Post by Immanuel Taylor on Jun 18, 2011 9:43:08 GMT -5
The Maryland Transit Administration Light Rail came to a stop at the University of Baltimore just as Vitali Khodorkovsky finished his cup of coffee. He chose not to eat the small piece of complimentary chocolate handed out by the feminine male waiter. Vitali, along with the others, got up in a calm and organized manner and took out his ugly Soviet-manufactured suitcase from the overhead compartment. This is the same suitcase, brown exterior with a black handle and a yellow interior, that Vitali had with him when he made his way through re-unified Germany and , ultimately, when he landed at the Chicago International Airport in February of 2001 and the SFO in December of 2010.
Vitali landed at the Baltimore-Washington International Thurgood-Marshall airport at 1:23 PM and he proceeded to wait for the Maryland Transit Administration Light Rail to arrive and to board it when it did, paying ten dollars for a 1.60 fare charge. The light rail itself made its way all the way into downtown Baltimore in 28 minutes, albeit the irritating numerous stops it made in the way. An added benefit of this public transit was that it operated on the roads of Baltimore City itself, rather than operating on a rail separate from the labyrinth of streets, shops, hotels and whatnot that dot the downtown area. Vitali made his way off the Light Rail on North Charles Street and stood in front of the soon-to-be-opened John and Frances Angelos Law Center, one of the numerous buildings of the University of Baltimore.
Vitali is wearing a dull black suit with a yellow tie. He placed his equally dull suitcase on the ground and proceeded to extract a neatly folded map from his inner-pocket. It was folded to this exact location of the downtown area of Baltimore City. Vitali’s eyes darted from the map to the criss-crossed street signs on his left and then to that of the not-too-distant Penn Station. Vitali grumbled quietly under his breath as he placed the map back in his inner pocket, picked up his ugly suitcase, and made his way to the station. A nearby parked police car caught his attention in a passive manner. He kept his stoic, cold face on.
Vitali arrived at the Penn Station (“Penn” being an abbreviation for Pennsylvania) and immediately made his way to one of the numerous cabs parked outside, all adhering to the Yellow Cab of Baltimore taxi service.
“Lord Baltimore Hotel, please” Vitali said in eloquent and fluent English, betraying his heavy Eastern European with a touch of Slav-ness looking exterior. Vitali took out a hundred dollar bill and laid it on the passenger seat, thus ensuring that the cab driver would do his job without protest due to an earlier reservation. The Lord Baltimore Hotel is located in the Radisson Plaza offered Vitali two nights in one of its many spacious guest rooms from 129 U.S. dollars to whatever apogee it can reach. Vitali ended up reserving two nights for 149 dollars and 109 dollars each (Fridays seem to be cheaper). Vitali was able to do so from an anonymous internet café in San Francisco and by paying with the company credit card given to him by Jordan King, CEO of the Times Media Conglomerate.
"is this your first time in Baltimore?" said the handsome male receptionist whilst checking Vitali's booking conformation. He glanced at the tattoos on Vitali's knuckles. He is mildly nervous.
"Yes" groveled Vital, longing for some privacy after a flight, train and cab trip.
"Welcome to the Lord Baltimore Hotel, sir" the receptionist now speaking a robotic trained manner. "I hope you enjoy your stay and be sure to check out the Inner Harbor of Baltimore, a popular resort for many tourists. Shall I have someone help you with your bag?"
"No. Thank you."
Vitali snatched the keys from the marble desk and nodded to the receptionist before picking up his bag and making his way to the elevators. He passed graphite dual statues of what seems to be Lions. Vitali eventually made it to his room, 107 (he always picked the lowest floor possible). He set down his ugly suitcase, took off his suit and slipped into a warm shower. The sound of the water dripping down his skin coupled with the complete silence of the room put Vitali at complete ease. He finished up and put on the complimentary hotel bathrobe before ordering some dinner.
While waiting for the food to arrive, Vitali laid his ugly suitcase on the elegant king-sized bed and opened it. There were two extra pairs of dress pants and shirts, an extra tie and jacket, an envelope with his hard currency money (limited to US dollars), the light yellow folder containing the notes and related date of his investigation, his notebook full of useful notes, and a DK Travel Guide of Baltimore. Vitali took both the Travel Guide and the folder and went through them whilst enjoying his recently arrived dinner.
