understand me?
You mean the car thats parked in front of the bank? The silver Laguna? Joe
said, in a deep and rasping voice that came from decades of Gauloises and the
rough wine he made himself. Well, its being taken care of. Dont you worry
yourself, petit Bruno. The Gestapo can walk home today. Like last time.
Joe, this is going to get people into trouble, Bruno said urgently, although
he knew that he might as well argue with a brick wall. How the devil did Joe
know about this already? He must have been in Ivans café when Jeanne was
showing the photos around. And he had probably heard about the car from
Marie-Hélčne in the bank, since she was married to his nephew.
This could bring real trouble for us if were not careful, Bruno went on. So
dont do anything that would force me to take action.
He closed his phone with a snap. Scanning the people coming across the bridge,
most of whom he knew, he kept watch for the inspectors. Then from the corner of
his eye he saw a familiar car, a battered old Renault Twingo that the local
gendarmes used when out of uniform, being driven by the new Capitaine he had not
yet had time to get to know. From Normandy, they said, a dour and skinny type
called Duroc who did everything by the book. Suddenly an alert went off in
Brunos mind and he called Joe again.
Stop everything now. They must be expecting more trouble after last time. That
new gendarme chief has just gone by in plain clothes, and they may have arranged
for their car to be staked out. Ive got a bad feeling about this.
Merde, said Joe. We should have thought of that but we may be too late. I
told Karim in the bar and he said hed take care of it. Ill try and call him
off.
Bruno rang the Café des Sports, run by Karim and his wife, Rashida, very pretty
though heavily pregnant. Rachida told him Karim had left the café already and
she didnt think he had his mobile with him. Putain, thought Bruno. He started
walking briskly across the narrow bridge, trying to get to the parking lot in
front of the bank before Karim got into trouble.
He had known Karim since he first arrived in the town over a decade ago as a
hulking and sullen Arab teenager, ready to fight any young Frenchman who dared
take him on. Bruno had seen the type before, and had slowly taught Karim that he
was enough of an athlete to take out his resentments on the rugby field. With
rugby lessons twice a week and a match each Saturday, and tennis in the summer,
Bruno had taught the lad to stay out of trouble. He got Karim onto the school
team, then onto the local rugby team, and finally into a league big enough for
him to make the money that enabled the giant young man to marry his Rashida and
buy the café. Bruno had made a speech at their wedding. Putain, putain, putain
If Karim got into trouble over this it could turn very nasty. The inspectors
would get their boss to put pressure on the Prefect, who would then put pressure
on the Police Nationale, or maybe they would even get on to the Ministry of
Defence and bring in the gendarmes who were supposed to deal with rural crime.
If they leant on Karim and Rashida to start talking, there was no telling where
it might end. Criminal damage to state property would mean an end to Karims
licence to sell tobacco, and the end of his café. He might not talk, but Rashida
would be thinking of the baby and she might crack. That would lead them to old
Joe and to the rest of the rugby team, and before you knew it the whole network
of the quiet and peaceful town of St Denis would face charges and start to
unravel. Bruno couldnt have that.
Bruno carefully slowed his pace as he turned the corner by the Commune notice
board and past the war memorial into the ranks of cars that were drawn up like
so many multi-coloured soldiers in front of the Crédit Agricole. He looked for
the gendarme Twingo and then saw Duroc standing in the usual line in front of
the banks cash machine. Two places behind him was the looming figure of Karim,
chatting pleasantly to Colette from the dry cleaning shop. Bruno closed his eyes
in relief, and strode on towards the burly North African.
Karim, he said, and swiftly added Bonjour, Colette, kissing her cheeks,
before turning back to Karim, saying, I need to talk to you about the match
schedule for Sundays game. Just a very little moment, it wont take long. He
grabbed him by the elbow, made his farewells to Colette, nodded at Duroc, and
steered his reluctant quarry back to the bridge.
I came to warn you. I think they may have the car staked out, maybe even tipped
off the gendarmerie, Bruno said. Karim stopped, and his face broke into a
delighted smile.
I thought of that myself, Bruno, then I saw that new gendarme standing in line
for cash, but his eyes kept moving everywhere so I waited behind him. Anyway,
its done.
You did the tyres with Duroc standing there!?
Not at all. Karim grinned. I told my nephew to take care of it with the other
kids. They crept up and jammed a potato into the exhaust pipe while I was
chatting to Colette and Duroc. That car wont make ten kilometres before the
engine seizes.
CHAPTER 3
As the siren that sounded noon began its soaring whine over the town, Bruno
stood to attention before the Mairie and wondered if this had been the same
sound that had signalled the coming of the Germans. Images of ancient newsreels
came to mind: diving Stukas, people dashing for aid raid shelters, the
victorious Wehrmacht marching through the Arc de Triomphe in 1940 to stamp their
jackboots on the Champs-Elysées and launch the conquest of Paris. Well, he
thought, this was the day of revenge, the eighth of May, when France celebrated
her eventual victory, and although some said it was old-fashioned and unfriendly