The Tiger Brigades (Les Brigades du Tigre)

In 1907, France is hit by a wave of bloody crimes.

The Minister of the Interior, Georges Clemenceau, “The Tiger”,

creates the “mobile brigades” to fight these new criminals.

1912. Across France they are known by another name.

I am Chief Inspector Faivre, your superior.

I am your father, mother, judge and, if needed, executioner.

You belong to the 1st mobile brigade. This is your big opportunity.

You are men of the brigade, with one home, one task and one goal: state security.

We have the best equipment and weapons. Not bad. The spirit,

the men and officers are among the best in France.

You rely on intuition and tips from informants.

Intuition is for animals. Tips are for gamblers.

Your weapons are logic, anthropometry, and fingerprints,

auto mechanics, automatic weapons, good shoes and above all...

Next! - ...a perfect ethical code.

Next! - There are no closed cases here,

only solved cases! The men of the brigade love success.

Failure does not belong here.

Next!

I pity thieves, pimps and anarchists

and other scum, because you hunt them down, catch them and put them where they belong: in prison!

When you come home in the evening, you may be proud.

If your son asks what you have done,

believe me, you won’t have to say: “cleaning the cell.”

For the brigade, the republic and France!

So? How was I? Wonderful.

THE TIGER BRIGADES

In an hour. On Rue Ordener.

Two guards in the front of the van and one inside.

It is in the safe. A leather register marked SGED.

Where is Piotr?

It will be fine.

Be careful, alright?

That is my job.

I help Russia, France and myself!

“Sir” has a pension plan? How are you going to do that?

You’ll have to take care of yourself while I get 8% per year,

- from the state. - From the boss.

That’s why you’re sucking up to him.

I do good work. That’s why the director likes me.

- Get out! - No!

I want them to know what we took.

Stop!

Take what you want!

THE FIRST MOTORIZED ROBBERY

His hairline?

Hello. I am Achille Bianchi.

I am one of the new recruits.

I am in this team. - Bianchi... where are you from?

- Milan. - Ah, Spain...

I can’t stand Italians. - Your desk.

Thank you.

Do you clean at home? - No...

Here you do it twice a week.

Three phones. Answer and take messages.

Unless it’s for me of course. How were his eyes?

Creepy. Okay, but small, slanted or big?

I don’t know. Small.

- Maybe also slanted. - Small and slanted.

We’re getting somewhere.

I think he wore glasses.

Glasses? What kind?

Listen, Bianchi, you’ve got skilled fingers.

So we thought you could type reports.

That way you stay informed.

Imagine him without glasses.

Start with mine to warm up.

His mouth... lips... mustache? Small? Thin?

Yes

- Thin? - Yes.

Yes, that’s him. What an artist!

- Unrivaled. - Right.

Raymond Caillemin, aka Brains.

Born in Brussels, wanted for armed robbery.

- Hi, darling. - How do you know that?

Everyone knows it. The police are ahead of us.

Brains arrested! Everything in the Excelsior !

An accomplice arrested! Bonnot still free!

It’s pointless without Raymond.

We ask the owner for the code.

Casimir Cagne? You can’t get near him.

What do you suggest?

Europe versus Russian expansion

We ask for help. Jaurès? I don’t trust politicians.

He is a journalist and my friend.

It’s the scandal of the century. We need the press.

What if he can’t decode it?

- We let Cagne talk. - Why wait?

The agents are closing in. I have no time left.

You must continue alone.

Don’t say that. Do you hear me?

We will always be together.

I have a tip about Bonnot.

Bianchi? - Yes? Do you mind?

I need to go to the toilet. Exactly.

Excuse me.

It’s on the left. Don’t get lost.

Say it. A locksmith in Ivry. He rents a room

And he lets anarchists stay there for free.

Not much to go on.

Wait. He kicked out his tenants for one man.

Left behind by a De Dion-Bouton.

Didn't they use one in the robbery on Rue Ordener? So...

When will you hire me? That would be nice. We'll see.

Fill out a form and leave a moustache.

Alright, enough. Get to work. Out.

You're going, right?

- What's his name? - Gauzy.

His lair is the Volkshal. Will you come by later?

Maybe, maybe not. Go on.

- Shall we go? - No. You take the lady home.

Then go cheer up the man who got shot.

- I'm going with the rookie. - The dago? I'm from Milan.

Great. Grab your weapon. Where are we going?

Didn't hear that?

A tip? Is it Bonnot?

Sure. Come on.

That young lady... Is she a friend of yours? Léa?

She's an acquaintance of Pujol.

Are they engaged? Yes.

He must be devastated.

I don't think so.

Why don't you tell me what's going on?

Léa had a tip about Bonnot.

Probably nothing, but you never know. Let the Paris police handle it.

There are other matters.

No, I have questions the prefecture can't answer.

What questions?

Four individuals rob a van like professionals, but leave the money.

Nothing was stolen, but there's a huge reward on it.

And the prefect sends 8,000 men to beat us to it.

Doesn't that seem a bit excessive?

Take the back door!

Paris police! A room?

I have no rooms. You are misinformed.

And upstairs? Upstairs?

Up there only the attic.

There's someone up there.

It must be rats.

Let me go!

Anarchists are not thieves. They are calm, sober,

- they don't hit women. - Wouldn't you guillotine Bonnot?

I'm not a big fan of the guillotine.

Worse men than him have been beheaded.

Have you seen his file? A former worker,

a mechanic, a marksman, a driver...

Two years in the army, a medal for bravery...

He's got guts...

Bonnot.

Get down!

Go to Gauzy! I'll get him!

Forgive me.

Out of the way!

Out of the way!

Shit!

I couldn't do anything, it happened too fast. Sure.

We'll get them out. No, you're getting out.

The area is cordoned off, sir. Shall I organize a search?

No, leave it. They don't need us. Get the gear.

We'll start by taking fingerprints.

Look, Marcel, a photo of Mr. Casimir Cagne. Photogenic.

You could say that.

A cup of chicory, gentlemen?

- Not for me. - I'll have one.

I love chicory.

You were lucky.

- You're in shape. - Listen, Ernest,

I don't get it. Why you and why that day?

Why is your van so special?

No idea. They're anarchists, against society, Mr. Cagne said...

Ernest, calm down. Relax. This is off the record.

We're just talking and drinking chicory. This makes it a bit livelier.

- Here. - Thanks. It happened

on a Thursday morning, right? Is the Thursday run special?

No. That morning I left from headquarters.

Mr. Cagne sometimes has me run errands.

What kind of assignments?

He has a safe at the branch on Rue Ordener.

He has me bring documents there. What documents?

A ledger, leather-bound and all-inclusive.

Thank you.

I don't know what's in it.

- It's not important anyway. - Thank you, get some rest.

- Bravo. - Is that all?

- You were perfect. - Really perfect.

Wait, there's something else.

It may sound stupid, but that guy, that bastard who shot me, said something...

Bistro! Bistro?

Maybe he was thirsty.

That must be it. So you let Bonnot escape?

You'll have to work extra hard to make up for it.

- Had a fight? - You shouldn't be so cheeky.

Maybe your Léa spoke to someone else.

The Paris police were already there.

Anything to say? Yes, the Paris police were there.

- Is that all you have to say? - Yes. Then say it.

- The Paris police were there. - Is that all?

Is that all you have to say?

- I asked if that was all. - Yes. Then say it.

Go on. I told you to say it. Say it again, I said!