Fantasy So Night Follows Day by TMaskedWriter

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 04

"I'll serve your ass like John McEnroe.
If your girl steps up I'm smackin' the ho.
Word to your moms, I came to drop bombs.
I got more rhymes than the Bible's got Psalms.
And just like the Prodigal Son, I've returned.
Anyone steppin' to me, you'll get burned.
Cause I got lyrics, and you ain't got none.
If you come to battle, bring a shotgun."
-House of Pain, "Jump Around"

"What is the best war?"

The man in the video now playing from Julie's laptop onto the screen of the Equals' darkened-living room television asked the question of a non-existent studio audience. He walked around a black stage, wearing a black turtleneck; addressing them as if either giving a TED Talk, or unveiling the latest Apple product. Everyone recognized him; a famous technology billionaire who'd died a few months back. Below him a graphic on the screen read "Presentation Rehearsal #8: Internal Use Only."

"According to that great sage, Bart Simpson, 'There are no good wars, with the following exceptions: The American Revolution, World War II, and the Star Wars trilogy.'"

He paused for pre-recorded polite laughter.

"But which is the best war? The obvious answer is 'the one where you win,' but there's an even better one than that."

He stepped back as the giant monitor above the stage lit up with a number of technology companies' logos merging into a giant S-shape that looked to be made out of a spring.

"The BEST war, ladies and gentlemen... is the one where you win... without ever having to fight it."

The video changed to a shot of Sean Connery in "Thunderball," flying a jetpack. Troy was about to say something when Julie mouthed "We know" at him and looked back at the screen. The phony audience oohed and ahh-ed.

"The jetpack," The speaker continued. "Which of us hasn't always wanted one? The technology exists, the US Army worked for years to perfect it; some general's dream of a platoon of jet-pack-wearing Buck Rogers soldiers, soaring over enemy lines to rain down death upon their foes. But there's a problem. They used to call it 'the 30-second barrier.' The problem is that it's impossible to create a jetpack that can hold the weight of the occupant, the weight of the fuel, and the weight of the pack itself, and attain more than 30 seconds of flight. I believe now it's been pushed to 34 seconds. Not much of an improvement since Double-0 Seven here flew one, and not practical for military use."

Troy started humming Tom Jones' "Theme from Thunderball." Helen gently whacked him on the shoulder and pointed at the screen.

"So we decided to go back to basic principles."

The image changed to clips of Olympic athletes performing high jumps and long jumps.

"Man may not have been meant to fly, but he was certainly meant to jump. Since rockets weren't the answer, we thought 'What about springs?'"

The image changed to a computer graphic of a pair of large metal boots. It circled around them, then the image changed again to an x-ray view of the boots. It zoomed in on the soles, under which, multiple coiled springs were located. The non-audience oohed.

"What about nanocarbon springs, and state-of-the-art breakthroughs in Inertial Damping technology? Breakthroughs that, when applied as we have, absorb the kinetic energy of impact, and temporarily stores it for higher and longer jumps? Absurd, right?"

The graphic backed away to show the original image of the boots. Vector graphics then filled in a suit of black, metal armor and helmet.

"Iron Man?" Julie said to no one. Various half-giggled shushes came from the room.

"For YEARS," The speaker continued. "It was said that a man could not run a mile in four minutes! It was absurd to consider! Then, in 1954, Sir Roger Bannister did it. He just... trained hard until he 'did it.' By point six seconds, but he pulled it off. And now, athletes break his record often. An idea is only absurd... until someone does it."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

The computer graphics faded away to show a real suit of armor underneath.

"I've got to admit, Helen," Susan whispered. "When you said we were going to watch a video, I thought you mean the other one."

"Shh," Helen snickered. "That one's on the drive, too. You remember the deal."

"What you are about to see... or, should I say, NOT see... is the future of modern warfare."

"Ain't 'at what they say at the beginnin' of every movie where technology fucks up an' starts killin' everyone?" He faked a Texan accent. "Gennelmen, what y'all're seein' here, is the future of modern warfare."

Everyone but Helen laughed.

The video-within-the-video switched to a desert scene with a helicopter flying about 50 feet over the ground. It zoomed in on the person wearing the Springheel suit and helmet, then panned out as they jumped out of the helicopter. The pilot immediately pulled away as Springheel hit the ground feet first, then bounced back up into the air. High enough that if the pilot hadn't moved the chopper, the wearer might have been caught up in the rotating blades. He landed again, and began making shorter, smaller jumps, until he stopped entirely.

The fake audience oohed, then cheered.

"'How did he do that,' you may ask." The speaker said when it died down.

"Why thank you, sir." Troy said, in a stuffy British accent. "I may just ask how, indeed." This time, everyone laughed.

The image switched to a camera inside the suit. An isomorphic view of the surrounding landscape was pictured in a window in the corner. Then a little dotted line appeared in the wearer's field of vision as the window showed a series of dotted lines, corresponding to the pattern in which the suit jumped before.

"It's Missile Command!" Mander blurted out. The room exploded with laughter.

"No, no." Troy said through his howls. "It's more like Family Circus, when Mommy tells Billy 'Time for dinner,' and Billy takes the twisted dotted-line path through the neighborhood to get home." The laughs continued.

