It was nigh impossible to investigate anything with a face recognised around the world. Whenever Jack Atlas entered a city, newspapers from across the land sent whoever they could spare to try and snag a photo or rare interview. If Yusei so much as sneezed in the direction of another country, manilla folders were opened and notes were added. At least Crow had enough sense to scatter his trail a little.
"Hurry to the Martyr's Hill." It had been the dying words of the best Duellist Yliaster could send against him. "You alone are worthy." It was far from an exact address but he had been able to decipher the meaning. Being in America, they had been speaking the local English dialect and she had called it the Martyr's Hill. It should actually have been translated as 'Hill of the Martyrs' or simply referred to in the original French – Montmartre, a raised district in the centre of Paris.
A careless investigator would have been on the next plane to the Charles de Gaulle Airport. A more careful mind would have waited a few days before going. And a trained former criminal, former police officer, sometimes (only when he was in New Domino visiting family) thief would avoid landing in Paris altogether and take a cheap flight to the slightly run-down Aeroport Paris Beauvais Tillé to the north and ask which way to Compiègne before boarding the 'wrong train' heading south instead of west after withdrawing as much cash as was possible from local ATM's. Exchange charges alone would take a hefty chunk of the Pegasus Trinidad winnings but it left him practically untraceable after the last withdrawal. As long as he was frugal with his money and skipped a few meals, Crow could survive two weeks in the famed 'City of Light' without leaving a paper trail.
When he had boarded the train at the airport, Crow had left behind a cluster of screaming fans trying to either marry him or point out that he was boarding the wrong track. After five minutes in the cramped confines of a broken toilet with a small tube of concealer and a puffy scarf he had bought at the airport, a completely different man emerged from the small cubicle. Having tied his plain jacket around his wait and crammed his hair into an oversized beanie, even Jack wouldn't spare him a second glance now that the criminal marks had been masked over. Less than two hours after landing, Crow was forty miles away and unidentifiable in the evening rush hours to cram itself into the French capital for the night.
Paris had one of the best networks for intra-city travel Crow had ever encountered. They generally ran to time and just about everywhere. He could have made his way clear across the inspiring city without walking more than a few metres but chose to board a bus that slowly made the journey to the 19th arrondissement municipaux – or 'administrative districts' – where he would be staying while he searched for Yliaster. It was a crummy little building call Hipotel Paris Belleville.
Stopping on the other side of the empty street, Crow was even more underwhelmed than he had been when searching for accommodation back in America. Peeling paint had upgraded into crumbling brick, the vertical weeds were growing into shrubs on the side of the building and there was a sense of neglect to the building that Crow hadn't felt since living in the Satellite. Reviews online had actually recommended punching a police officer and sleeping in a drunk tank for nicer surroundings but it had exactly what Crow was looking for: low rates, lower pay and the distinct earmarks that the receptionist would be willing to accept an extra few notes to 'forget' to check his passport at the desk. Swallowing his pride and basic standards of living, he had to lift the door slightly to force it open.
Inside the hotel was no better than the outside. A broken plastic garden chair was propped in one corner, dead ferns in another. There was a waiting area as far as somebody had dropped some dusty magazines on a wonky table. There was a dripping pipe in the middle of the ceiling that had been dealt with by putting a bucket (filled beyond the brim) into a tub (now overflowing onto the floor) and left alone.
"Hey, man." A distinct smell of herbs was coming from the huge bundle of hair that was currently at the worn chipboard counter. "Is there some way we can get the shower in our room working again? Thing keeps breaking down."
"Maintenance will get to it." Turning a page in the glossy magazine, the disinterested teen was probably related to whoever currently owned the crumbling business. "Which room?"
"Floor four, room twenty." Holding out a respectful fist to dump, the surly youth patted it absently as they studied the latest in a long line of meaningless changes to the teen world. "C'mon babe, let's go find some food." Cooing over each other, a cloying scent was strong enough pacify Crow's simmering anger for a moment. It was actually impressive to get such a contact high from people still able to actually walk.
"Do you have a room available?" Eyeshadow – not the accessory kind but more the aggressive grunge version – stared out at him in disbelief.
"Have you seen this place?" Swivelling around in her chair, the left side of the head was revealed as completely shaved when the teen pulled a wrench from under the counter and smashed a thick pipe on the rotten pillar behind her. A swarm of woodlice crawled from the wood as a chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling in a corner. It was an unsettlingly apt start to Crow's search.
"I'll take a room for three nights." Pulling a few notes from his pocket, he avoided touching the counter directly. It was best not to leave any prints when Yliaster was involved and the stain patterns looked grim from across the room. "Let's keep it quiet." Revealing an extra note tucked under his thumb, it was easy for Crow to earn the silence of an underpaid, overworked teen with little pride in her job.
"Third floor." Drawing a thick circle of wood attached to a plain silver key, she picked it up with a pen to avoid touching it directly. "Room eight." Dangling the fob between his fingers, Crow hoped the residue he was feeling were just stains from alcohol. "Take the elevator." Waving over one shoulder as she crammed the note away, the unidentified youth turned back to her magazine.
Deciding that the rusting cage was a death trap waiting to happen, Crow pushed his way through to the most interesting stairway he had ever seen. Traditionally, the steps were meant to go upwards in roughly equal amounts. One step sagged so much that he could practically feel the ceiling below and the flights to the third floor were tilted at such crazy angles that Crow found himself pitching about more than on a rocking ship. When he stumbled and fell into a wall, there was the unmistakable sound of something falling from the far side and Crow hurried along before it could be pinned on him.
Dull lights flickered in the hallway with an atmosphere damp enough to put a thin veneer of water in the cold air. Creaking springs and muffled grunts came from behind one door, strange laughter from another as Crow journeyed down the hallway. Hipotel Paris Belleville had clearly fallen a long way from when it had first opened and become a den for sordid pleasures. At least the doors were kept closed. It meant that Crow at least had some privacy for his search.
Warped hinges on his room door meant that the wooden panel both scraped against the floor and stuck when lifted. Inside the room was about as good as Crow had expected. No curtains or blinds to cover glass so dirty it was practically opaque. Maybe a genius plumber could have identified the contraption in the corner of the tiny water closet but there was no saving the toilet and a build of contaminants had managed to physically connect the tap in the sink to the plastic bowl.
There were unsettling stains on the bed so Crow pulled a pack of tissues and wiped down the thick grime from the top of the dresser before gingerly lowering his rucksack atop of it. Among his purchases from the airport had been a satchel. Throwing his other belongings inside the satchel, he wrapped the rucksack inside-out before adding it to the top. Another switch of jacket and change of hat made him a new person to anyone who might be watching. Within fifteen minutes of Crow Hogan entering the Hipotel Paris Belleville, a complete stranger exited through the narrow alley that ran parallel to the rear of the building and vanished into the sprawling capital.
Hello again! I didn't intend to post again so soon but - after some dozen attempts, three months and a bit of minor hackery - I finally managed to get my good phone working again. This chapter was already most of the way done so I cleared up a few mistakes and thought I should treat you all. Enjoy (and remember to leave a review, authors love that stuff)!