.x265-VXT-eng

THE OUTSIDER

DRUGS: PARIS SENDS
COMMISSIONER JORDAN TO MARSEILLE

If they put that kind of cop on our trail,

it's pretty clear that we can kiss
our peace and quiet good-bye.

I'd like to hear what my lawyer thinks.

If Paris has sent this kind
of commissioner to Marseille,

it's a game-changer.

We'll have to adapt, like it or not.

And if we don't like it?
We can also stand in his way.

It's easy to stand in his way.

We imagine that the world is filled
with things we consider easy,

and then this...

I'd like to have this commissioner
on my payroll.

For a while, anyway.

Dominique, I want you and Cappa
to head to Marseille.

Once there, you'll keep an eye
on the commissioner,

day and night.

- After that, we'll see.
- Very well, sir.

Police! Hands on your head!

I said, "Hands on your head!"

Didn't I say, "Hands on your head?"

You're the new cop on the block,
Mr. Gung-ho?

Just passing through.

Empty your pockets.

The pig's an ace cop.

Wasn't he in that crime show on TV?

I said, "Hands on your head."
Face the wall.

Search all you want,
I'm clean as a virgin.

Keep going like that
and you'll die a virgin.

Hey, big guy, shying away from us?

Empty your pockets.

Hurry up.

So, Tonio,
why do you make me run like this?

You want to hurt my heart?

I been looking for you for days.

- Aren't we friends anymore?
- Of course.

Good, you had me worried.

When is it for?

I don't get it.

I'm asking you, "When is it for?"

Three, four days, at the most.

Three or four?

Three.

What boat is carrying the drugs?

Tell me the name of the boat.

Mister Nicolas.

Now we're sailing.

They can't catch up with us.

Calling control.
This is Delta Fox Thirty.

Dumas, here. I'm listening.

The Mister Nicolas is about
to leave French territorial waters.

- What do we do?
- Catch up with it, damn it!

- At full throttle!
- We are at full throttle!

Doesn't look too good, does it?

The Mister Nicolas is heading
at 200 degrees. Abandoning pursuit.

Shit!

What can I do?

Their boat is 15 knots faster than ours.

Besides, we only located Mister Nicolas
three miles within territorial waters.

Much too late.

Hello, Marignane?
Get me Louis.

Hey, Jordan here.
We're going on a little sea excursion.

What's going on?

Drugs being smuggled out.

They're heading out at 200 degrees.

They're gone.

Stop the engine!

Act smart and you're in luck.

Act stupid and you're in for it.
The merchandise.

You, step inside.

I'm baffled!
200 kilos of drugs!

And you're being casual about it.

You're breaking all the rules, Jordan.

You're acting like an outsider,

not like a cop.

And that look of yours...

Honestly, think you look
like a commissioner?

What's gotten into you!

I wanted those drugs seized!

We had everyone on our side.

The press, the authorities,
public opinion.

And Meccacci's?

The opinion I'm interested in
is Meccacci's.

DRUG LAB UNCOVERED
IN QUIET VILLA NEAR SAINT-MAXIMIN

Where should I start?

From the end.

Mr. Meccacci is upset with me, right?

You're wrong, Commissioner.

French police, the Americans are wrong.

Everybody's wrong about him.

Admittedly,
Mr. Meccacci had a stormy youth.

Cigarette smuggling in Tangier,
gambling wars in Paris and Nice...

- He took a hit, believe me.
- I believe you,

and of course, he never dealt any drugs.

Check his record.

So it'd be wise to ensure that errors,
such as the one that occurred lately,

don't happen again.

Otherwise, a certain commissioner

could become just another beat cop

arresting petty thieves and prostitutes.

- Or not even a cop at all.
- Or not even a cop at all.

Dear Counselor, I'm not wrong.

The French police are not wrong,
and neither are the Americans.

Your client's a bastard.
It's on the record!

Since he had such a stormy youth,

I promise him a peaceful retirement,
twenty years behind bars.

I'll pass along your warm regards.

Please do.

