01x01 - Episode 1

[bunniefuu]

["LES FEUILLES MORTES"

BY JULIETTE GRÉCO PLAYING]

♪

[OPENING THEME MUSIC PLAYS]

♪

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

♪

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

Hello?

Is anybody home?

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

Philippe Saint-Andre, is he in?

Do you speak English?

Parlez anglais?

[SPEAKING FRENCH]

[g*n SAFETY CLICKS]

Quite the pepper g*n

you got there, Madame.

Philippe

Where is he?

[DOOR SLAMS]

PATRICE: I would consider that one

of Audrey's warmer welcomes.

But she tells the truth,

I do not think Philippe

has ever married,

and frankly, I do not

know who would marry him.

SAM: You haven't met Brigid.

Sadly, I have met many Brigids.

She paid me a lot of money

to make sure the kid was

handed over to her father.

She wasn't one to part with money,

much less a lot of it.

So do you know where this

Philippe Saint-Andre is?

Who knows? Philippe is a vagabond.

Sometimes he's here,

sometimes he's there.

So why the will instructed you

to bring the girl here is a mystery.

All I know is I was sent a plane ticket,

first-class Pan Am to

Istanbul, to pick up the kid,

and two more tickets, coach

this time, to Marseille.

And then so instructed,

you come all the way

to our little village,

just to knock on a door

and hand over the girl

to whoever answered.

I was told her father would answer.

You did not wonder if the

child would even be welcome?

I was paid too much to wonder.

This was strictly a business matter

between you and Miss O'Shaughnessy?

She didn't pick my name out of a hat

if that's what you're asking.

We knew each other.

I see.

When you say "knew each other,"

you mean you knew each other well.

Well enough so she trusted me.

You were lovers, perhaps?

Oh, Jesus, you French.

- So yes?

- Briefly, didn't end well.

They never do.

Hearts break, one moves on,

the other one becomes lonely and bitter.

We didn't get that far.

- Why not?

- I put her in jail.

So, this Brigid O'Shaughnessy,

she trusted you because

you put her in jail.

She trusted me because

I got her out of jail.

Got her out?

How?

I knew who to talk to.

A most useful skill.

And the reason you felt

so compelled to free her?

She was two years into

20 when she got sick

and found out she was

dying, or so she thought.

Turned out even her body could lie.

They paroled her and she

lived another four years

before she d*ed in that train derailment

outside Istanbul a few months back.

Irony has always been my

favorite form of justice.

Not to mention the time it saves you.

What was she doing,

may I ask, in Istanbul?

Antiquing.

After her release from prison,

did you two pick up were you left off?

It didn't last much

longer than the car ride

from the prison to the motel.

Then she broke her parole

and lammed off to Europe.

You did not feel as

if no time had passed,

that despite all the

heartbreak and the bitterness,

you could still find a

small ember to reignite?

I have to say, Chief,

you've got a funny kind of curiosity.

I am a police officer.

I am curious about everything,

especially about men with

g*ns looking for trouble

or perhaps that bulge in your coat

is a lollipop for the little girl.

I'm looking for someone, is all.

Then I have mistaken you

for the sort of man who pays attention.

I couldn't tell you

what sort of man I am,

other than I keep my promises,

particularly when I'm paid to.

My advice

take the child back

to the United States.

If Philippe Saint-Andre is her father,

she's better off an orphan.

All the same, I need to find him.

And all the same, I am

suggesting, politely,

you look elsewhere.

[VEHICLE HUMS]

[FOOTSTEPS ECHO]

[CAR DOOR CLOSES]

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

Samuel Spade.

[ENGINE STARTS]

[MELANCHOLY MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

♪

[BIRDS CHIRPING, INSECTS BUZZING]

What do you call her?

Has she got a name?

Betty Bertha. Mama made her.

[COW MOOS]

[LIQUID GURGLES]

[CONVENT BELL TOLLS]

[SOFT ETHEREAL MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[THUNDER RUMBLES]

Looks like rain.

Sounds like rain, too.

