Page 83 of French Escapade

One of them starts to talk. “Brigadier Cossa, very serious facts have been reported to us. Commissaire Wagner called us in and, as required by law, we have started an inquiry. You will have to testify, as well as the colleagues who were present that evening.”

What follows gets lost in a fog. I’m elsewhere. I do hear the wordssanctionandinquiry,but the rest just flies past. I’m thinking about Ken, Madison, and Tiffany, wherever they are. I also think about Ted and his offer.

I’m asked to give my version of what happened. I know this is just one of numerous times I will have to do it. Then the two members of internal affairs leave with the assistants. It’s just the commissaire and I.

He stands and walks to the window. From where he is, he can look at the sea. But the sight of the Mediterranean doesn’t hold his attention for long. He turns back to face me and yells, “Fuck, Cossa! What the hell is wrong with you?”

I can think of many ways to answer him. None would make him happy. So I remain quiet.

“Do you realize that there are chances you’ll have to turn your badge in? The risks you’ve exposed the entire team to? The position in which you have put me?” he screams.

“I understand, Monsieur le Commissaire.”

His small black eyes stare at me. When he first took the job, I thought that he would be better than the man he replaced. Once more, I was wrong. The way he behaved the other night confirms it.

I wonder if he, too, is in the back pocket of Arkady or some other crook. Chances are, I’ll never know.

He points a finger at me. “Cossa, you need to know that if, by some chance, internal affairs decides to let you keep your job, you will never work in this part of France again. I’ll make sure of that.” Something tells me he means business. “We’ll see how you’ll feel when they send you to Saint-Pierre and Miquelon.”

“Don’t bother,” I finally bark at him. Shocked by the fact that I dare talk back at him, and with an arrogant tone at that, he steps back. I take advantage of this to continue. “No need for you to work on destroying my career, because I’m quitting, sir.”

He didn’t expect this. He doesn’t answer right away. But I imagine he won’t try to hold me back.

“Well, if that’s what you want to do … please drop your resignation letter on my secretary’s desk. I’ll do the required paperwork right away.”

“I know you will,” I snap back as I stand.

I’m walking out when he snickers. “If you’re happy to work as a supermarket security guard for the rest of your life, I won’t say anything to change your mind.”

“I’d rather be a rent-a-cop for a corporation who appreciates me than remain in a place where the core values of my colleagues are the opposite of mine.”

I don’t stay to listen to his answer. When I return to my office to pack my stuff, I feel so much lighter.

I hope I won’t regret my decision.

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