Monsieur Spade – Episode 3 | Transcript

Spade searches for answers regarding the mysterious young boy that everyone seems to be looking for. Samir takes him into hiding, but no one knows what to make of his incessant writing. Spade gets a call from the elusive Philippe
Monsieur Spade - Episode 3

Monsieur Spade
Season 1 Episode 3
Episode Title: n/a
Original release date: January 28, 2024

Spade searches for answers regarding the mysterious young boy that everyone seems to be looking for. Samir takes him into hiding, but no one knows what to make of his incessant writing. Spade gets a call from the elusive Philippe.

* * *

[Jazz music]

I worked for Gabrielle LaVarone.

Oh. As what? As a gardener?

More like her housekeeper.

Tell me your name again.

Samuel Spade.


How ridiculous.

My mother liked it.

A whore, no doubt.

Maybe we’ll leave my mother out of this and focus on you and me.


You and me and this kid, then, the one that’s supposedly mine.

This has nothing to do with her.

Okay. So, do tell me,

what keeps you on Le Trou?

Le what?

Le Trou.

The hole, this place. You stay here long enough, you’ll see how inevitable the name is.

I can see that just by looking out of the window.


But you don’t see everything.


Sometimes, when the sun is just so… you stand at the top and you look down and the river and the houses are all gone, disappeared.

One day when I was a child, the darkness was so thick that I rode with my boat right over to La Cascade.

I miss that boat.

I would row in the river every day.

You understand what I’m saying?

Not really, but then I was too busy wondering what day you might finish talking to listen.

Mm. I speak in metaphor.

So all that yap about shadows and waterfalls is really about your unhappy childhood.


You Americans understand nothing.

Fuck a Frenchwoman in a French bed and… you’ll learn all you need to know.

I don’t think you and I are having the same conversation.

Of course we are.

Then you’re either really dumb or you’re trying to provoke me, which also makes you really dumb.

Or you’re just what everybody says you are.

Handsome? Devil-may-care?

Whatever you are and whatever you want me to think you are, you’re not drunk, you’re not bored, and you’re not at all interesting.

So you can knock off the bug act and listen to what I have to say.

I promise to be quick so you can get back to your sulking and I can get back to the States, where people don’t butter their fucking fruit.


You’re just an American private copper, which in France, gives you about the same legal authority as a rat catcher.

In my case, the two jobs are one and the same.

[Music ends]

[Crowd applauding]

Relax, I’m not gonna shoot you.

That’s 500,000 francs.

[Scoffs] 500,000?

That’s a lot of francs.

A whole lot.

What am I supposed to do with it?

Buy yourself a new boat and row yourself the fuck out of here.

Where would I go?

I hear Norway needs more assholes.

I grew up here.

I still have great love for Bozouls.

Sadly, one that’s unrequited.

What about the others?

The neighbors whom I care so much about?

What about ’em?

Will they also bring me envelopes?

No, they will not.

Consider this a gift from everyone on your little list.

This is the grand total of what you’re gonna get.

And what if I choose to stay?

The bottom of that hole is a long way down.

Metaphorically speaking.

I’m not a man to be threatened.

If you think I’m threatening you, then whosever that it was taught you English didn’t know a threat from a promise.

Please… [Clears throat] convey my “No, thank you” to Madame LaVarone and all the carrots. I’ve asked for what I deserve and will accept nothing less.

[Jazz music plays]

Philippe… you’re not the worst I’ve dealt with, not by a country mile. I just want you to know that.


Good luck with finding a home for the girl,

Mr. Spade. [Chuckles]

[Jazz music continues]

[Birds chirping]

[Dramatic music plays]

[Muffled chattering]

[Keys jangling]

[Dishes clinking]

As-salamu alaykum.

[all] Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.

[Speaking Arabic]

[Vehicle rumbling]

[Speaking French]

[Door rattles]

[Knocking at door]


[Door thuds shut]

[Dramatic music]

[Dramatic music]

Spade: The point of the story is he wasn’t sorry for walking out on his life.

That seemed reasonable enough to him.

After all, a man’s nearly killed by a falling beam, makes him stop and think.

Usually the first thing that comes to mind is run.

But years later, when I saw him with his second wife, he couldn’t see how he’d settled back into the exact same life he’d run away from.

And I bet that’s the part of the story you like best.

The man adjusted himself to beams falling and when no more of them fell, he adjusted himself to them not falling.

You’re very smart for someone so rich.


I guess I’m lucky there’s so little construction in Bozouls.

Because I think what you’re really telling me is that you might, without warning, leave me at any moment.

