Lucky Jo Page #4

It must be true, you have a lot

of experience now, big girl.

Yes, I'm five years older then you.

What should I have done during these

five years? Some upholstery?

You never asked me anything. I don't

understand why you make a fuss.

You did not only grow up,

you also make much more noise now.

Listen...

Do you think I would act differently

if you were kinder with me?

It would make me happy. That's all.

But nobody's happy to hear

your nasty remarks. Not even you.

And now you make some

psycho-analysis...

under your painted hair.

I had a hard time leaving the club.

I said I had to visit

my sick mother.

How can I be so dumb?

What made me come here?

By foot to boot.

- It was a long walk.

- Why not take a cab?

But maybe you save your money?

- I don't have any money.

- Where is it?

You're such a sucker...

Your darling plays the guitar

and you spit out the money.

I buy myself some affection

the way I can.

But today...

I haven't a penny left

to buy your affection.

Why, lil' Mimi?

You need some affection?

No. Maybe you're a savage but I'm not.

You kid me. You're mean.

And then hop! You want to get laid without

a nice word. Mimi just says no.

There's no hurry...

I'm in a hurry.

You know you begin to

get on my nerves, girl...

After five years of stale bread you think one

wants to recite poetry in front a juicy steak?

No, my darling...

One just wants to chew into the steak.

Without class.

Without a fork.

Without a knife. Just like that.

Alright.

Without a knife...

but no hat either.

Moron! Sh*t!

Stay quiet kiddo!

Stop!

It was an hold-up?

No, it was a joke from the management.

Black 404. 34-35 GC 78.

OK. And then?

All I know is that I hurt one

of them, Mr Inspector,

and then they ran away.

To know the rest of the story, dear

Inspector Odile, we count on you.

So you give me the case,

Mr Chief Inspector?

With great pleasure, dear

Auxiliary Inspector. Thierry...

Find me the 404 and its owner.

And then...

Now it's your business, Inspector.

Go on, Thierry.

I have no hope with the owner.

Probably a stolen car as usual.

Only certainties must be spoken aloud,

dear Auxiliary Inspector.

Keep your guesses for yourself and

don't congest my poor head with them.

Well, dear grumpy Chief Inspector...

it's certainly a stolen car.

Right. The 404 belongs to

a man named Simon Archambaut.

And Simon Archambaut is

one of our old clients.

Great.

Now we could play it like this...

- Jo is here?

- No.

So he brought back the

car and he left.

- Damn Jo.

- So you went to Paris for nothing?

That's it.

- How was Paris then?

- Far from Bougival.

- I'm fixing lunch. You coming?

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