Lorraine Connection (7 page)

In the boardroom, the discussion is drawn out in endless
preliminaries
, as the interpreter translates each intervention into Korean or French. Amrouche goes through a list of grievances that have accumulated since the factory opened. The group of spectators in the doorway slowly dwindles. The afternoon drags on and people are beginning to get bored. The security guards patrol the main corridor, to general indifference. A group is
sitting
in a circle in the Head of HR’s office, passing spliffs around. Pity the secretaries have already gone home, they’d have made the evening more fun. ‘What about our women, where are they?’ ‘They’ve chickened out, I bet you.’ Sniggers, male camaraderie. Around the coffee machine, others have resumed their perpetual card games. There’s a TV in the boss’s office. It proves
impossible
to find the remote and the TV set is thrown on the floor. Nourredine has fallen asleep in his chair, his head on his knees.

Étienne has brought back the computer seized from the Korean executive’s car. He finds a quiet office and plugs it in. He knows a thing or two about computers, he does. Here’s his chance to see what they get up to in the offices. It amuses and interests him. He opens up the computer, no problem, and starts tapping away. In the folder labelled ‘management purchases-sales suppliers’ there are several files, identified by numbers. He opens one at random, and discovers lists of names: French names, foreign names, all unknown. He clicks on one of them. In an inset on the left of the screen, a close-up of a woman giving a man a blow job, repetitive, forceful, animated graphics. Étienne clicks on another file, another graphic, blow job again, but different angle and position. He flicks gleefully through folders and files, jumping from masturbation to sodomy, threesomes and other variations. Étienne’s jubilant: those bureaucrats, got to hand it to them, they’re well organised. The image of Aisha lying on the floor in the dark comes back to him, he smells the fragrance of shampoo in her mass of black hair, and then the overpowering smell of blood. A virgin, a special feeling, a good feeling. Massive hard-on. He jumps. Karim is leaning over his shoulder with the easy familiarity between a supplier and one
of his regular customers, and slips a ready-rolled joint into the pocket of his overalls.

‘Little present for you. I’m shutting up shop and going home.’

His gaze lights on the screen. The image shows a woman on all fours being mounted by a dog – a white Great Dane with black patches, and he’s panting, tongue hanging out. It takes Étienne’s breath away. You don’t often see that around here in Pondange.

There’s a pause in negotiations. The managers have asked to be allowed to consult each other and Amrouche and Hafed have left them alone in the boardroom. During the break in discussions they do the rounds of the offices and take stock of the occupation. Amrouche enters the room where Étienne and Karim are
chortling
and thumping each other, glued to the computer,
shoulder
to shoulder. In one corner of the screen, a man is fucking a woman doggie-style, medium-close shot of their arses moving. Amrouche, deeply shocked, mutters a few exorcisms and goes out, slamming the door behind him. The noise makes Karim jump. He emerges from his reverie and his business instincts kick in.

‘Can you make me a quick copy of the images? You’re good at mucking around with these machines, then you enlarge them, we make a nice little diskette that I can sell for a good price. I’ve got the customers, and we go fifty-fifty.’

‘Brilliant. Wait, it won’t take a minute.’

Étienne rummages in the cupboards, finds some diskettes, inserts one, starts copying. The operation takes three minutes, the time it takes to light the joint and have a few tokes with Karim who pockets the diskette and vanishes in the direction of the cafeteria.

Étienne carries on smoking and daydreaming. How much would he make on the deal? A thousand francs? More? He looks back at the screen. The images have disappeared and his gaze is drawn to the name of a file he recognises. Nourredine Hamidi. Nourredine, my friend in packaging? Beneath the name is a sort of bank statement, a series of dates scrolls past, figures listed as debits, credits, and at the bottom of the list, the total assets: a hundred thousand francs. He toggles from file to file, suddenly paying close attention. Other names appear, also with bank
statements
, mostly unknown, but here’s one with the name of
holier-
than
-thou Amrouche. Not bad, a hundred and fifty thousand francs. And a little further down, Rolande Lepetit, fifty thousand francs only, poor old Rolande, always unlucky. And Maréchal, another two hundred thousand francs. Seniority has been taken into account. Initial reaction: They’ve got a stake in the company, they’ve done better than me, even Rolande with her prissy air. Second reaction: Hold on a minute, if Nourredine’s got a packet in Daewoo, why’s he going on about bonuses? He doesn’t give a shit about bonuses. Who’s side is he on? And Rolande, made redundant? I’d be surprised. Have to get to the bottom of this.

