Chapter 8 chapter eight

Usually, things promised in bars don't have to be taken seriously, especially in Provence, where the most solemn promises have to be delayed for a month before they can be fulfilled. Slipper (1) It was a very unlucky day, when traffic in the Cavillon area was hit hard, and I couldn't come up with change to put in the parking meter.In front of them, two policemen wearing peaked caps and sunglasses were slowly walking towards this side, checking cars one by one with menacing faces, wondering if any unlucky ones had been caught violating the regulations. I've found a vacant seat and scurry into a nearby café to exchange some change.When he came back, a burly man in a blue uniform was squinting suspiciously at the hands on the timer.He looked up, looked at me through his sunglasses, and tapped the pointer with the tip of his pen.

"Timeout!" I explained to him why, but he had no intention of thinking about my extenuating circumstances. "It's your fault, it's a violation," he said.I looked around, and there were at least half a dozen cars illegally parking in double rows.A truck full of gravel had been dumped in the corner of an alley, blocking the exit.On the other side of the road, a small passenger car was lying across the sidewalk.Compared with these major violations, my crimes are trivial, and I am stupid to tell the truth. I became invisible all of a sudden, the police snorted contemptuously, and ignored me again.The guardian angel of the road walked directly in front of me and took my car number, then opened his notepad and checked his watch.

He started to write down my crimes on paper, and probably added another one—bad attitude.Just then, there was a loud shout from the cafe where I changed my change. "Hey! That's you, George!" This policeman named George and I looked around and saw a heavyset guy coming across the road side café, wagging his fingers from side to side.In Provence body language, this expresses strong dissatisfaction. For the next five minutes, George and the dude shrugged, gestured, punched each other's chests, and discussed the crime I had just committed.The newcomer spoke uprightly, "Really, this gentleman just arrived, and he did go to the cafe to change change, someone can testify." He pointed to the cafe, under the dim light of the bar, three or four faces Kong turned to us.

"The law is the law," George said. "It's clearly a violation, and I've already issued a ticket. There's nothing I can do about it. It's irreversible." This statement is ridiculous, "Change the ticket and give it to the jerk who parked the van in the intersection, it's as simple as that!" George relented, looked at the van and the ticket in his hand, snorted again, then turned to have the last word with me. "Have some change next time." He took a good look at me, obviously trying to remember my criminal face, which he might use later when looking for a suspect, and walked down the sidewalk to the truck.

My savior shook his head with a grin, "He has lumps in his head, he's so stupid..." I thanked him and said I would buy him a drink.We went into the cafe together and sat down at a dark table in the corner, and I sat for two hours. The benefactor's name was Robert, and he was neither short nor fat, with a broad body, a thick neck, and a fashionable mustache on a dark face.His smile contrasted with his nicotine-smeared gold teeth, his brown eyes were flexible, and there was a faint sense of ruffian on his body, probably not a fuel-efficient lamp.In my imagination, he might be selling guaranteed unbreakable crockery at Cavillon Market, or faux Levi's jeans, whatever, the kind that "fall off the delivery truck the night before."

It turned out that his brother had been a policeman, so he knew George, but he didn't like him.Now he is a security consultant, selling security alarm systems to villa owners who vacation in the Luberon region.He said that now there are burglars everywhere, looking for unlocked doors and windows.So his business is booming.Have you installed an alarm system?No?too terrifying!He pushes me a business card from the table with his name and a tagline on it - the alarm system of the future.But these words are obviously inconsistent with his trademark - a small parrot perched on a crossbar, shouting "catch a thief" in its mouth.

What interests me is his experience as a police officer and why he left.He leaned back, caught in a cloud of gypsy cigarettes, shook his empty glass at the bartender, ordered another anisette, and began to talk. At first, the days passed slowly, waiting for a promotion like everyone else, doing the same job, gradually getting tired of the office work, which was far from the challenging work he expected.Wanting to take a break, he came to Frejus for a weekend. Every morning, he goes to a cafe facing the sea for breakfast, and at the same time every day, a man goes to the beach to practice surfing.Robert watched with interest as the man jumped on the surfboard, fell off the board, and climbed back up again, with the leisurely mood of a vacation.