The US Military was somewhere you did not want to show up and start asking specific questions regarding specific soldiers. As such, Vitali didn't even entertain the idea to a plausible degree. There were two locations that every pre-adult individual is guaranteed to have gone through in his or her lifetime. A hospital and school. In Baltimore's case, the schools were divided into elementary, middle and high levels. Both locations were dead-easy to think of and as such if this Immanuel character is hiding something then he'd get rid of those records. Unless he's stupid.
Vitali understood these points but saw no harm in indulging in them. Thus when he made his way out the Lord Baltimore Hotel in eight in the morning, after a Continental Breakfast, and hailed a cab he directed it to the Mercy Medical Center at 301 St. Paul Place. It only took him ten minutes of approaching the receptionist, asking her for the information and her not getting anything in the database for Vitali to creep back out of the hospital, keeping to himself in a casual way. He hailed another cab and directed the Middle Eastern driver to the private Gilman School at the Roland Park neighborhood.
Vitali raised an eyebrow when he noticed that Immanuel's military profile pinpoints him to a prestigious and even douche-heavy private school yet he raised his eyebrows again when the cab pulled over at Roland Avenue. Vitali stood in front of the Carey Hall entrance portion of the school. The more Vitali stuck his nose in Immanuel's past, the weirder his subject became.
The vestibule of the Middle School itself, to the right from Carey Hall, was so preppy that Vitali quietly chuckled to himself. He had seen Immanuel in person, during Immanuel's fatal four way match, and he still could not link that eccentric man to this haven. It was empty due to the time of year. Vitali made his way past the handful amount of parents scattered around and found himself in yet another vestibule. Empty also, but this one had a secretary.
"Hello" Vitali began, using his fluent English now. "I don't mean to take much of your time but I was wondering if you could simply check your database for a former student in this school. His name is Immanuel Taylor"
The secretary, a young woman as usual, looked a bit unease at the presence of Vitali Khodorkovsky in his grey suit. He looked like a homeless man who had stumbled upon a fortune and used said fortune to buy himself a grey suit. And the tattoos on his knuckles probably didn't make her feel more at ease.
"I'm sorry but you'll have to go to the technical consultant here. I think only she knows how to access these things."
"Could you please direct me to her?" Vitali's neo-politeness coupled with his thuggish appearance (and make no mistake, Vitali is nothing more than an overglorified hired thug) made this entire situation a bit more comedic to the outside observer.
"Well…she's not here but…umm.."
"Go on"
"Well, I guess since you're only looking for a record of this person then I guess I can run a search for the database through here even though I shouldn't"
"It'll be unbelievingly quick. Do you offer printed copies of records, in case you find one? You have a printer on your left"
"Well…we do but…I really shouldn't be doing this"
"I'll dance at your wedding if you say help me out here" Vitali's attempt to sound charming ended up making him creepier. "The name is Immanuel Taylor. The Immanuel is spelled as I-M-M-A-N-U-E-L. The Birth date is July the 21st, 1968. Thank you."
The secretary sighed and turned her sights to her computer. A few clicks here, a few clicks there, a password here and a typing of 'Immanuel Taylor' in the database and she brought back her sight to the patient Vitali Khodorkovsky.
"Umm…I found a profile but it's been red-flagged or something. Apparently it was designated to be removed but our technical consultant always keeps shadow copies"
"I will be eternally grateful if you open the shadow copy, Linda" Vitali managed to read her name off the name plate on her desk. She cautiously compiled. She did not make eye contact with Vitali since the beginning of this conversation. She is fearful of him and has contemplated pressing the emergency button more than once. Vitali knows this, he can feel it, and he using it for his advantage. His gaze is constantly fized on her and she feels this too.
Linda double clicked the shadow copy and re-typed her password. There it is. Immanuel Taylor's middle school profile or folder. She nodded to Vitali.
"Does it come with any pictures?" Vitali's voice is now purposefully heavier. She complied again, surfing through the contents of the folder. If it didn't have any pictures then its useless for Vitali.
