Raphael grunted when he was shoved into the brick wall of the alleyway; four tall, slim figures dressed in rags pinned him.
He had seen them following him a few blocks away. When they caught up to him, they forced him into an alleyway and cornered him. He bit his tongue, desperately wanting to comment on how poor their stealth skills were.
The one who stood in front of him, a tall boy named Hector Valence, whom Raphael has seen on occasion at the tavern, took his hand off his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Wow, tu ressembles à de la merde."
Raphael leaned his head against the wall and looked to the heavens. "Please, I beg of you, English. I'm too tired."
Hector chuckled as he folded his arms. "I said, wow, you look horrible."
Raphael made a half-smile, "I don't think horrible was the word you chose."
"What happened to 'too tired to translate'?"
"Swear words tend to stick to your radar," he informed, pressing a hand to his side. "And thank you, by the way. I've been trying a new regimen; skimmed by a bullet, getting into fistfights and following that up by leaping across rooftops."
Some of the boys chuckled, Hector wincing. "Ouch."
"You're telling me." Raphael stood off the wall, but Hector pushed him back.
"We are here for a reason, Phantom," he informed.
"Oh, I thought this was a friendly conversation," Raphael forced a smile but could only manage a flat line.
"Benji is getting impatient. First, you borrow money from him without paying him back, disappear and then reappear only to scam the money out of all his grunts," His tone had a hint of admiration, but Raphael could tell he was frightened by what he had accomplished. While he spoke, he took out a cigarette and a lighter, "He's gone to hiring riff-raff like us to come to get you."
Phantom managed a genuine smile, "He mustn't be too fussed about it then." He dismissed Hector's offer of the cigarette.
"Not joking, Phantom. Benji Charon is pissed." He made a few puffs.
"Are you guys actually going to take me to him?" Raphael asked, a little shocked.
They all collectively scoffed. "No. Of course not. Thief code and all that guff," Hector took a long and quick inhale, the end of his cigarette igniting and snapping off by the end of the breath. The smoke escaped while he spoke, "Consider this a warning. He's got an enormous finder's fee on you." He coughed. "Almost considered accepting the offer."
"Your friendship means a lot to me," Raphael half-heartedly said, not having the energy to maintain a playful tone.
"Hardly a friendship, this," Hector replied, not noticing the small amount of sarcasm in Phantom. "Can I ask what your plan is? He's gone wide with his search for you since you got back in the game."
"I'm not back in the game," Raphael informed, "And I don't know. I'll probably disappear again. I'm not planning on sticking around for too much longer."
"Made the wrong enemy?" Hector asked, gesturing to his injuries.
Raphael laughed, "You could say that." He sighed heavily, "I've lost a little too much here in Paris. There isn't anything keeping me here."
"Except Benji," Hector chimed in, "I don't think disappearing is going to be easy this time."
Raphael shrugged, "It wasn't easy last time. I'll get by."
Hector released a belly laugh and shook his head, "I doubt it. Anyone asks none of us has seen you, but you haven't been that secretive over the last couple of days. People have found you; they've recognised you and your stupid fedora." He flicked the front of Phantom's hat, causing it to skew. "If you're gonna run, you've gotta do it now before Benji finds out. Ain't no one's got a grip on Paris quite like Benji."
Raphael clicked his tongue. I can think of one person, perhaps.
"Thanks for the heads up. Nothing's keeping me here anymore, so it won't be an issue," he explained. He held a hand out, the first civil gesture he has given Hector since they met. "It's been a pleasure, Hector."
"You're getting all sappy on me," Hector countered. Despite this, he took his fellow thief's hand and shook vigorously, "Take care of yourself, whatever you end up doing."
Raphael tugged the boy closer and spoke quietly in his ear. "Listen, buy me some time if you can," Raphael requested. While he trusted Hector, the people whom Hector surrounded himself with only had loyalty to him, not Raphael. He had no doubt one of them would go tell Benji about his activities. "I don't care what you tell them, but anything to stall some time to get my things in order."
