I slept with Anne. The little slut must secretly get naked in her garden now and again—to hell with the neighbors—because she was tanned where she shouldn’t be.
The sensation of being hunted boosted my libido. I fucked her seven times between seven in the evening and five in the morning. We stopped screwing only long enough to cook sausages and drink beer.
Like chumps we had forgotten to lock the front door. And so, soon after, around daybreak, cops burst right into our room, in the middle of which I had Anne spread-eagled and was pounding into her and slithering around in sweat.
The pigs laughed and made obscene jokes as I disentangled myself in short order. The humiliation made me wild. They did not know I had been to Milano’s to get a weapon. I raced out. The amorous excesses must have made me high, because I shot like a cannonball through the coppers and burst into the garden, stark naked except for my dark glasses and waving Milano’s gun, a Manufrance 7.65 mm. With the pistol between my teeth I tried to scramble over the iron gate like a cat. I heard Anne screaming. Cops charged across the stunted flowerbeds. I fell backward, gashing my elbow. I turned and fired four shots with my eyes closed, hitting nobody. The dicks grabbed me and disarmed me. I felt the pain when one of them broke my wrist over his knee. The others ground their heels into my face and genitals. My nose was broken. I was soaking in blood. Horribly hurt by a vicious boot down Swann’s Way, I passed out stricken by the fear of castration.
I pulled ten years. You must never give the impression you are firing at the police. I was granted a pardon in 1965. My father had just died.
•
Extract from Jacquie Gouin’s notes.
Henri Butron planned a number of attacks against left-wing parties and various other organizations. Only one materialized. With the help of a Yugoslavian refugee, a rather troubled individual who would seem to have informed the police, he threw a grenade at the headquarters of the Association in Support of General de Gaulle.
Two days later he was arrested. He resisted, and fired a weapon as he tried to flee. He was caught. His attempted resistance prejudiced his case and he was sentenced to ten years in prison.
Butron was tight-lipped when it came to his prison time. He appears to have felt contempt for the common criminals.
He was pardoned in 1965 and returned to Rouen.
His father had died shortly before.
Butron inherited. He embarked on a new life.
(Jacquie’s notes end here.)