Hi.

How's everything?

Hi.

Yes?

Okay, we're on our way.

Good evening.

- Gentlemen.
- Commissioner Jordan. What brings you?

I heard you were holding a seminar.

I thought I might run into
Alfred the Chemist.

I'm still looking for him.

He's in Paris, but we don't know where.

You're getting on my nerves
with Alfred, Commissioner.

Stop nosing around,
or you'll end up in Châteauroux,

arresting petty thieves and prostitutes.

Funny, I heard that line before.

Mr. Meccacci's, maybe?

Precisely.

Every time I hear Meccacci's name,
1 get edagy.

Take the edge off, Commissioner,
and join us for a glass of champagne.

You, and your colleague of course.

Claude, two glasses please,
for the Commissioner and his colleague.

Here we are.

Make yourself at home.

What are you drinking?
I've got cognac, scotch...

even orange juice.

Party's over.

It was nice meeting you.

Wait for me outside.

Where is he?

We were tipped off by a phone call.

Anonymous, of course.

So, who did it? You, her?

What do we say?
we'll have to come up with something.

- What about telling the truth?
- Please, spare me.

Just kidding.

We could just say nothing,
and throw him in the dumpster.

Go take a walk, have some fresh air.

What do you think will happen?

Nothing.

Nothing will happen.

Not even an official reprimand.

I'll be transferred, that's all.

It's called being sidelined,

or being put in a locker.

And what will the Minister do?

I thought he was your friend.

I've known him for 20 years,

but five minutes ago,

I became a total stranger to him.
That, I guarantee.

I certainly hope so.

Guy, please.
Take care of Mr. Meccacci.

Thank you very much.

It's a great day.

We're celebrating a retirement.

The city of Marseille lost someone.

Let's call him a schmuck!

A police officer, friend of Mr. Meccacci.

Champagne!

Big fish, that Meccacci.

Two years ago, I almost nailed him.
Not even on drug charges.

I had him by the balls.

Then, I got screwed like a layman.

They even said I took bribes.

An envelope in your drawer,
or a corpse in your living room...

Same difference.

As long as virtue triumphs.

I hear you like doing things
cowboy style.

Here, our methods are more subdued.

Helicopter chases are less frequent,

between Faubourg Montmartre,
and rue des Martyrs.

POLICE PRECINCT

It's only petty crime,
but someone's gotta do it.

Three thousand cases a month.

This isn't a police precinct,
it's a factory.

Maybe so, but you'll see...

We do good police work,

and we do it as a team.

Teamwork is important. I insist on that.

Good men working as a team.

Simon,

Cablier,

Rosberg,

and Rojinski, whom you've already met,

and you.

Not marshals working for a sheriff,
but men united around a boss.

- You.
- Me.

Hello, Pat. How are you?

Here's your desk.

And my locker.

Count your blessings, Commissioner.

You're lucky to be alive.

Especially after that helicopter stunt
in Marseille.

Meccacci could've had you killed.

Why pull a trigger,
when you can just dial a number.

I don't get calls like that, Commissioner.

I didn't say it was you.

I don't like to be taken for an idiot!

Then, you chose the wrong job, sweetie.

Christian Rigaux,

born April 4, 1955.

Entered French territory in 1981.

You ID card's no longer valid.

That's bad news.

It's only been three days.
You can't lock me up for that!

I don't give a damn!

Twenty-four hours in custody.
That'll teach you!

Moron. Jerk off!

I'll have you locked up
for public indecency!

Forged ID, and we'll sprinkle in
solicitation in a public place.

You heard about the mules from Istanbul?

And Madame Kemal, you know about her?

I'm no longer a narcotics agent,
I don't give a damn.

Too bad, because three Turks
showed up this morning from Istanbul.

As we speak, they're taking a shit
at Madame Kemal's, in Cité Bergére.

I told you, I don't give a damn.

The Turks work for Selim Bey.
Madame Kemal works for Meccacci.

Our dear friend, Savior Meccacci?

Yes, the very same
piece of trash scumbag.

