The Outsider (Le Marginal)

THE OUTSIDER

Drugs: Paris sends Commissioner Jordan to Marseille.

If he sends that guy onto our roof...

peace is over.

And what does my lawyer think?

Paris sends a commissioner...

because he has certain skills.

We need to be ready.

Can't we do anything?

Easier said than done.

"We too often think everything is simple."

Until...

I'd like to have that commissioner on the payroll for a while.

Dominique, you and Cappa go to Marseille...

and follow the commissioner day and night.

We'll see what to do next. - Okay, sir.

Police. Hands on your head. On your head, I said.

I said: hands on your head.

New here? - Temporary.

Empty your pockets. - What a looker.

Doesn't he act in a TV show?

Hands on your head and face to the wall.

I'm really innocent.

I'll make a martyr out of you with pleasure.

Should I frisk you too? Empty your pockets.

Move it.

You're making me run, Tonio. Want me to have a heart attack?

I've been looking for you for eight days.

Are we not friends anymore? - We are.

When is it happening? - What?

When is it happening? - In three, at most four days.

Three or four days? - Three.

Which boat is bringing the drugs?

The "Mister Nicolas"...

There you go.

They're far behind us.

Customs, this is Delta Fox 30. - Go ahead.

"The Mister Nicolas" leaves territorial waters.

After it. Full speed. - I don't know if we'll make it.

Judging by them, those crooks have it easy.

The "Nicolas" heading 200 degrees. We're turning back.

Damn.

That thing goes fifteen knots faster than our ships.

We'll catch it three miles out of territorial waters. Too late.

Marianne, pass me Louis.

With Jordan. We're taking a ride at sea.

What's happening? - Drugs. Heading 200 degrees.

He's taking off.

Turn off the engine.

No nonsense, and nothing happens. Give me that stuff.

You go in.

Shame. Two hundred kilos of drugs.

And you say it without flinching. You ignore the rules.

You act like a freebooter...

not like a policeman.

And the way you look...

That can't be for a district commissioner.

With that drugs, we would have made a good impression.

With the press, the government... - With Meccacci?

I don't care about his opinion.

Laboratory discovered in a villa at "Saint-Maximin".

Where should I start? - From the end.

Mr. Meccacci is very angry with me, right? - You're mistaken.

Like the French police and the Americans.

Meccacci had a wild youth. Cigarette smuggling and casino wars.

He was the first victim. - But never drugs?

Check the files.

Better not to make any more mistakes.

Otherwise the commissioner loses his district...

and has to arrest prostitutes again.

Or there'll be no commissioner at all.

I'm not wrong. Just like the French police and the Americans.

Your client is a scoundrel.

He had a rough youth, but I'll ensure a quiet old age in jail.

I'll pass it on. - Good.

Okay, let's go.

Good evening. - What brings you here?

I heard about your tea and hoped...

that Alfred the Pharmacist would be there too.

He's somewhere in Paris.

Stop this nonsense.

Otherwise you'll end up in Châteauroux arresting prostitutes again.

Where have I heard that before? - From Mr. Meccacci?

Exactly.

That name makes me angry every time. - Better have a drink with us.

Your colleague too. A drink for the commissioner and his colleague.

Come in.

Have a seat.

What do you want to drink? I have cognac, whisky, and even lemonade.

The party's over. Go away.

Wait a moment.

Where is he?

We got a call. - Anonymous, of course.

You were here and she too. What happened?

Someone has to say something.

The truth, maybe? - Just joking.

Me too.

We can also say nothing and just throw him away.

Some fresh air will do you good.

What do you think will happen? - Nothing at all.

Not even a reprimand. I'm just being transferred.

They call that "a parking function."

I'm hiding in "the broom closet." - And what does the minister do?

You're friends, right? - For twenty years.

But for the last five minutes, he doesn't recognize me. Mark my words.

Guy, come here. You're serving Mr. Meccacci.

It's a memorable day. We have something to celebrate.

Marseille lost an asshole. - Who?

A friend of Mr. Meccacci. A policeman.

Meccacci is tough. Two years ago, I almost had him.

He had nowhere to go.

I walked into the trap like a rookie. They thought I was drinking.

Whether you find a letter in your drawer or a corpse in your room...

What matters is that the truth prevails.

You like to play cowboy. We take it slower.

Here, you can't stunt fly between Montmartre and the "Rue des Martyrs."

Petty crime isn't that exciting.

Three thousand cases a month. - That's a factory.

Maybe, but we get good results.

We work in teams, and teamwork matters.

A team of people. Simon.

Cablier... Rosberg...

You already know Rojinski, and you.

And their boss isn't a sheriff, but a chief.

You. - Exactly. Hi, Patrick. How are you?

This is your desk.

My locker?

You're lucky to be here, and still alive.

Especially after that helicopter stunt. Meccacci could have killed you.

Why shoot when you can call?

I don't show up if someone calls. - I didn't call.

I don't like being made a fool of.

Then you should have picked another job.

Christian Rigaux.

Born April 4, 1955. In France since '81.

Your residence permit has expired. - Three days.

You can't catch me for that? - Rule is rule. I'll hold you 24 hours.

Brutal.

I'm arresting you for public indecency and expired permit.

Ever heard of containers from Istanbul?

Do you know Mother Kemal? - I'm no longer with Narcotics.

Three Turks arrived from Istanbul.

They're at Mother Kemal's in Cité Bergère.

Not my business. - They work for Selim 6...

and Mother Kemal works for Meccacci.

Meccacci the Saint?

The bastard, the fixer. - That can't be the same one.

Police.

Stand up. - Are you tired?

Where's the stuff? - I don't know what you mean.

No more Paris girls. You.

Where's the stuff? I know.

Inside. Before you got out, you swallowed the bags.

You're full of drugs. In three days, you'll shit it out at that fat guy.

And you guys? You're scared of the Spaniard.

Because if I hit, a bag bursts in your stomach.

If you punch it, it explodes.

And if I hit that old lady...

does she tell where the stuff is? Tongue lost.

The report on Mrs. Kemal? Keep it short.

The case begins and ends in Cité Bergère.

They get away, those... - Diplomats, yes.

To hold them, you need proof.

It's in their stomach. - You don't want to cut them open?

Who is that? - This is Mr. Mensour...

cultural attaché at the Turkish embassy.

And why is this gentleman here?

He wants to convey your apologies to the Turkish ambassador.

At least an apology. It's the gesture that counts.

Do you agree?

Just say the Foreign Office is used to yielding.

Name, address, and occupation.

Come on, bitch, or I... Name, address, and occupation.

If you don't answer, 48 hours in jail.

One last time: name, address, and occupation.

That's not the right way.

It's the only way with a bitch. - No, I'll explain.

Sit down.

Where were you last night? - Are you crazy?

See? You don't remember.

You're nervous. Let's start calmly.

Simon, where were you last night? - That jerk is insane.

Stay seated. We're not done.

Do you understand? If you hit someone, he shuts up.

He stays quiet. If you hit again...

he closes up again. - Screw off.

Everything works if you use the right method.

Livia Dolores Maria Monteblanco. 10 Rue Saint Jacques, prostitute.

That's what I mean.

No, really. - Get in.

That took a while. - I was busy.

And Janine? - Fine. Very fine, actually.

She took off.

Did you get anything? - The house, the car, and my shoes.

What got into Janine? Too much for her?

Morning football, afternoon cycling, evening boxing. It wears you down.

Do you pick my side or hers? - Maybe both.

Too bad, she had a nice ass.

It's not crowded. - Yes, I should do something.

Indeed, because your house, your car, and your shoes...