I am Luc of the Street

Lieutenant Obnoxious

When Lieutenant Poliveau (AKA Fifi) calls me "Sir," it sounds an awful lot like "asshole." And every time he does it, it's like he's flicked open a switchblade. He's always challenging my authority; he thinks I don't deserve it.

Fifi's ambitious, a political animal; he knows how to play the game. And he's the divisional commissioner's wet dream: clean cut, eager, by-the-book. The exact opposite of me. Where I see individualism and creativity, he sees roguery and unpredictability. I am a daily reminder of everything he despises—as he is for me. 

Still, sometimes when I look into Fifi's eyes, I see something familiar. Something kindred. Maybe it's that we're both unapologetic about who we are, or that we aren't afraid to speak our minds. Or maybe it's something else: a fire in the belly; a secret desire that drives us. I wonder if he sees it, too, and that's why he's so obnoxious. He's lashing out at the me in him.

One More Reason to Go to My Bar

It's been a little over a week since JP started working at Henri's place. By day two, he was already getting himself to work on his own—and on time. I knew that was a sign of promise. Henri tells me the kid's got a real knack for the job and is a huge help. I have to say, I'm amazed, and pleased. I just wanted to keep him occupied, but it looks like he's got himself a bona fide career.

The added bonus: because he works where I hang out, we're spending more time together. He's happy and settling into his new life. I must say, I'm a genius.

Now I have a new routine: when I show up after work, it's JP who greets me with a whisky and a fresh pack of smokes (and none of the lectures about quitting like I get from Henri). We have dinner together every night and walk home together after the café closes. What more could I want?

JP is like a different kid now; he has a real sense of pride and purpose. Girard's bar tabac saved my life once. Maybe it can save his, too.

The Time Has Come (But Why Now?)

They set a date for my hearing. For months, I had nothing to do and now that I’m working on the case of my career, I have to deal with this stupid inquisition. I’ll say what I said in my first post: I am innocent. I’m a decorated officer. This is bogus.

Evidence tampering. I never did it. I don’t need to tamper with evidence; I have skill. I owe my successful case record to brains and hard work, not cheating. But what proof do I have? It’s their word against mine.

This is a political maneuver. Someone wants me out of the picture—and I can guess who. I only hope I have enough friends in high places to save my ass and keep this hearing fair. I can’t let anything stand in the way of this case. It’s The One; I feel it. But what if they try to suspend me?

I better call my union rep, huh?

Putting the Kid to Work

I've been thinking of ways to keep JP from running off while I'm busy on my new case. What he needs is a job, to apprentice somewhere. I want to set him up in a trade, like Bruno did for me, but I can't see him as a cop. He's too delicate, too timid. And I don't mean to sound like a horrible father, but he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. I asked him what he'd like to do, but he just stared, as he does, and shrugged. I understand. When Bruno asked me what I wanted to do with my life, I thought he was nuts. We street kids live day to day.

But this morning, when we were having coffee at Girard's, I was struck by a brilliant idea to keep JP close—right under my nose, in fact. I asked Henri to give him a job at the café.

Henri wasn't on board at first. He stuttered and hesitated. "I don't really need someone right now." I told him I could help pay JP's wages, if it was about money; I just needed JP occupied and safe when I wasn't around. "Oh, so you want me to look after your kid now?" he asked. Yeah, actually, I could use a hand. Isn't that what friends are for?

In the end, he relented. I didn't have to twist his arm too hard; Henri has a heart of gold. He put JP to work right away and when I left for work, JP was setting up the outside tables. He looked so proud of himself. It felt good, like I'd finally done something right for him. Girard's saved me when I was on the street. Now, it can give JP a new life.

What could be better than my boy at my bar tabac, working for my best friend? That, and the ripping good case I have now? I'm in heaven.