[THUNDER CRASHES]

[WIND HOWLING]

[BIKE CHAIN CLATTERS]

You can finish that in the car.

[THUNDER CRASHES]

[OMINOUS MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[MELANCHOLY MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[LIGHTNING AND THUNDER CRASH]

[LIGHTNING CRACKLES]

[TIRES SCREECH, METAL CRUNCHES]

[ENGINE SPUTTERS AND STALLS]

[THUNDER AND LIGHTNING CRASH]

[DOOR SLAMS]

[THUNDER CRASHING]

[CAR HOOD SLAMS]

[THUNDER CRASHES]

[DOOR SLAMS]

We're going nowhere for a while.

Might as well get some sleep.

[LIGHTNING AND THUNDER CRASH]

[THUNDER CRASHES]

[LIGHTNING CRASHES] [GASPS]

[MELANCHOLY MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[ENGINE PURRING]

[BRAKES SQUEAL]

[SPEAKING FRENCH]

Sorry, I-I don't speak French.

- American?

- Since birth.

I don't suppose you know

how to fix one of these?

I was always under the impression

one just threw them away.

- Well, hello there!

- [DOG PANTS]

Shall I take you and your

daughter back to the village?

She's not my daughter, and it'd be great

if you could take us

anywhere but the village.

I understand. Please!

Charlemagne can get in the back.

- [CHARLEMAGNE YIPS]

- I wouldn't dare.

[CHARLEMAGNE WHIMPERING]

First time in a Rolls-Royce?

First time in one

that smells like roses.

I've been working in the garden.

I never had the feel.

I find water to be the key.

- Now you tell me.

- [CHUCKLES]

You speak perfect English.

I had a good teacher.

Another talent I lack.

Teaching? Learning.

You just have to be taught by someone

you want to listen to.

- I'm all ears.

- [CHARLEMAGNE PANTS]

[BELLS TOLLING]

[ETHEREAL MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[GENTLE MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

Madame Huchet.

[SPEAKING FRENCH]

What?

Let's talk in my office.

[DOOR OPENS]

See this here?

You've got the early

stages of emphysema.

Meaning?

You have to quit smoking.

Forget what you read,

forget the TV commercials

with the sexy girls.

Cigarettes are bad for you.

[LIGHTER CLICKS]

Am I dying?

No, but you're k*lling yourself.

How much time do I have?

Depends on you.

Stop now, you'll live another 30 years.

Don't stop, you'll

live another 30 years,

but you'll be in an oxygen tent.

Otherwise, you're in great shape.

Emphysema.

Not pretty.

[INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS]

[SOFT MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

♪

[DOG BARKS]

[CHICKEN SQUAWKS]

[CHILDREN SCREAM]

- Bonjour.

- Bonjour !

[GRAVEL CRUNCHES]

♪

[CHILDREN CLAMOR]

[TEACHER SPEAKS INDISTINCTLY IN FRENCH]

[GATE BELL RINGING]

[CHILDREN SQUEAL AND CLAMOR]

[WHISTLE BLOWS]

[SPEAKING FRENCH]

[CHUCKLES]

[LOCK AND CHAIN RATTLES]

[CHILDREN CLAMOR]

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

Mr. Spade?

How good to see you, maestro.

As always, do sit down.

Cigarette?

You don't mind if I have one?

Not if you promise to blow

the smoke in my direction.

- [LAUGHS]

- [CONVENT BELL TOLLS]

Your bells are a bit

behind, I have 10:24.

For over 300 years,

we sisters climbed the tower

and rang the bells by hand.

Then a salesman arrives last month

and convinces me to

have our bells automated.

The mechanism was installed last Friday.

Since then, the bells now

ring whenever they choose.

Maybe we're better

off not knowing exactly

how much time we've got.

Only if you aren't herding

children day until night.

How are the children?

Oh, thank the Lord,

very healthy and happy,

though, some prefer their solitude.

There's plenty to be said for solitude.

God loves her and keeps her safe.

For his efforts and yours.

As always, we are very

grateful, Mr. Spade.

A long time ago, someone said to me

that money and gratitude

don't always go hand in hand.

