I am Luc of the Street

Being Useful

Henri and I got into a bit of a tiff today. He thinks since I’m suspended I should spend time with Jean-Paul instead of "running off" after the killer. But he doesn’t understand what it’s like to be out of work. He runs his own business; easy for him to say.

“What drives you?” he shouted at me. “Ego?”

Fear of being useless, but I didn’t tell him that. "I want the kid to have someone to look up to," I said. Henri shook his head at me like I was a lost cause. “JP looks up to you because of who you are, Luc, not what you do.” Then he asked me what I was really afraid of. “Is the devil gonna claim your soul without that piece of metal?"

He pegged me pretty good, didn't he? So, of course, I had to tell him to fuck off. Loudly. Yeah, I know...but I hate when he lectures me. He doesn't know what it's like to come from nothing, and I told him so. "You don't get it!" I barked. "Without the badge, I’m nothing! A bum!”

Henri’s eyes bugged out; he jerked back as if I’d called him the bum. Yeah, “holy shit” is right. Do I really feel like a bum?

I watched Henri’s face morph from shock to sadness. Before it could shift into pity, I was outta there. I know he's right; I should invest in JP, but right now, I have to save myself.

When Bruno took me off the streets, he told me being a cop would make me somebody. A man who is useful can never be cast aside. His words keep ringing in my head. Well, Bruno, I'm going to make myself useful.  

On the Outside

I’ve lived outside society before. I’ve told myself I was okay with it; I've even bragged about it. But now that I’m on the outside again, I’m not so sure. I’ve bathed in the warm inner sanctum too long.

I walked past HQ today. That was a bad idea.

I was following a lead in the Latin Quarter when I found myself on Rue St. Jacques, walking toward the river. A few steps more, I was across the Pont St. Michel and on Boulevard du Palais. As soon as I saw the street sign, my heart thunked in my throat, like seeing an old lover after a long time. I should have turned around, headed for the maze of pedestrian streets in the Quartier Latin where a man can lose himself among the throngs. Instead, I turned left, toward 36 Quai des Orfèvres.

It’s one thing to make big talk about feeling apathetic toward my suspension when I’m high above the city in Montmartre, but to stand in front of the very door barred against me? That’s one way to get in touch with my true feelings real quick. Beyond that door were all my friends and colleagues; my team having all that fun without me. My gut burned like I’d swallowed acid.

Shunned. Cast out. Orphaned.

This is what I really felt all those years on the street. And as I walked away from Quai des Orfèvres, the boy inside me cried out—while Luc the man stuffed a cigarette in his mouth and lit up.

I need a drink. At least I’m still allowed in my bar.

The Trail to Me

You might think I’m a sucker, but I can’t help myself; I’m hunting this killer down—badge or not. It has to be done. And it has to be done by me.

In these past weeks, I’ve gone through a polarizing identity crisis—finding myself on the street, but losing my life as a cop. So I’ve decided: instead of being torn in half, instead of having to choose, I’m going to live fully in both halves and use all of me to get this thing done. 

My suspension may have been a gift, because without it, I may never have gone back to the street. However misguided you (and JP) may have thought that time was, it brought me back in touch with my darker side. You don’t have to be a killer to think like one. You just have to embrace the orphaned killer in you.

I’ve said it before: when I’m on the hunt, I’m at peace. Everything works together—bright and dark. It’s the one time I don’t question or doubt myself; I just know.

If I can find this killer, I can get my badge back, my life back. But not like before. I'll be more whole this time. 

He Strikes Again

THIRD BODY FOUND. DE LA RUE SUSPENDED. That headline shouted at me from a press kiosk today. Large block letters splattered across the front page. My humiliation is complete.

I was starting to get used to the idea of life without my badge, enjoying the freedom. That didn't last long.

I want my badge more than ever.

Add to this the latest drama with JP. Writing in my blog—jeezus. Had to change my password. But he's right; I was losing sight of myself. I can thank the press for reminding me—and all of Paris— of my shirked responsibilities.

So, should I do something about that headline? I can't change my suspension but I can solve this case. Should I? Or should I tell those befrigged idiots in HQ to go screw? Which would give me more pleasure I wonder? De La Rue Catches Killer Despite Suspension. Reinstated with Apologies from the Brass. Yeah, that's a headline I could live with.

Pa's Gone

Hey. I'm JP. You know the kid who lives with him. I'm writing this cuz he's not here. He's never here anymore. He disappears like for days and days. He's been real weird since he got suspended. He was sad at first then he started to get strange. Like distant I guess. He doesn't even go to the cafe that much anymore and me and Henri miss him a lot. Henri looks real worried all the time. He says Pa's slipping away from us. I don't know what he means but I don't like how that sounds. Slipping away. That would suck.

But he's an asshole. I mean he begs and begs me to stay then he runs off. I just thought you should know he's being kinda weird.