Cloportes (La Métamorphose des cloportes)

CLOPORTES

Apache! Quiet!

Let me sum up: two full bottles...

...a pressure regulator and a twenty meter hose...

...for three thousand francs!

With which I can guarantee three hours of work...

...at three thousand degrees.

You sum up, you guarantee...

A nice piece of work you are.

First, a man in my league...

...never needed three hours to unlock a peter.

Second, given the monster I’m about to tackle...

...three thousand degrees is barely lukewarm.

I dare say I hoped to find more than mundane junk in your place.

What would you like?

The works of Arsène Lupin in twelve volumes?

A green flash? A magic wand?

The new gazified nitrogen blow torch!

Could you mean this, by any chance, gentleman?

I’ll be damned.

Happy to hear that.

But this is not the tool of just anyone, for the price of just anything.

This is one million! Fuel not included.

I’ll be bloody damned!

You’re repeating yourself somewhat.

Don’t get me wrong, Gertrude.

If I had begun my career with stuff like this...

...Onassis and I would talk as equal powers.

Unfortunately, I’m no beginner.

On the contrary, I’m on the verge of hanging up.

That’s funny, I heard that you already did.

That you became a pimp, living off ladies.

Aren’t you happy with it?

Let’s say I’m doing a lap of honour.

And pray, what’s your folly?

A Winter-Winter 53.

Ain’t you afraid of setting your sights a bit high?

A Winter-Winter crammed to the point of breaking apart.

Owned by clowns trusting enough to cancel the burglar alarm.

Oh, oh, provocation!

But achtung, kid!

A Winter-Winter is something special.

Molybdenum and titanium.

An infernal alloy!

A devilry!

H. Cusin – Stockbroker

Here, between the fifth and the sixth struts,

are you tailing me? - Yeah.

You’ve got twenty centimetres where you can pass, not a hair more.

Just on the edge of the back pulling rack rails,

between the two electrodes. Are you tailing me?

Yes, but there’s a hitch.

I don’t have a million.

Too bad: I’d have owned the tool I deserve.

How long would you need it?

One hour to get there, one hour on the job,

one hour to come back. That’s three hours.

I’ll do you a favour.

Three thousand an hour, fuel included.

That’s nine hundred thousands! Where do you want me to find them?

Wherever you want! Go beg in the street!

Organize a raffle! Take out a loan!

Good morning, Mr. Clancul. Is Edmond home?

Oh, no, young man, Edmond is not home.

Edmond is more and more always never home.

A small drink between Pigalle and Blanche,

then he migrates to the Drugstore bar.

What do you want him for?

I thought I’d buy him lunch.

Well, if you want to partake in our humble food.

From what plant do we get our nourishment today, Granny?

Today, we’re being a little naughty:

Soya beans with algae, rice, and mespilus jam.

No, you’re very nice, but somebody’s waiting for me.

Don’t you think fasting and contemplation are somewhat keeping Edmond away?

Work is keeping him away, mostly.

To think that the bastard was really gifted!

He could shape the curves of a shoe like no one could.

He had the magic touch. But no focus.

He never had a very well-structured mind.

He doesn’t overcome appearances.

Oh?

Oh, here you are at last!

I just checked the warehouse: no Rouquemoute.

His hotel? No Rouquemoute.

I was left kicking my heels for one hour there.

I’d like to talk to you. - We must.

Did you see the ugly man?

I say: I’d really like to know what you’re hunting...

...a client or Prince Charming?

Cause if you’re waiting for Gregory Peck to pass through...

...you’re not about to get some.

What’s got into you, mister Arthur?

Where is he? - Who?

The Rouquemoute.

Men never tell where they’re going or where they’re coming from.

They’re full of secrets.

Look, miss...

...we didn’t interrupt your activities to hear your philosophy of life...

...as brilliant as your ideas might be.

My friend asked where Rouquemoute is.

Either you tell him...

...or I start with a few kicks and end the job with a razor.

Oh? - Yes.

Well. A real nice chap, your friend is.

Rouquemoute came by less than twenty minutes ago.

He said he had a terrible morning...

...and was going to nibble on something before lunch. But where...

Right. I’ll see you one of these days.

What did he mean, a terrible morning?

Oh, don’t buzz, you’re going to suffer an adrenalin rush.

You’ll grant me that the faggot deserves a few slaps in the face.

He chooses the time of the rendez-vous...

...he’s supposed to bring the hardware, then he evaporates.

See, there was no need to get excited.

It’s about time!

It’s the best cake shop in Europe.

Tell him we don’t give a damn.

I’ve got a major problem, chaps!

We tell you we don’t give a damn.

The caper is off. - What?

Let him talk.

We don’t have a torch anymore.

Maybe you could have told us before?

In order to tell, one has to know.

I held the miracle blow torch in my mitts.

I thought a friend was handing it to me.

I don’t even dare to tell you the price.

Three million. - What?

There are no more friends.

There are only gluttons. Blackmailers.

Or the tender type, like yours truly.

Didn’t I tell you he deserves a slap on his nose?

Should a lady do to me what Gertrude did to you,

I’d off her in a sec.

Gee, and what else? You’re really full of vim, ain’t you?

We’re talking for nothing anyway.

It was a beautiful dream, that’s all.

- No. - What, no?

I do not dream, I think!

What’s new since yesterday?

The dough is still in the safe...

...the safe in the same place...

...the car park is under pressure.

What we lack is the gentleman’s blow torch.

Well, I say such a blow torch can be found.

Yes it can. With three million.

I know a guy who’s got the three million.

Getty? - A guy you know.

A guy I know would lend us three million?

You amaze me.

- Alphonse. - I know fifty Alphonse.

"Clever" Alphonse.

How much do you think there is in the peter?

According to the accountant who’s friends...

...with the wife of my nephew’s mate...

...there should be between twelve and twenty million.

Closer to twelve.

Divided by four, that’s three millions each.

A guy like Alphonse will think it’s either a tip or a joke.

Either he laughs or he thumps.

There’s a way of telling things.

Why didn’t you bring me here before.

I was afraid you wouldn’t like it.

There’s a very motley clientele.

- Hi, Alphonse. - Hi.

- Good evening, Alphonse. - Evening...

Tomorrow, the races in Auteuil could be fun. Just give us a call.

OK.

- What’s so funny? - Your friends.

Oh, friends... Just guys I saw once or twice.

A gentleman would like to talk to you, mister Maréchal.

A mister Edmont.

Tell him to come.

Who is this mister Edmont?

A former college mate of mine.

- Am I intruding? - Yes.

Edmont, of whom I talked to you.

- A friend. - Charmed.

Take a seat. Did you have dinner?

No, but I’m not hungry.

I don’t want anything anymore.

No. Maybe a few oysters, just to keep you company.

- What are you eating? - Clams.

A dozen clams and a dozen Belon oysters then.

And a glass.

Well, it may be the solution.

I’ve got to talk to you.

You might lose me.

- What’s your trouble? - I may die in the next 24 hours.

- Did a doctor tell you that? - No, Frédo the Greek did.

You know that I sometimes play cards at the Astronauts Club.

I haven’t been dealt three of a kind in five weeks.

First they gobbled my savings...

...then Frédo gave me some credit.

The bastard.

As a result, I owe ten million.

Nice. But just for the record...

...what do you think I can do about it?

When you want, you can do anything.