I’m telling you it’s possible.

Well, we have something in common, then.

Only, I’m certain that I’d leave you.

I’m also certain that I won’t be much of a wife or be able to commit to anything beyond the end of the day.

The word forever being perhaps the most absurd of all words.

To me, at least.

You’re ill.

You can see that?

Not at all. Philippe told me.

At the airport, right before I put him on the plane.

I thought he had to be lying, because, of course, the last thing you look is ill.

That’s because I’m not.

At least not at the moment, anyway.

I was, not that long ago.

But I beat it.

Or so they like to tell you.

So I might leave you one day.

You might leave me one day.


Sounds like every love story I’ve ever heard.


[Tender music]

[Car horn honks]

We got a meeting with the bishop at four o’clock.


Six dead monks, if I had to guess.

Want to come along?

As long as no one asks me to confess.

[Engine revving]

[Car rumbling]

Lovely day for a swim, eh?


What do you think?

Nice frame.

Ah. Thank you.

[Speaking French]

Uh, I thought I’d surprise him and hang the painting.

There is a perfect spot in the library.

Right then. Thank you.


[Helena mutters]

[Motorcycle rumbling]

[Rain pattering]



[Items clatter]



[Groans, chuckles]

[Bell tolls]

Patrice: My confirmation name is Sebastian.

Every other boy chose Jean or Marc.

But I chose Sebastian.

I said they were Cupid’s arrows.

I was trying to be ironic.

Not easy to do at age 12.


[Door clicks open]

Samuel Spade.

New York City.

My condolences.

The monk. He’s been found.


Inside the Rhodes Cathedral.

Doing what, lighting a candle?

Bleeding, mostly. From a knife wound.

Clement: Thank you.

The boy.

They want the boy.

To which boy do you refer, Mr. Spade?

The Church wants him. They want him so bad they’ll overlook a few dead nuns to get him.

Oh, Mr. Spade, now even you can understand that there’s matters of Church and there’s matters of State.

A distinction the Church makes only when it suits them.

I’ll do my best and I’ll take that as an insult.

For some, the truth is an insult.

[Chuckles] You just seem unable to help yourself.

You can wait as long as you want for your back-flogging friend to wake up, but he’s not gonna be of much use to you.

He already lost the kid before he took a blade to his kidney.

Mr. Spade, do you have any specific information you want to share?

I just did.

Let’s go.

Spade: Well, you kept your cool, Patrice.


You may have not raised your voice,

but you still poked him as hard as I did.

I just like to shake the tree to see what falls out.

Except, my reckless American friend, shake a Roman tree and you get a face full of bird shit.

[Door creaks]

[Door bangs shut]

Mr. Spade, Commandant.

The monk’s name is Friar Angelo.

I believe that he was sent to Bozouls by

Agnes Omnipotence, it’s some secret society…

Wait, there’s a secret society inside the Vatican?



[Laughs] Yeah. Who knew, right?

That’s why they sent me here to help ferret out all the fanatics.

As you can imagine, it hasn’t been going very easy for me.

Like finding a needle in a needle stack.

Look, I don’t blame you for not trusting me.

I really don’t.

But you and me, we’re on the same side.

If you follow.

[Door opens]

[Door bangs shut]Okay.

So we can now add the Americans to the list of people that were chasing the kid.

[ “Je me donne à qui me plaît” by Brigitte Bardot plays]

[Music continues]

[Teresa sings along]

A little loud, don’t you think?

[Music continues]

[Switch clicks, music stops]

What are you doing?

I need something to wear,

so I thought I’d see if any of Gabrielle’s things would fit.

[Birds and cicadas chirping]

This was your room before.

Our room, yes.

Why don’t you sleep in here anymore?

I never liked the view. I prefer to see the sunset.

Did you buy her this dress?

Gabrielle didn’t need me for things like that.

Ah, she had exquisite taste.

In everything but men.

How come there are no photographs of Gabrielle’s first husband?

The marriage ended badly.

Did he beat her?

Her, no.

Okay, let’s play a game, you and I.

It’s called, “I won’t lie to Sam.”

Doesn’t sound like much fun.

And the rules are I ask you a question

and you answer without lying, if that’s even possible.

How does one win this game?

Well, that’s the thing, you can’t win, you can only lose.

What do I lose? Your self-respect.

Question number one.

Did Philippe tell you where the boy came from?


Anything more specific, a town?


Papa said the boy was rich, or his family was.

See how easy this is?

You’re not a nice person.

I like to think I grow on people.

Question number two. Did he mention a family name?


Question three. Did this rich family hire Philippe to bring the kid over to France?