"Hmm…usually there's a close up photo of the student but that's been removed here. It's just information"
"Do you take group photos?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Do you take group photos of your students? Maybe you can find one with Immanuel in it?"
"Well…I'll have to go through another search. Do you want this folder anyways?"
"No. If you can just get me a picture of Immanuel Taylor then that would be sufficient"
Linda went back to doing whatever she does in order to locate specific folders. She underwent yet another search. Vitali's constant gaze continued to disturb her and she felt as if she was a prisoner of his words. Vitali fully knew this and took advantage to the fullest.
No pictures turned up. Linda did another search, this time typing his grade level and the corresponding school year. She got a hit. Not from Vitali of course but from the database itself. She found a group photo for the year and upon double clicking it and focusing on the list of names printed below her eyes met the words of "Immanuel Taylor".
"Ok I got one. This is from the eleventh grade. There's a list of names below printed from Left-to-Right based on how the students are placed so you can single him out from the group. Is this good enough?"
"It's heavenly"
Linda printed the group photo and quickly slid it across the desk. Vitali glanced at it, pinpoint Immanuel's name, and then picked it up.
"Thank you, Linda. I can sense you're a bit distressed here. I'm sorry if I caused that. I'm just visiting this city and I'll be far away from here very soon. You won't ever hear from me again."
Vitali turned out and began walking away. He hoped she would see not make a big fuss out of this. He strongly assumed that she would delete both the shadow copy and the group photo in order to to put this encounter behind her. She'd probably take a long shower when she would arrive home tonight. Or she could do something stupid like press that emergency button. Vitali pondered that and thus ducked into the bathroom on his way out. He decided to wait here for, let’s say, ten minutes and took note of the time on his watch. He made his way to one of the stalls, locked the door and closed the lid down before sitting on top of it. Vitali took out his eyeglasses and the group photo.
Vitali’s eyes zeroed in on the list of names below the photo, organized from Left to Right, and traced Immanuel’s name to his location in the group photo. When Vitali’s eyes zeroed in on Immanuel he checked again the list of names arranged from Left to Right. There is nothing wrong in them and what Vitali saw at first is what he sees right now. Vitali is not entirely surprised. Immanuel Taylor at the eleventh grade is standing in the picture in the midst of his colleagues. There is only something wrong with the Immanuel Taylor in the picture.
He’s black.
Vitali landed at the Baltimore-Washington International Thurgood-Marshall airport at 1:23 PM and he proceeded to wait for the Maryland Transit Administration Light Rail to arrive and to board it when it did, paying ten dollars for a 1.60 fare charge. The light rail itself made its way all the way into downtown Baltimore in 28 minutes, albeit the irritating numerous stops it made in the way. An added benefit of this public transit was that it operated on the roads of Baltimore City itself, rather than operating on a rail separate from the labyrinth of streets, shops, hotels and whatnot that dot the downtown area. Vitali made his way off the Light Rail on North Charles Street and stood in front of the soon-to-be-opened John and Frances Angelos Law Center, one of the numerous buildings of the University of Baltimore.
Vitali is wearing a dull black suit with a yellow tie. He placed his equally dull suitcase on the ground and proceeded to extract a neatly folded map from his inner-pocket. It was folded to this exact location of the downtown area of Baltimore City. Vitali’s eyes darted from the map to the criss-crossed street signs on his left and then to that of the not-too-distant Penn Station. Vitali grumbled quietly under his breath as he placed the map back in his inner pocket, picked up his ugly suitcase, and made his way to the station. A nearby parked police car caught his attention in a passive manner. He kept his stoic, cold face on.
Vitali arrived at the Penn Station (“Penn” being an abbreviation for Pennsylvania) and immediately made his way to one of the numerous cabs parked outside, all adhering to the Yellow Cab of Baltimore taxi service.