Just making sure we're talking
about the same guy.

Police!

Get up!

Felling a little jet-lagged?

- Where's the dope?
- I don't know what you're talking about.

Paris calling!
Come over here.

- Where's the dope?
- I don't know.

I'll tell you where it is.
It's in there!

Before boarding,
you swallowed plastic bags, you mule!

You're filled with dope!

For the past three days,
you've been dumping your load!

And what do you guys have to say?
Shitting in your pants?

If I punch you,
a small bag could burst in your belly.

Hold it, Jordan.
If you hit him, he bursts.

What about "syringe lady", here?

If I hit her, will she tell me
where the dope is?

Not much of a blabbermouth, uh?

It's your report on Madame Kemal's?

Don't bother to type it up.

The case opened and shut at Cité Bergère.

You mean,
you're letting off these three...

Diplomats, that's right.

They'll be back in Istanbul by tonight.

- But...
- No buts, Rojinski!

We have no evidence against them.

It's in the diplomats' stomachs.

You want to cut them up
to see what's inside?

Who's that clown?

That "clown" is Mr. Mensour,
cultural attaché at the Turkish embassy.

What's the purpose of your visit?

I'm here to garner your apologies,
and pass them along to the ambassador,

or at least your sincere regrets.

Well, that's the general idea.

What do you think?

You agree?

Then pass them along.

It's an old Foreign Service tradition
to drop your drawers,

so pass that along.

You've had me here two hours already.
I'm out of here! Enough of your questions!

Let go of me!

THE BIG HUBBUB

Name, address and profession!

I'm talking to you, bitch!

Name, address and profession.

Answer me,
or I'll lock you up for 48 hours.

One last time.
Name, address, profession?

These methods will get you nowhere.

It's the wrong approach.

With a dumb broad like her,
there's no other approach.

Of course, there is.

Let me explain.

Sit down, my friend.

Where were you last night?

Are you crazy or what!

See? You forgot.

You're all knotted up.

Let's do this again, calmly.

Simon, where were you last night?

This guy's crazy!

Sit down, we're just talking.

Like I told you.

You hit the guy, he's not happy.

He can't talk.

You hit him again...

He knots up again.

Leave me the fuck alone!

You'll get anything you want,
with the right method.

It's all about method.

Livia Dolores, Maria Monteblanco.

10, rue Saint-Jacques.

Hooker.

See?

Look who's here.

Hop in.

- It's been a while.
- I had pressing affairs.

SAINT-MARTIN BOXING CLUB
TRAINERS

How's Janine doing?

She's doing okay.

She split.

Is that so?

I thought you were treating her well.

You bet, an apartment in the 20th,
sports car, fancy shoes and all.

What got into her head?

Maybe she just got tired.

Jogging in the morning,
cycling in the afternoon, boxing at night.

Gets tiring after a while.

- You talking about me or yourself?
- Go figure. Maybe both.

Too bad about Janine.
She had a nice ass.

Your gym is pretty quiet.

I know, I should get more involved.

I think you should,
because your apartment in the 20th,

the sports car, fancy shoes and all...

This place can't bring in
enough to cover that.

Maybe it's just a front.

Fifty machines in Barbès, fifty in Clichy.

The whole northern district.

- Just stay on your turf and it's fine.
- Until the day it isn't.

It's legal.
Even, the state takes its share.

The state also took its share
in whorehouses.

Until one fine day...

Payoff is better with machines
than with hookers.

Your hookers are great.

They don't talk much.

They never call in sick.

Never get jealous.

Most important, they don't talk to cops.

What if they could?

Maybe they'd drop the name
of the guy who financed all this.

Get off my back.
Do I bring up your blunder in Marseille,

or the corpse in your living room?

That's enough, kiddo.
You'll dig yourself into a hole.

Two years ago, when I left the force,
you had shady deals going on.

Stolen auto parts, petty stuff...

No problem.

I come back, and here's what I find.

And that, I know who benefits from it,
and who finances it.

Your slot machines reek of heroin!