Étienne finds Nourredine asleep on a chair in the lobby and shakes him.

‘You didn’t tell us you had a packet stashed away in Daewoo, you dark horse.’

Nourredine surfaces groggily.

‘Will you stop pissing around.’

‘Come with me, let me show you your bank statement. Right now, you’ve got more than a hundred thousand francs.’

‘You’re either drunk or stoned.’ Nourredine gets to his feet heavily, shaking his throbbing head, and makes for the toilets.

Drunk or stoned. What kind of an answer is that? Shocked, Étienne runs up and down the corridors to round up the guys.

‘Nourredine, Rolande, Maréchal, and a load of others are receiving millions from the bosses of Daewoo, come and see, I’ve found the list of payments on one of the computers …’ They laugh, and nobody moves … ‘There are porn movies too.’

‘Why didn’t you say so to start with?’

Just then, two women come running in from the cafeteria.

‘Come quickly, a fire’s broken out in the main corridor.’

The offices empty. Nourredine dithers then goes into the boardroom. Silence falls at the sight of his swollen face and
bloodstained
clothes.

‘Hafed, you’re in charge of security. Come on, you’re needed here.’ Hafed leaves the room and the two men disappear in the direction of the factory.

Étienne is disgusted. Nobody’s interested in the things that matter. A fire’s broken out, you’ve got to be kidding. Another dustbin fire. I’ve seen one or two a month since I’ve been here. Whereas finding out whether Nourredine’s getting money from Daewoo, yes or no … Ah well, it’s
their
problem. Find Aisha,
she’s bound to be in the cafeteria and suggest another visit to Nourredine’s prayer mat. And then, he’s going home, he is. Pissed off with all these arseholes.

Karim’s tired too, and beginning to feel bored. Rolande is standing over the cooker in the cafeteria and there’s a lovely smell of fried onions.
I’ll
have
a
bite
to
eat,
and
I’m
off.
Nothing
more
doing
around
here.

Dense black smoke fills a section of the central corridor. People are running in all directions looking for fire extinguishers. Many are missing, others are empty. Hafed finds one, removes his shirt and ties it around the lower part of his face like a mask, puts his jacket back on next to his bare skin and dives into the black cloud. He gropes his way to the blazing bin and douses it with foam, then knocks it over and kicks away the smouldering rubbish. Then Nourredine arrives with an extinguisher found underneath all the stocks and finishes the job. The smoke slowly disperses through the door at the end. Breathless, the two men stand a few metres back. Nourredine gazes at the blackened sheet-metal wall, the floor strewn with rubbish and mounds of foam melting into puddles seeping towards the factory floor. Is he perhaps thinking of the offices with their fitted carpets and pastel decor? He slides down on to the floor and sits cross-legged with his back against the sheet metal, his breath still rasping.

‘It’s disgusting.’

‘Don’t complain. We had a narrow escape. The sprinklers in this place don’t work and the extinguishers are either empty or not working. We bring it up at every health and safety meeting, and it makes no difference.’

Nourredine, who recalls larking around with a bunch of guys on the waste ground squirting each other with foam from the extinguishers, looks away. Hafed walks towards the dustbin now lying on its side, and indicates a dozen or so charred remains with his foot.

‘Maybe someone added some embers to this dustbin.’ A silence. ‘I suddenly feel as if I’m sitting on a bomb.’

‘Didn’t the security guards say that they’d take care of security?’

‘Yes, you’re right. We’ll go and have a word with them at the gate.’

