How long are you slaying in France, Mr Ricks?
I'm coming to live here.
My wife is French.
She's a high school teacher in Paris.
I'm going to look after our daughter.
Where do Nathalie Ricks and her daughter Chloe live?
First ﬂoor.
You're not normal.
You have no right to be here.
She's not here.
I'll call the police.
Hello.
My ex-husband entered my apartment though he's under a restraining order.
Yes, he can be violent.
I live at 154 Boulevard Pereire in the 17th.
Thank you.
Daddy?
Is that you?
I thought you were in jail.
- Who told you that? - Mummy.
It's not true.
No, I was a little bit ill. I was in hospital, that's all.
You wear glasses too, do you?
- Yes. - They suit you.
I'll come back, OK?
Come on!
Sir! End of the line!
- I've been robbed. - You have to go to the police, sir.
Miss... A coffee, please.
- Thanks. - You're welcome.
- Do you have a room? - Yes.
How much is it?
- Depends how long you're slaying. - One night or two.
Two nights, sixty euros, payable upfront.
Listen...
My bags have been stolen. I can't pay now.
- Speak to Mr Sezer. - Who's he?
He's the boss.
- What did she say? - I don't know, I wasn't there.
- Where were you? - Excuse me.
- Sezer? - Yeah?
I'd like a room for a few days, but...
I don't have any money.
My luggage has been stolen.
But I have this, it's worth more than sixty euros.
It's a Hamilton.
Otherwise...
I have this too and a small cross.
No need. I have some rooms.
Sit down.
Thank you. I've been robbed...
You're American, I trust you.
You'll pay me when you get the money, OK?
But I will need your passport.
Of course.
What do you do in life?
I teach, at university.
- What do you teach? - Literature.
And I write books. I'm a writer.
How can an American writer and professor end up here?
It's a complicated story.
It's just a formality, I'll give it back to you later.
Moussa!
Give him number 7.
- Welcome. - Thanks a lot.
It's not cleaned.
The big one is the key to the door. The bar closes at midnight.
Your room is on the second ﬂoor.
The shower is here, and the shared bathroom.
Your room is here.
Have a nice slay.
We can put it in the car boot.
Be careful.
Are you writing a novel?
It's a letter.
- To your wife? - No, to my daughter.
How old is she?
Six.
It's a long letter.
- What do you want? - I'm your neighbour, my name is Tom.
- We have to share... - You're American?
- Yes. - Fuck off!
Listen! We have to share the bathroom.
And for that, we need to agree...
What, you want to share the toilet with me?
I just want you to ﬂush.
I shit on your toilet!
You really think I'm going to tell Mr Omar how to use the toilet?
Just ask him to ﬂush.
Don't you think you're asking too much?
Specially for someone who doesn't pay for the room.
I will pay. I'm looking for work.
- Without a working visa? - I'll find something.
Can I have my passport, please?
Yes, sure.
When you pay your bill.
Mr Ricks.
Mr Ricks!
- I may have something for you. - What?
A job.
What job?
Just to sit down for six hours without doing anything.
Is that all?
That's all.
It's not bad for a writer, is it?
Tea.
The code is B842.
Leam it by heart, B842.
- Repeat. - ...42.
Mind your head.
It's very simple.
You come here every night at 10:00 and you lock the door.
Once you've locked the door, you sit here,
and you do whatever you want for six hours.
OK?
And you keep an eye on the screen, OK?
If you see someone who seems dodgy, you press 45.
It will warn the people next door.
If someone rings the bell, you press 23.
- Who are the people next dool? - It doesn't matter.
So if someone rings the bell, press 23, OK? You say, 'Yes?'
If it's someone we know, he'll say, "I'm here to see Mr Monde."
- Mr Monde? - Yes. "I'm here to see Mr Manda."
Once he's said that, you press 58.
And that's it.
You can slart writing again, or read, rest,
while keeping an eye on the screen.
I'll give you 50 euros a night.
All right.
Good bye, teacher!
Good bye, Chloe.
See you tomorrow!
- Good bye, teacher! - Good bye, my darlings. Be good!
I have lived under dictatorship.
It's true that it was bad in some respects,
but I could have become a great artist.
When you're persecuted by the police,
when they try to get a confession from you and torture you,
it means that they're interested in you.
But in a democracy, you're left in peace.
You have the impression that nobody cares.
And without love, the artist cannot create.
So I think that...
Excuse me.
Yeah?
I'm here to see Mr Monde.
And how are you doing financially?
