See You Up There Page #5

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And I don't want the publicity.

So find him. Or them.

Why me?

Because it takes a sh*t to catch one.

"Illuminations and bunting on Paris's main monuments."

Oh, it'll be beautiful!

"Fireworks.

"Belleville and Mnilmontant.

"A cavalry parade

"at the racecourse."

Bastille Day's going to be special!

I order you to marry me. To the town hall! Left, right...

Then a long trip to Africa.

Please marry me. Oh go on!

Will you marry me?

That's naughty!

What?

People selling fake war memorials.

Non-existent memorials.

Look.

FAKE WAR MEMORIALS The next national scandal?

I understand.

All your mates who died fighting.

Such a nasty thing to do.

But they'll catch them

and punish those crooks.

It'll be terrible for them.

It's me.

What do you mean?

The war memorials in the paper. It's me.

Won't you marry me?

No.

Nobody, Chairman. Nobody at all.

Nobody knows!

I told nobody!

Well, actually...

"Actually" what?

A lady friend who swore she wouldn't repeat it.

What does this lady friend do?

What?

Good grief!

"Good grief" what?

She was taking notes while we...

She's a journalist.

I can't do much. He went too far. Too many people know.

You didn't get where you are on your own.

Nobody's as vulnerable as a minister.

I know how much I owe you, but...

I mean the future, not the past.

I'll see what I can do.

Forget "can do". What you will do.

Very well.

I can reassure our young friend?

He's your friend?

But not another squeak from him!

- See you soon. - Indeed.

He's at the Luttia.

Under the name of Eugne Larivire or Jules d'Epremont.

A nutter in a mask who draws all day long.

He's leaving within 24 hours.

You need to be quick.

Put a foot wrong and I'll crush you.

My, my, Pauline...

This isn't the service entrance.

Broken heart?

I'll always be here to console you.

Still to the Luttia?

No.

Follow that car, please.

Lieutenant?

Maillard.

What are you doing here?

I asked why you're here.

This is a building site.

Private Maillard.

Put it down, Maillard.

Put it down now.

The war's over.

I don't know.

I don't know anymore.

Put it down. That's an order!

Maillard!

Help me out!

Private Maillard!

It was an accident.

I couldn't have killed him.

He didn't fall in by himself.

That's true.

Then what?

I hid in a room near the Gare de Lyon.

Waiting for Edouard.

Mr. Larivire or Jules d'Epremont?

I'm one of your victims.

But in fact I don't give a damn.

There's something in your drawings

that reminds me of the work of somebody I knew.

I thought you might have known him...

I'd have liked to tell him...

He was right to want to be who he was.

That there was genius to his art.

That you had to be an idiot not to see it.

Above all, I wanted to tell him

that he was my son

and I was proud of him.

Thank you.

That's it.

See you up there.

I'll take over.

Go home, you two.

I said I'll take over.

I'm going out for 10 minutes.

I stupidly left the handcuff keys behind.

Unfortunately, the phone doesn't work,

starting...

now.

So I can't report you until tomorrow.

Pity the border's only a few hours away on foot

or, with money, an hour by taxi.

Why do all this?

Who was the young soldier shot by Pradelle?

Young Thrieux.

My kid.

Safe journey, Private Maillard.

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