Outside, the night is pitch black. The overturned car is still there, but at first glance it looks as though the Korean has managed to extricate himself. The porter’s lodge is brightly lit from the inside, and the two security guards watch them approach with a little smile. Nourredine is immediately on his guard: something smells fishy.

‘Aren’t there supposed to be some of our people in here round the clock to control all the comings and goings?’

‘Yes. But I suppose in the excitement everyone went off to occupy the offices.’

‘We’re really useless.’

‘More to the point, we’re new at this. You can’t make things up as you go along. And those with the experience, who’ve done it all before and could help us, aren’t here. We’re doing our best.’

As soon as Nourredine pushes open the door, the older of the two security guards launches an attack:

‘So, you’ve let the prisoners go already? Maybe it wasn’t worth all the fuss, guys.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The CEO has just left the factory with the entire management team.’ Nourredine feels himself deflating like a burst balloon, crumpling into himself. ‘No more than ten minutes ago.’ Sounds reach him muted and distant, Hafed and the two security guards shrink and retreat in silhouette. ‘Amrouche opened the gates for them, and they left on foot, scarpering like rabbits.’ The man laughs. ‘We didn’t lift a finger, guys. This is your affair, not ours.’

Nourredine sits down, his head aching more and more, his vision blurred. He’s suffocating. The temptation is to drop the whole thing and go home. The women there: his mother and his sisters, his very young wife … Move to another job, the little chip stall in the market square …

‘I don’t get it, Hafed. Can you explain?’

‘What do you expect me to do? I was with you when the fire broke out, remember? When you came to get me from the
boardroom
, Amrouche was suggesting we let the junior executives depart. We’d just done the round of the offices, and there were only about twenty of us occupying. That seemed too few to hold so many managers. We were deciding to hold the five most
senior
managers. I don’t know what happened after that.’

No,
I
can’t
drop
it
now,
not
after
we
forced
the
juggernauts
back
,
the
overturned
car,
the
invasion
of
the
offices,
this
strength,
never
felt
it
before,
men
among
men,
the
friends
who
listen
to
me,
the
trust,
I’m
someone
else,
I
talk,
I
act.
Not
now.
He gets up, takes a couple of steps, grabs the day book. No mention of the managers’ departure and the opening of the gates, nothing about the
dustbin
fire. Only one rather terse entry:
17.15,
the
security
patrol
noti
fies
us
of cannabis
dealing
on
the
waste
ground
behind
the
factory.
Given
the
general
insecurity
caused
by
the
personnel’s
occupation
of
the
factory,
and
after
having
taken
orders
from
our
superiors,
we
feel
it
is
wiser
not
to
include
the
waste
ground
in
our
round.
He feels a surge of anger, and suddenly his energy comes rushing back.

‘You’re not doing your job. Where were the security guards during the fire alert? Where is there any mention of the fire? The only thing you’re interested in is damaging the workers’ reputation.’

He tears the page out of the day book and holds it between two fingers, at eye level.

‘Hafed, have you got a lighter?’

He takes it and emphatically sets fire to the sheet of paper, then watches it go up in flames very quickly. A few charred remains fall to the floor. Then he gives the lighter back to Hafed, spits on the ground and leaves the porter’s lodge.

Nourredine and Hafed head towards the cafeteria, where they presume everyone will have gathered. Nourredine walks on in silence, frowning, letting out the occasional groan or odd word. Hafed watches him out of the corner of his eye, concerned to see him seething.

In the brightly-lit cafeteria, small groups are sitting around tables shouting, heatedly debating and making a great deal of racket. The two patrol guards are standing in front of the
coffee
machine, rummaging in their pockets for change. Amrouche is sitting alone in a corner, drinking coffee. Nourredine strides across the room, making a beeline for him. He’s cleaned the blood from his face and hands, but his nose is caked with dried blood. There are blue and green rings under his eyes and his clothes are covered with dark red and blackish stains. Some people didn’t recognise him when he came in. He is greeted with silence. He stops beside Amrouche, climbs on to a table, turns his back on
him and addresses the group gathered in front of him in a loud voice.