- First of all...
- Nobody's on first.

Nobody's on second.

Wake up, Francis.

For all your petty crap,
1 looked the other way,

but soon I won't be able to.

I won't even want to.

Don't go down that road.

It's well traveled by the ill-advised,

and you get an even chance of dying.

- You hear what I'm saying?
- Yeah, got it.

- Let's talk about something else.
- Like what?

We covered sex, boxing...

Work-related issues are making us edgy.

- What's left?
- Not much, you're right.

There might be something...

I had three-of-a-kind, he had two sevens.
Left this as collateral. A real wacko.

- It's totally bulletproof.
- Really?

Damn, you're right!

Is it fast?

250 horsepower under the hood.

I'm thinking of letting it go,

so if you know anybody anxious,
in need of protection...

I just might.

The Pope.

Looking for a good time, hon'?

Want a ride?

- Hi there.
- Hello.

Interested?

See him?

I would've given him a free one.

FOUR ACES

Something to drink
or waiting for someone?

Orange juice.

Then again, I'm in a gay mood.
Make that a strawberry soda.

I'm looking for a friend.

In fact, it's his brother from Marseille
who'd like to see him.

Alfred.

Alfred...

First or last name?

He's got a nickname: the Chemist.
Freddy the Chemist.

The guy you're looking for
no longer comes here.

Otherwise, you would've seen him.

He's always lying by the front door.

Customers wipe their feet on him.

Want to replace him?

I'd love to wipe my feet on your face.

That's amusing.

If you guys want to brawl, go outside.

Say, it's not Mardi Gras.
You should put on a shawl or a cape.

I'd prefer that.

- I'm behind you.
- Okay, but not too close.

- Ladies first.
- You fucking with me?

Just kidding, big guy.

Let's go!

Have a nice one.

Fucking shit!

Hey, handsome!

Recognize me?

Livia Maria Dolores.

- Where are you going?
- Who knows.

This way.

Scotch, scotch, or scotch?

- Isn't it a bit cramped in here?
- Indeed, it is.

Who's this?

My grandma, on my mother's side.

A remarkable woman.

There you go.

Funny, I didn't imagine you
living in a place like this.

What did you imagine?

Something more contemporary.

- You mean, plastic and neon?
- Why not?

It's funny.
It's like living with your parents.

Pretty good assumption.

I used to live in an apartment, nearby,

but when my parents died,

I didn't want to part with the furniture.

So, I left everything as it was,

like I knew it as a kid,
and kept the apartment.

Simple as that.

You enjoy it here?

Did Louis XVI enjoy Versailles?

Not sure,

but he lived in his father's house.

I'm a man of tradition.

Why are you smiling?

You really don't talk like a cop,
not at all.

You don't ask the usual questions.
Where am I from? Why do I do this job?

Because you're going to tell me
that you were born in a favela,

you have loads of brothers and sisters,

your father molested your mom
and drank like a hole.

Then, at age twelve, you started wondering
what men thought when staring at your ass.

Certainly not about Louis XVI.

Fifty-fifty.

Whenever is suitable to you, my friend.

Of course, the slot machines are yours.

But aren't you afraid
you'll make people jealous?

That someone malevolent
might trash your brand-new machines?

Or even trash you?

So far, nobody dared, because they knew
Mr. Meccacci was covering you,

but when you're on your own...

I'll make a deal with you.

A decent, friendly proposition.

Three grand a month,

and you stay at the helm.

In the eyes of everyone, you're the boss.

To everyone's eyes, except mine.

No offense, Francis,

but who gives a damn about your views?

What's wrong, Tonton?

You ask me to come visit,
and you greet me with a sour face.

Last time we met,
1 ended up in prison.

What can I do for you?

For me, nothing.

I expect nothing from no one.

I'll serve my 20 years to the end.

You cops have no idea.

One hundred and fifty square feet,
for 20 years.

Do the math!

I wouldn't give a damn either,
if I had no one else.

Except when you nailed me,
I left a twelve-year old daughter behind.

