All language subtitles for Monsieur Spade - 01x03 - Episode 3.TORRENTGALAXY.English.C.updated.Addic7ed.com

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- www.addic7ed.com -

Six dead nuns. No one's innocent.

Have you seen Teresa?

Did you do this?

How could I? We're not allowed up here.

She didn't want me to hate you
for what you did to my father.

Get down.

Who is this kid that someone
would kill six people to find him?

I worked for Gabrielle LaVarone.

Oh. As what? As a gardener?

More like her housekeeper.

Tell me your name again.

Samuel Spade.

Ah.

How ridiculous.

My mother liked it.

A whore, no doubt.

Maybe we'll leave my mother out of this

and focus on you and me.

Yes.

You and me and this kid, then,

the one that's supposedly mine.

This has nothing to do with her.

Okay. So, do tell me,

what keeps you on Le Trou?

- Le what?
- Le Trou.

The hole, this place.
You stay here long enough,

you'll see how inevitable the name is.

I can see that just by
looking out of the window.

Mm.

But you don't see everything.

Meaning?

Sometimes, when the sun is just so...

you stand at the top and you look down

and the river and the houses
are all gone, disappeared.

One day when I was a child,
the darkness was so thick

that I rode with my boat
right over to La Cascade.

I miss that boat.

I would row in the river every day.

You understand what I'm saying?

Not really, but then I
was too busy wondering

what day you might
finish talking to listen.

Mm. I speak in metaphor.

So all that yap about
shadows and waterfalls

is really about your unhappy childhood.

Ah...

You Americans understand nothing.

Fuck a Frenchwoman
in a French bed and...

you'll learn all you need to know.

I don't think you and I are
having the same conversation.

Of course we are.

Then you're either really dumb

or you're trying to provoke me,

which also makes you really dumb.

Or you're just what
everybody says you are.

Handsome? Devil-may-care?

Whatever you are and whatever
you want me to think you are,

you're not drunk, you're not bored,

and you're not at all interesting.

So you can knock off the bug act

and listen to what I have to say.

I promise to be quick so you
can get back to your sulking

and I can get back to the States,

where people don't butter
their fucking fruit.

You're just an American private copper,

which in France, gives you
about the same legal authority

as a rat catcher.

In my case, the two jobs
are one and the same.

Relax, I'm not gonna shoot you.

That's 500,000 francs.

500,000?

- That's a lot of francs.
- A whole lot.

What am I supposed to do with it?

Buy yourself a new boat

and row yourself the fuck out of here.

Where would I go?

I hear Norway needs more assholes.

I grew up here.

I still have great love for Bozouls.

Sadly, one that's unrequited.

What about the others?

The neighbors whom I care so much about?

What about 'em?

Will they also bring me envelopes?

No, they will not.

Consider this a gift from
everyone on your little list.

This is the grand total
of what you're gonna get.

And what if I choose to stay?

The bottom of that
hole is a long way down.

Metaphorically speaking.

I'm not a man to be threatened.

If you think I'm threatening you,

then whosever that it
was taught you English

didn't know a threat from a promise.

Please...

convey my "No, thank you" to
Madame LaVarone and all the carrots.

I've asked for what I deserve
and will accept nothing less.

Philippe...

you're not the worst I've dealt with,

not by a country mile.

- I just want you to know that.
- Mm.

Good luck with finding
a home for the girl,

Mr. Spade.

- As-salamu alaykum.
- Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.

No.

The point of the story is

he wasn't sorry for
walking out on his life.

That seemed reasonable enough to him.

After all, a man's nearly
killed by a falling beam,

makes him stop and think.

Usually the first thing
that comes to mind is run.

But years later, when I saw
him with his second wife,

he couldn't see how he'd settled back

into the exact same
life he'd run away from.

And I bet that's the part
of the story you like best.

The man adjusted
himself to beams falling

and when no more of them fell,

he adjusted himself to them not falling.

You're very smart for someone so rich.