A cynical someone, no doubt.

They were the only

"someones" I knew back then.

Speaking of the past,

her father is coming home to Bozouls.

You don't say.

I assumed that he was dead,

but the dead don't write letters.

He has written several,

all confirmed by his mother

to be in Philippe's own hand.

You've spoken with Madame Saint-Andre?

Audrey has become very

attentive to her granddaughter.

Once a week, she brings her clothing

she has sewn herself.

You didn't think this was

maybe something I should know?

I'm telling you now

so that you are aware

that he will be here soon.

Audrey could have written

those letters herself.

To what purpose?

The girl's rich.

I assume you mean spiritually.

This isn't exactly the Hotel Georges V.

There's a trust fund full of money

that can only be

described as ill-gotten.

Every dime goes to

Teresa when she turns 18,

which I'm sure Philippe knew,

given his part in separating said money

from its rightful owners.

Oh.

Philippe Saint-Andre is a thief?

What a surprise.

He stole the money with

the help of Teresa's mother,

who apparently knew Philippe well enough

to put the money in

Teresa's name and not his.

And you were involved

in this how, Mr. Spade?

Peripherally.

Philippe has always denied paternity

and until evidently, very recently,

his mother has never acknowledged

her granddaughter's existence.

But, now as Teresa gets closer to 18,

he's writing letters and

she's knitting pullovers?

The w*r changed a lot of people.

Very few for the better.

Grandmaman Audrey is up to something.

I always hoped that,

with time, Teresa would warm to you.

I sent her mother to rot in prison

and her father to die in Algeria.

It's gonna be a long wait.

But she knows that you care about her.

Keeping a promise isn't

the same thing as caring.

What I promised was to

bring the girl to Bozouls.

Yes, well, as the good book says,

"He who promises runs in debt."

Is that Old Testament or New?

The Talmud.

Aren't we full of our own surprises?

I do so enjoy our

chats, my dear Mr. Spade.

[SOFT MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[GRAVEL CRUNCHING]

♪

[WATER TRICKLING]

What are you doing? I

fixed the dishwasher.

[SPEAKING FRENCH]

I'm on a health kick.

So can I.

Sorry, I don't understand.

Can you speak English?

Do me a favor and

start locking the doors.

Yeah, well, this trouble

needs no invitation.

You don't seem all that worried.

[MANTEL CLOCK DINGS SOFTLY]

[MANTEL CLOCK TICKS]

[SOFT ETHEREAL MUSIC PLAYING]

[PAPER RUSTLES]

♪

[LIGHTER CAP CLICKING]

♪

[CLICKING CONTINUES]

♪

[CHILD GIGGLES]

[DOG BARKING, CHILD LAUGHS]

♪

GABRIELLE: How would

you like to earn a fee

on top of what you're

already being paid?

SAM: Doing what exactly?

What you're going to do anyway,

talk to Philippe Saint-Andre.

Just talk to him?

He's blackmailing me.

Over what? You k*ll your husband?

Okay.

My husband was a n*zi.

He was German?

Worse, he was French.

Jacques was a collaborateur.

And Philippe is threatening

to tell the authorities?

Not only them,

the newspapers, the international press.

Why would they care?

I'm sure a lot of partisans

k*lled a lot of n*zi

collaborators back then.

And their children.

That was 10 years ago.

What's different now?

Algeria.

Stopping h*tler was

something we could all agree

was worth whatever the cost.

There is, however, far less accord

about our recent conflict.

And it certainly doesn't help

when both sides are locked

in some sick competition,

committing one atrocity after another.

I grew up thinking

that when my family went

on vacation to Laurent,

we were going to another part of France.

And what do you feel about it now?

It only matters what

people think I feel.

Just like it doesn't matter

that Jacques had to be punished

for betraying the town of his birth,

for aiding in the suffering

of his old friends,

just so he could sleep in his own bed,

keep making his wine,

or drive his burgundy-colored car.

But now, after this

w*r, if you're French,

the only thing that matters

is that we punished him ourselves.

