<div align="center"> <strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">ROISSY – ZURICH SWITZERLAND</span></strong><br/><br/>(http://i64.tinypic.com/287kj8l.jpg) <br/><br/>_______________</div><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://i63.tinypic.com/2eqf9j4.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">Peter Warcaof</span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">CGDA Benefactor</span></strong><br/>‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾</div></div></div><br/><em>Hee-hee!</em>It feels rather clever to fly from Zurich then train back.  Ari has suggested that our return to Roissy fits in perfectly with its reputation.  I’ve heard of it, but not visited.  As we travel to our hotel, my self-satisfied mirth is dissipating.<em>Oh my!</em>.<br/><br/>It’s a stretch to think we have a reservation, but as Ari whispers to the booted woman (enforcer?), it seems that arrangements have been made.  It’s subtle, but I see him pass notes to the woman who just as subtly takes them, tucks them in her boots and does no more.<br/><br/>We get to our room.<em>Oh my!</em>Why so much red everywhere?  So I ask Ari:<strong>“Why so much red everywhere?”</strong><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://i65.tinypic.com/2cxj6e0.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">Ari Warcaof</span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">Brothers Warcaof<br/> – Entrepeneur - </span></strong><br/>‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾</div></div></div><br/>We’ve eluded any followers I should think.  And in Roissy there’s more of us (older, graying, out-for-a-good-time) to fit in with, blend.<br/><br/>Out of the corner of my eye I watch Peter.  When we were young, Peter was a troublemaker—pranks; I was a troublemaker—get into trouble, figure out scams and learning lessons from experienced women who plied their trade at night.<br/><br/>When we arrive, it’s not uncomfortable entering the bordello.  It’s taken some arrangement to keep the room for a night, even more than one night.  Money talks (that was an early lesson for me, easy to understand).  Encountering the woman who knows of our arrangement is smoothly accomplished.  I make sure she sees that the tip is well more than the agreed arrangement.  She winks at me after looking at Peter.  Whatever she thinks is going on between us is fine with me—we need to blend in.<br/><br/>As we enter the room, Peter asks his question.  “Red is racy I suppose.  Over the years it’s associated with sex play.”<br/><br/>I hand him an eye mask.  “This will block out the light for sleeping.”<br/><br/>I pull out a flask and take a sip.  I hand it to Peter.  “Now dear brother we try to figure out whither dost our dear Jaclyn is going and if she needs assistance.” At the moment, we have a rather short to-do list.<br/>