"With satellite data, internal sensors that constantly sweep the surrounding area, and GPS information fed directly to the wearer, Springheel's trajectory-plotting can be done in an instant. We're not to the point of 'leap tall buildings in a single bound' yet, but we'll get there in time. That would be enough for some people. But we didn't stop there."

"But wait, there's more!" Julie called out. Everyone but Helen laughed again; she stared intently at the screen.

The video cut to the helicopter's view of Springheel in the desert, zooming in on it. The person in the suit touched their left forearm, causing a panel to slide away and reveal a small keyboard. Springheel vanished before their eyes. The camera panned back, and little clouds of kicked-up dust could be seen when the suit continued jumping.

"Active camouflage, transmitting data in real time to Springheel and adjusting to provide 360-degree stealth capabilities. And as I said, we can't leap that far, but we can certainly climb. Climbing lines and pitons concealed in the wrists..."

As he spoke, from out of nothing, a line fired and latched into the side of a rock formation. The line became taught and seemed to disappear until all that was left of it were a couple of feet sticking out of the piton embedded in the rock and leading to nothing. Springheel faded back into sight, and it was clinging to the side of the bare rock, held by the piton, until the wearer bent his knees, pushed off from the side of the rock formation, and the piton retracted back into the suit as the wearer engaged the camouflage and was gone again.

Susan began humming the "Spider-Man" theme as they watched.

"With concealed blades housed in the forearms..." Springheel became visible again, and a long blade came out it's right wrist before it vanished. "Your enemies won't know what hit them."

The scene changed to a night-time view, bathed in the green of a night-vision camera up in a tree outside of a walled-in compound; guards patrolling the perimeter. A caption on the screen read "Not Actors. Home of known drug cartel boss." A pair of armed guards patrolled the outside. The camera zoomed in on them.

"Stately Wayne..." Troy started to say, before trailing off, noticing now that

Contessa Helena de San Finzione had stopped laughing, and was intently staring at the screen. He paid attention.

"Two coming from the East." Said the spotter with the camera. He zoomed in on the two as one suddenly found himself hoisted into the air, blood coming from his mouth and chest, as if impaled on something. He fell to the ground as his companion looked about in confusion and terror. The other man started to run, when a piton shot out of nothing and speared him in the back. The guard cried out as the piton dragged him backwards, retracted back into nothingness, and a slit in his throat appeared; causing him to collapse, clutching his neck.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Watching, Helen unconsciously touched the tiny scar on her own throat.

Springheel became visible as the blade retracted into the suit, then jumped over the wall before more guards approached the scene. The camera followed it as it leapt up onto a second-story balcony and the wearer hit more buttons on the wrist, turning invisible again. The sliding glass door opened. There was screaming, a gunshot, and a hole appeared in the door. The screams were quieter after the door closed again, but continued.

The guards looked back to the house and began running toward it. When they were gone, a small cloud of dust was kicked up where Springheel landed in the dirt road outside the wall. It became visible, gave a thumbs-up to the cameraman, then leaped away from the compound before disappearing again.

The canned applause returned as the camera panned down to the speaker.

"Infiltration, espionage, assassination." The speaker resumed. "Springheel can do it all! Why send your soldiers out to die? Your problem isn't with the other side's soldiers, it's the leaders in charge of them! Springheel can get to them, wherever they might be, and, heh... cut to the heart of your problem." He continued through the recorded scattered chuckling. "No more leaders, no more war. And isn't that the best kind of war? The kind you win before you have to fight it? With Springheel on your side, you'll WIN The Best War!"

Artificial applause played. The video cut to black, and captions in a different font than earlier appeared on the screen.

"The day after this recording, the speaker was found dead of a drug overdose. A fire destroyed the facility with all notes and data on Springheel. The prototype was also presumed destroyed."

An image of the Springheel suit appeared in a spotlight, the camera slowly rotating around it.

"We have it now. One of a kind, and it can be yours. Lot 15: opening at $100,000,000. Details to follow."

The video ended and Troy turned the lights back on as Helena went back to the patio. Everyone followed.

* * *

"That's a Wile E. Coyote design, isn't it?" Julie asked her when they were all seated and Helena had her cigarette lit.

"A suit that makes you Invisible Spider-Man?" Susan asked. "I could see that being worth a hundred million."

"That's just the opening bid." Helena responded. "And there are plenty of governments and criminal organizations who'd be happy to pay it."

She took a deep drag before continuing.

"I've been to that compound. Mander has, too. For different reasons, and we have an understanding about that." Mander stood behind her and nodded.

"You're 'er mates, so I'll be up front wit'cha: Before meetin' 'Er Countessness, doin' rotten things because some 'orrible tosser says to were my entire CV."

"We guessed." Everyone else but Helena said simultaneously.

"That was the former home of Esteban Lopez. Yes, the one from the news about four months ago. The coke lord brutally murdered in his bedroom, in front of his five mistresses, 'by a ghost.' A hit so surgical, yet brutal, that even his former allies are claiming credit."

Troy took a seat next to Helen, took in what she said, and faced her before speaking.

"Ok, it said Lot 15. Is that a location?"

"No." Helena replied. "All right, you know how in movies, someone steals the plans for the missile, or the formula for the new rocket fuel, or the list of all our undercover agents; and they say they're going to 'sell it to the highest bidder?'"

"Yeah." Troy said suspiciously.

