Posted by Jack Cross on July 1, 2004, 2:41 pm, in reply to "- 3"

It didn’t take long to figure out the origin of the picture Ravil left in the envelope, the particular photo was one of the few relics from my childhood in Europe that I had left. Had the situation been different, I would have been angry at the defacing of the photo Ravil blacked out Slava’s face, put ‘x’s’ over Svetlana’s eyes, drew bunny ears attached to my head and circled a phone booth in the background of a city I use to know very well. Paris, France, More specifically, the lavish black iron gates to Villa La Fresnaye, a small vine hidden corner of Paris in the distant shadow of the Eiffel Tower. The Picturesque Villa was built in the late 1800’s after a city fire burned down the buildings, on the side of a hill I couldn’t remember the name of, but always loved the view. If your balcony was facing the right direction the sunrise over the city was nothing short of perfect. The tightly packed red brick apartments held enough people to make the street a small town. Generally a quiet neighborhood, the population looked out for each other and frowned on tourists, this was the heart of the Russian district of Paris and a place I had spent much time experiencing as a youth. About as respected during the Cold War as Vichy France after World War 2, the tenants of this corner of the world were uniquely communist, remnants of this remaining even over a decade later. With the cityscape of Paris before me, a cobblestone road at my feet, and an open gate now behind me, I resumed my urgent quest to find the telephone booth outlined in the photo I carried in my hand, as I stepped into another world. I could smell the flowers, sweet and full in bloom. The people were happy and the afternoon rush hour had just ended, leaving only devoted shoppers, the odd tourist and Joe Russian either unemployed or with the day off. Through the chatter of sparsely placed people shopping at storefronts and enjoying the patios of café’s and restaurants my ears picked up on the gentile splash of the fountain in the center of the courtyard, I was almost at my destination. The photo was taken during a high school summer vacation close to the end of the 1980’s. I remember not being much of a sport when the photo was initially taken. As always, tension was high between Slava and I. I think there was something regarding an ice cream cone, the details didn’t matter, the thought of a nice photo being ruined by childish squabbling was forever etched into my mind. I stood on the sidewalk across from the fountain, holding up the photo in attempts to narrow in on the payphone I had to use. The neighborhood had changed just enough to make land marking with a twenty-year-old photo next to impossible. I couldn’t help but replay scenes from my childhood out in my mind, old soviet flags hanging from balconies, the streets busy with life, a gelato vendor on the corner, the iron front gates closed, keeping us safe, and a bunch of lucky high school students enjoying their summer. Then I found the phone. Or at least the phone I thought I should have been phoning from. It wasn’t in the exact location shown in the photo, which was left of the fountain. Now the Phone booth was directly to my right, had my location been marked on the photo I would have been to the behind right of the fountain. After a quick glance around, I finally conceded that using that booth was my only option and if Ravil wanted to get into petty detail, he shouldn’t be using twenty-year-old photos for clues. I couldn’t even fool myself into thinking that I knew exactly where the phone was the entire time. Sadly it didn’t even dawn on me to check the number on the back of the photo, I was in such a rush to get out of the country that it slipped my mind. Though, sure enough, it was where it was said to be and in bold black letters. 465-9565-7447 Ring Ring Click . . . I could hear breathing on the other end, but no one was talking, so I took the opportunity to start, “Bonjour?” I cautiously whispered into the phone, childish in suspecting that maybe perhaps someone else was listening in on the conversation, or that I had dialed a wrong number. A voice giggled in a mock French accent on the other side, “Monsieur, Cross!” Ravil’s attempt at French was about as horrible as mine and we both had only said one word. “Christ!” he quickly followed sounding frustrated, “That sounds to artificial,” he growled, “let me try again, Monsieur Kroska!” This time he sounded triumphant once I wrapped my brain around the warped attempt at a French accent and giggling. “Ravil.” I replied in a completely dead voice once I figured out to whom I was talking too. Ravil’s laughter was quick to fade; “I see you've finally figured out where that photo was taken, congratulations.” His tone matched that of mine, giving me an opportunity to attempt to gather information on his whereabouts, “The final horse has finally crossed the finish line. Too bad he's entirely too late.” The sudden realization that he meant that Svetlana was dead nearly caused me to rip the cord out of the phone. “I swear,” I screamed, the cord managing to hold its place, despite tugging on it, “if she's dead, I am going to kill you!” I did, manage to catch the attention of just about everybody around me who wasn’t listening to music. “I'm glad too see that you've finally accepted the fact that I've hurt her.” Ravil was smug and quick to reply, which only added fuel to my fire. “No, I have not killed her, as you've managed, like a good boy, to stick between the parameters I have set out for you.” He paused for a moment in thought; sadly I could tell that the sadistic bastard was smiling. “However, I should let you know that once you find her you'll notice that she does have a few wounds that will scar. Had you been faster in getting to this point, this would have been prevented, but don't worry,” he paused again, giggling, “but don’t worry. I kept all wounds away from her face.” Blind rage doesn’t produce itself any quicker then when family is involved, “You sick son of a bit- -!” Ravil was entirely too quick in cutting me off, “Yes, son of a b###h, I know, I didn't like my mother much, but you knew that.” His tone of anger nearly matched my own, “However, I was fortunate enough to know my mother, unlike you Yakov. I may have resented my mother, but at least I was fortunate enough to have one that loved me and didn't give me up!” I paused a moment, perhaps I managed to scare the onlooker who gathered around me, because when I made eye contact with him, he ran like a French Soldier in World War Two. “I guess you've figured that by bringing up my time as an orphan you'd strike a nerve that would result in me doing something stupid? Right?” My abrupt change in mood surprised even myself, I was still angry, but even the brief moment I took to reflect upon what little I did know about my life before Russia made me calmer. “No Jack, I give you a little more credit then that.” For the first time in the conversation Ravil spoke in a tone that wasn’t meant to anger me or intimidate me. “With all the crap your previous employer and my present employer has put you through, I have no doubt in my mind that you're desensitized to the point of not caring what I say about much of anything.” “That and you know that I don’t care much for my mother either.” “It’s hard to care for someone you didn’t know.” He resumed with the subtle jabs as my past. His jabs were getting to the point of tedious and my quarter was on the brink of running out, “Does this have a point?” I questioned, attempting to get some information about Svetlana’s whereabouts, “Or are you going to lead me around the world on a merry little goose chase?” Ravil copped his usual reply, a chuckle. “Not one for idle chat?” The laughter stopped, his voice going as cold as the barrel of an unfired gun, “Right, back to business. If you'll be so kind as to look towards the bottom of the balcony to your above right, you'll see a piece of white duct tape holding a letter. You'd best be advised to acquire this letter and meet me at the enclosed destination within the next four hours. The usual stipulations apply, arrive alone or I further damage your step sister and you'll soon find yourself looking for a burial plot to place her in.” I made a quick glance around, seeing the balcony Ravil was talking about. “You'd better pray to god that I don't –” click “did you just hang up on me?” I murmured softly, expecting a reply, “. . . ? Ravil? Ravil! If I find you -” I stopped in mid sentence, yelling into a dead line was not about to help me any. - Dear Jack, I’m thrilled that you can still follow instructions and have made it this far. For your next set, please head to, 346 Rue De Limoges, Versailles. Once inside the Sauvignon office tower, please head to office 1542 on the 15th floor. The door will be unlocked. Ravil.