Should've thought of that before.

Catherine's 16 now.

If you don't get her out
of the hell she's in, she's doomed.

You hear me, Commissioner?
She's doomed.

Doomed at 16.

Some real wack-jobs have abducted her.

She's held prisoner in a squat,
on rue de Lyon.

"The Hard Drugs Cafe"...

The assholes shoot her up
with junk and fuck her!

One day, they'll just kill her.

Say, drugs have become
a real issue to you.

Back then, when sixth graders took drugs,
you had no qualms about it.

You were cool with it.

Now, you're asking me
to go see those wackos

and get my throat slit with a razor blade,
so your kid can breathe some fresh air?

Are you being serious, Tonton?

Why are you asking a cop
to confront these bastards?

I didn't ask a cop,

I asked a bastard.

How appropriate.

I happen 10 have a bastard deal,
tailor-made for you.

Alfred. Does the name ring an old bell?

Freddy the Chemist.

Go fuck yourself!

There you go again.

You'll never be a good father,
nor a good friend.

Because if I don't find Alfred,
before Meccacci does,

French chemistry itself will be
in mourning, as it was for Pasteur,

except there won't be
a boulevard named after Alfred.

Commissioner...

Simon,

my all-knowing friend.

Got any tips about the squat,
on rue de Lyon?

None, and I don't want any.

The Caribbean squat's not our business.
It's a political hot potato.

The upper office told us not to get near.

I see.

Don't touch Turkish diplomats,

Chinese restaurant owners,
or Caribbean musicians.

Thank you, Inspector.

What do you make of Simon?

Schmuck, corrupt, or puppet?

He's in cahoots with Garnier,
the new chief.

And Garnier is in cahoots with whom?

Maybe with Garnier, after all.

Say, golden boy, why'd you bring up
the squat on rue de Lyon?

Getting in there is easy enough,
but getting out...

I'm just warning you,
in case you had any plans to visit.

Me?

Why would I visit such a pigsty?

Catherine Serutti, age 16, blonde.
Her daddy misses her very much.

Why should I care?

She's in there. I want to know where.

What floor... Some details.

What do you want?

Her name's Yasmina,
and my rate is one hundred francs.

I'm looking for Catherine.

Catherine won't cost you a penny.
She's everyone's free ride.

She's the doormat, in the backroom.

Is that Catherine?

Yes.

My name's Speed.
She's been like this for two days.

Your father sent me.

I'm taking you with me.
You give me a hand.

Where you going?
Leaving just like that?

Looks like you're in a hurry.
Let's have a talk.

I'm taking the girl
and leaving just like that.

Speed, my car's a Renault station wagon,
parked 50 meters away.

Take her to the car.

Speed! Don't move!

Speed. I said a Renault station wagon.

I can't believe it
The guy's giving orders!

Hitting me was a bad idea.

I might've let you go, who knows...

Whether the girl croaks
here or elsewhere, I don't care!

You fucked with me,

and now you're going to die.

Renault station wagon,
50 meters away.

See.

There was no need to argue.

Keep on sewing!

What are you doing here?

- I'm looking for Alfred, "Freddy".
- He's upstairs.

Looks yummy!

- Who is it?
- Commissioner Jordan.

Commissioner Jordan.

Not in Marseille anymore?

Not in Marseille anymore.

You're not in Marseille.
Tonton's not in Marseille.

Pretty soon, there'll be
no one left in Marseille.

Tonton...

Why bring him up?

He the one who ratted on me?

It's not ratting, it's informing.

Ever hear of that, Alfred?

You were right to bring up Marseille.

The good old days.

Pinstripe suits, two-tone shoes,

fancy cars,

hotels overlooking the old port.

The stuff you produced
was 90 percent pure.

You were the best in your craft.

Now, you're hiding in this slum.

You came looking for me
to give me that rant?

You've been looking
for quite a while, right?

I'm not the only one looking.

Meccacci's looking for you, too.

Why?

Any idea?

Meccacci hates addicts and queers.

