Archives par mot-clé : F.Y. Richard

Thai break

Graffiti, , , ,

Watch out for that ICE, Joe! You’re talking too much! You’re lucky to be just another awesome character in an even more awesome book by F.Y. Richard ↓

He was genuinely pleased to see Joe. He knew a good guy when he saw one. And Joe’s cooking was definitely worth the trip. Now the fact that Amandine’s former student’s family restaurant was located at the corner of Jacques Dorset Boulevard and « massage alley » also played a part. He waited for the Khao Niao Ma Mouang, a dessert that Joe mastered to perfection, before letting his “work commitments” resurface. As the restaurant owner refilled his cup for the umpteenth time, he pushed forward his first pawn: “By the way, Joe, although I only followed the case from afar, I understand that you lost a neighbor  last year? A pity, really! After this sumptuous meal, a digestive massage at the Phuket Sun would have been very welcome!”

That was a rather heavy pawn, to be sure! Momentarily taken aback, Joe didn’t shut himself off like a Bangkok oyster. Instead, he chose to bounce back. “A digestive massage!  Commissioner sir! I have the weakness of thinking that my cooking rivals the lightness of a hummingbird alighting on a frangipani flower!” Then, in a more serious tone: “Regarding the Phuket Sun, what can I say except that you can’t hide an elephant’s corpse under a water lily leaf? Everyone here knew that sooner or later it would end this way. If Frémaux Street has such a bad reputation, it’s because some of my fellow citizens…” Joe paused. Wasn’t he straying a little too far from the code of silence that was de rigueur in his profession? His voice dropped to a whisper. “…Encouraged in their abuses, it has to be said, by…” Now he was about to criticize the inhabitants of his adopted country!

B., not at all shocked—quite the contrary—gave him a hand. “…By local perverts. Honourable scum, let’s not mince words, my dear Joe!”

Read more? Download Commissioner B. goes south

Epub / Kindle

Nobody’s perfect

La vie du site, ,

A pair of boobs like Ingrid’s didn’t come in every bra! Too bad her older brother was a Gendarmerie officer! She had reassured him right away, though:

“There’s a gendarme and a gendarme. Oscar doesn’t always confide in me, but I know he’s, well, broad-minded. You need to be broad-minded when you have expensive tastes! You, for example, if you want to keep a chick like me…”

“Melons like yours you mean? ‘Oscar’! What a name. What got into your parents?”

“I’m sorry, but ‘Achilles’…”

“That was my grandfather’s name. He was an artist. He taught me to pick my first locks. He just shouldn’t have been a boozer, that’s all.”

“You mean your gramps, his heel was his liver?”

“?”

Achilles was better at burglary than general knowledge. Ingrid had to explain to him that the ancient Greeks—he didn’t want to hear about the modern ones—celebrated a guy by the name of Achilles. “A kind of Marvel superhero, as it were. When she’d plunged him into the Styx, a river that made local bathers immortal (provided they were completely immersed, his mother had had no choice but to hold him by the heel.”

“As long as she didn’t hold him by his willy…” In addition to her legendary breasts, Achilles found it flattering to sleep with an intellectual. Not to mention that over the years, his collaboration with her Oscar of a brother had proved more than fruitful for both. At first, of course, Oscar had been discreet about his extra activities at the barracks. But between brothers-in-law or almost, sooner or later, secrets come out. “You’re a broad-minded gendarme, I’m a thief who’s anything but ungrateful. Why not explore the coincidence in our respective best interests?”

Read more? Download Commissioner B. goes south

Epub / Kindle

 

Okay, okay !

La vie du site,

Okay, so you don’t speak French and you couldn’t care less about French writers. Down with Rabelais, Marcel Proust, and whoever came in between, before, or after! Okay,  all you wanna know is that Commissioner B. is about to head south!!!

Okay, okay! But don’t you want to take a quick look at one last excerpt? To make sure that after downloading Commissioner B. Goes South as soon as it’s available, you won’t regret wasting nearly $3 with no chance of getting a refund from those crooks at Amazon…

.   .   .   .

Bongarçon had time to stop by the nick to check the contents of the briefcase. When he pulled into the parking lot, he ran into Chomsky and Repu. They were wrestling with Santa Claus. Handcuffed, disheveled, his beard askew, Santa had left one boot behind in the police car. He was clinging to the door with all his might, determined not to spend Christmas Eve in a cell.

“Cut the crap, you bastard!” Sub-Brigadier Chomsky was not in the mood for niceties that evening, it seemed.

“Can we get some information?” Bongarçon inquired.  “Did Santa Claus double park his sleigh or something?”

“We picked him up on the sidewalk in front of the Modern Galleries, sir. He was exposing himself to customers. The security guard didn’t know what to do.” With that, Chomsky landed another slap on the miscreant, who let go of the door and slid to the ground. Now they’d have to carry this fat drunk!

Commissioner B. would have gladly lent a hand to his men, but it was much too cold in the parking lot. He slipped away and entered the station. At the front desk, Travers was tidying up his counter before calling it a day. He eyed the shabby briefcase.

.   .   .   .

Still wanna risk your almost 3 bucks ?

Say next week?

La vie du site, ,

Say next week ?

Another teaser?

He’s already fallen twice. The second time on a sharp stone that took the better of his trouser leg. Now he’s fashionable except that the skin on his knee is fashionable too. The hand that went down on the news came back up all sticky. And his head! His poor head! The ringing that went off when he caught the door with his left temple, throwing his right against the stone doorframe, hasn’t stopped since. He can’t string two coherent thoughts together. For the moment, only one is needed: RUN! Get the hell out of here! At least he didn’t make the mistake of trying to reach the Wrangler. Firstly, Achilles has the key. Secondly, his pursuers must be hunting him down in that area. Népheg said the ravine was an old branch of the Rauze, so the Rauze can’t be far away. Find it, follow it and, sooner or later, end up somewhere around the Fourchette  …and the Mercedes…  Without stopping to run like crazy, he taps the pocket on his intact leg’s side and feels the RKE remote, warm against his thigh.

 

In the meantime, for those interested in the reasons and circumstances that made them what they are,

« Homo juchremanensis  » ( Kindle/ Epub)

is still available.