"Ok, those auctions really happen. They've been going on for a long time, and the people who put them on are called The Auctioneers. Lot 15 is an item number. And I'm on the invite list. Unfortunately, I have no way to get a copy of the list and see who else is on it. The Auctioneers like to stay anonymous and on the move. When they get enough items together to hold an auction, they tell us where about a month in advance."

"Been to one." Mander said. "Bodyguardin' one of the attendees. The Auctioneers don't tolerate funny business at the auction itself. Or after. They've a sorta 'lack of reputation' to uphold. But before that, anythin' goes. They figure 'ow we do each other over before ain't their problem; they can just pull the plug til next time if they 'ave to. During an' after, they're at risk; so there's consequences. Not bein' invited anymore might not sound like much of a punishment, but if you're no longer welcome an' the other guy is; an' somethin' like this comes on the block..."

Troy nodded his understanding before talking next.

"I'm guessing, then, the next one's sometime this week in Seattle? The same time as STRANGERS? Aren't you needed there?"

"STRANGERS is bullshit, Troilus." Helena answered. "Granted, those are all important topics, worthy of serious discussion. And San Finzione would be happy to host a real conference on any one of them. But no. When they call an auction, we get the notice so we can cook up something like STRANGERS; to give us all an excuse to be in the same city. They give it a name that's sure to draw crowds of protesters; someone went overboard this time. Some of the delegates DO think it's a real conference, so maybe a dialogue or two might happen, hopefully. Then, when they tell the rest of us the exact time and location, everyone can slip out a back way, put on a disguise and grab a protest sign; find a way to sneak out and go to the auction. Rita's mine. I'm not even going to the summit."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"So," Susan asked. "You're putting her in danger?"

"Never." Helena said, folding her arms. "The 'summit' is too public for Yorkshire to make a move. If anything he says can be believed, he's some kind of conflict profiteer. Selling the bullets to one side, then selling the bandages to the other; that kind of thing. A stray shot there, and he loses a customer.

"Ultimados have Rita under 24-hour watch. If she has to go out, more pose as a film crew for a new reality show that'll never happen, so if he plays by my 'no bystanders' rule, she's perfectly safe. That's the other reason the Green Family Reunion is happening; you may see some of the faces across the street come and go as the week goes by to relieve her detail. Rita's staying in the La Contessa Suite at a Società Finzione hotel downtown, I get to be your guys' neighbor for the week. That's the other reason that your neighborhood is 'The Safest Place in The World Right Now.'

"If you want, you can come with me to take a stroll around the neighborhood later; let the neighbors know that they're ok with it all, to go inside and take cover and not panic if anything SHOULD happen, and to just keep an eye out and let us know about anything unusual. Besides the Well-Built Hot People Convention over there, I mean. And we'll be cooking enough to feed them, too. Help me out, and they'll just remember that their nice neighbors invited them to a pretty good barbecue."

Helena watched as Maisson and Velasquez went off for a "stroll" themselves. Velasquez tried to take his hand. Maisson hesitated, then did so. Helen smiled, turned back to Troy, and continued.

"But like we discussed in the bedroom, Troy; I'll have things to do. I have to find Yorkshire and get to him before he gets to me. You offered to help. Most of the ways I can think of that you could help, by an astounding coincidence, can be done from the privacy of your own Safest Place."

Troy nodded.

"I guess if you want me looking at money, the internet connection we've got is pretty good."

"We, and by that, I mean primarily me and Mander; will need to do things outside of the zone. That is why I brought along one of Zartan's Dreadnoks, Troilus." She jerked a thumb at Mander, who simply nodded agreeably. He then leaned forward and spoke softly.

"Which one'm I, Your Countessness?" He asked.

"Monkeywrench." She replied. "But, you know, if he shaved."

"Too fuckin' right." He high-fived her from behind, then stood back, menacing no one in particular.

Troy nodded agreement before getting serious again.

"Ok, good. Rita's perfectly safe, then. What about everyone who isn't 'Secured by La Squadra de Ultimados?' Have you seen what's going on downtown, Helen?" Troy asked. "That's a powder keg ready to blow. Rioting could break out at any moment. Seattle had some riots a few years back. They didn't care for them."

"That's the Auctioneers, Troy. They're one of the few things in the world that I have no control over. I'm just on the list. And looking into them is a good way to get uninvited, so, I got nothing on them. Yorkshire is on the list, too, and he wants Springheel badly enough to kill me for it. He knew I'd be his only real competition. Because yes, I want Springheel, too. One of us is going to walk out of that place with it."

"Or jump out of the place." Susan whispered to Julie, who started laughing.

Mander stepped in.

"Per'aps, Your Countessness, we should take detailed discussion of the Wampeterutsis inside?"

She nodded. Then remembered she wasn't in San Finzione.

"Mander's got a good idea. Sorry about not asking earlier; Contessa thing. Shall we?"

* * *

"I may be oversharing, here." Susan said once everyone was back inside and the door was closed. "I'm crazy, but it's the 'sort-of nice' kind. However, I speak from experience when I say this: That's completely fucking insane."

"I am AWARE, Susan!" Helen said, a bit too defensively and off guard, then hurriedly covering. "I am aware that it's completely fucking insane! That the thing should come in a big, wooden crate with ACME stenciled on the side! The thing is that it shouldn't. It should come in a bunch of smaller crates of stuff that the Coyote then cobbles INTO Springheel! It's a bunch of non-stupid ideas, slapped together until they became Springheel!