This person looked a little familiar. Robert was sure he didn't know him, but he seemed to have seen him somewhere.He has a large mole on his neck and tattoos on his left arm.Trained policemen always pay special attention to this small and obvious mark, and it is especially easy to remember.Eventually it was the surfer's profile—the mole on the neck and the slightly hooked nose—that jolted Robert's memory. Two days later, he remembered.He had seen the black-and-white profile photo of the man with the number on it, which was a police record photo of the suspect.This surfer has a record!

Robert went to the local police station to retrieve the information, and within half an hour, he found a photo of a prisoner who escaped from prison last year. He is the leader of the Garden gang, a dangerous man, and his appearance is characterized by the mole on his neck and his left arm. on the tattoo. So the police set a trap.Robert laughed and breathlessly described the roundup to me. 20 policemen put on swimming trunks and disguised themselves as tourists, and appeared on the beach early in the morning.Although their complexions were grotesquely uniform—bronze from elbows to wrists, V necklines, and faces—everything else, from toes to forehead, was ghastly white. — they still tried their best not to attract attention.

Luckily the fugitive was too busy jumping on the paddle to notice the 20 pale and suspicious figures loitering around until they formed a circle in the shallow water and arrested him on the spot.Later, police found two . 357 pistols and three hand grenades at his apartment in Fredges. Robert was rewarded for this and was sent to Marcie Anne International Airport as a plainclothes policeman in order to give full play to his keen observation skills. I interrupted him, as I had been wondering why there were no police in sight at Marseille airport.Inbound passengers can hand over their carry-on luggage to their pick-up friend, and then go to the luggage area to claim their luggage.And if you only have carry-on luggage, you don't need to go through customs at all.For Marseille, which is famous for its drug trade, it is really a bit strange to be sloppy.