Two reasons to go after me.

Gabriel, sweetie,

go wait outside.

Don't waste your time
telling me about Meccacci.

I'm ready to rat on him.

- For cash.
- A lot?

With the face I have,
the condition I'm in,

and the honeymoon I'm planning,

I need a ton of cash, believe me.

A ton is not an amount.

How much?

A hundred grand.

Third race, official results.
The winner: number nine.

Place: number eleven. Show: number three.

Where do you expect me
to find that kind of money?

A hundred grand...

Fuck it!
I don't have to lend you that money.

Of course you don't have to, Antoine.

Just as I don't have to tell anyone
about the shenanigans in La Courneuve.

For that matter,

the Arabs don't have
to slit your throat, either.

Don't lose any sleep over it.

Well...

You have work to do, so do 1.

The first of us to get nervous
calls the other.

Come on, son.

Can't we talk?

We'll look into your problem.

Now, it looks more like your problem.

Train number 203,
departing for Luxembourg.

Mind the automatic doors.

Imminent departure.

We wish you a good trip.

If I were you, I'd put the gun down.

Face the railing.

Spread 'em!

Move.

Mr. Meccacci,
Angelo wants to talk to you personally.

Angelo?

Mr. Meccacci?

Alfred had a grave accident.

What happened with the Commissioner?
You talked back to him?

He's crazy.

In Marseille, he once ironed out a guy.

If it's about drugs, better tell the boss,
because he's not gonna like it.

- Especially coming from you.
- It's murder-related.

Alfred Gonet, "Freddy the Chemist."

Freddy's dead? How sad.

He really had us running.

Why was he killed?

This guy should know.
He pulled the trigger.

You must be kidding. I don't even know
who you're talking about.

Because you're not paying attention.

We're talking about "Freddy the Chemist".

Never heard of him.

You've ever heard of Gare de l'Est?

I know the name,
but not the location.

And you never heard of Meccacci's?

Never heard the name, either.

And the guy you were with?
Never heard of him either?

Nobody ever hangs with me.

I'm the solitary type.

I live alone with my cat.

Inspector!

Our friend has a memory lapse,
but it's only fleeting, I'm sure.

- This is not legal.
- And this...

Is that legal?

Within 48 hours, our friend will have
revealed the sponsor's name,

the name of his acolyte,

and even the name of the cat.

We might not wait that long.

Watch your methods.
1 could collapse on you.

Who cares?
I'm no doctor. I'm a cop.

But if you're going to collapse,

I'd prefer that you give
your deposition first.

Inspector Rojinski will type it up,
and we're all done.

Go fuck yourself!

Lock him up.

And if he feels talkative,
call me before he collapses.

Well, gentlemen. It's after 8:00.
I've got a private life to attend to.

A dame's waiting, I'll be on my way.

Cheers.

Hi there.

Commissioner!

Here's the shirt you ordered.

- You like it?
- Do you?

I bought it to have lunch with you.

You look better in a sweater.

And I'd rather have dinner than lunch.

This is getting overly complicated.

- What are you doing there?
- Me? Waiting for my mommy.

You can have dinner with him.

He's free.

Sorry, you can't stay there.

Drive off.

This ain't valet parking!

Don't worry. I'll be five minutes.

Shit.

Hey, handsome.

I'm not your type?

SOS DOCTORS

Hi. Is Livia here?

- What's wrong with you?
- This is.

Why'd they do that?

Because I sleep with a cop.

Next time, they'll cut up my face.

Is that so?

As a bonus,
they want to fuck you up.

Do you know these moralists?

They're the Tourian brothers.

What they usually up to
at this time of night?

They love gambling.

The Shanghai, the Paradise,
or the Winner's Garden.

Hi. I'm looking for
the Tourian Brothers.

I haven't seen them tonight.
Watch out, those guys are nasty.

Hello.

No more bets.

- Evening.
- Evening, Commissioner.

- Seen the Tourian brothers?
- Right in front of you, second row.

Yellow four wins.

Why are you laughing?

