The ComDads (Les Compères)

Tristan Martin, age 16,5, missing from home since Wednesday, the 24th.

Brown hair.

Height, 175cm.

He smokes dope, right?

I don't think so.

Ever watch your son shower?

Sorry?

In his shower...

...to see if there are needle marks.

Sorry, I don't watch him in the shower.

Is he homosexual?

I have nothing against them.

It's just to know where to look.

He was in love with a girl. Maybe they left together.

They met two months ago at a rock concert.

She's a wild kid, very unsavory.

Her name?

Michele Raffart. She's from Nice.

Know her folks?

I called her father this morning. He hung up on me.

He runs a hotel in Nice, the Riviera.

He strikes me as a weirdo too.

I'll ask the Nice police to check with him.

I'll put the Juvenile Squad on it. Then we wait.

You think you'll find him?

We always find them.

It's like stolen cars. But when?

- It's useless. - Don't be silly.

They ignore runaways.

We'll go see the girl's folks.

We can't go to Nice. Let the police do it.

"Like stolen cars."

You got your stolen car back, but it was a mess.

Mr. Raffart?

Paul Martin. I phoned you about my son.

The cops came this morning. You send them?

I told them my son may have left with your daughter.

I don't know where she is. She's her own boss.

Why don't people get off my back?

We're worried about our son.

You can understand that.

I don't know your son. I never saw anybody.

Now quit bugging me. Got me?

- I told you so. - He lies!

He's lying. Make him tell the truth. Go on.

I won't fight him. We can't force him to talk.

- You're a bastard! - Hold on.

I hope you get treated this way someday.

It's private here.

Maybe you can't help...

but you've no right to treat us like dogs.

If I were a man I'd sock you.

My plumber's on the phone.

The second floor pipes are leaking.

I got problems too.

Screw you, lady.

Come on.

A private detective?

Mrs. Bertheaud's girl had a good one for her divorce.

Want his address?

I did something dumb, mom.

What?

I phoned Lucas, Jean Lucas.

You used to call him the cave man.

He's doing well.

He's a journalist.

Seems very happy.

Why'd you call him?

To ask his help. I'm seeing him at 5:00.

His help?

If he'd been with me in Nice...

my son would be home now.

How long since you've seen him?

I don't know, 17 years.

Which do you prefer?

I don't want to hurt you...

but why should he help you after 17 years?

Or bother about a kid he doesn't know?

- I'll say he's his. - What?

I'll tell him Tristan is his son.

His name's Tristan. He's 17.

I didn't want to tell you then.

I kept him. We raised him.

Why?

I wanted a child by you.

No, why didn't you tell me?

You were so young.

Can you see yourself as a family man then?

So I married Paul.

He never knew it wasn't his son.

It's crazy.

Got a photo?

Sure, but...

it's not a very good one.

Something there, no?

- The nose. - No such luck.

It's his expression. When he smiles, he's you.

Got a photo of him smiling?

He's handsome, you know, very.

Why are you telling me now?

He ran away two weeks ago.

The police don't care and Paul isn't man enough.

I want my son back.

Ran away. That's a bitch.

I think he left with a girl, from Nice.

I went to Nice with Paul, but...

What do you expect me to do?

I want you to look for him.

You'll find him.

You're not for real.

After 17 years you tell me I have a kid...

then that he's gone...

and you ask me to find him.

I don't know what to say.

He refused.

Never mind, it figured.

I remember him very well...

selfish little brute.

You couldn't expect much of him.

He's not a brute and he's not selfish.

All right. Let's drop it.

Want something to drink?

I'll make coffee.

I knew another boy then...

Francois Pignon.

- Remember him? - Not again.

He was very sweet, very...

Always committing suicide?

I wonder what's become of him.

"I'm sick of this life that's given me so little.

I leave it with no regrets.

Forgive me, all of you who love me.

Farewell.

Francois. '"

Who's this?

Christine, it can't be. It's been so long!

No, I'm not lunching.

I'm not doing badly.

No, you're not bothering me.

What are you up to?

Whenever you like. This afternoon if you wish.

5:00 p. m.? Okay, I'll be there.

I could hug you too.

I'm glad you called.

See you later.

He's 17. His name is Tristan.

I have a son?

You had my kid and didn't tell me?

I couldn't, then.

We were a complicated pair.

Walking out, attempting suicide.

You left, I tried suicide.

Well, I preferred not to tell you.

A son! Got a photo?

But it's not a very good one.

Something there, no?

The eyes, maybe. He has your eyes.

Looks as if he has black eyes, right?

Yes, but the same shape.

- Black coffee again. - What?

He always forgets the cream.

That's not so serious.

Not at all, but...

I just had a breakdown.

I'm fine now, but...

sometimes I cry for no reason.

The doctor said it was normal...

that I'll get over it.

Where is he? Why isn't he here?

- Are you okay? - Perfectly! Where is he?

I mustn't do this to you. You have problems too.

Stop it! I have no problems.

Where's my son?

He ran away.

I wanted help, but if you can't...

You thought of me. Great!

Of course! I'm the father! I forgot!

I can't get used to the idea.

You don't know how happy I am. Waiter!

Terribly sorry.

Check, please.

Of course I'll help find our son.

Sure you can?

I'm fine, I tell you. Terrific!

It means going to Nice. Okay?

Sure! We're in luck:

I've no job, my wife left me...

I live with my mother and hate it...

I've no plans, no future.

Everything's screwed up.

Great, isn't it?

Casino war's on again.

I know.

- Who's going? - Dubois.

It's not his style at all.

He didn't do a book on it.

The Riviera hoods don't hate him.

Those hoods don't scare me. Let me cover it.

And get shot in the gut?

Who'd care? I have no wife, no kids.