Fairytales by Cynthia Freeman

Author:Cynthia Freeman [Freeman, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-3574-2
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-07-23T16:55:00+00:00

8

“MONSIEUR ROSSI, WE BELIEVE we have found the whereabouts of your son Robert.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, but he is an elusive little scamp,” said Monsieur Blum, the head of missing persons. “When first he arrived in Paris, he registered at a most disreputable hotel on the left bank. As is the custom in France, everyone must register with the police as I am sure you are well aware.”

“I take it he is no longer there?”

“Your assumption is correct … the next day he paid for his lodgings and left.”

“Where did he go?”

“To a rooming house in the Montmartre district.”

“Why didn’t you apprehend him?”

Smiling and tilting his head to one side, Monsieur Blum said, “As an attorney, you should know we had nothing to apprehend him for … his papers were in order. He had committed nothing … so on what grounds could we question him?”

“I guess I’m thinking like a father.”

“Natural, I can assure you … now, I’m sure you are anxious to see him.”

“Indeed …”

“Here is the address … however, Monsieur, I warn you, the lodgings your son has chosen may come as quite a shock, judging from having met you.”

“Nothing that one would do could shock me.”

“Perhaps … but prepare yourself.” Monsieur Blum handed the address written on a slip of paper which Dominic looked at, then put into his pocket and left.

It was a gentle, soft rain that now fell as the cab stopped in front of the building, where, undoubtedly, Bobby slept so peacefully at this hour of the morning in a rotting room he preferred to the mansion in which he had grown up. As Dominic got out and paid the driver, he looked up at the dirty crumbling facade. The shutters were closed on this dismal day … one hung unhinged, ready to fall, but flapped against the broken window patched with tape. Why? Dominic questioned himself. The feeling that somewhere … somehow … someway they, as parents, had failed Roberto plagued him. But why Roberto and not the others? The children had all been raised the same and showed no such hostility. He was no closer to the answer when finally in revulsion he opened the battered door and found himself standing inside the dark hall. At the end, beyond the stairs stood the form of a man.

“What do you want?” an old voice called out.

Walking toward the figure, Dominic asked, “Do you have a Robert Rossi living here?”

Narrowing his eyes and appraising him, the old man asked, “Who wants to know?”

“His father.”

He was the police … there was always that unmistakable look about them. “There is no one by that name.”

“I know differently … tell me what room he’s in.”

Again the old man denied there was such a person. Taking out a ten franc note and dangling it in front of the man’s eyes, Dominic asked again, “What room is the boy in?”

“You are not the police?”

“No.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

He grabbed the money and told Dominic to go up three flights, turn left and it was the last room at the end of the hall on the right.

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