I was thinking about the cop's face
when he lays his eyes on the chick.

You know him?

No, but he seems like a lightweight.

Jerk-off kind of guy.

THE STREET URCHIN

Gentlemen.

Yeah?

- I'm hungry and in a hurry, waiter.
- The name's George.

Well, then, George,
it'll be steak and fries.

With a pinch of salt.

- George!
- Look what you did!

I'm so clumsy, I'm sorry.

Don't you have enough room?

George, my man.
Serve them another round.

- It's on me.
- Enough already!

Don't get jumpy.

Let's take it easy.

Let me introduce myself.
Jordan, Commissioner Jordan.

You're the Tourian brothers, right?

Cut-up artists
with a liking for pretty women.

So, I heard you want to fuck me up?

I'm consenting.

Who's first?

So, George...

Where's my steak?

After your call, I looked at the clock.

I couldn't believe it.

Not your style to get up at 6:007

Sleeping in is more my style.

- So, coffee or coffee?
- Tea.

- Coffee!
- No, tea.

Tea, then.

These bastards. I'll never forget.

They won't either.

This place isn't as chic as Maxim's.
And there's no music.

You've been to Maxim's?

Of course, I went with Mario.

Mario the dancer.

He's just a friend.

- Maxim's is the place with a band, right?
- Yes.

- And a dance floor?
- Yes.

- And the river boats?
- Not really.

Are you sure Mario
didn't take you to Chez Gégène?

Yes, that's it.
1 always get names mixed up.

You know my name isn't Gustave, right?

- You know that, right?
- Of course.

What's my name?

Francis?
1 got tied up, but I'm on my way.

No problem, I'll wait for you.

We're having lunch at the Cyclops,
in Meudon. All right? Bye.

What a small world.

Ilook in my rearview mirror,
and who do I see? Inspector Simon.

Don't move.

- I just want to check your dog collar.
- Jordan, I'm warning you...

Just what I thought.

"If found, please return
to Commissioner Garnier."

Shut up! I have a right to...

Back to the kennel!

Good boy, Simon.
Back to your kennel.

Relax, my car just broke down!

BOXING

Assholes!

A high-speed car chase
across the 18th arrondissement,

that ends with two guys
crushed to death, at Barbès!

And before Barbès, Gare de I'Est!

A shoot-out at high noon!

It could've ended with ten deaths.

When Jordan got here,

I told him that helicopter chases
were less frequent around here,

between Faubourg Montmartre
and rue des Martyrs,

but I underestimated him!

He doesn't need a chopper
to bust my balls!

The Jordan case is closed,
and I'm sending it upstairs.

You can pass that along
if you ever catch up with him.

I think he tried calling you, but...

The line was busy, right?

You're starting to get
on my nerves too, Rojinski.

Good to see you.

The boss just made it clear he's had
enough of us, and it goes way back.

- All the way back to the Turks?
- No, but at least to Gare de I'Est.

I don't care about what he says.

What I care about
is our friend Marc Villa.

How's he making out?
Does he miss drugs?

Less so, since he hasn't been getting any.

The guy's overjoyed.

You'll be too when you see this.

"Answer, 'No, he asked me
to come in from Turin.

They needed an unfamiliar face
to trail Commissioner Jordan.'

Question, 'To kill him?'
Answer, 'No, just to trail him.'

He was supposed to lead me
to Alfred Gonet.'

Question, 'To trail him too?'
Answer, 'No, to kill him.'

Question, "Who did you contact?
Answer, 'Someone called Baldi.

That's all I know of him.

I know Baldi.

Meccacci knows him too.

Baldi, Antonio, king of "case dismissed."

Antonio's not here.

- AX this hour, I thought he'd be sleeping.
- He doesn't always sleep.

Tell him Commissioner Jordan
is looking for him.

My dear Baldi, you ever hear
of Commissioner Philippe Jordan?

Yes.

I don't want to hear of him again.

He's a cop.

You can't just mow down a cop.

Seems your ideas are a bit outdated.

