Inhuman Resources by Pierre Lemaitre

Author:Pierre Lemaitre
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC031010 Fiction / Thrillers / Crime
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2018-11-05T16:00:00+00:00

25

There was no doubt my intervention had been premature, but it was too late for regrets. I had presented Monsieur Delambre with a breach, and he’d charged right into it.

“Alright then, big guy!” he said to me. “Where’s all your wonderful organization, now? Where is it now, eh, you prick?”

I can’t tell you how the others reacted to this, because I kept my eyes closed.

“It was all going so well . . . such a shame. Your little team, your little cameras, your shitty little machine guns!”

He drilled the gun into my forehead, as if he wanted the barrel to pierce my skull.

“But this one . . . this is a real one, my friend. With real bullets, that make real holes. We’re not playing Cowboys and Indians now. In fact, speaking of Indians, where’s the big chief?”

Monsieur Delambre was standing up again, hand on hip, pretending to search around.

“That’s a very good point . . . where’s the head honcho?”

He knelt down in front of Monsieur Dorfmann, just as he had with me. He placed the tip of his Beretta in exactly the same position, right in the middle of his forehead. He was fizzing with hatred. He wanted to belittle us, humiliate us. This answered my question about his motives and went a long way to explaining what would happen in the future: deep down, Monsieur Delambre didn’t want anything. He wasn’t after money; he wasn’t demanding a ransom. No, he wanted revenge. Bitterness and resentment had driven him to these lengths. He was craving retribution of the symbolic kind.

This aging, jobless executive was starting to take a perverse pleasure in brandishing a gun in the face of a major European CEO, so much so that a bloodbath had become a plausible outcome.

“Well, then . . . ,” he continued. “He’s so discreet, our generalissimo. He seems worried sick. Of course he does—he’s got such mighty responsibilities! Must be tough, eh? Eh? Yes, it is, it’s tough . . .”

Monsieur Delambre had adopted a theatrical, mocking, sympathetic tone.

“Mass layoffs . . . Now that really is tough. But wait! That’s not even the toughest part, is it now? No, no, no . . . the toughest part is planning them all. Now that really is complicated. They’re just coming so thick and fast, aren’t they? You’ve hit your stride. It takes some expertise to manage all this firing—some real willpower. Got to bargain with the bastards, don’t you? And for that you need men, good ones at that. Soldiers, boots on the ground for the great capitalist cause. You can’t just pick any old so-and-so, can you, O mighty Caesar? And when it comes to choosing the best, nothing does it quite like a good old-fashioned hostage taking. Well: you’re in luck, dear leader. You’ve got one.”

He leaned forward, turning his head to the side, as if he were about to kiss him on the lips, and I managed to catch a glimpse of Monsieur Dorfmann’s face. He was keeping his cool, holding his breath and thinking about what to say.

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