We? Does that mean Philippe

is blackmailing more than just you?

This is about me.

I don't want the people

of Bozouls involved, please.

I won't allow the people here

to live through such

misery all over again,

which is what will happen

if Philippe carries

through on his threats.

They're not afraid of jail.

They're afraid of being

remembered as w*r criminals,

especially by their children.

I'd like to help you,

but if I'm to get my current fee,

I gotta sort out what to do with her.

Man of conscience. I understand.

Man of many debts, more like.

To be honest with you,

the sooner I get her parked,

the sooner I can move on.

I have a thought on that,

which will take a few days to work out.

Maybe I can pay you to just think

about how I can deal with this situation

without k*lling anyone.

Oh, there's plenty of ways

of getting rid of a

man without k*lling him,

especially when there's a w*r on.

Interesting.

Your local constable

made it pretty clear,

he wants me to pick another place to be.

So stay with me.

In the carriage house.

[ETHEREAL MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[WATER SPLASHING]

[GENTLE MUSIC PLAYING]

[COUGHS]

GEORGE: Hello.

My name's George Fitzsimmons, sir.

What can I do for you, Mr. Fitzsimmons?

Is Madame LaVarone home?

No, I'm afraid not.

Ah, any idea when she might return?

When the sun goes cold.

I beg your pardon?

She's no longer with us.

Oh.

I see.

I'm not selling.

Good, and I'm not buying.

I could never afford

such a lovely property.

That makes two of us.

What did you want with my wife?

Wife?

Oh, dear.

I am an idiot.

My condolences.

I'm I'm I'm so sorry.

I had no idea she'd remarried.

Did you know her?

Yes, quite a while ago.

A young boy right after the World w*r.

See, my father was a landscape painter.

Syngin Fitzsimmons.

Well, Madame LaVarone allowed

him to paint on the estate.

The the ravine.

The vineyard and cows.

Oh, yeah. There's a painting

hanging in the library.

Yes, it's a gift of

gratitude from my father.

See, we lived in the carriage

house for three months.

Still remember the day we departed.

I was desolate, sobbing.

I loved being here.

Well, to tell you the truth,

I did have a bit of a heart

flutter for the madame.

Understandable.

I'm wondering Mr

Spade.

Gabrielle Spade. Think of that.

You were wondering

what, Mr. Fitzsimmons?

It's

Well, I am now an artist as well.

And you want to paint here.

If my clumping around won't

be too much of a disturbance?

Not at all.

Come clump whenever you want.

As long as you're quiet

and I never see you.

Good, consider me just

another cow in the pasture.

We sold the cows

right after the carriage

house b*rned to the ground.

[SLOW MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

You always did have a thing for strays.

♪

[MAN ON RADIO SPEAKING FRENCH]

Man on the moon.

What the hell for?

[ENGINE HUMMING]

[SLOW MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[DOOR OPENS]

[FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING]

Morning.

Oh, Helena

could you ask Henri to come see me?

[INSECTS BUZZING]

How do, Mr. Spade?

George.

What's the matter, Jean-Pierre?

You got lost in the dark last night?

Maybe you forgot you were

gonna stay off my property.

- Your property.

- Oh, Jesus.

Have you been sitting

there since last night?

What are you talking about?

I wasn't here last night.

Then who was?

How would I know? I wasn't here.

Philippe Saint-Andre.

Did you lend him your bike?

Sometimes he just takes it.

He's an old friend after all.

Oh. With friends like

that, who needs friends?

Jean-Pierre.

There's some things you

just don't ever want to do.

[SCOFFS]

We have all heard the stories.

What a tough guy you once were.

There's no such thing.

I wonder.

Are they true stories,

or just things you tell

a woman, like my wife?

Hey, wait,

I have a business

proposition for you, Spade.

Do not laugh at me.

Then don't be ridiculous.

I'm very serious. Buy my

half of the health club.

You mean Marguerite's half?

You talk to her about this?

She never has to know.

Funny thing about drunks,

they think they make sense.

You buy me out, I disappear.

You get the whole club and my

wife completely to yourself.

