Bastille Day Page #2

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- Shut the f*** up.

Hey.

- Are you in love?

- Love?

- No.

- Are you writing a novel?

- What? No.

- What the f*** are you doing in Paris?

- I just...

- What organisation do you work for?

Your manifesto says

this is the first strike.

- My...

- Where are you bombing next?

- I'm not a terrorist.

- Is this not you?

That is... I put the bag in the trash.

But I didn't know there was a bomb in it.

- I'm sorry, man.

- Somebody gave it to you?

- I stole it.

- You stole it?

I'm a pick-pocket. It's what I f***ing do.

- You didn't look inside?

- Yeah, I looked inside.

- You didn't see the bomb?

- There was just crap in there.

It was a wig, a toy. I put it back.

I swear to God. I'm really sorry.

- I didn't... I'm sorry.

- Shut up!

Focus!

I didn't know what was in that bag.

But you ran and you made me chase you,

and innocent people do not run.

You were coming after me.

Have you seen yourself?

What I need you to understand

is this does not look good for you.

One phone call and you're on a phantom

flight to the middle of nowhere,

off the grid.

You would not be missed.

It wasn't my bag.

I swear to God.

Whose was it?

Er... this girl.

- Describe her.

- OK. She was pretty.

She had brown hair and a blonde wig.

She had a bag. Her body language made me

think there was something valuable in it.

Two pounds of Semtex. Well done.

That's her phone. That was in the bag.

It rang and I answered it.

Some French guy, he called her Zoe.

- Where'd you steal it?

- Pigalle.

If I go to surveillance cameras,

I see you stealing it?

- I only work blind spots so no cameras.

- Yeah.

Because you don't have a record in Paris.

No thefts, no pick-pockets,

no stolen bags.

- Just this motherfucking terrorist money.

- That is from selling the stuff I steal.

- Who do you sell it to?

- I have a guy.

- Where?

- In Barbs.

You must be really good.

Overall number one draft pick

of pick-pockets.

I'm the best.

You'd better be.

Walk up to me and steal my wallet.

OK.

I wouldn't have a guy come up to me in

the street and ask me to steal his wallet.

- It doesn't work like that.

- Just do it.

OK, OK. Er...

Well, I'd walk up to the guy,

avoid eye contact,

step to the side, look him in the eye

and then I'd be gone.

- Still there.

- But the money's gone.

See, I took the wallet the first time

and then put it back the second,

only without the money.

It's all about the distraction.

You were too busy watching me

to see what I was doing.

Give me that.

Sit down.

Bonjour.

Zoe Naville?

Sorry, I think you got the wrong address.

American?

Yeah.

It's cluite specific, this address.

Well, I'm sorry I can't help you.

- Sorry to have disturbed you.

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