++ Continuing Rambles of one Mr. Thor Aronson ++
His quest for the elusive quarry stalled again, Thor – rather exhausted after six days on a merchant marine ship despite a rather pleasant stateroom – sits on a coil of worn rope on a salty dock to consider his next move. The question: where has the renegade Mr. Lester disappeared to to this time? Lighting at the second last cigar from a box acquired in Sicily, he considers possible directions… Set out towards the Tyrhenian, dropping in on various islands seeking telltale sign? He does have ties to Corsica after all so the direction would be generally useful. Or maybe the Aegean?
“Too many damn islands…” He mutters to the Katakolon seabirds. The leather attache (containing the critical documents seeking validation) still close by his worn boots, he pulls the wool fisherman’s cap down his brow, closer to the wrinkled blue/white striped coarse linen shirt, inhales deeply and concludes to head towards the Bosphorous. At least he’ll have a hot Turkish bath and beat down massage on ancient marble before deciding which continent to drift towards next. But first, a tall ouzo and plate of olives to set him on the way.
++ Dossier: Thor Aaronson ++
Consigliere of variable repute, carries diplomatic passport from a failed Balkan republic, suits look Saville Row but actually Chiang Mai, speaks colloquial Greek & classical Aramaic from time in an Albanian prison for currency forgery, published thesis on Egyptian shadow puppetry amongst working class Cairo, scars and tic on left eye after crashing stolen tuktuk in Penang, 3 months hospital, left with bill unpaid taking a full grain of morphine and fled to Phitsanulok, dried out in Chennai under assumed name of Rex Hayduke, marine biologist specializing in marlin and other large, mercury-laden game fish — Ejoys Rimbaud poetry, Duras novels, and Chet Baker, The Jam, Portuguese fado & Japanese enka music. Prefers fountain pens, white handkerchieves, full windsor knots, hot toddys with branch water and fresh notebooks which he fills, photographs & burns. Whereabouts unknown, alert Interpol if spotted saying: “mahimahi is ready for grilling” they’ll understand, oh yes they will. Delay escape by plying with mint shisha and backgammon (no wagering) .