Pépé le Moko

- This must end! - I agree.

Then get started.

We didn't wait for you to go after Pépé.

- And the result... - What?

Pépé Le Moko is still at large.

Algiers isn't Pigalle.

In Pigalle, he'd have been behind bars long ago.

You'll think otherwise when you understand the situation.

Our people in Paris don't see why Le Moko's so untouchable.

Your people are funny.

This can't go on any longer.

Arresting Pépé in a place like the Casbah isn't child's play.

- It takes time. - Time!

He's eluded you for 2 years.

And it's cost us 5 detectives.

Too high a price for so little.

True. But don't forget he got here

the day after the Toulon bank job. Remember?

Sure, the machine guns, the car chase, and 2 million gone.

That's when you should've intercepted him.

The continental police are so "organized!"

Hello, chief... Meet Inspector Janvier from Paris.

I know.

Carry on.

I was explaining our failure to catch

Pépé Le Moko.

There's one reason you in Paris can't understand...

The Casbah.

Just as I said.

I'll go up there tomorrow...

to see how the land lies.

"How the land lies"... Funny!

The Casbah is like a labyrinth. I'll show you.

You can say Pépé's gone underground.

From the air, the district known as the Casbah

looks like a teeming anthill,

a vast staircase where terraces descend stepwise to the sea.

Between these steps

are dark, winding streets like so many pitfalls.

They intersect, overlap, twist in and out,

to form a jumble of mazes.

Some are narrow, others vaulted.

Wherever you look,

stairways climb steeply like ladders,

or descend into dark, putrid chasms

and slimy porticos,

dank and lice-infested.

Dark, overcrowded cafés.

Silent, empty streets with odd names...

INADEQUACY ST.

SOUM SOUM ST.

HONEY HOTEL ST.

MAN WITH A PEARL ST.

A population of 40,000 in an area meant for 10,000.

From all over the world.

Many, descended from the barbarians, are honest traditionalists,

but a mystery to us.

Kabyles.

Chinese.

Gypsies.

Stateless.

Slavs.

Maltese.

Negroes.

Sicilians. Spaniards.

And girls of all nations, shapes and sizes.

The tall.

The fat.

The short.

The ageless.

The shapeless. Chasms of fat no one would dare approach.

The houses have inner courtyards, which are like ceilingless cells

which echo like wells, and interconnect

by means of the terraces above.

They're the exclusive domain of native women.

But Europeans are tolerated.

They form a city apart, which, from step to step,

stretches down to the sea.

Colorful, dynamic, multi-faceted, boisterous,

there's not one Casbah, but hundreds. Thousands.

And this teeming maze is what Pépé calls home.

Catching him

is no piece of cake.

He's well protected. He has his gang.

Every crook is his accomplice.

News travels from terrace to terrace. No need for newspapers.

He has spies on every rooftop.

Doors open and close, and no one knows why.

Guns go off by themselves.

He has friends where we have enemies. Ask Inspector Slimane.

The Devil's son always works with demonic children.

Le Moko?

A prince of plunder.

15 convictions, 33 daylight robberies, two bank holdups...

Burglaries?

We haven't enough fingers in this room on which to count them all.

How could he not be admired?

And such a good boy! He wears his heart on his sleeve.

As quick with a smile for friends

as a knife for foes. So charming!

- Slimane sees him daily in the Casbah. - And you don't arrest him?

I have my plan.

In the Casbah, he'd kill me without blinking.

I'm tolerated. That's something.

- You're too lazy to worry him. - I watch out.

- For your hide. - I've only one!

We'll clean up the Casbah tonight. We'll get him dead or alive.

Nice, very nice.

This gem is a tribute to your taste and expertise, Pépé.

Can it! How much you offering?

- You're like a fidgety coquette. - We're talking dough.

Carlos, my friend,

your words fail to shine like Japanese pearls.

Slang is a phoney language.

Cut the gab!

Cough up the bread!

You talk like a baker.

This ruby has such sex appeal!

My dear Pépé, this burglary does you credit.

- What's on your mind? - Nothing.

My palm looks like an oyster shell.

It hurts to part with this, Grandpa.

I can't take my eyes off this beauty spot.

- What's your offer, Grandpa? - Let him think.

He thinks, we lose.

Grandpa's a friend.

And for 2 years now.

I've always been behind your company. Your mistrust offends me.

- Well said, Grandpa! - Sure, stick up for him!

You're not straight!

- Not straight? - No!

You should've seen him slice up some fox stoles with a razor!

- A razor? - A real vandal!

A what? Repeat that!

Real sabotage. You give me a pain.

What? Say that again!

You give me a pain.

He says you give him a pain.

I got it.

I was a cabinet-maker as a kid so I respect good craftsmanship.

I don't go slicing up fox stoles, I snatch them, that's all.

And I know my place.

Right, Jim?

Right, Max?

- Right, Pierrot? - And how, Pépé.

Sure, they always say you're right.

- I'm square with them. - And I ain't?

You've got business on the brain. "Fork out!"

You're no man, but a cash register.

- A what? - Come now, gentlemen, be civilized.

I got it.

Police!

No, Régis. Let me in!

Where's Pépé? We have to warn him.

A busload of cops. Like a wedding party after the groom.

So soon?

You were expecting them?

It's about yesterday's jewel robbery. I'll warn him.

- Where is he? - At Grandpa's. He's safe.

What a relief! I was in such a sweat.

I could almost see him handcuffed like a two-bit hood.

You're sweet, Régis.

- I'm a sensitive fellow. - But Pépé's not your friend.

Well, I'm his, even if he doesn't like me.

But one day, I'll prove myself. I'm not a talker

but I admire him so discreetly he'll have to take notice someday.

- Thanks, Régis. - Good luck, Inès.

I'll go over the terrace.

Seen Pépé Le Moko?

Me? Never heard of him.

Look out! Police!

Pépé, it's me.

Régis sent me. The police are closing in.

- Can't we think in peace? - Let's scram!

Where's the fire! We've seen cops before.

- Where are you going? - To get a look.

Not you, Pierrot.

Don't you trust me?

Not you, I said.

There's no risk!

You're too young.

It's Régis.

He's at Grandpa's. The corner house.

They're coming here.

- Someone squealed. - No.

Sure. Someone knew I was here.

You're imagining things.

- You saw someone. - I saw Régis.

- So you saw Régis. - He warned me.

- I'm fond of you. - Why do you say that?

Because you're a child.

I think your activities don't allow you to stay here.

Shove over! They've got a shooting gallery mentality.

Let me through!

Quick! In here!

Stay here, my beauty. You might get hurt outside.

- What's going on? - Oh, nothing much.

Nothing? You're funny.

The police are after a man.

Don't bother! They're not the talkative kind!