Nah, don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear about the latest nonsense spouted by the peroxide blonde psycho under the thumb of BMW, or the latest dirty tricks of his buddy, the Israeli crook and child killer (Reporters Without Borders has just declared that the Israeli army is currently “the worst enemy of journalists.”) I don’t want to hear about the paranoid ramblings of the botoxed Kremlinite, or the ethnic/ religious massacres that are decimating the African continent. I don’t want to hear any of this bullshit, most of which is caused by submission to the god of Money. I’m like Lieutenant Castagna. I just want to crack up reading my collection of Kebra, by Tramber and Jano.↓
The building Casta had just parked his Clio 3 at was nothing like the dilapidated condo that housed his two-room appartment with a view on the ring road. He hesitated before going up to pay his compliments to his partner’s in-laws! Better phone first. Lise picked up before the second ring.
“I’m down here.”
“Coming.”
Casta had received Comba’s phone call around noon. He was still in bed, almost forgetting about his liver thanks to the whole “Kebra” series he was doing again. Tramber and Jano! The crème de la crème of 80s comics. “Trapped like a rat”, “Kebra gets angry”, “Star Loser”, “Hounded by shame” (by Jano without Tramber)… He had them all!
Captain Combaluzier wasn’t known as a contender for the “laugh of the century” award, but the tone in which he had asked to “speak to Lieutenant Jean-Noël Castagna!” Spooky!
“It’s me, Captain. What’s up? What’s going on?”
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