"It's invisible! Like Harry Potter or Predator, more like Predator! That stuff about inertial damping? You guys are more into sci-fi than me, I'm sure you know more about it than I do. I've got a 20-page brief from my Minister of Science, and all I got out of it was that it's something we'll eventually need for Space and calling it 'inertial dampening' is incorrect."

"Stargate always fucked that one up, but yeah." Susan said, nodding for her to continue.

"That trajectory-calculating program, was I the only one who saw it and thought 'roulette wheel?' Or 'never lose a game of pool again?'"

Mander raised his hand.

"I did, Your Countessness."

Helen nodded to him and continued.

"You see? That's just the criminals in the room talking." She turned to Troy. "Fuck, Troy, YOU could probably do something like watch the lottery drawings for a couple weeks, track the movements of the number balls bouncing around that clear tumbler and come up with a viable system! Or figure out a way to intercept missiles or something! Visit the Texas Book Depository and sort out what really happened! I know YOU would figure out some way to use it for good, Troy.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"We saw someone jump 50 feet from a helicopter in the thing and bounce away unharmed. You know those old jokes about 'Why don't they build the whole plane out of the black box?' No, we should be making planes and cars with THAT stuff, whatever it is. I want Springheel so I can have my science people dismantle it and see what we can learn from everything that went into it. Put that technology to use that Vincenzo and Propappou would be proud of."

Troy stood up and looked at her.

"Ok, Helen. Now I know. You would not invoke those names if you had any interest in it as the 'ultimate assassination tool' that they're promising. You just want to learn from it, not make more."

Helen stood up and tilted her head up to look Troy in the eye.

"My interest in its potential for assassination is entirely the opposite, Troy. Remember our conversation about who the second-most hated woman in the world is? If someone else gets hold of Springheel, who do you think is at, or near the top, of their list of people to use it on? I intend to slaughter this particular Golden Goose, Troilus. The attack made me realize that The Thing has limits. Yorkshire found one of them. Another that occurred to me while I spent two weeks in a chair is that you have to know someone is there in the first place. I know that I am not long for this world as long as Springheel exists. What do I do when something happens that I can't handle, Troilus? What have I always done?"

"You run." He answered.

"Yes, I run. I had two weeks of Leg Days to make up for when I got out of that chair. And all the time, I thought to myself, 'This thing LEAPS,' Troy. It fucking leaps! And it's got that Mortal Kombat harpoon thing, too. And that brings us back to the original problem of 'I have to know it's there in the first place.' You know we can't walk around doing it all day, just in case someone might be there. And what if they put a deaf guy in it, which Yorkshire is certain to do?"

"Well, there's something." Susan spoke up. "This Yorkshire guy didn't just search Google for 'terminally-ill hard-of-hearing assassins.' He'd have to have known Frank Morgan from before he went straight and became Gareth Finnegan. Probably knew him under both names. Maybe Morgan was the one who approached him when the money ran out."

Helen gave Susan a broad smile.

"Hey, I hadn't considered that. You're really helpful, Susan. Have you considered that maybe helping people might be your talent? I mean, that's what you do for Claire now. It's late in San Finzione, but I'll ask Ramirez to place a call to a friend of his who might know something."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Helen had gone back outside to smoke while she called Generalissimo Ramirez. Troy went with her, leaving Mander alone again with Julie and Susan. Julie had gotten everyone a beer from the fridge, and Helen approved Mander for one.

"Is there an issue here?" Susan asked him.

"Nah, 'at ain't it." Mander replied. "Jes' 'at 'Er Countessness' is givin' me enough to be able to say when I can and can't 'ave one."

"So, Mrs. Equals." Mander started to say before Julie raised her hand.

"I'm guessing that we're going to be seeing a lot of each other this week, Mr. Mander. I'm Julie, that's Susan, and the guy out there with Helena is Troy."

"Thank you, Julie, Susan. Nigel, I prefer Mander. So, I get that yer mates from way back, excep' you bein' recent, Susan. But you an' Mr. Equals've been wit' 'er from the start, but 'e and Susan call 'er Helen, an' you call 'er Helena."

Julie made sure they were both out of earshot before leaning in to say quietly.

"I call her Helena because that's what she prefers. Also because Propappou gave her the name, and I still fucking hate Wade and hope he's screaming in torment somewhere. But Helena Medina was going to be Troy's grandmother when Propappou adopted her, and it never happened, so she says it hurts if he calls her Helena much. None of us are blood relatives, Mander. That said, I'll be the first to admit that we have a... unique family dynamic."

"I'd agree there."

Susan spoke up.

"We're past it now, but we had problems at first, and I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. We talked, and I'm starting to get why they blow so much stuff off as 'That's Our Helen,' so, she's just Helen to me."

Mander thought for a second.

"Medina? Oh, yeah. She'd said you two picked the name Equals together. Bein' equals an' all, I suppose."

"I love this one, Julie. Can I get it?" Julie took her hand and nodded. "That's part of it, yes. 'Partners-in-Everything' is a phrase you might hear around here a bit. The other part is because as far as Troy is concerned, 'Julie equals Best Friend, equals True Love, equals Absolute Trust.'"

"And Troy equals all those things for me." Julie replied before turning to kiss Susan. "And so does this one."

"If there was a House Equals coat-of-arms," Susan told him. "The Latin at the bottom would say: Best Friends, True Loves, Partners-In-Everything."