Not sure about that one.

Papa said he was being paid to take care of him.

What, they hated the boy that much?


Never mind. Question number four.

After leaving the boy at the convent, did Philippe tell you where he was going next?

You already asked me that one.

You already lied.

This is your shot at redemption.

I wasn’t lying.

I don’t know where he went.

[Birds chirping, dog barking]

He was coming back.

And you know this how?

Stop the fashion show and answer me.

I know that he’s close by.

Why, because you’re so important to him?

No, because Zaid is.

[Speaking Arabic]

[Paper rustles]

[Pencil scratches]

[Pencil scratches]

[Brakes screech]

[Residents talking indistinctly]

[Gentle piano music]

[Sings in French]

[Ashtray smashes]

[Speaking French]

[Gentle piano music continues]

[Broken ashtray clatters]

[Footsteps approaching]

[Singing in French]

[Sam coughs]

Take off your jacket and sit down.

Oh, right.


I need a favor.

Which I will listen to right after I listen to your chest.

Audrey Saint-Andre is a patient of yours, is she not?

Sit down.


[Coughs] Is she… [Coughs]

Did we not agree that the smoking would stop?

Agree? No, you insisted, I equivocated, told you what you wanted to hear.

I’m telling you, quit or die.

There’s that adorable tenderness you French are so famous for.

You prefer I beat around the bush?

When me dying is on the table, yes.

[Telephone rings]

You’ve never struck me as a man who yields to temptation.

Where is your famous willpower?

I try to quit.

I just keep finding cigarettes between my fingers.

Try harder.

I’m gonna have those words painted on the ceiling of my bedroom.

Is Audrey a patient?

Everyone in this town is, from birth to burial, though in Audrey’s case, she was also my nurse and quite a good one.

I’m sure she and her shotgun had a terrific bedside manner.

Why are you curious about Audrey?

Is she due for an exam anytime soon?


Can you come up with a reason why you have to see her?

Why would I?

I need to find Philippe.

Knowing that jackal, he has long since crept into the underbrush.

Maybe, but if he were to hear that something had happened to Teresa,

he might show himself.

Like what sort of something?

Like her being shot.

You want me to lie to his mother

to say that Teresa was hurt?

Not hurt, shot.

Hurt can mean anything

between stubbed her toe and fell out of bed.

Shot can only mean shot.

You presume Audrey cares about the girl.

I presume she speaks to her son.

And you presume he cares about the girl.

His reasons might not be the most paternal, but Philippe has a real interest in keeping her healthy.

I will go to Audrey and check her blood pressure, which is very high.

And while I’m there, perhaps the subject of the girl will come up.

Be sure to subtly drop into the conversation that she’s staying at my house.

I am always subtle.

Like a ball-peen hammer.

Sometimes what’s best is to keep the bodies buried.

Often death is the best cure, often a relief.

They teach you that bit of “deepitude” in medical school?


[Customers talking indistinctly]

Monsieur Spade…


[Car revs]

[Customers talking indistinctly]

Do you mind? I’m speaking to a lawyer.

Seriously, Jean-Pierre, I prefer to be harassed on a full stomach.

Gabrielle trusted me. She believed in me.

That was before you stole from her.

That is only a sliver of the whole truth.

[Plate scrapes]

Try me.

When I was 16, I was in love with her.

A ridiculous thing to say, but I was.

Not ridiculous at all.

Not when we’re talking about Gabrielle.

But she was your aunt.

Not by blood. I called her aunt, but Gabrielle and my mother were close friends.

Only friends.

She never told you this?


So, she never told you that they met at Charenton?

The hospital? [Coughs]

The asylum, where my mother was a cook after she divorced my father.

Why was Gabrielle there?

She was admitted right after Jacques died.

You really didn’t know this?

No, we never really talked about Jacques, apart from the fact that he was dead and how he got that way.

She wasn’t the same afterwards.

And now you’re gonna tell me you don’t think she was in her right mind when she made her will.

The possibility, my lawyer says.

Which is legalese for “tough to prove,” especially since Jacques died eight years before I even got here.

[Plates and cutlery clattering]

I was on leave, glad to be back in Bozouls, excited to see Gabrielle, but there you were, living in her house.

She wasn’t the same with me.

Bullshit. I don’t buy that you came home and got so jealous of me that you stole from her.

I needed the money to get myself out of the army.

I was desperate not wanting to go back and fight.

Philippe knew a colonel who, for a price, could get me discharged.

That sounds like Philippe, helping out a childhood pal for a price.

But you didn’t have to steal from Gabrielle.

