A/N: Of course Jet's little girlfriend in the 1979 version had to be named Natalie, too! Gggrrrrahhhh! Well, that's were I picked that character from. I do love the 1979 version a great deal, maybe the most.
Young Offender, Part 7:
Jet sat up in the darkened room and rubbed his eyes. They were heavy from a restless night. He slowly moved his neck to work out a crick. He started to wonder exactly how changed he was physically if he could still feel stiffness and the rumble in his stomach.
Jet slumped over, elbows on knees, also wondering what prompted his generosity towards the grouchy German when he couldn't stand him. He had slept on the settee that was much too short for a guy that was 6' 2''. He glanced over to the bed across the room and paused before lighting a cigarette.
He now remembered how he ended up sleeping on the settee when he saw Albert's mechanical right arm draped over the edge of the bed. It wasn't generosity, just bad luck. He sighed thinking Albert was at most 5' 10''. Jet certainly should be the one sleeping on the bed. But, he had made the bet and lost fair and square.
Last night was so bizarre to Jet. After he had secured the loft apartment above a bakery, he and Albert roamed the Parisian streets. They had gotten a few more clothes from a secondhand store and more countries' newspapers from a newsstand. The strange part to Jet was that they were quiet just about the whole time. Usually, he couldn't help but poke at the older man, but last night, Jet had been too exhausted and too bored to try to aggravate Albert.
At the newsstand, Jet had stolen a pack of playing cards and a book Albert had been looking at. When they got back to the apartment, Jet flopped on the settee and tossed the book to Albert. The man looked baffled, but thanked Jet.
He had expected a lecture about stealing and found himself sorely disappointed that he didn't get one. Jet wondered why he was so irritated he didn't get a rise out of the man. He decided to ignore Albert and play solitaire. Albert was settled back on the bed reading anyway. He didn't come from a family of readers, so it felt odd. He figured he wasn't supposed to disturb someone reading, still, he started craving some conversation, some sort of noise of any kind. Even if that noise came from an old sour puss.
Just as Jet started yawning out of boredom, he decided to asked Albert what the book was about. Albert ground out his cigarette and looked up. He told Jet it was 'The Count of Monte Cristo', a French novel Jet hadn't heard of. According to Albert, it was about a guy falsely accused of a crime and sent to prison for fourteen years. After the man escaped, he sought revenge on everyone who had destroyed his life. Jet had found himself laughing out loud, feeling punch drunk from the last six months.
"Now that sounds like a story worth learning to read French for."
"I could teach you."
"Naw... I'll be out of this country and back in New York. I'm going back to my gang and lay low until I know everything is cool."
Albert looked back at the book and mumbled, "As you wish," in German.
"I'm tired. If you're going to read, I want the bed."
Albert looked up and smirked. "I'm here already."
Jet shuffled the cards in his hands and smirked back. "Draw you for it. High card gets the bed." Jet walked over to the edge of the bed; Albert took part of the stack. They both held them up, and Jet hit vexed at seeing Albert's king of spades beside his two of hearts. He didn't bicker, but retreated back to the settee and let Albert continue reading.
Before he knew it, he had drifted off into a fitful sleep. He was troubled by nightmares of waking up with no legs, men in white masks, or violent gang fights. Now he was awake and staring at Albert's mechanical arm.
He began to feel lucky, because it could have been so much worse. It was horrible, though. His legs didn't appear like Albert's arm, like he had feared, but he found his feet no longer had feeling, and the bottoms were modified, so he couldn't look at them without effort. His feet moved, but were absolutely numb. He looked down at them in the dim light and moved his toes slowly.
What ended up disturbing him most was his skin. He ran his hand over his upper, left arm. His tattoo of a blue rose was gone. So were countless freckles he used to have all over his skin. What was also gone were some of the scars his parents had given him. He didn't know quite how to feel about that. His grim thoughts were disturbed by a slight knock at the doorway.
He jumped up quickly and asked in French, "Who's there?"
"It's me," Ivan replied from behind the door.
"Hold on," he grumbled. He threw on a jacket over his tee-shirt and gingerly opened the door. He slipped out and shut the door. "Heinrich's still crashing. I thought I was the night owl. What's up with you? Franny kick you out?" Jet pointed to the large suitcase Ivan held in both hands.
"No. These are our uniforms from the Black Ghost and the ray-guns. If you insist on leaving, you'll need yours." Jet glared at Ivan.
"Don't be talking 'bout that shit out in the open," he whispered, grabbing Ivan's upper arm. He tugged Ivan down with him to sit on the top stair above a deserted, narrow alleyway. "Also, I don't ever want to see it again. Like I said, it needs to be burned. By next week, I'll be back in New York, and I won't ever think about this ever, ever again."