"I kind of like your old idea for the motto, too." Julie told her with another smooch.

"'At's beautiful, 'at is. So, the Master/Mistress deal, that's like a..." He made a gesture of cracking a whip. "'At kind of thing?"

Julie gave a look to Susan that said, "I'm tired of this one, you wanna take it, too?" Susan kissed her back and turned to Mander again.

"Strangely enough," Susan said. "Say, ninety-five times out of a hundred, it has nothing to do with that..."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

They returned to the patio after Helen's call. She and Troy continued talking after it ended, so she'd lit a third cigarette. Julie spoke when there was a break.

"Here's a thought, Helena: Morgan may have been leading you to him. I mean, Troy knows more about spy stuff than me, but why else would he leave his empty pill bottles in the motel room with the psycho shrine that he knew you'd inevitably track him to? With his fingerprints and information on them? Why not take them with him and toss them in any garbage can he passed between the motel and the castle? I mean, he had a brain tumor, right? Who knows what he was thinking?"

"I've gotta admit, Your Countessness," Mander chimed in. "'That's a pretty rookie mistake for an old pro to make. An' the 'advances in poisons' line? That's not somethin' ya jes' take a wanker's word on. 'E 'as to 'ave looked it up. If 'e knew 'im, maybe 'e knew jes' 'ow much of a shite Yorkshire is, figured 'e shouldn't 'ave it, at any cost."

"Possible," Helen said. "But it's too many Ifs. The only one who could have told us what was going on in Morgan's head was Morgan. He was doing it for his family. Why leave a trail straight to them? Someone double-crossing someone else? Madness brought on by the tumor? Doesn't feel right."

"I should probably get online and see what I can find." Troy said. "Anything the Generalissimo's friend can tell us would be helpful."

"He's covered his tracks well enough. Yorkshire said he had tech people. I knew he'd take some kind of measures against simply tracing the call, but we still had to try. He told me his tech people routed it through the Mars Rover, and we confirmed that."

Troy thought about that.

"Hacking NASA sounds like the kind of thing that a sufficiently determined group of skilled hackers could pull off."

"Troy," Susan interrupted. "Remember the bank robbery lesson? Something like 'Hackers Crack NASA' would've been a headline. Someone at Mission Control would see a light on his console or something and call their supervisor about a hack. They'd probably use that exact headline, too. Say it, it's got a flow. Hackers crack NASA."

"Hackers crack NASA." Everyone said at once. That got a small laugh from everyone.

"Oh!" Helen said, happily. "The bank robbery lesson! How'd you do, Susan?"

"Troy said I got the high score."

"Cool!" Helen replied. "I only got the robbery itself and the extra-credit blowjob right! Did you do it in front of the bank, like Julie, or go somewhere else?"

As Susan opened her mouth to ask someone, likely Troy, about that, the burner phone Helen had set on the patio table next to her cigarette case vibrated, then rang.

"That's him." Helen said. "Yorkshire. I have ten seconds to answer. I need to be alone for this."

"We're in this, Helen." Troy said. "All of us, in all of it." Julie and Susan nodded their agreement. "Let me talk to him."

The burner buzz-rang again.

"It has to be me, Troy. If I don't answer, or anyone but me answers..." It rang a third time as Helen chewed on the thought. "It'll never... ring again... But..."

Contessa Helena de San Finzione flipped open the phone and answered.

"Hello, Miss Pa-"

She cut him off with a shout.

"I am in the MIDDLE of something, Piss Boy! Call back in five! Wait, NO! Nononofuckyou. I am going to call YOU in THIRTY! On YOUR phone!"

She hung up and set the phone down, then put out her cigarette.

"Julie, I need to borrow that laptop. Yorkshire's fucked up a second time!"

She ran into the house and to Julie's spot on the couch, where the laptop was still set up. She cleared the frozen image of herself and Rita, smiling at the camera that Helen was holding and waiting for someone to hit play from the screen and tabbed to Chrome. Everyone else followed a few seconds behind.

"Helen!" Susan called to her. "What'd Troy just get finished saying? You're not alone in this. Your friends want to be on the same page." She thought a second. "Also, where did you blow Troy?"

"The vault. And HOW?" Helena spat out as she reactivated the mouse that had timed out. "His tech people rerouted the call to the Mars Rover. He bought that thing in a corner shop in Tralee, Ireland; but the hunk of shit can receive calls in San Finzione AND Federal Way, Washington! And he told Molly it would never ring again!"

"They recycle cell-phone numbers." Troy mused. "And you probably COULD still switch carriers with it."

"How could he be sure?" Helena asked no one, talking as she walked back outside for the phone. Mander turned to follow, saw what she was going out to do, and waited for her to come back in. "The bigger question is: How do you do all that?" She snorted. "'Exactly ten seconds and never again.' How can you know a call to this thing will go through? What if it drops? Or it doesn't ring through from wherever he was?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Helena stopped to think as she looked at the corner of the screen, then turned to Troy.

"How're you guys on the Ultimados' wi-fi?"

Susan stepped forward and raised her hand.

"That was me. Sorry."

Helena shook her head and went back to the search bar.

"Never mind. Perfect. I presume you've only shared it with your friends, so it's still secure for our purposes. But there's only one way that Yorkshire could possibly do all that. One reason he'd put all his faith in this hunk of trash!"

