2007-08-25: I Have FBI


Mariska_icon.gif Randall_icon.gif

Summary: Mariska explains her two-pronged search to an increasingly confused Randall.

Date It Happened: August 25, 2007 (immediately after Have You Seen This Girl)

I Have FBI

East Village, NYC - Enlightenment Books

Surely. There must be. Right? Mariska remains where she is, only minutely mystified as to what a phone book might be. A book about phones, maybe? She's clearly not familiar with the concept of a telephone directory in the Yellow Pages sense of the word. "What is your name?" she asks from her sentinel position near the door, vigilantly supervising Randall's search.

"Randall," the man replies, automatically. "What's yours? What's--" Oh, the girl's name is probably printed on the flyer. But in English, Cyrillic, both? "Where did the girl first get lost? That's— I thought I felt a sense of loss coming from somewhere around here." And… either he doesn't realize how weird that sounds, or he's beyond caring.

And Misha's probably beyond noticing; some things just get lost in translation. "Misha," she says, nominally reciprocating. According to the flyer, the little girl's name is Aleksandra and she was last seen about two years ago… in St. Petersburg, Russia. So, apparently someone's either really taking the concept of canvassing to a whole new level or there's sufficient reason to believe the girl might be in New York. The flyer doesn't say. "I think someone has brought her here," the Russian woman goes on to explain in a very vague manner of speaking.

Randall squints at the flyer more closely. 2005? Oh. So it's not a matter of immediate urgency, then. Or maybe it is. Either way, though-- "Look, this is way out of my league. If you're right…" Teenagers across state lines is bad enough— what sort of people smuggle grade-schoolers across oceans? "You should really have the police help with this. They have experts on this sort of thing."

"I have FBI," she says, with extra Russian emphasis on the acronym. It always sounds sinister when a Soviet throws around abbreviated government initials. FBI. KGB. NSA. USSR. AT&T. Oh, yeah, and speaking of… how's the search for the phone book coming along? All the same, Mariska doesn't appear to mind the mild cop-out. (No pun.) "If you see her, you call the number." Back to the standard litany.

Aha, there it is, by the pay phone next to the restrooms in the back. There may have been one behind the cashier's station as well, but he wasn't going to go that far without asking first. "I will. Okay, let's see… schools. School lunches, school bus driv— Okay, here." Motioning the woman over, he points to a likely-looking list of addresses.

Mariska obligingly ambles over to the counter to have a look at the yellow, newsprint-paged book. She has no idea where any of those addresses are and this becomes evident the moment she says, "And… so… where is closest?"

Randall glances over the list for a second. "This one's not too far off. The rest— erm. Depends whether you take a cab or the subway…" Blinking, he shakes his head. This is so not a job for an amateur the likes of him. "What's the FBI doing? Don't they have somebody who can work with you on this directly?"

And so here's where things might start to come a little more full circle for Randall, given that he only managed to come in on the end of the conversation at hand. "Felix Ivanov. Maybe you know of him," says Misha, eyes long departed from the page and now fixed instead on her newest quasi-companion. "He go missing, too."

Randall shrugs. "Never heard of him, sorry. But if he's FBI, then they ought to have someone out looking for him, too." Of course, one hates to assume when it comes to things as out-there as multiple abductions. "Anyway, I hope you find him. Both of them."

Mariska's gaze grows a little sharper, scrutinizing Randall from the side now as he makes an inevitable, untangling escape. "I do, too," she says with a lift of her chin. Time to go. With a rolling of her shoulders and a readjustment of her messenger bag strap, Mariska makes her way to the door and… out, presumably to continue her search elsewhere.

Randall nods and waves, and turns as if to return his attention to the shelves. Halfway to the section on alternative herbalism, he stops dead, turning around— but the woman is out of sight. Whether on foot or by… stranger means, who knows. Fortunately, by now, the staff have gotten kind of used to him wandering around and staring at nothing for minutes at a time…

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