"Don't be so certain. You can run from them, but not forever. They will catch up with you. Not next week, but maybe a decade from now when you least expect it. They are that determined."
"I'll worry about it then." Jet sighed and slumped forwards on his thighs. He glanced over at Ivan; a wave of compassion hit Jet at seeing the boy's blank expression. "Hey, kid... You know, if you want... well... Heinrich is a bit of a stuck up jerk. You don't have to do what he says. Why not hitch a ride with me to New York? You could do whatever you want, and besides... My gang could really use someone who can do what you can do. After all, those two don't know what it's like. Really like."
"You mean to have ruthless parents?"
Jet paused a moment and nodded. "So how about it? Like I said, I wouldn't bust your chops like those two."
"It's ironic how all of you want to protect me, but none of you are willing to acknowledge the truth of having me around. We're all in grave danger. The only way we can stand against it is by banding together. You, of all people, should understand that, considering your life in a gang."
"Yeah... yeah... yeah... fine. Stay with sauerkraut if you want, or Franny and her square brother. Makes no difference to me," Jet grumbled and rested his chin on his arms. His face flushed when he couldn't get Jean-Paul out of his head. He slapped the side of his head, shook it vigorously, and exerted more willpower. What was wrong with him sometimes!
He hated himself for being a freak deep down inside. He tried to fix himself by seeing girls, ironically, another girl named Natalie that he'd grown up with in New York. He had slept with her a handful of times, but he had always left unsatisfied. Jet paused in horror and looked over at Ivan, who just gave him an impassive stare. He panicked at the thought that Ivan had just read his mind.
/You better not have!/, Jet thought darkly, but no sign of reaction came to Ivan's face. He relaxed some, since Ivan didn't react. After all, the kid would have likely thrown-up and called him a filthy pervert if he really knew what Jet had deeply hidden.
Ivan said, "I'm here because Monsieur Arnoul wants you and Herr Heinrich to have dinner with him tonight." Ivan sat up straighter and cocked his head. "He's waking up." Jet's eyes narrowed as his mind seized on a way to get the talk off Jean-Paul Arnoul.
"Screw dinner. I'm about some breakfast. Let's get food. I'll tell Heinrich."
"You're right. The bakery is making me hungry."
"Ha! You are human, after all!"
Ivan now frowned with a troubled expression. "You know, he shouldn't be sleeping like this. It's ten in the morning. I think it's starting."
"What's starting?" Jet jumped up and stretched.
"His limit at holding off his depression." Jet followed Ivan down the stairs. He wasn't sure what Albert was going through; he'd never even really gone steady with a girl. He couldn't imagine wanting to be with someone for the rest of his life.
After he threw the suitcase in the apartment and told Albert were they were going, the man mumbled his acknowledgment and rolled over to sleep some more. Jet tamped down his apprehension and left quietly.
"So, Natalie, everything looks so clean. Jean-Paul looks well fed. It looks like you've been a real friend." She walked around, inspecting the counters and bookshelves.
"Well, it was the least I could do," Natalie murmured and wouldn't quite meet Francoise's eyes.
"Is everything fine?"
"Yes, fine, but I do have a question. Now what do you plan on doing? It's not like you can show up at the dance company again. Dancing is such a public career, which is such a shame, because you'll have to find something else to do." Francoise didn't like the over-exaggerated pity and sorrow. Something seemed hollow in her affect.
"Not necessarily," Francoise said, sitting on the couch again. She didn't miss Natalie's hands clenching together in her lap or her tensed up shoulders. "Natalie, what's been going on with you while I was gone? Things haven't changed that much, have they? In a few weeks, when this is all cleared up, I want to dance again. Just be on stage again with you; won't that be wonderful?"
Natalie's eyes narrowed and lowered to the floor. "I've got to go. Practice is in a hour." She rose, went to the door, and paused. "Tell Jean-Paul I'll be back tomorrow."
With that, Natalie left. The door slammed. It made Francoise flinch. Francoise walked over to the window and watched Natalie jog down the street. She felt a flare of anxiety, wondering how she would reclaim her life and wondered where to start.
Jet slammed the apartment door after Ivan darted in, carrying a grocery sack. He looked over to where Albert sat at a small table. He had several different newspapers from around the world spread around him. Albert was studying a list on a piece of paper, a cigarette dangled from his lips, but it wasn't lit.
Jet started wondering why Albert knew how to read so many different languages. He shrugged it off for now, figuring the man must have had some job that involved languages. Who knew? Albert didn't talk about his past at all. In a week or so, Jet was planning on being back in New York and never having to lay eyes on Albert's scowling mug again. It was something Jet would just blow off.
