Jana, the Finale part 2: Country Comes to Town

Meanwhile, in Zurich traffic, a cowgirl straight out of a rodeo sat in an Uber car tapping her cowgirl boots impatient. Garth Brook’s Rodeo played in her ears, but the music didn’t ease her frustration. She wore blue jeans with rips and holes at the knees from her trade. A flannel shirt also with the sleeves cut off and tied at the midriff so it was tighter. The Stetson hat on top of her head completes the cowgirl ensemble. While an unusual site, what was most unusual was if Jana were to see this cowgirl she'd probably faint because she was her doppelgänger. This girl was maybe more fit, but they had the faces of sisters.

Impatient, the cowgirl stopped her music to pull up google maps to see that the Grand Hotel she was seeking only about a mile or two away. She tapped on the seat, “Thanks friend, but I'm getting out here.”

The man looked over his shoulder. “Your welcome Miss Sarah. I’ll open the trunk.”

Sarah got her messenger bag and suitcase and went on her way. The cowgirl got out, tipped her hat, and followed her phones’ directions, “Can’t be tha’ hard ta’ find.”

Sarah tried not to stare at it to navigate the crowded streets. She tried to read the signs but all the ones not in English might as well be Greek, and the English she could read wasn’t always helpful. Many stared at her and she'd give the kids a tilt of her cap and a friendly smile, and she stared the men down. She dodged and weaved through the crowd saying, “pardon me, ‘cuse me.” Her feet started to ache from the heels and concrete some and she missed that carrot munching equine Bradley. She stomped around Zurich talking to herself, "Stupid phone… said it was’a mile, feels like’a dern country mile, or kilogram, or whatever!"

Worse, she felt like someone was following her. She felt naked without her Colt holstered at her side, Peacemaker or .45, in this, as her hero Ron Swanson would say, socialist hellscape. * Is it wrong to make your personal hero a fictional character from a TV show? Well, burn down all the princess castles! That thought did bring her some levity in this moment of frustration. Quick casual glances allowed her to piece together a well-built man about her age with curly blonde hair. Not a bad looker but they usually are all that way before they show their bad side.

While she waited at A crosswalk feeling claustrophobic in the city with all the people around, someone from over her shoulder said, "Jana?"

She ignored it. If it was the person following her, if he touched her she'd knock him out. She had a long plane, train, and car ride to learn some basic conversational German and even practice it a little: “Hallo” (I give you three guesses, give up? It’s hello), “Auf Wiedersehen” (goodbye, and something she swore Hans Gruber told John McClain at some point), “Wie geht's?” (how are you? German and it’s ‘W’s), “Wo ist das Badezimmer?” (the most important question in any language, where’s the bathroom? Always fun to run up and say to random people), and other essential words and phrases. That went out the window when this guy said that name again directed at her, and couldn’t be talking to anyone else. “Jana? Geht es dir gut? Was trägst du da?”

Not understanding him because he spoke to fast in a language she was literally just looking into on the flight over, she finally turned around to see him, “I ain’t Jana. Who are you and what da’ ya’ want from me?”

If he was confused before he was doubly confused now. "I apologize, you remind me of someone else. What is your name?“

"Sarah, I’m looking for tha‘ Grandhotel.“ He spoke English better than a lot she’s heard near flawlessly, with maybe a slight accent.

The man nodded, "My name is Conrad, and it’s over there.“

He pointed and Sarah followed his finger to a grand looking building that could only be a hotel, or a governor’s mansion, then tipped her hat. “Much obliged.”

Her goal in mind, she left him dazed and confused. She didn’t have time to play games. She pulled a handbook out of her messenger bag pocket. She opened it, and inside were pictures of her and her brother James. She knew he was here last.

She went inside to check in. A receptionist waited behind the desk typing on a computer. The receptionist had long brown hair and a Latin complexion. Sarah would say she won oddest sight, but she was certainly intrigued by this. "Welcome to the Grandhotel, my name is Martha." She says.

"Howdy Martha, my name’s Sarah. Do you have any single rooms for tha’ weekend?” Sarah asked leaning an arm on the counter

Martha nodded and passed over a clipboard with a sheet of paper. "Certainly, please fill out this form and I need to copy your passport."

Sarah hands her passport over and fills out the form. This Martha seemed interested in her passport. She stays quiet though.

Sarah hands her back the completed sheet. “There ya’ go!”

Martha accepts it and gives back the passport. “Thank you.”

Sarah takes it and puts it back in her bag. "May I also get into contact with the management? I have’a few questions."

Martha nods "Certainly, I can give them the message and your mobile number."

Sarah looked to her confused for a moment, then nodded with a laugh. "My cell number, right."

Martha rings the bell for the bell hop, and the young man takes her bags and carries them up to her room. After tipping the bell hop and giving him a tip of her cap, she kicks her boots off and looks over pictures of her and James. She would find her brother, lost for 3 years. His last known location was here. Regardless of the odds, she was here to get him back, even if she had to pull a Liam Neeson.