What makes you think

that I want Marguerite,

or she wants me?

Think about it.

You tell your old friend Philippe,

he wants to talk to me,

he can come and harangue me to my face

like everyone else.

[MARGUERITE SINGING IN FRENCH]

Hello, Mr. Spade.

Mrs. Devereux.

Drink?

It's a little early, don't you think?

Or a little late, depending

on one's point of view.

Last night I thought

I could hear the party

- all the way up at my place.

- Did you now?

But maybe that was

just you and Jean-Pierre

throwing bottles at each other.

Did he hit you?

Maybe I hit him first.

I can take care of myself.

He came by this morning

on his motorcycle.

For once, let's not

talk about Jean-Pierre.

You should have come in last night.

Full house, standing ovations.

You sure this is right?

Like I said, we had a full house.

Your husband already

thinks I stole the joint.

Jean-Pierre thinks you

stole more than the club.

If he only knew.

But the club is not

his. The club is mine.

Ours.

Is this what set him off?

Jean-Pierre doesn't need much.

- [COUGHING]

- You feeling all right?

I'm fine. Never better.

The other night, I'm

walking by the cemetery

and I see you inside.

Evening's a nice time to do that.

Must be, as you are there every night.

Oh, you go by the cemetery that often?

I'm shopping for a plot.

Two years have passed, Sam.

I stopped looking at

calendars and mirrors

a long time ago.

[BELLS TOLLING]

[INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS]

[CONVERSE IN FRENCH]

Patrice.

I'm watching my weight.

Watching it do what?

You might want to put

a pin on Mr. Jean-Pierre

and Madame Marguerite Devereux.

They had another

battle royal last night.

I know, I talked to her.

Sometimes I wish they'd

just k*ll each other

and give the rest of us some peace.

Jean-Pierre hasn't been

right since he was discharged.

The w*r has come home.

Sooner or later, they always do.

This one, this Algerian

fiasco, is different.

But Jean-Pierre is a model

citizen compared to others.

I don't suppose you've

heard the good news.

We're getting a bowling alley?

Philippe Saint-Andre has

apparently returned home.

Do I have to worry

about you and Philippe?

[MAN SPEAKS FRENCH]

[COINS JINGLING]

If you don't watch out, Patrice,

you're gonna burn in hell.

I'm a goalist.

So to many, I'm already there.

- Answer my question.

- What's to worry about?

We've discussed two different

men who want you dead,

and my breakfast hasn't yet arrived.

Yeah, but only one of

those men is a sociopath.

One is enough.

I told you back then

that your solution was no solution.

Yeah, but you weren't paying me.

Gabrielle was.

[MAN ON RADIO SPEAKING FRENCH]

[CHANGING RADIO STATIONS]

["QU'IL FAIT BON DE VIVRE ICI" BY PAUL

BONNEAU, PIERRE DUCLOS, ELIANE BLACHE PLAYING]

[MOTORCYCLE ENGINE HUMMING]

♪

[TIRES SCREECHING]

♪

[SLOW MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[SPEAKING FRENCH]

♪

Ah.

Hello, Henri.

m*llitary life treating you all right?

Well, the training is difficult

mentally, physically.

But what's hardest is discipline.

I do not take orders easily.

I know what you mean.

You were in the army, Mr. Spade?

No, I was a conscientious objector.

You don't believe in

k*lling your fellow man?

Oh, I think there's plenty

of men worth k*lling,

as well as plenty of

wars worth fighting.

I'd just rather choose myself.

Like the bad penny he is,

Philippe Saint-Andre

has snuck back into town.

How can I help?

You still spending time

with that little redheaded number?

Uh which would that be?

Redheads are all I spend my time with.

I'm talking about the

redhead you brought to dinner,

the one who works as

the General's secretary.

I need you to eyeball

Philippe's service file,

his activities in Algeria

and everything since.

I don't want you or the redhead

to get in to any trouble over this.

Your grandmother would k*ll me.

Well, she always said that

Saint-Andre was a bully,

that he likes to hurt people.

His special gift.