"Hey, Heinrich, we got you some lunch," Jet announced. He was annoyed the German man didn't even look away from the paper with some curlicue-like writing. "Whatever!" he sneered when his thoughtfulness was ignored.
/Try again/ Ivan projected in Jet's mind.
/I was going to!/ Jet thought back, glaring at Ivan.
"Come on. Put the paper down and eat," Jet demanded, taking the grocery sack from Ivan. Albert looked up at Jet with a cross expression and examined the bag.
"I've been trying to figure out some of the best places for everyone to live. In the United States, your best bet would be to live in the South."
"What? The South! Not on your life! I don't even think they have electricity and indoor plumbing down there!"
"Francoise should move to Monte Carlo or a nice resort town of some sort. She could hide the best there."
"Whatever," he snarled as images of 'Rebel' soldiers dressed in gray from his school books came to his head. "Quit thinking that far ahead. We can't predict what they'll come up with. Who knows if they really can find us. We'll be needles in haystacks if we don't plan it all out too much."
Albert didn't reply, but Jet was given a nod of grudging respect from the older man. Jet got out an apple from the grocery sack and handed it to Albert. He felt a rush of pride impressing such a shrewd man, but of course he'd never tell the big jerk. Ivan sat at the table with Albert and looked over the newspapers and Albert's hand written notes.
"He actually has a good plan here, if we are to part ways. He's studied this and he's figured out some of the Black Ghost's logic here. A country's capital should be avoided, along with large, financially driven cities. They could cause us a problem."
"Yeah, I know, but big cities, like New York, would be trouble for them to comb through," Jet said, getting a banana from the sack.
"You're right about that, Jet. The odds are high that they won't want to spend a lot of money and resources on chasing us among a lot of people. Still," Albert trailed off before running his mechanical hand through his graying hair. "We still have time to think about it. You can't leave for three more days, anyway. I called about tickets."
"Fine. Guess I can put up with you that long," Jet said and smirked at Albert. "By the way, Franny's brother invited us for dinner tonight. He wants to talk things over with us."
"I'd prefer not to, but if we don't, he could underestimate our situation and not take proper care of his sister." Albert turned to Ivan. "Why don't you go back and watch over Francoise. Let us know if something happens."
Ivan nodded and left. Jet gave a large sigh and asked, "How about some poker?"
"What's that?" Albert asked, setting aside the newspapers.
"Natalie, you seem so distracted. You really need to get some rest," Giselle said. Natalie nodded. "After all, now that you're the Prima Ballerina, you need to maintain that high level of stamina."
"I know. I just have so much on my mind," Natalie said.
"I know it's hard losing Francoise, but you need to honor her by doing the best you can do, now that you have her spot."
"I'm doing my best!" Natalie shouted and ran out of the dance studio after hoisting her duffel bag on her shoulder. She shoved the door out of her way and ran headlong towards the end of the alleyway, but tears overtook her.
She stopped and leaned on a brick wall, trying to quell her anger and panic. She didn't want to go back to being Francoise's substitute. All eyes were on her, now, and she had the glory. It was a bitter thought to have to give that up to her. She imagined Francoise reappearing and losing what she had now, not to mention she had Jean-Paul's attention now. She had had a crush on him for the longest time, and now all her fantasies were starting to become reality.
"Excuse me, Mademoiselle."
Natalie gasped and turned to see a man in a black suit. She backed away slightly as the man removed a stack of photos from his suit coat.
"Sorry to startle you, Mademoiselle. I'm with the police. I'm doing an investigation on a woman who disappeared from this studio six months ago. Do you know Francoise Arnoul?"
"Yes. I haven't seen her for a long time. Did you get any leads?" she responded numbly, swiping at her tears.
"Actually, we're afraid she's fallen in with some bad company. Have you seen these men?" Natalie's eyes went wide, seeing photos of the two men Francoise was traveling with. She had thought there was something suspicious about them!
"What did they do?" she asked.
"The younger one is wanted for murdering someone in New York. The other one is suspected in the murder of his wife in East Germany. If you know where your friend is, you'd be saving her from some rather unscrupulousness men."
Natalie looked at the photos again and took them in her hands. Wouldn't she be a good friend to tell this man about Francoise and her male companions? Then again, Francoise may be forced to leave again if her location were revealed to the police. Natalie paused; that was what she wanted. She put her mindset on the idea that she was being more altruistic than greedy. She firmly insisted she needed to help Francoise.
"Yes, I've seen these men."
To Be Continued.