1969| Marseille, France| Christmas Eve ___________________
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WET.
MOIST.
SLICK.
Rain drops, glided down Six umbrellas.
"Carl Hanratty. I am Carl Hanratty, I represent the FBI from the United States of America." The gentleman said in a complete hard tone, the other men surrounding him couldn't understand. After all they were French, English wasn't their first language. Carl eyed the Translator from his left side, the male companion nodded fluently speaking his Native tongue.
"I have orders to see the American Prisoner, Abagnale." Carl continued hoping that translation followed through. It did, it allowed him to see Frank inside the very cold and disoriented place. Going down the chipped, possibly molded long corridors. Carl flipped his dampened umbrella under, his right armpit.
The translator ahead of him snatched a stool in the right corner, so Carl could sit and speak to Frank.
"You sit here." The Frenchmen instructed. "You do not open this door." Pointing at the locked border. "You do not pass him. ." Opening a old school mailbox slot "Anything through the hole."
Revealing Frank as he position himself down on the creaky stool. Carl reopened the slot finding the handsome fugitive that sported long matted Blond hair, now in the corner bunch up in a warm Hospital blanket.
"Aw, Jesus." He spoke at the coughing blanket. Frank was sick or at least that's what he pretended to be.
"Roar." Abagnale whispered the nickname he given her. The Black girls face, shaped his vision, he missed her deeply.
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"I got a little bit of a cold myse—." Frankie coughed harder producing his acting more violently so Carl could let him out.