Francis always got in trouble
with his bicycles and his cars,

but he had a clean record,

so I got him into the force
while his record was still clean.

He wasn't such a good cop.

He'd never arrest anyone.
He found it depressing.

Said it was a waste of time,
because the next day, we'd let them out.

He had a point.

Did you know him for long?

Sixteen years.

I knew him when he was playing soccer
with the Red Devils, in Malakoff.

In the locker-room, he was a nice guy,

but on the field,
he was as tough as they come.

What about you?
Weren't you tough, at his age?

Let's say I was a late bloomer.

Did you have brothers or sisters?

I had Francis.

See, if I can connect the dots
between Meccacci, and the slot machines,

we link the machines to the crime,

and the crime to Meccacci.

Then he crumbles on his own.

I'm going to stir up memories,
and empty the drawers.

- And me, what do I do?
- You stay here.

- With Livia?
- Of course, with Livia!

What? She scares you?

- He left?
- Yes.

He didn't say anything?

He told me to stay here.

I said, "With Livia?"
He said, "She scares you?"

That's an odd thing to say.

Since the death of Francis,
he hasn't been the same.

My name's Antonio Baldi.
I heard you we're looking for me.

Yes.

I'm downstairs.

Why are you looking for me, Commissioner?

Someone told me about you.

Who's that?

Marc Villa.

Don't know him.

He's a junkie.

He told me you brought him from Turin
to take out Freddy the Chemist.

Mere junk pouring from a junkie's mouth.

I'm not here because you want to see me,

but because Mr. Meccacci wants to see you.

I'm only a messenger.

You should've said so in the first place,

because if I want to see Mr. Meccaci,
all I have to do is summon him.

Maybe he shows up, or he don't.

Last time you tried to play smart,
you were caught with your pants down.

So, what do we do now?

Let's go meet Mr. Meccacci.

Where are we heading?
To play a round of pool in Clichy?

No, we're going to the head office.

That's where serious issues are settled.

Here we are.

Wait for me.
I'll tell him we're here.

What the hell!

You wait for me.

You're nuts.

Come on, let me go.
What's this about?

I don't believe in your meeting.

It's a trap.

We'll both wait it out,
but not together.

Don't leave me here, Commissioner!
Let me out!

You have no right.

They're coming! Don't leave me like this!

Let me loose! Don't leave me like this!

Baldi? Is that you?

Baldi is dead.

What are you doing here?

I can't be here, because I'm dead.

You'll miss me, because we had a ball.

Remember the old days?
I'd show up, pull out my badge,

and shout, "Police! You're under arrest.”

Then Counselor Cappa would show up,
and the farce would commence.

Arraignment, trial, case dismissed.

Then Mr. Meccacci would get mad,

and the schmuck would be transferred.

The schmuck was me.

What are you getting at, Mr. Jordan?

Take a guess.

I can only speculate.

No arrest,

no lawyer,

no trial.

Yeah...

but it's totally... crazy.

What's totally crazy
is selling dope to kids

so that a few dirty old men
can pay for a 12-year-old hooker.

What about you?

You have an age preference for hookers?

I was starting to wonder
if it would ever happen.

What?

Getting to see you croak.

But then your theory falls apart.

There will be a trial, but not mine.

Yours.

For it to be my trial,

it has to be my gun.

And this one belonged to Baldi.

You're Commissioner Jordan?

- Yes.
- Everyone's looking for you, Commissioner.

Please come with us.

Yes, TV-7 here.
Get me Inspector Rojinski, on 2902.

Tell him Commissioner Jordan is with me.

Inspector Rojinski.

Meccacci was murdered, in his club.

- Tonight?
- Yes, two hours ago.

I'm on the night shift.
The information just came in.

I wanted you to be the first to know.
I sent out for you.

Who would want to get rid of Meccacci?

- Got any idea?
- Not in the slightest.

Looks like we're heading for a war
over who takes his place.

To me, it's politics.

Now, everything's about politics.

Maybe so.

See you soon.

Thanks.

Need a ride back?