OK, that's good.
This kind of procedure for child custody takes time and is expensive.
Of course, that's obvious.
For the time being, I'll set the ball rolling,
and I'll ask you for a 10,000-euro advance.
- When can you shirt? - I've already started.
Very good.
- Daddy! - Hello!
- Are you good? - Yes.
I missed you, little monkey.
Mummy said that you're sick and the police are after you.
Well, here I am!
I'm not sick and the police aren't here.
You look funny in those.
And you look funny in those.
You have the same eyesight as me.
I knew that we both saw the world the same way.
Thanks a lot.
Mummy said that soon, when I grow up,
I'll have an eye operation.
Listen, you're perfect just as you are.
- Do you understand? - Yes.
Chloe!
Chloe, come here.
Chloe, you mustn't speak to strangers.
I'm not afraid.
Excuse me, you forgot these pages in the bar.
Thank you.
Yes?
We've come to see Mr Monde.
I dreamt about you last night.
In my dream, you were not a writer but a painter.
You were painting trees.
You were in a field full of mud.
And you were sinking more and more.
It seemed that someone wanted to hurt you.
Hey, you, the writer!
If you come out, you're dead!
Bad night?
You could say that.
Look.
I found it at the Polish library on Boulevard Saint Germain.
It's the only book by you they had in Polish.
It's the only one I wrote.
I read it. It's good.
Really?
Maybe it's better in Polish.
No, I think it's really you.
Read a little bit, if you wish.
Anywhere.
More. A little bit more.
I like your voice.
What are you doing here?
How are you, professor?
How is it going at the office?
Everything's fine.
Nothing special to report?
You sure?
Yes.
Absolutely sure.
Good.
...Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday!
Monday, Thursday, Wednesday,
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday!
Excuse me. It's me.
Are you OK?
Yes, I'm OK.
Have you heard about Norwid?
Who?
Norwid. He's my favourite poet.
He was Polish but he died here. In Paris.
Come in.
Not here.
Come.
Why don't you return home?
It's not good for you to stay here.
I don't have a home.
What about that magical forest?
- What? - Chingadown, in Virginia.
It's in your novel.
Chingotech.
It's true.
But that forest doesn't exist.
But I believe every word you write.
- 1000 euros or you're dead. - What?
You give me 1000 euros or you're a dead man.
You fucked Sezer's wife.
You fucked her on the roof, I saw you. Sezer will kill you.
Leave me alone.
You fuck, you pay.
- Who's winning? - Him!
Go on, play!
Everybody's playing here You too, go on, play!
Everybody's playing, I'm the only one working here.
You OK, darling?
1000 EUROS TOMORROW OR YOU'RE DEAD
Your landlord told us that you had a violent argument with Mr Sissoko,
about political issues and his very... personal way of using the toilet.
The fact that we found him dead with a toilet brush in his mouth...
There's also this.
"1000 euros tomorrow or you're dead."
It was in your bin.
We found your fingerprints on it.
Where were you last night between 5:00 and 8:00 pm?
I was at my friend's.
Her name?
Margit Kadare.
The address?
5 rue du Croissant, 5th arrondissement.
- Is that Mrs Kadare? - Yes.
We went to her apartment.
I'm sorry to inform you that Mrs Kadare is dead.
What?
Mrs Kadare took her life.
She committed suicide.
Bul: I saw her two days ago.
Mrs Kadare killed herself in 1991.
This is Henri Dupré.
The reckless driver who killed her husband...
...and her daughter.
The man was drunk.
He jumped a red light and knocked them down on Boulevard Saint Michel.
He got away with it, thanks to a procedural error.
Mrs Kadare decided to take the law into her own hands.
When the police arrived at the scene of the crime,
Mrs Kadare had plunged this knife into her heart.
So do you have a better alibi?
You're free. We found the culprit.
Come on!
You'll see that he's crazy.
It's his knife, not mine!
Margit!
What's the matter?
- Where is Margit Kadare? - Who?
The woman who lives here, Margit Kadare.
- No one lives here. - It's not true.
What's the matter?
- Margit Kadare? - It's been empty for years.
I used to love this dress.
My mother made it for me for Christmas.
I was six.
That's my little sister.
That's my father.
Shy with me.
I'm sick.
I destroy everything I touch.
Mr Ricks?
Get dressed.
Your daughter has vanished.
Can I speak to my wife?
Please, sir.
Come here!
We found her in the Bois de Boulogne.
It's over, it's over.
- Yes. - Yes!