“Lord Baltimore Hotel, please” Vitali said in eloquent and fluent English, betraying his heavy Eastern European with a touch of Slav-ness looking exterior. Vitali took out a hundred dollar bill and laid it on the passenger seat, thus ensuring that the cab driver would do his job without protest due to an earlier reservation. The Lord Baltimore Hotel is located in the Radisson Plaza offered Vitali two nights in one of its many spacious guest rooms from 129 U.S. dollars to whatever apogee it can reach. Vitali ended up reserving two nights for 149 dollars and 109 dollars each (Fridays seem to be cheaper). Vitali was able to do so from an anonymous internet café in San Francisco and by paying with the company credit card given to him by Jordan King, CEO of the Times Media Conglomerate.
"is this your first time in Baltimore?" said the handsome male receptionist whilst checking Vitali's booking conformation. He glanced at the tattoos on Vitali's knuckles. He is mildly nervous.
"Yes" groveled Vital, longing for some privacy after a flight, train and cab trip.
"Welcome to the Lord Baltimore Hotel, sir" the receptionist now speaking a robotic trained manner. "I hope you enjoy your stay and be sure to check out the Inner Harbor of Baltimore, a popular resort for many tourists. Shall I have someone help you with your bag?"
"No. Thank you."
Vitali snatched the keys from the marble desk and nodded to the receptionist before picking up his bag and making his way to the elevators. He passed graphite dual statues of what seems to be Lions. Vitali eventually made it to his room, 107 (he always picked the lowest floor possible). He set down his ugly suitcase, took off his suit and slipped into a warm shower. The sound of the water dripping down his skin coupled with the complete silence of the room put Vitali at complete ease. He finished up and put on the complimentary hotel bathrobe before ordering some dinner.
While waiting for the food to arrive, Vitali laid his ugly suitcase on the elegant king-sized bed and opened it. There were two extra pairs of dress pants and shirts, an extra tie and jacket, an envelope with his hard currency money (limited to US dollars), the light yellow folder containing the notes and related date of his investigation, his notebook full of useful notes, and a DK Travel Guide of Baltimore. Vitali took both the Travel Guide and the folder and went through them whilst enjoying his recently arrived dinner.
The US Military was somewhere you did not want to show up and start asking specific questions regarding specific soldiers. As such, Vitali didn't even entertain the idea to a plausible degree. There were two locations that every pre-adult individual is guaranteed to have gone through in his or her lifetime. A hospital and school. In Baltimore's case, the schools were divided into elementary, middle and high levels. Both locations were dead-easy to think of and as such if this Immanuel character is hiding something then he'd get rid of those records. Unless he's stupid.
Vitali understood these points but saw no harm in indulging in them. Thus when he made his way out the Lord Baltimore Hotel in eight in the morning, after a Continental Breakfast, and hailed a cab he directed it to the Mercy Medical Center at 301 St. Paul Place. It only took him ten minutes of approaching the receptionist, asking her for the information and her not getting anything in the database for Vitali to creep back out of the hospital, keeping to himself in a casual way. He hailed another cab and directed the Middle Eastern driver to the private Gilman School at the Roland Park neighborhood.
Vitali raised an eyebrow when he noticed that Immanuel's military profile pinpoints him to a prestigious and even douche-heavy private school yet he raised his eyebrows again when the cab pulled over at Roland Avenue. Vitali stood in front of the Carey Hall entrance portion of the school. The more Vitali stuck his nose in Immanuel's past, the weirder his subject became.
The vestibule of the Middle School itself, to the right from Carey Hall, was so preppy that Vitali quietly chuckled to himself. He had seen Immanuel in person, during Immanuel's fatal four way match, and he still could not link that eccentric man to this haven. It was empty due to the time of year. Vitali made his way past the handful amount of parents scattered around and found himself in yet another vestibule. Empty also, but this one had a secretary.
"Hello" Vitali began, using his fluent English now. "I don't mean to take much of your time but I was wondering if you could simply check your database for a former student in this school. His name is Immanuel Taylor"
The secretary, a young woman as usual, looked a bit unease at the presence of Vitali Khodorkovsky in his grey suit. He looked like a homeless man who had stumbled upon a fortune and used said fortune to buy himself a grey suit. And the tattoos on his knuckles probably didn't make her feel more at ease.
"I'm sorry but you'll have to go to the technical consultant here. I think only she knows how to access these things."
