Paris Noir - Aurelien Masson [31]
those Unit shits
those Service shits
that shit Sun Tzu
that grouse with foie gras he had to skip
that internal politics crap
The bum is pretty quickly disfigured and dead. In place of his face there are shards of bone, bits of rotten teeth, torn flesh, and even an eye popped out of its socket looking disapprovingly at Berthet.
Berthet takes his leak, Berthet farts, and Berthet wonders what got into him.
Berthet washes his hands, Berthet splashes water on his face, Berthet wipes off his Church’s and the bottoms of his trousers.
Berthet remembers, then, that he forgot to take his Hal-dol when he was having lunch at Chez Michel. And this is the upshot.
Berthet swallows two pink gel tablets and is about to step out, when one of his two cell phones vibrates.
6.
“Hello, my friend!”
Lover #2 immediately recognizes the Voice at the other end of the cell phone. Lover #2 loves this Voice. A top bureaucrat’s phrasing, a cabinet minister’s unction with media appeal to boot because the Voice publishes two essays a year on globalization, always the same ones, and because the Voice is invited everywhere to receive all the journalists’ compliments and bows. The Voice is one of the ten or twelve most powerful Voices in France.
“Hello, sir.”
Lover #2 tries to stay cool, relaxed. To deal equal to equal with the Voice. Lover #2 is the editor-in-chief of a major daily, after all.
“I have a favor to ask you, my dear friend …”
Lover #2 puffs out his chest. Lover #2 forgets that he is stark naked on Hélène Bastogne’s bed, and that his fingers smell of Hélène Bastogne. As for Hélène Bastogne, she’s taking a shower so long it might be insulting if Lover #2 didn’t have other things on his mind.
“Go on, sir.”
“You have a journalist on your paper called Hélène Bas-togne, I believe?”
“Indeed, sir.”
Lover #2 restrains himself from saying, That’s funny, whata coincidence, I just fucked her, rather well if I must say so myself,and now we’re going for a drink near Canal Saint-Martin. Howabout joining us? We’ll make it a threesome. These thirty-year-oldsdo enjoy a good fuck, you know. Probably because of their poors power in relation to the older generation.
But Lover #2 doesn’t know the Voice intimately enough. That’s too bad. One day.
“Mademoiselle Bastogne has gathered some rather sensitive information, I believe, from an agent belonging to our services, hasn’t she?”
Uh oh. Uh oh. Careful. Careful, thinks Lover #2.
“True. And we’re about to bring it out soon. But if this is a problem to you, sir, I can postpone it.”
“Out of the question, my dear friend, it’s not our style to control the press. On the contrary, I’m going to tell you something in confidence: We ourselves encouraged this agent to talk. It has to do with internal stability, it’s very complicated, one day I’ll tell you about it. We are in favor of transparency, my dear friend. Only here’s the thing: This agent still has things to tell Mademoiselle Bastogne, some very interesting things.”
“He can just come by the office again tomorrow.”
“Now here’s the problem. A rival service has spotted him in your offices. We are in a preelection period. He’s risking his career and even his life if he visits you again. Your journalist does live in the 10th, right? Tell her to go home. Our man is in the area. He will meet her at her place. He will feel more secure there. Do this quickly, my dear friend. Let’s say within the hour. It’s urgent. We’ll send our man to a quiet place right after.”
“For security purposes, I would also like to be present at the interview,” says Lover #2. “You never know.”
“Your ethics and your courage are to your credit, my dear friend, I was going to suggest the same thing. But our agent is very nervous. The