Another shift with Haddad. It turned out to be very revealing, in fact. Moudie was much warmer to me than a few days ago, and we even took lunch together. I used it as an opportunity to ask him why he was so hostile to me when I first came to the department. The reason he gave blew my mind.
“You humiliated me in front of my friends,” he said.
I did what?
It was a long time ago, this incident. I was in the BRI then, still a kid. Moudie was just a cadet. He told me that he and his friends used to hang around HQ and wait for me to come out. “We looked up to you,” he admitted, a little embarrassed. “You had a reputation. Plucked early in your career and put in an elite division. We thought you were cool. But I found out you were an asshole.”
Asshole?
I felt like Moudie had just punched me with one of his meaty paws. I still had no idea what he was talking about. When was this? What did I do? “One day," he explained, "you were with this big guy from your squad, and I heard him say to you, ‘Hey, look. It’s your little girlfriend. Go give him a kiss.’ “
At this point, I admit, I started to chuckle—even though I could see how hard it was for Moudie to tell his story—because I was beginning to remember. I could picture them: a small group of cadets who always seemed to trail me. I didn’t know they admired me. I thought the exact opposite, in fact. If I had known, would I have acted differently?
“You walked right up to me,” Moudie continued, “and looked me up and down, real cool. Then you said, ‘What are you? Algerian?’ I think I started to nod or say my name but you put your hand over my mouth and pulled me in close. ‘I don’t care who you are,’ you said. ‘Piss off. You and your friends.’ I was almost shitting my pants.”
I still had only a vague memory of this, but to Moudie it seemed as clear and raw as that day. I asked him why he was hanging onto such a little incident from so long ago. “Don’t you remember?” Moudie asked, angry. “You licked me. LICKED me. You grabbed my head with both hands and ran your tongue like that—” He traced his finger along his cheek, from the corner of his mouth to his ear. “Real slow. Putain, the whole tongue, too, not just the tip! Then you said, ‘There. Let that hold you for a while.’ “
I remembered. And I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Moudie was furious at first then he started to laugh, too. I explained that I was just a dumb kid, and I was mostly trying to impress my friend. Luc Caret was his name. They called us, “Les Deux Lucs,” and I adored him. Poor Moudie paid the price for that. I asked him to forgive me but couldn't resist adding that he tasted sweet. He responded with a swat to my arm and an “asshole.” He was way out of line, of course, considering I’m his chief, but I suppose it was a long time coming.
It’s funny what we hold onto and what we choose to forget. I never gave that day a second thought, but Moudie was scarred enough to want to transfer out of the department, away from me. I don't know—it was just a hazing, nothing more. Me, I have much deeper scars from greater offenses then a little face licking. At least he didn’t bleed. I can’t say the same.
