[h1]Hungary[/h1]
[h2]Budapest[/h2]

Pocked with roughly patched holes, stained with the streaks of acid rain, and showing the age of years and a turning neglect from a high-class, businessmen and hotel of the old state allies the Prestige hotel carried on its shoulders the weight of change, anchoring to a time that continued to grow more distant through the months and years. But it was not wholly derelict and abandoned, and none of it made it ugly. It received its care through the days, it was still in use and the white face was bright in the afternoon sun despite the wear and tear. It stood not darkened, but illuminated and no pedestrian avoided it. The few visitors that used it – the tourists, miscellaneous travelers, and a few who lived in the hotel itself – passed in and out and around outside.

Stepping back out onto the curb Milo headed inside the hotel. The sounds of  traffic was quietly replaced with ambient lobby music. “Detective Milo.” a voice called out from the corner.

Turning, Milo met with a young officer still in his unbroken, unstained blues. He looped hopefully up at him with a nervous small smile, “We got the call you were on your way...” he said, uncertainly, “I guess you want to talk to them then?”

“I would, thank you.” Milo answered, the officer gestured for him to follow and they walked through the old hotel.

The Prestige's old classical design shone even brighter on the inside than it did on the inside. The flourishing details of the 19th century style heady in its floors and walls. The main lobby was a a towering room, a deep rectangular shaft from floor to ceiling that opened in a skylight letting in the warm sun. The two men walked along the black-marble floors, their feet clacking as each foot fell. And throughout the halls posh velvety red and mahogany pieces of furniture taken straight from a catalog of Austrian-Hungarian design stood to decorate, or to wait for use in any of the many visitors or home-makers that took up in the old mansion; several couches in the halls were already in use, and the clothes of the man or the woman reclining there was an apt, easy-to-recognize distinguishing feature between resident and foreigner.

At stairs they ascended, and Milo was greeted by an additional officer as they came to a door. The second officer reached out for the door, and opened it. “Look out,” he said as he did, “One of them has  been drinking.”

“It's 9:40 in the morning.” Milo said aghast.

“We know.”

Milo was immediately greeted on his entrance with the beat of some nameless electronic artist or another. His ears itched annoyingly as he stepped inside and his head was already hurting. And beyond the sensations that racked his head, he thought he could hear the low thumbing whops of a helicopter patrolling over head.

The three guests in the room sat or lay about in the room in various states of anxious disarray, distress, and at least half dress. Almost out of place a bulky, muscled gentlemen in black suit stood in the corner with his arms crossed, the left lens of his glasses glowing a soft blue. Milo and he exchanged quick looks, and the bodyguard gave an impassive shrug as he entered. It spoke volumes to him, “I feel your pain, buddy.” it seemed to say.

None of the other guests seemed to pay Milo any heed as he moved over to the stereo and rested his finger on the power button. Scanning the two young women and the one man on the bed he scowled and hit the switch. The music stopped. It had caught their attention.

“What the fuck was that, we were listening to that!” slurred the half-naked french man on the bed, he was thin with a lean athletic build and a deep caramel tan. His hair messy and eyes half covered with sagging purple lids.

“No.” Milo said, in French.

The disheveled young man sputtered angrily, and a late realization sparked in his expression and his tired bloodshot eyes sprung open. “Oh shit, did you find Adalene?” he exclaimed. He attempted to pull himself out of bed but lost his balance and pushed an empty champagne bottle off the sheets, crashing it on the wooden floors.

Milo leveled a hard critical look at him and then shook his head.

“No Pascal, he's here to ask about her!” snapped a woman lounging by the windows. She was naked save for the silk robe tied around her. Her hair looked to be at that stage of having been wet, but was left to air-dry without being brushed, it framed her narrow sharp-edge face in heavy ropes. A cigarette dipped from her lips as she scowled. “ You fuckers are as bad as home. And you can't do anything. We called four fucking hours ago and you're here to tell me you still haven't found her!?” she roared accusingly, her breasts rising and falling on each agitated breath. A shaking hand rose to her forehead and she messaged her temples.

Milo shrugged indifferently to her agitation. It wasn't something particularly new to him at this point. “We've been trying.” Milo consoled indifferently, “Our patrolmen have been searching the area for any sign of her. I'm here to do a follow up on what they have and to start tracking her down.”

“Oh, so you fucks can keep holding your dicks in your hand? Yea, good luck with that.” the robed woman spat, “Listen, if our home wasn't in such deep shit now we'd have your ASSES!” she shouted.

“Shut the fuck up.” Milo shot back in a quiet stinging tone, “Play along and make this painless. Because I can just leave right here and right now. Free country.”

