The First Fingerprint by Xavier-Marie Bonnot Page A

woman with her life of baguettes and pastries, her skimpy skirt, her audible Lycra, and make-up which was too excessive to seduce the old commandant he had become.
    Tomorrow, or another day, he would go and see her father.

8.
    From his height of one meter seventy, Tête watched his stream of urine land in rapid spurts in the toilet bowl of Le Bar des Sportifs in Endoume. He looked up at filthy, yellow, badly joined tiles which covered the urinal’s walls. It was then that he heard a conversation start up on the other side of the partition.
    â€œGopher will be in La Madrague around noon. You take the two parcels he gives you, then come and drop them off here, like I told you. Don’t drive too fast. Especially not on the Corniche—there are police speed controls there all the time. O.K.?”
    â€œNo problem.”
    Tête went on pissing. With all the beers he had got through that evening, there was no end to it. But now the stream was beginning to peter out.
    â€œAnd you, Richard, you leave the bar around 2:00. You know where to go?”
    â€œYou’ve told me at least four times.”
    Tête recognized the voice of Laurent, a.k.a. “Lolo,” the owner of Le Bar des Sportifs. He knew the other voice too, but couldn’t put a name to it. His brain was in a spin, as though the mistral had just blown up and was now whistling through the empty corridors of his poor little neurons. It sounded like Féli, but it couldn’t be him—he should have been in his pizzeria, filling his redbrick oven with oak logs.
    Lolo was a great guy, a big man in the mob. After twenty years behind bars for various crimes, he had finally seen the error of his ways and taken over a small café in Endoume, right by Anse de la Fausse-Monnaie. Recently he had been calling up his childhood friend, GérardMourain, a.k.a. “Tête,” to offer him odd jobs. Sometimes Tête had to be on the lookout for police, at other times he had to tail someone. Lolo never explained to Tête what was going on, he just gave him a precise task and then paid him handsomely, cash up front. Mourain could not have asked for more.
    â€œIs Tête in this evening?”
    â€œYeah, I called him up and he arrived about 8:00. Since then he’s been knocking back beer after beer. If he goes on like that, he’s gonna be completely pissed. You want to see him?”
    â€œNo, just see if he can do the job. As usual … Just get it sorted!”
    â€œShit, now I’ve pissed myself,” Tête said out loud. All this thinking meant that he had lost control of his stream of urine and had now wet his trousers; a dark line stretched from his crotch to his left knee.
    â€œFuck it … shit and fuck it!” he yelled.
    The conversation on the other side of the wall came to a halt.
    When Tête emerged, Lolo was back behind the bar as though nothing had happened. He walked sideways to get to his seat, pretending to look at the pétanque championship trophies lined up along the far wall so that no-one would see the piss mark on his leg.
    â€œHey, Gérard, come here.”
    Tête stood up awkwardly and walked over to the bar as quickly as he could. Lolo didn’t notice a thing. And there was no-one else in the bar.
    â€œTell me, Gérard, are you free next Wednesday, around midday?”
    â€œUm, sure …”
    â€œO.K., good. You know that restaurant in La Madrague overlooking the harbor? I can never remember its name. Anyway, it’s the only one.”
    â€œYeah, I know it. What about it?”
    â€œDrive up there for lunch at about 11:30. Order whatever you want, but take a seat near the window, where you’ve got a good view. If you notice anyone dodgy, call this number from your mobile and let it ring three times. If the guy then leaves, call back and let it ring twice. Got that? Fine. Take a good look around, even below the rocks to the left of the port. You can stop