And that he was blackmailing your wife

before she was your wife.

Gabrielle had some

difficulties with Philippe, yes.

So you sent him away?

Well, I convinced him he might

live longer by going off to w*r.

I'll see what I can find.

[UTENSILS CLINKING]

[TELEPHONE RINGING]

PHILIPPE: Stay away from Teresa.

Well, if it isn't father of the year.

I mean what I say, Spade.

She doesn't want you going near her.

I hear your mother's taken up knitting.

If only you knew half

as much as you thought.

I'd invite you over here for

a drink to explain it all,

but I'm guessing you're

up to your neck in sh*t.

Mind your own f*cking business.

[FAINT GROANING]

[g*n f*ring]

Philippe?

PATRICE: I told you yesterday

that Philippe had returned.

I asked you if I had to worry.

And now I'm telling you, yes.

No, you are telling me

that you received a phone

call from Philippe Saint-Andre,

which is I admit, concerning,

but not overly so.

And then you say that during this call,

you heard a g*nsh*t, fired by whom?

Fired at him?

I am saying that Philippe was in a room

where a g*n was fired,

either by him or at him.

And I would assume that you,

legendary bloodhound that you are,

would've already leapt out of your chair

and be sniffing the

countryside in search of him.

Your cheap canine comparison aside,

I do consider myself

expert on all things

Philippe Saint-Andre.

And I am telling you that

the man will not be found

unless he wants to be found.

So what you're an expert at is waiting.

Oh, so now you insult

my professionalism?

Maybe just your courage.

My courage has never been in doubt.

I've got the wounds to prove that.

Unlike some of us.

And now you insult my w*r record?

One has to have first fought in a w*r

to have a w*r record.

I thought we promised to

only have this conversation

- when we're drunk.

- I'm hungover.

Does that count?

Tell me, Patrice,

how would you feel if

Philippe hurt someone?

Depends on the someone.

Okay, I will put my

best man on the search.

Your best man? Does that

mean your idiot brother?

Is nothing good enough?

Maurice is an excellent detective.

Maurice couldn't find water

if he fell out of a boat.

Don't make me say it.

What? That we've been

through so much together?

That you owe me.

You got that backwards, haven't you?

You live here at my pleasure.

[GLASS SHATTERS]

Maurice. [SNAPS FINGERS]

[SAM COUGHING]

No?

[CRICKETS CHIRPING]

[SLOW MUSIC PLAYING]

[COUGHING]

♪

[INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS]

♪

GABRIELLE: Sam, Philippe Saint-Andre.

That him?

Not tonight.

♪

[COUGHING]

♪

I guess I missed the show.

That better be the '52.

Sometimes Patrice is right.

I mean, there's a lot

of rocks to look under

between here and Algiers.

And you are not a little bit curious

why Philippe has come back?

Nope.

Or why he called you in

the middle of a gunfight?

It was more like the

beginning of a gunfight.

Even given what he

tried to do to Gabrielle.

This is still not your business?

Au contraire.

Hearing that g*nsh*t reminded me

I'm allergic to other people's business.

Since when?

Since moving to beautiful Bozouls.

But before you came,

your talent was other

people's business, yes?

"Talent." That's rich.

Paid metal as Miles used to call it.

♪

People come to you with their problems,

and you end up

inheriting those problems.

But you're good at fixing them,

so the problems keep coming,

along with the money.

In a very short while,

the problems go from small to deadly.

Turns out you're good at those, too.

Maybe too good.

One day you wake up,

you look in the mirror

and you see someone you don't much like.

No big deal.

Just don't look in the mirror anymore.

The money and the drink

are a nice distraction

until you finally rot from

the inside all the way out.

And no matter how much you drink

or how much money you make,

you can never get away

from your own stink.

That's very vivid.

But not the reason why you are here.

People don't just come

to beautiful Bozouls.

You'd make a good

detective, better than me.

- Please, I own a bar.

- Co-own.

The first time I came in this place,

you were the only one who

didn't look at me cross-eyed.

But I have many times since.

What are you doing here, Spade?