The robbed woman chewed on that for a while, and resigned herself from it, laying her head back as she exhaled a long gray cloud at the ceiling. Milo took that as his signal to go. “First, I'd like to know who you are, your relationship with Adalene.” he started, in truth it was all in the reports but he felt safe to confirm it first taking out his softpad and turning it on.

“Let's start with you, sir.” he invited, looking up at the man on the bed. “Pascal Martin?”

He nodded, “It was Pascala.” he corrected softly, and Martin looked up back at him to see if he was joking, then back down to make a quick correction. “I'm a  friend of Adalene's, from the college days. Most of us here all, except for Kamille.”

“Whose Kamille?” Milo asked.

Pascal pointed to the young blonde girl besides the robed woman's chair, with her legs pulled up against her she hid her chin behind her knees. She looked to be about nineteen. “She's actually Adalene's cousin's girlfriend, the two got along well. She hoped she'd get her into modeling someday.

“Right.” Milo acknowledged.

“And I'm Daisi, Adalene and I knew each other since we were kids in Pairis.” she reported in a long droning tone of voice. “But how is this relevant, you asking just to torture us?” she asked, accusation back in her tone of voice like venomous barbs.

Milo didn't entreat her with a response. “So, why are we in Hungary?” he asked them, leaving the question open. And again it was Pascal to answer.

“We wanted to see what is possibly the last free country on the planet.” he answered, “All things considered and all.”

“Yes, that's what everyone says. But I honestly don't talk to anyone lounging around in their hotel rooms half naked.” he said with a snarky bite of his own, “So, why are you here?”

The question hung awkwardly on the air. “We were looking for a good time.” Kamille said nervously from the floor. Milo looked down at her with a cocked-brow expression.

“Do explain.” he asked.

Daisi grumbled annoyed and distraught, like having been caught red-handed by her parents. But that somehow she still hoped to escape. When no one explained Milo pressed the question again, orbiting away from the sound system. He looked up at their body-guard but he gave them a “sworn not to tell” look.

“We thought we could get anything, everything we wanted here.” Pascal blurted out, his voice hitching on a high note as he quite literally coughed the admission up. “LSD, skyrocket, cocaine. No one would be watching us here, we can do fuck all!”

“Well guess what, someone is watching.” Milo said, “Enough councils have passed prohibitions they're banned across the country. I can nail all three of you here on use charges. But I won't, because it's a fucking waste of my time. You're just going to tell me about your friend is and then get the fuck out.” he spat dejectedly, “And then tell your friends to stop coming to my home to shoot up your shit. You got it?”

Pascal nodded, Kamille mumbled a muffled 'ok', and Daisi stayed bitterly silent.

“So, what happened. What happened that night?”

“Well, we had just come back from a club...” Pascal began, nervously, “In a warehouse... On the north side of the city... By the river.” Milo nodded, “There'd been some drinks, some blow. Adalene thought she would go out for a swim when we made it back to the hotel.”

“How'd you make it back?” asked Milo.

“Those driver-less Taxi deals. Adalene was too afraid of hailing a driven Taxi, she's never trusted drivers.” Milo had to rule that out, as he continued, “We told her the pool might be closed by the time we get back, it was late, maybe a quarter passed two. But she didn't care.”

Pascal stopped, looking up at Milo. He impatiently waved for him to continue, “Well, I guess that didn't matter to her. She stepped out anyways.”

“She told me she was going to swim the Danube.” Daisi said quietly.

Milo nodded, free country and all. “Were you all up here in the room when she left?”

Pascal nodded, “I've been awake all night waiting... A lot of coffee...” he trailed off. Milo looked down at the smashed champagne bottle, and drunk he thought. The guy was probably living through the real time onset of a hangover. Milo absentmindedly wondered what other stimulate it was on that kept him moving.

“Does Adalene have any distinctive marks or anything that would help me identify her?” asked Milo.

“She has a tattoo of a rose between her shoulders.” Pascal said, “And a bit of scripture on her left ass.”

Milo nodded, knowing he probably wouldn't get the chance to check the later unless she was found in a bathing suit. But she was French, and if she thought the whole country was the Riviera it could go either way. “Well, I'll have to do some asking around. But I'm going to have to ask you try not to leave the country and for you to keep in touch. If you get any word about her from anyone, pass it along so it can get to me. We'll be seeing each other again.” he said, tipping his head and headed for the door.

“Get the hotel staff?” asked one of the patrolmen as they left the room behind.

“Yes, one of them will know what direction she went.”