I guess I'm lucky there's so
little construction in Bozouls.

Because I think what
you're really telling me

is that you might, without
warning, leave me at any moment.

I'm telling you it's possible.

Well, we have something in common, then.

Only, I'm certain that I'd leave you.

I'm also certain that I
won't be much of a wife

or be able to commit to anything
beyond the end of the day.

The word forever being perhaps
the most absurd of all words.

To me, at least.

You're ill.

You can see that?

Not at all. Philippe told me.

At the airport, right before
I put him on the plane.

I thought he had to be lying,

because, of course, the
last thing you look is ill.

That's because I'm not.

At least not at the moment, anyway.

I was, not that long ago.

But I beat it.

Or so they like to tell you.

So I might leave you one day.

- You might leave me one day.
- Mm.

Sounds like every love
story I've ever heard.

We got a meeting with the
bishop at four o'clock.

Why?

Six dead monks, if I had to guess.

Want to come along?

As long as no one asks me to confess.

Lovely day for a swim, eh?

Ah!

What do you think?

- Nice frame.
- Ah. Thank you.

Uh, I thought I'd surprise
him and hang the painting.

There is a perfect spot in the library.

Right then. Thank you.

Oui.

Hey!

No?

Oui.

My confirmation name is Sebastian.

Every other boy chose Jean or Marc.

But I chose Sebastian.

I said they were Cupid's arrows.

I was trying to be ironic.

Not easy to do at age 12.

Maurice...

Samuel Spade.

- New York City.
- My condolences.

The monk. He's been found.

- Where?
- Inside the Rodez Cathedral.

Doing what, lighting a candle?

Bleeding, mostly. From a knife wound.

Thank you.

The boy.

They want the boy.

To which boy do you refer, Mr. Spade?

The Church wants him.
They want him so bad

they'll overlook a few
dead nuns to get him.

Oh, Mr. Spade, now
even you can understand

that there's matters of Church
and there's matters of State.

A distinction the Church
makes only when it suits them.

I'll do my best and I'll
take that as an insult.

For some, the truth is an insult.

You just seem unable to help yourself.

You can wait as long as you want

for your back-flogging
friend to wake up,

but he's not gonna
be of much use to you.

He already lost the kid

before he took a blade to his kidney.

Mr. Spade, do you have
any specific information

- you want to share?
- I just did.

Let's go.

Well, you kept your cool, Patrice.

Please.

You may have not raised your voice,

but you still poked
him as hard as I did.

I just like to shake the
tree to see what falls out.

Except, my reckless American friend,

shake a Roman tree and you
get a face full of bird shit.

Mr. Spade, Commandant.

The monk's name is Friar Angelo.

I believe that he was sent to Bozouls by

Agnes Omnipotence, it's
some secret society...

Wait, there's a secret
society inside the Vatican?

- Yeah.
- Shocking.

Yeah. Who knew, right?

That's why they sent me here to help

ferret out all the fanatics.

As you can imagine, it hasn't
been going very easy for me.

Like finding a needle in a needle stack.

Look, I don't blame
you for not trusting me.

I really don't.

But you and me, we're on the same side.

If you follow.

Okay.

So we can now add the Americans

to the list of people
that were chasing the kid.

A little loud, don't you think?

What are you doing?

I need something to wear,

so I thought I'd see if any of
Gabrielle's things would fit.

This was your room before.

Our room, yes.

Why don't you sleep in here anymore?

I never liked the view. I
prefer to see the sunset.

Did you buy her this dress?

Gabrielle didn't need
me for things like that.

Ah, she had exquisite taste.

In everything but men.

How come there are no photographs

of Gabrielle's first husband?

The marriage ended badly.

- Did he beat her?
- Her, no.

Okay, let's play a game, you and I.

It's called, "I won't lie to Sam."

Doesn't sound like much fun.

And the rules are I ask you a question

and you answer without lying,
if that's even possible.

How does one win this game?

Well, that's the thing, you
can't win, you can only lose.