"Could you please direct me to her?" Vitali's neo-politeness coupled with his thuggish appearance (and make no mistake, Vitali is nothing more than an overglorified hired thug) made this entire situation a bit more comedic to the outside observer.
"Well…she's not here but…umm.."
"Go on"
"Well, I guess since you're only looking for a record of this person then I guess I can run a search for the database through here even though I shouldn't"
"It'll be unbelievingly quick. Do you offer printed copies of records, in case you find one? You have a printer on your left"
"Well…we do but…I really shouldn't be doing this"
"I'll dance at your wedding if you say help me out here" Vitali's attempt to sound charming ended up making him creepier. "The name is Immanuel Taylor. The Immanuel is spelled as I-M-M-A-N-U-E-L. The Birth date is July the 21st, 1968. Thank you."
The secretary sighed and turned her sights to her computer. A few clicks here, a few clicks there, a password here and a typing of 'Immanuel Taylor' in the database and she brought back her sight to the patient Vitali Khodorkovsky.
"Umm…I found a profile but it's been red-flagged or something. Apparently it was designated to be removed but our technical consultant always keeps shadow copies"
"I will be eternally grateful if you open the shadow copy, Linda" Vitali managed to read her name off the name plate on her desk. She cautiously compiled. She did not make eye contact with Vitali since the beginning of this conversation. She is fearful of him and has contemplated pressing the emergency button more than once. Vitali knows this, he can feel it, and he using it for his advantage. His gaze is constantly fized on her and she feels this too.
Linda double clicked the shadow copy and re-typed her password. There it is. Immanuel Taylor's middle school profile or folder. She nodded to Vitali.
"Does it come with any pictures?" Vitali's voice is now purposefully heavier. She complied again, surfing through the contents of the folder. If it didn't have any pictures then its useless for Vitali.
"Hmm…usually there's a close up photo of the student but that's been removed here. It's just information"
"Do you take group photos?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Do you take group photos of your students? Maybe you can find one with Immanuel in it?"
"Well…I'll have to go through another search. Do you want this folder anyways?"
"No. If you can just get me a picture of Immanuel Taylor then that would be sufficient"
Linda went back to doing whatever she does in order to locate specific folders. She underwent yet another search. Vitali's constant gaze continued to disturb her and she felt as if she was a prisoner of his words. Vitali fully knew this and took advantage to the fullest.
No pictures turned up. Linda did another search, this time typing his grade level and the corresponding school year. She got a hit. Not from Vitali of course but from the database itself. She found a group photo for the year and upon double clicking it and focusing on the list of names printed below her eyes met the words of "Immanuel Taylor".
"Ok I got one. This is from the eleventh grade. There's a list of names below printed from Left-to-Right based on how the students are placed so you can single him out from the group. Is this good enough?"
"It's heavenly"
Linda printed the group photo and quickly slid it across the desk. Vitali glanced at it, pinpoint Immanuel's name, and then picked it up.
"Thank you, Linda. I can sense you're a bit distressed here. I'm sorry if I caused that. I'm just visiting this city and I'll be far away from here very soon. You won't ever hear from me again."
Vitali turned out and began walking away. He hoped she would see not make a big fuss out of this. He strongly assumed that she would delete both the shadow copy and the group photo in order to to put this encounter behind her. She'd probably take a long shower when she would arrive home tonight. Or she could do something stupid like press that emergency button. Vitali pondered that and thus ducked into the bathroom on his way out. He decided to wait here for, let’s say, ten minutes and took note of the time on his watch. He made his way to one of the stalls, locked the door and closed the lid down before sitting on top of it. Vitali took out his eyeglasses and the group photo.
Vitali’s eyes zeroed in on the list of names below the photo, organized from Left to Right, and traced Immanuel’s name to his location in the group photo. When Vitali’s eyes zeroed in on Immanuel he checked again the list of names arranged from Left to Right. There is nothing wrong in them and what Vitali saw at first is what he sees right now. Vitali is not entirely surprised. Immanuel Taylor at the eleventh grade is standing in the picture in the midst of his colleagues. There is only something wrong with the Immanuel Taylor in the picture.
He’s black.