Contessa Helena de San Finzione flipped the burner over in her right hand to look at the brand and began typing with her left hand, turning back toward the group as she typed and gesturing for Mander to hand her the file with her right. The gesture forced her shoulder to make her glad that she'd saved some painkillers; she'd feel it and need one once the adrenaline died away. But not yet.

He gave it to her. She opened the file and speed-read one of the reports. She got to Jimenez's personal effects.

"It was a different color scheme, but the same model. That's how I missed it. How do you know with 100% certainty that the call will go through? How do you reroute a call via Mars without NASA noticing?"

She turned the phone over and held it out for them to see. They saw the back of the phone and the brand on it: Whyte Telecom, on the back.

"You OWN the fucking PHONE COMPANY, THAT'S how you do it!"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 05

Note: A couple of the comments I've gotten have complained that my chapters tend to be short. They suggested I make them at least 10k words per chapter. I decided to start smaller, and get at least 5k words into a chapter. It ended up being a choice between "longer chapters" or "getting one out each week." This chapter largely pre-dates that decision, so, after this, they'll be my typical "as long as they need to be" length again.

*****

"He's cruisin' streets for gold. Dressed in designer clothes.
Brother, if you're too slow, then you better not blink,
or you'll wind up in the drink.
He wanna be Americano! Americano! Americano!
Gotta buy a diamond ring, cause that's his baby's favorite thing.
OK, all right, yeah, man! Wanna be Ameri-can! Wanna be Ameri-can!"
-Brian Sezter, "Americano" (Originally Renato Carasone, "Tu Vuò Fa' L'Americano")

Julie Andrews sat in her and Helena Parker's suite in Munich, wrapped in a towel after emerging from the shower, with another wrapped around her head. She was messaging back and forth on her phone with Troy Medina. Every hotel was booked solid for Oktoberfest, but the girls commanded the people renting the penthouse of the nearest hotel to the festivities to decide it was boring and go home early. The manager was only too happy to allow them to stay without charge for the inconvenience.

SUNFLOWER: What'd this one say?

MATH BOY: You know, the usual.

SUNFLOWER: Fuck, that sucks. Hate that shit. Guys're such jealous pricks, too. "You spend more time talking to that Troy guy than you do to me?" Yeah, maybe because YOU ran out of things to talk about after your car and football; and HE'S been my best friend since before I could say his name, when he was still "Toy" and I was still "Joowie," and we never run out of stuff to talk about.

Julie lit a cigarette as she waited for his reply.

MATH BOY: Yeah, I know. "Why're you always talking to that girl who shares your interests? Why don't you want to constantly listen to me go on about reality shows and those bitches at work and somebody who minorly inconvenienced me today? And listen to the extra snotty, nasal voice I use when I repeat my version of what they said? What've you two got going on?"

MATH BOY: YES, my best friend has girl parts, and sure, her breasts are great; NO, that does not automatically mean that we're fucking!

SUNFLOWER: IKR! I mean, I even catch you glancing at them now and then; but I'm like, "He's a guy, and they're boobs. He's gotta look sometimes, it's just how they're wired." I get that.

SUNFLOWER: Hell, I love 'em, too. My own AND others! I mean, you're SUPPOSED to like it when a cute guy or girl notices them, aren't you?

SUNFLOWER: OK, so that cute guy's pretty much my brother; it's still nice.

MATH BOY: Why can't people get that?

SUNFLOWER: Yeah! I'm like, YOU approached ME because you thought I was hot, you're WITH me because you're someone I thought it MIGHT be cool to try more than "I make you my fucktoy, get what I want from you, and never even think of you again" for a change. If my best friend thinks I'm hot, why shouldn't I be flattered?

SUNFLOWER: Hell, he's hot, too, but I don't do anything about it! I mean, he's got a dick, I've seen it! Doesn't mean I'm all over it! And he's a self-confessed tit man, he's GONNA look! I know he's had bigger, I've seen the girls he's been with; and after all these years, he still finds mine worthy of the odd overly-long glance. How can that NOT be flattering?

MATH BOY: I like them because they're boobs, Mistress. I love them because they're my best friend's.

SUNFLOWER: Aww! Why are people such suspicious assholes, Master?

MATH BOY: Down side of Doing What We Do, I guess; finding out who people are, deep inside. Hey, maybe WE should get married! Then they'll think we're cheating on each other with THEM, instead of the other way around!

SUNFLOWER: OMG YES! I'd be happy to introduce myself as "Julie Medina" any day, as opposed to "Andrews, no fucking relation; and since there's no chance that you WON'T do it, I WILL be judging you as a person based on the QUALITY of the dumbass Mary Poppins/Sound of Music joke, that you think you JUST came up with! Oh, superkali-HEARD IT MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE-adocius!"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

MATH BOY: It's not much of an improvement, though. Everyone knows how to spell and pronounce your name. Medina is six letters, and people never stop finding new ways to get it wrong. You learn what kind of rap fan someone is when you always have to tell them, "Like Tone Loc."

SUNFLOWER: LOL! Maybe we could choose a new name together. Something that suits us better.

MATH BOY: I can think of a few. But I'm sure you and Helen have Oktoberfest to tear up. I should get back to the dorm and study.

Julie frowned at the phone and removed the towel from her head.