- What do I lose?
- Your self-respect.

Question number one.

Did Philippe tell you
where the boy came from?

Algeria.

- Anything more specific, a town?
- No.

Papa said the boy was
rich, or his family was.

- See how easy this is?
- You're not a nice person.

I like to think I grow on people.

Question number two. Did
he mention a family name?

- No.
- Question three.

Did this rich family hire Philippe
to bring the kid over to France?

Not sure about that one.

Papa said he was being
paid to take care of him.

What, they hated the boy that much?

What?

Never mind. Question number four.

After leaving the boy at the convent,

did Philippe tell you
where he was going next?

- You already asked me that one.
- You already lied.

This is your shot at redemption.

I wasn't lying.

I don't know where he went.

He was coming back.

And you know this how?

Stop the fashion show and answer me.

I know that he's close by.

Why, because you're so important to him?

No, because Zaid is.

Take off your jacket and sit down.

- Oh, right.
- Katrine.

I need a favor.

Which I will listen to right
after I listen to your chest.

Audrey Saint-Andre is a
patient of yours, is she not?

Sit down.

Cough.

Is she...

Did we not agree that
the smoking would stop?

Agree? No, you insisted, I equivocated,

told you what you wanted to hear.

I'm telling you, quit or die.

There's that adorable tenderness
you French are so famous for.

You prefer I beat around the bush?

When me dying is on the table, yes.

You've never struck me as a
man who yields to temptation.

Where is your famous willpower?

I try to quit. I just keep finding
cigarettes between my fingers.

Try harder.

I'm gonna have those words painted

on the ceiling of my bedroom.

Is Audrey a patient?

Everyone in this town is,

from birth to burial,

though in Audrey's case,
she was also my nurse

and quite a good one.

I'm sure she and her shotgun
had a terrific bedside manner.

Why are you curious about Audrey?

Is she due for an exam anytime soon?

No.

Can you come up with a reason
why you have to see her?

Why would I?

I need to find Philippe.

Knowing that jackal,

he has long since crept
into the underbrush.

Maybe, but if he were to hear

that something had happened to Teresa,

he might show himself.

Like what sort of something?

Like her being shot.

You want me to lie to his mother
to say that Teresa was hurt?

Not hurt, shot.

Hurt can mean anything

between stubbed her
toe and fell out of bed.

Shot can only mean shot.

You presume Audrey cares about the girl.

I presume she speaks to her son.

And you presume he cares about the girl.

His reasons might not
be the most paternal,

but Philippe has a real
interest in keeping her healthy.

I will go to Audrey

and check her blood
pressure, which is very high.

And while I'm there,

perhaps the subject of
the girl will come up.

Be sure to subtly drop
into the conversation

that she's staying at my house.

I am always subtle.

Like a ball-peen hammer.

Sometimes what's best is
to keep the bodies buried.

Often death is the best
cure, often a relief.

They teach you that bit of
"deepitude" in medical school?

Buchenwald.

Monsieur Spade...

Oui.

- Do you mind?
- I'm speaking to a lawyer.

Seriously, Jean-Pierre,

I prefer to be harassed
on a full stomach.

Gabrielle trusted me.
She believed in me.

That was before you stole from her.

That is only a sliver
of the whole truth.

Try me.

When I was 16, I was in love with her.

A ridiculous thing to say, but I was.

Not ridiculous at all.

Not when we're talking about Gabrielle.

But she was your aunt.

Not by blood. I called her aunt,

but Gabrielle and my
mother were close friends.

Only friends.

- She never told you this?
- No.

So, she never told you
that they met at Charenton?

The hospital?

The asylum, where my mother was a cook

after she divorced my father.

Why was Gabrielle there?

She was admitted right
after Jacques died.

You really didn't know this?

No, we never really
talked about Jacques,

apart from the fact that he was dead

and how he got that way.

She wasn't the same afterwards.

And now you're gonna tell me

you don't think she
was in her right mind

when she made her will.