Robert tilted his head, resting his stubby fingers by his nose.'It's not what you seem to be, the police and customs officials are around, sometimes dressed as businessmen, sometimes in denim t-shirts, mingling with tourists, or wandering around in the parking lot,' he said , seeing the six directions, listening to all directions.He'd caught a smuggler or two himself, not a big deal, just amateurs who thought everything would be fine once they got to the parking lot, greeted each other without fear, and talked loudly.cut!It's crazy! However, sometimes nothing as big as sesame and mung beans happened for several weeks in a row, and he began to feel bored and panicked. "Add this..." He smiled, pointing down between his legs with his thumb. Robert stopped a handsome, stylish young woman traveling alone, a standard "drug mule", when she got into a car with Swiss license plates.He just asked a question routinely, how long has this car been in France?The woman suddenly became nervous, then friendly, then extremely friendly, and ended up spending the afternoon at the airport hotel together.When Robert and his Aventure came out of the hotel, they were seen.As a result, it's all over.Ironically, that same week, a warden at the Marseilles-Paumet prison who smuggled an inmate a scotch in a cheese jug was caught red-handed and kicked out. Robert shrugged and said that although it was wrong and stupid, the police are not saints, and there will always be some scum.He looked down at the glass, which reflected the image of a penitent.One misstep will cause eternal hatred!I started to feel sorry for him.He reached across the table to pat my arm and said wryly that another glass of wine would make him feel better.He laughed, and I wondered how much of the story he told me was true. ＊＊＊ Under the influence of anise alcohol, Robert promised to come to my house in two days to help check the anti-theft system, and said it was completely free.If we finally decide to make the house invulnerable, he is willing to install a state-of-the-art anti-theft system at a friend's discount. Slipper (2) I thanked him and then forgot all about it, usually promises in bars are never meant to be taken seriously, especially in Provence where the most serious promises can take months to keep.I've seen too many people on the street who are indifferent to the squealing car siren, so I don't trust electronic devices as much of a deterrent. I'd rather trust a barking dog. Contrary to my expectations, Robert actually came as scheduled, driving a silver-white BMW with an antenna, wearing tight pants, a black shirt, humming, and exuding the smell of musky aftershave , full of wildness.From the girlfriend Isabella he brought, we can see why he is so glamorous.They were planning to go to Gordes for lunch, and Robert thought he might as well combine pleasure and business, which sounded rather dreamy. Isabella looked to be in her late twenties, with blond hair fringed over the rims of large sunglasses.She was wearing very little, a very hot pink shift dress that shimmered around her body and reached only her thighs.The well-mannered Robert insisted that she go up the front steps of the house first, while he followed behind, gorging on ice cream.He is really qualified to teach a "voyeuristic" class. I gave Robert a tour of the house while Isabella was busy with her makeup.As I expected, he told me that any stupid thief with a screwdriver could do whatever he wanted in my house.Doors, windows, and shutters were strictly inspected and all declared unacceptable.What about dogs?It is of no use at all.Just a few drugged pieces of meat would suffice, and the house would be at the mercy of thieves.He suddenly pushed me against the wall, and a strong smell of shaving water hit me, almost choking me. "You never know what these beasts can do!" He lowered his voice, looking mysterious.He obviously didn't want my wife to hear what he was about to say because it was a bit vulgar. He said thieves were often superstitious and he had seen more examples than he could think of.In many cases, after the thieves have gone through the house, they will defecate before retreating, usually on the floor, preferably on the carpet.They think that the mold will stay in the house and not follow them. "Poop everywhere," he said, as if he had stepped on it. "Disgusting, isn't it?" Yes, disgusting is a more elegant word. "However, life is fair sometimes," he said. "There was a robbery group that was caught because of this." At that time, the house had been ransacked and the loot was loaded on the truck. "Farewell ceremony".But the thief boss ran into a little trouble. He tried his best to nurse, but there was no result.Because he has severe constipation.When the police came, he was still squatting on the ground cursing his mother. "It's heartening, but I know that in France the average chance of a constipated thief is one in five," says Robert, "so we can't count on that." He took me outside and described the plan to turn my house into a fortress - electronic automatic iron gates at the end of the driveway, pressure sensitive lighting system in front of the house, anything heavier than a chicken intruding into the driveway , will be covered by a whole row of powerful lighting lamps.Usually that's enough to put a thief back, but just to be sure, and to sleep like a child until dawn, it's best to add an "auto siren."That is to say, let your house become a house that can call. Robert paused, watched my reaction, and took a moment to smile at Isabella, who was busy examining her nails through her sunglasses.The girl's ten fingers are also bright pink, which matches the color of the dress quite well. "All right? My cabbage?" She shook her honey-colored shoulders at Robert, and it was obvious that Robert struggled to get his mind back to the barking house. Installing electronic beams can protect all doors, windows and any openings smaller than cracks. Even a determined and nimble thief can pass through iron doors and tiptoe through strong lights, as long as his Whenever a finger touches a window or door, the house screams.Of course, if you want, you can also install a loudspeaker on the roof to enhance the effect, so that the siren can be heard for several kilometers. Not only that, but at the same time, Robert had a partner near the village of Guerrilla whose house was networked to the system, and that partner would immediately be armed with a loaded revolver and his large Alsatian Come quickly by car.Under the protection of such a full defense, I can definitely live a stable life completely undisturbed. All this is just for our family to "undisturbed"!Immediately I thought of such a scene - Faustain driving a tractor, knocking on the iron gate to go to the vineyard at six o'clock in the morning; The alarm system was triggered, and I had to apologize desperately to calm his anger before being quartered by armed security personnel who came with guns.Living in a place as fortified as Fort Knox, life is always like a dangerous hell.Even if the equipment of the house is indeed strong enough to stop the invasion of Augustine, it is not worth the mental torture. Fortunately, Robert had other interests and didn't care about further business.Isabella was finally satisfied with the condition of her nails, the placement of her sunglasses, and her tight dress, and was ready to leave.She coquettishly said to Robert across the yard, "Honey, I'm starving to death!" "Okay, okay, let's go right away, just two minutes." He turned to face me, trying to talk business again, but his "alarm system" was already beeping non-stop over there, and the security of my home was incomparable. Obviously not that urgent. I asked him where he was going for lunch. "The Bastille Restaurant," he said, "did you know that it used to be a police station, and the so-called policeman is always a policeman, don't you think so?" I said I had heard that the restaurant was also a hotel, and he winked at me.His wink was really meaningful, but this time it was purely lubricating. "I know!" he replied.