Sorbier:
A friend of yours?
Pierre Brochant:
No. My friends are not that dumb. We pick aces. This is big league.
Sorbier:
Where do you find them?
Pierre Brochant:
It's hard. A real manhunt. We have scouts who tip us off.
Sorbier:
[Pierre reacts in pain]
Fifth lumbar vertebra!
Pierre Brochant:
Is it serious?
Sorbier:
No, but call off your dinner.
Pierre Brochant:
No!
Sorbier:
Rest your back tonight. I'll stop by tomorrow.
Pierre Brochant:
But, doctor... I have a prime idiot coming! Give me a shot! I don't care! Anything!
Sorbier:
Ice bag and rest, or you'll be out for three weeks.
Pierre Brochant:
I'm jinxed. My phone book, please. Thanks. The telephone. What's his name again? Francois Pignon.
Sorbier:
What does he do?
Pierre Brochant:
He's a tax man.
Sorbier:
Isn't that dangerous? What if he finds out?
Pierre Brochant:
He won't. We're careful. No idiot ever found out.
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 08:26
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