The possibility, my lawyer says.

Which is legalese for "tough to prove,"

especially since Jacques died

eight years before I even got here.

I was on leave,

glad to be back in Bozouls,
excited to see Gabrielle,

but there you were, living in her house.

She wasn't the same with me.

Bullshit. I don't buy that you came home

and got so jealous of me
that you stole from her.

I needed the money to get
myself out of the army.

I was desperate not wanting
to go back and fight.

Philippe knew a colonel

who, for a price,
could get me discharged.

That sounds like Philippe,

helping out a childhood pal for a price.

But you didn't have to
steal from Gabrielle.

She would've given you
whatever you needed.

She also would've
forgiven me for my mistake,

one I have paid for.

Then don't make another one.

You have a wife at home

who is trying to find a way back to you.

That's something.

No, Marguerite has moved on.

She doesn't want to admit that,
she doesn't want to hurt me,

but she doesn't feel the same as I do.

So, I must go away.

But not before I can make sure
my wife is taken care of by me.

So, this is all just for her?

For both of us.

You must be drunk if you think

I'm just gonna hand
over the vineyard to you.

Ha, that's not the kind of man you are.

In fact, when I first saw
Gabrielle in your arms,

- I thought someone like you...
- Someone like me, what?

Couldn't really love
someone like Gabrielle?

The other way around.

Look, Spade, I just want
to know my rights and...

You don't have any.

If I have none, I will
accept that I have lost.

I will leave Bozouls.

But at least I will know what is true

instead of simply
accepting your version.

And if you do have a legitimate claim?

I will ask that you give me a fair price

and I will still leave.

I'm not gonna fight you anymore.

If I want you dead, I just have to wait.

And, from what I can see,
the wait won't be long.

Bon appétit.

Simon?

- No.
- Mm-hmm.

I remember meeting you.

We were in a room that was very hot.

I was dizzy and could barely breathe

but you wouldn't look at me.

After that, all of a sudden,

I was on an airplane next to you.

Istanbul is pretty
hot that time of year.

What was I doing there?

Only your mother can
fill you in on that.

All I was told is where to find you.

The money in my trust fund,

how did she have so much?

Your mother had a nose for antiques.

My father?

He had a nose for people's weaknesses.

- He stole the antiques?
- And worse.

I hope he never comes back.

Well, that's a swerve in attitude.

I wanna live here.

With your own Coke and a
bottomless bottle of brandy?

Who could blame you?

I wanna live here with you.

That's an even bigger swerve.

Atta girl.

Give me your best of
outlook, don't say a word,

and maybe I'll fall for this bullshit.

Why should I say anything?
You don't believe me when I do.

That's because you lie the way
other people blink or inhale.

It's automatic.

And I'm afraid, when the convent
reopens, you're going back.

- No, I won't.
- You don't have a choice.

- When I'm 18, I will.
- But you're not 18.

When I get that money,

I'm leaving this stupid little town.

If that's what you want.

Maybe I'll go back to San Francisco

and find out a few of your secrets.

Hello?

Somebody took a shot at Teresa?

Philippe?

I had nothing to do with that.

No, but you pulled
her into your bullshit.

Is the boy with you?

You want to have a real conversation?

Knock on my door.

Nine o'clock, the cemetery.

The cemetery? Are you fucking kidding?

You missed your chance...

to shoot me.

Oh...

it's no Van Gogh, but it's not that bad.

Gabrielle would have.

If this is about your raise...

Helena?

Someone's in the house.

Helena?

Ah!

Ah.

The girl.

Sit. We're not to intervene.

Mr. Spade!

I'm gonna ask you some questions,

and every time you don't answer,

I'm going to kick you in the head.

Sound good?

I'm so glad you could
join us for a meal.

After what I saw floating in your pool,

I'm a bit twitchy.

- Just glad I could help.
- Knock it off,

and tell me what's going on.

We all pretend, Mr. Spade.

You have many enemies.

- Did someone get lost?
- Apparently so.

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