Hector clicked his tongue and gave the smallest of nods as Raphael pulled away from him. "Gentlemen." Raphael tilted his hat to Hector's comrades and walked out of the alleyway he had been dragged down. He tried to hide his limp, but he couldn't tell how successful he was.
"Oh, and Phantom," Raphael turned, all of Hector's friends disappeared, "This was a warning, mind you. If I just so happen to run into you aimlessly next time, I'm turning you in."
Raphael gritted his teeth, realising his faith in a fellow thief may have been misplaced. "Threats aren't funny, Hector. Benji will skin me if he gets his hands on me."
"Ain't a joke," Hector flicked his cigarette away, "And I wasn't talking about Benji, I was talking about the police. If I can find you, they will find you. You are better off smooth talking your way out of their clutches than Benji's." With that, he started for the opposite end of the alley. While he ambled, he called, "His control may be stretched far, but he ain't penetrated the police force yet. If you're gonna rack off, do it now while I'm still fond of ya."
Raphael snorted as he watched Hector disappear down the next street. He had a point; if they had found him, Benji would be able to find him. If he was planning on leaving, he had to do it now, while he was still considered a Phantom, both in the criminal world and real world.
*
Raphael had believed he was a fit person, usually able to run for long distances and even hold his own in a fight, but never before had he felt so exhausted, fatigued, and sore from running in his life.
He blamed his gunshot wound.
Yeah, if I wasn't injured, I would've caught up to that carriage. He thought comically, Yeah, right, Raphael. You keep thinking that.
He turned down onto his street, hands in pockets, shoulders and chin held high and as long a stride as his legs would do.
He felt horrible. Beyond horrible. Both emotionally and physically. He hoped that wherever Anita ended up, she knew that he had chased after her, that he did try to say goodbye, but it was just too late.
His eye dropped to the ground as he recalled the first time he had seen Anita, at the criminal's tavern down by the dock. She had been wandering around outside, looking for drunk people to steal coins from. It hadn't been an uncommon sight; in fact, he had seen her once or twice huddled around a barrel fire with some other children from that area. But he only really started to notice her when she ventured inside the pub where all the burly blokes and drunk women were. She was the smallest, most precious thing amongst all the bad and the big and ugly.
But she was good. Caused several bar fights and misunderstandings, no one ever believing it was her who caused them because she was 'just a little girl.' It was quite the façade she was more than happy to exploit.
Until she tried on the wrong person.
Benji Charon had caught her red-handed trying to steal a rickety old pocket watch from his pocket, which had been so unfairly sewn into his pocket. Try as Anita did, she had been seen, recognised, and when she fled, caught. When a child, particularly a girl, is caught pick-pocketing a felon, they don't go to the police about it or give a stern warning. For lack of a better word, Anita had become the Benji clan's property indefinitely as punishment. From rumours that spawned from that interaction, Benji planned to groom her to become one of the first female grunts in his gang, as he wanted to spread his influence.
It sent out a simultaneous message of, 'Do not cross with me, look what I've done to this little girl' and 'Watch as I turn this delicate flower into a thorn bush.' He hadn't been one for brilliant metaphors, but it was enough for people not to try helping the girl.
Raphael had set her free long enough to run from the criminal's tavern, but in doing so, received a punishment of his own; several thousands of pounds of debt for stealing his property and several hundred more for losing at a game of distracting poker. 'She's quite an investment,' he had said, 'That makes her expensive unless, of course, you want to give her back.'
At the time, Raphael hadn't a clue where she was. Until on one snowy day a few years ago, he found her squatting on a cardboard box by his house, shivering and breathing heavily as she rubbed her arms to keep warm. She was dressed in thins clothes, hardly appropriate weather gear.
At first, he didn't want much to do with her but couldn't in good conscience leave a little girl to freeze in the snow by his house. But similarly, she wanted nothing to do with him. She took much of his hospitality of the occasional coat, a blanket, some tea as a hostile attempt to take advantage of her situation. 'Yes,' he remembered saying, 'because you're freezing, and I have extra tea.' He didn't have extra tea; on the contrary, he recalled the kettle being quite troublesome that day.