SUNFLOWER: Fuck that, Troilus! That bitch isn't going to make you retreat to your books! You're gonna go out and pick up a girl with even bigger tits, you're gonna fuck the shit out of her, and then you're gonna tell me all about her.

Helen Parker was walking into the room with a tray of breakfast when Julie undid the towel wrapped around her and let it fall onto the couch she'd been sitting on. She took a picture of her boobs and hit Send. Helen sighed.

"Hey, Troy." Helen said with a bored-sounding voice and an eyeroll as she set the tray down on the coffee table.

SUNFLOWER: Helena says hi. Now there's your baseline. Go out and find a bigger pair than these, Master.

SUNFLOWER: And no more suspicious bitches!

MATH BOY: I might find bigger, but not better. I Love You, Mistress.

SUNFLOWER: I Love You too, Master. Now go get laid, I'll probably go do the same.

Helen popped a gbang in her mouth, then tossed one at Julie, who caught it in her own.

"I'm guessing from the traditional 'go find a bigger pair' pic that Troy's been dumped again."

"Yeah. It sucks. He's such a sweet guy, he deserves better."

Helen stifled a groan and the things she wanted to shout at Julie, like the fact that nobody in history has ever said that someone of a gender that the speaker is attracted to can "do better" without the silent "like me" at the end; and NO, normal boy-girl BFFs do NOT have graphic conversations about their sex lives in public and trade their conquests' boob pics back and forth; by cramming a piece of toast in her mouth.

"So, what's the plan?" Julie asked, once she'd finished.

"We hit Oktoberfest, pick up some Aryan boys, maybe a St. Pauli Girl or two, fuck 'em blind, ROB 'em blind, and leave all of them stuck here naked and trying to explain everything to the manager. Ya know, for what the Nazis did to Propappou's village. After that, Rome, where we get even with Il Duce for Papa Emay, too."

"You ARE a vindictive fucking cunt, you know that?" Julie said with a kiss. Helen took hold of the rest of Julie's robe and pulled it away from her.

"It takes a fucking cunt to love a skanky cow like you." Helen said, kissing back and stroking Julie's breast.

"Maybe we could do some Right Here Fucking before going out for Revenge Fucking." Julie replied, enjoying the sensation.

Helen nodded as Julie began helping her out of her clothes.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Leonard Whyte CBE looked out over the Seattle skyline view from the Space Needle. A sly grin was on his face as he stood on the spot where, on a clear day like this, one can see Mt. Rainer; obscured by the mountains surrounding Seattle from any vantage except that one. A single step any direction, and it was gone again.

He held the prototype of the Whyte 6000 smartphone, and ran his fingers through his short, gray hair, smiling expectantly at it. It would be two months before it was available to the public. A stock ticker scrolled along the bottom of the screen. His grin turned to a smile when it rang. He answered immediately and strolled over to a bench for the conversation.

"Twenty-six minutes, Miss Parker. Brava." He said, his unscrambled voice confirming the Yorkshire accent that education and money hadn't been able to completely beat out of him. "And may I say what a delight it was to meet Ms. Delvecchio in person. Don't worry, I wouldn't dare put a scratch on a national treasure like San Finzione's own Tina Fey."

"I should've known to start looking at tech moguls first, Leonard," Contessa Helena de San Finzione's voice said on the other end of the line, obviously on speaker. "Your love of hiding behind it should have made it obvious in hindsight."

"One woman's hiding is another man's protective barrier, Miss Parker."

"Ok, you know what?" She responded. "I know you thought the 'Miss Helen Parker' thing would get to me because the past is clearly an issue for you, so you thought it would be for me, too. I called you on that. And I get that when someone has you pegged, you can't give them the satisfaction of acknowledgment. You'd committed to the 'Dredging Up My Past' bit, so you had to keep going with it. But now that I know who you are, Leonard, I gotta ask: Do you still feel the need to keep it up, or do I start calling you Lenny? Fine name for a Yorkie, but what kind of name is Lenny for an Oxford Man?"

He paused a moment before answering.

"Very well, Contessa. Civility is very important. I apologize for that. So, how'd ya figure me out, Mrs. de San Finzione?"

"Whyte Telecom," she answered. "Are you new to this whole 'criminal mastermind' thing, Leonard? Cause I'm willing to give you a few months, let you go try to blow up the Eiffel Tower or blackmail the UN with your weather machine; you know, get a feel for it. Then we can pick things up right back where we left off."

"Figured it'd go unnoticed, I admit. Whyte Telecom is where I made my first billion, and decided that there are plenty of billionaires, and you, yourself, are probably one of the world's first trillionaires, so let's shoot for quadrillionaire, shall we? Whyte Phones the brand of choice for crack dealers and terrorists the world over." Whyte chuckled. "They said I created eighteen tons of waste when I shrank the size of the SIM card by half a millimeter for the Whyte 3000. And I'm guessing by the laughter and your jovial mood, that you're in the company of Troy and Julie Equals, correct? Hullo."

"Leonard says hi, guys." She said to someone on her end. There was an "Eat a dick, Leonard" in Julie's voice in the distance on her end before Helena resumed. "Yeah, I told them all about you, Leonard."

"Oh, is that the artist Julie Equals?" Leonard asked. "I've purchased a couple of Julie Equals originals since we last talked, Contessa."