She would’ve given you whatever you needed.

She also would’ve forgiven me for my mistake, one I have paid for.

Then don’t make another one.

You have a wife at home who is trying to find a way back to you.

That’s something.

No, Marguerite has moved on.

She doesn’t want to admit that, she doesn’t want to hurt me, but she doesn’t feel the same as I do.

So, I must go away.

But not before I can make sure my wife is taken care of by me.

So, this is all just for her?

For both of us.

You must be drunk if you think I’m just gonna hand over the vineyard to you.

Ha, that’s not the kind of man you are.

In fact, when I first saw Gabrielle in your arms, I thought someone like you… Someone like me, what?

Couldn’t really love someone like Gabrielle?

The other way around.

Look, Spade, I just want to know my rights and…

You don’t have any.

If I have none, I will accept that I have lost.

I will leave Bozouls.

But at least I will know what is true instead of simply accepting your version.

And if you do have a legitimate claim?

I will ask that you give me a fair price and I will still leave.


[Dog barks]

I’m not gonna fight you anymore.

If I want you dead, I just have to wait.

And, from what I can see, the wait won’t be long.

[Plate scrapes]

Bon appétit.

[Customers talking indistinctly]

[Church bell tolls]

[ “La Valse A Mille Temps” by Jacques Brel plays on phonograph]

[Music continues]

[Knocking on door]


[Music continues]

[Knocking on door]

[Bottles clinking]

No. Mm-hmm.

[Music continues]

[Switch clicks, music stops]

[Birds chirping]

[Footsteps approaching]

I remember meeting you.

We were in a room that was very hot.

I was dizzy and could barely breathe but you wouldn’t look at me.

After that, all of a sudden, I was on an airplane next to you.

Istanbul is pretty hot that time of year.

What was I doing there?

Only your mother can fill you in on that.

All I was told is where to find you.

The money in my trust fund, how did she have so much?

Your mother had a nose for antiques.

My father?

He had a nose for people’s weaknesses.

He stole the antiques?

And worse.

I hope he never comes back.

Well, that’s a swerve in attitude.

I wanna live here.

With your own Coke and a bottomless bottle of brandy?

Who could blame you?

I wanna live here with you.

That’s an even bigger swerve.

[Birds chirping]

Atta girl.

Give me your best of outlook, don’t say a word, and maybe I’ll fall for this bullshit.

Why should I say anything? You don’t believe me when I do.

That’s because you lie the way other people blink or inhale.

It’s automatic.

And I’m afraid, when the convent reopens, you’re going back.

No, I won’t.

You don’t have a choice.

When I’m 18, I will.

But you’re not 18.

When I get that money, I’m leaving this stupid little town.

If that’s what you want.

Maybe I’ll go back to San Francisco and find out a few of your secrets.

[Telephone ringing]


Philippe: Somebody took a shot at Teresa?


I had nothing to do with that.

No, but you pulled her into your bullshit.

Is the boy with you?

You want to have a real conversation?

Knock on my door.

Nine o’clock, the cemetery.

The cemetery? Are you fucking kidding?

[Line disconnects, dial tone]

[Ominous orchestral music]

[Door clicks]

[Gentle trumpet and orchestral music]

[Gun clicks]

[Trumpet and orchestral music continues]

[Footsteps thudding]

[Door thuds]

[ “J’suis D’accord” by Francoise Hardy plays on phonograph]

[Car revs]

[Dog barking]

[Car door slams]

[Cicadas chirping]

[Cats squabbling]

[Undergrowth rustling]

[Animal barking]

[Owl hooting]

[Car revs]

[Fox howls]

[Cicadas chirping]

[Motorbike revs, backfires]

[Suspenseful guitar and orchestral music]

[Car revs]

[Brakes squealing]

[Suspenseful orchestral music intensifies]


[Sam panting]

[Suspenseful violin music]

[Door creaks]

[Door closes]

[Gun clicks]

[Dramatic orchestral music]


[Cork plops]

You missed your chance… to shoot me.

Oh… it’s no Van Gogh, but it’s not that bad.

Gabrielle would have.

If this is about your raise…

[Sam gulps and sighs]

[Glass shatters]

[Loud thud]


Someone’s in the house.

Sam: Helena?

[Hand thumps, Sam grunts]

[Sam grunts]


[Sam grunting]


[Objects clattering]

[Choking and grunting]


[Footsteps approaching]

[Door opens]

[Floorboards creaking]

The girl.

Sit. We’re not to intervene.

[Sam and assailant scuffling]

Teresa: [Screams] Mr. Spade!

[Gun fires]


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