The cold made her give in, and she accepted his gestures, until two days later, when she disappeared from her little cardboard box. He had believed she had simply found somewhere else to go but needed only look across the street, where she had collapsed and was covered in a thin layer of powdered snow.
He had brought her inside to save her and hadn't let her go since. Except for when he finally did.
His hand unlatched his picket fence, muscle memory taking over, as his other hand slipped into his mailbox, not expecting anything, but feeling a letter at the bottom of the box. Still, in a slight daze, he looked up to his apartment as another thought dawned on him; would he be able to leave this house? His childhood home where his Mother and Father had raised him? Where they had settled down from a lifetime of travelling to be a proper family?
He wondered what would happen to it if he left. His Father, somehow, still paid for it, but if no one was living in it, would his payments stop? Would a real estate agent decide to open an investigation into the availability of the house?
As Raphael pushed open the door to the front room, another question pondered, what would he bring with him? Books were expensive but heavy, and a piano is a bit more than he could carry. Would he take the fake artworks he hadn't burnt in the fire and try to sell them as authentic deals? Perfect forgery, perhaps?
He always thought when he did decide to leave the apartment, it would be a one-person decision, whether it has been with Anita or his Father.
Another, much darker, though he hadn't ever truly considered until now, was leaving this house a final goodbye to his Mother?
All these feelings and questions quickly exhausted him as he approached the lounge and sat down, eventually laying on his uninjured side to sleep. He realised he was holding a letter.
It was a beige thick papered letter, making it impossible to see through it when he held it up to the light. What concerned him more, however, was who it was to;
PHANTOM OF PARIS
There wasn't an address, a return address, a stamp, a seal or anything; it was a loose, hand-delivered letter with his thieving persona title on the front. He sat up and started feeling the contents, worried it may have been from Benji and perhaps he had been found - if that was the case, he was tempted not to open the letter.
Slowly, he turned the letter over and lifted the flap, noticing some paper in it. Carefully, he pulled it out but noticed some hair had been stuck to it. Slightly disgusted, he placed the folded paper down and looked inside the envelope. He suddenly felt very cold as a strange beat seemed to echo in his head, perhaps his heartbeat, but at that moment, he wasn't quite sure if it was even beating. He tipped the envelope's contents into his hand, revealing lock after lock of pale golden hair. It was so silky to the touch and shiny in appearance, he hoped it was doll hair or perhaps a mare's tail. He dropped the hair and picked up the letter, unfolding it to see, in a similar typing font;
BRING THE RING
GET THE GIRL
8PM, CATACOMBS
ANY TRICKY BUSINESS, WE BRING YOU THE GIRL IN PIECES.
Raphael felt angry. The feeling bubbling in his stomach until it manifested in his hands, and he started ripping the ransom note. When he was done, he started panicking and put the paper pieces back together. He read that letter several times, taking in the paper, the typewriter ink, its colours, smell, and texture.
They had Anita.
Her hair was unmistakeably hers. But he also assumed they had Maria.
Thoughts flooded his mind, distracting him as he attempting to put together what was here. The paper was dried up but had water damage. The print from whatever typewriter was used dripped like it hadn't the chance to dry properly before getting soaked. Raphael felt his teeth scratch against each other, his jaw becoming sore from how hard it was clenched. The letter offered very little else.
Raphael needed to go get her.
The time to meet was four hours away. He wanted to be prepared.
For the next hour, Raphael prepared himself. Packing his pockets with his thieving tricks such as smoke bombs and a small switchblade fitted in one of his inside coat pockets. The next hour was devising a plan, figuring out how he could get Anita and Maria without any incident. When he thought of nothing, he tried thinking of how to just simply get them out. While the letter didn't have a sender, it was the Unknown Royals, and they still wanted the ring. He doubted he'd be able to simply trade them.
He racked his brain for an answer until a plan finally formed after a headache.
He ran from the living room up the stairs and into the music room. He ran to the piano stand where the ring and his Father's coin was and snatched it up, opting to put the jewellery in one of his pockets rather than on his finger. He composed himself with a long sigh before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him with a big thud, leaving the coin on the piano stand.
A moment later, light spilled into the room as Raphael returned and snatched the coin from the stand before finally leaving.