Making sweet love to your wife.

Now I'm going.

You should be more afraid of me.

You don't know who the f*ck I am,

which means you don't know

what I've done or what I can do.

You think I'm a fool?

I don't think you're a fool.

I think you're like one of those guys

late at night in the bar

who plays the same sad song over

and over again on the jukebox.

[BOTH GRUNTING]

[GRUNTING]

I remember the not-drunk version of you.

It wasn't such a bad egg.

I mean, after all

she married you.

[COUGHING]

[SLOW MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

TERESA: [PANTING] Mr. Spade.

Teresa?

Help me.

[PANTING]

♪

- I ran the whole way.

- Tell me what happened

and start with whose

blood you're wearing.

My father's.

Philippe came to see you?

Someone sh*t him.

Did you see who?

It was before.

Did he tell you who sh*t him?

He said, "Very bad men."

As in men worse than him?

I know people don't like my father,

but they don't know him.

Not the way I do.

Still, we're sitting here

because your father got sh*t

by, and I quote, "some very bad men,"

which I can only assume was

over some very bad business.

And yet despite the danger,

he somehow figures that

the best person to run to

is his 14-year-old daughter.

I'm 15. [SPEAKS FRENCH]

So I'm told. Where is he now?

Teresa, where is Philippe?

- Can I have another?

- No.

So he knocks on the door

with a b*llet in him,

gives you a hug, and

then what, just leaves?

- Yes.

- And during that brief stay, he did what?

Said what?

Stop thinking about what

lie he wants you to tell

and tell me what actually happened.

The people who sh*t him,

they followed him to the convent?

I don't know who sh*t Papa.

Maybe the monk.

He came right after Papa left.

He started banging on

the gate with a stick.

He wanted to see the Mother Superior.

This monk, what did he look like?

Ugly face with a with a raspy voice.

Big nose, brown eyes?

One of those floppy hoods?

- You know him?

- I've seen him.

What did he want with

the Mother Superior?

I don't know.

He barged in and he

started shouting at her.

She told him to get out,

but he took the Lord's

name in vain and then,

and then he hit her.

Is she all right?

I don't know.

Everything was so confused after that.

Everyone hid. Not everyone.

You came here, why?

'Cause I'm the oldest and the fastest.

Yeah, but why come here and

not the Gendarmerie?

He frightens me.

You stay here. Don't move.

[DIALING]

[RINGING]

Sorry to wake you.

There's a problem.

Helena will be here in a minute.

I'm gonna go check things out.

If trouble comes, read the book.

[DOOR CLOSES]

[SLOW MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

WOMAN: [WHIMPERING]

♪

[KNOCK ON DOOR]

[WOMAN SPEAKING FRENCH]

I'm not gonna hurt you.

Shh. Shh. Shh.

Okay.

[ALL YELL]

Shh. Shh. Shh.

Shh.

[GIRLS WHIMPERING]

[SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

[EERIE MUSIC PLAYS]

♪

[EERIE MUSIC BUILDS]

♪

[SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC PLAYS]

♪

[CONVENT BELLS TOLLING]

♪

[BELLS TOLLING]

[CLOSING THEME MUSIC PLAYING]

♪

Terribly sad.

MAN: Do you still

possess a working p*stol?

♪

SPADE: Anyone who wants to sh**t me

will have to bring their own g*n.

Get down!

Could Jean-Pierre have done this?

Philippe could have taken the sh*t.

MAN: You have many enemies.

I'd like you to meet my mother.

You either saw something

you shouldn't have seen,

or you know something

you shouldn't know.

Philippe shows up with a kid.

The boy is the hub of

a many-spoked wheel.

That sounds like something

you read in a fortune cookie.

We all pretend, Mr. Spade.

If I want you dead, I just have to wait.

Mr. Spade, do you have

any specific information

- you want to share?

- SPADE: They want the boy.

Everyone from the Vatican

to French intelligence

to the CIA is after this kid.

WOMAN: Mr. Spade, you

want to be left alone.

And yet, sadly, our pasts are portable.

[g*nsh*t]