"You can return those at any time for a full refund." Julie said, approaching the phone now. "I don't want YOUR money or MY work hanging anywhere YOU can see it. Whatever you paid for my stuff, my husband and I will get by without it."

"Oh, I know you will, Mrs. Equals. Mr. Equals is no slouch in the money department. If anyone looks closely enough at the public financials of a small, quiet, out-of-the-way corporation called Trans-Universal Exports, which... REALLY, Mr. Equals? But what a track record they have! It's as if they know market trends before they happen. Buying low, but short of rock bottom; and selling high, but well before the bubble bursts. Always quits while he's ahead, satisfied to turn one dollar into eight; when he knows he could be making ten or more by riding the wave. But who cares about the guy who got out at EIGHT, right? Who even notices that he doing that all day, every day? Here an eight, there an eight, everywhere an eight-eight. Not necessarily eight, mind you, but it does add up quickly, doesn't it? Everyone talks about Midas, but who ever heard of a King with a Bronze Touch? Who even notices that he's got so many Bronze Medals that his beautiful wife could melt them down and recreate the Colossus of Rhodes with his face?"

The women all looked at Troy. He looked at Helen's phone, silently. He knew why they were looking at him too, but didn't say anything. He often employed his Greek heritage in his lessons about Doing What They Do responsibly. One of them was an Olympic Medal analogy that wasn't that far off from Whyte's, but with enough of a difference that he could have come up with it on his own. The look on Julie's face said that she was now contemplating making a Colossus with Troy's face.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"But Trans-Universal's Corporate Giving Program is where one truly learns whom Troilus Equals is. Discreetly supporting so many worthwhile causes, never seeking any accolades. The only 'thank you' they ask is the tax receipt and their anonymity. They claim their deductions, of course, but claim no expenses on the Program itself, not even giving himself a salary for running it, which would be completely legal. Except the one dollar a year that the President, Treasurer, and CEO pays himself, of course. Completely legitimate; every 'i' dotted, every 't' crossed, and all completely beneath anyone's notice or care. Lots of news shows would just love to do a human-interest story about him if they knew. 'Troilus Equals: The 28-Year-Old Multi-Millionaire Philanthropist You've Never Heard Of.' Kinda sickens me, really."

"Mr. Whyte," Troy's voice came from her side. "I proposed to my best friend, and she said yes. Her father entrusted me with a firearm to defend his daughter. The Colonel often compliments me on my handshake. My secret is that my workouts focus on grip, arm, and upper body strength. My reason for THAT is a secret worry that, on the day Daddy's Little Girl squeezes my hand bringing his first grandchild into the world, my Partner-In-Everything may very well rip off my arm and beat me with it. This morning, she did something to me with her mouth and a warm mocha latte that I will be writing a letter to a dirty magazine about some time later today."

"That'll be our sixth, right hon?" Julie's voice, returned to the background, came.

"Fifth, dear. Our drive down the Al-Can ended up a two-parter, but still counts as one. But back to you, Mr. Whyte. La Contessa requested she paint my portrait, and my wife agreed because they both love me that much. For my last birthday, My First Girlfriend issued me a San Finzione Ministry of Intelligence License to Kill."

Helen cut in.

"That was a gag gift, Troy. I mean, yeah, it's real, but still."

"My point, Mr. Whyte, is that I speak without hyperbole when I say that your last four words, coming from your lips, flatter me more than I have ever felt in my life."

"You're a very loyal ex-boyfriend, Mr. Equals. Have you seen the All-Star Cast that's traipsed through her bedroom since?"

"She's My FIRST Girlfriend, sir, but I never accepted her resignation. I'm also a very loyal grandson. So please understand, sir, that your last comment compels me to tell you to go fuck yourself and the goat and the whore that conceived you."

Sounds of laughter and kissing came from the other end of the line.

"Now, Troilus," Helena said, in a mock tone of condescending to a child. "That was very rude. Mr. Whyte called to threaten Yia-Yia, and he's a very busy man, so let's not keep him. Let him deliver his threat so he can get on with his day." She went back to her normal voice. "Sorry about that, Leonard. KIDS! Ya know? Please, go on."

"I'm glad you're having fun with this, Helena, did you know that? Because with your 'no bystanders' rule, I'm forced to invent fun of my own."

He looked down at the street far below. A limousine was stopped at a red light.

"You really should have been at the ceremony, Helena. Everyone who's anyone was there. Why, even the Elders sent a delegation."

Helen's voice became serious. Leonard watched as below, a pair of motorcycles pulled up to either side of the limo.

"And why are the Elders worth name-dropping, Leonard?"

"Because of the recent death of a man whose only crime was sharing a name with someone whom I pulled entirely out of my ass. An act of appeasement to... what do the Triads call you? Oh, yes. 'The Viper That Speaks All the Tongues of Man. I'm sure the representative you sent to let the Elders know that the matter was settled was very convincing. The Triads were certain the issue was resolved. An unprovoked attack would catch them completely off guard. And it's important because someone established a No Innocent Bystanders rule, and... well, I'd hardly call a team of Triad lawyers and accountants 'innocent.' Would you, Helena?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Below, a van pulled up very close behind the limo. The driver caught on a second too late, just in time to ram into a garbage truck that'd stopped in front of him.

"So, if anything happened to their delegation, say..."

He held his phone up in the air as the men on the motorcycles opened fire with sub-machine guns into the limousine from both sides, audible over the phone, even from the six hundred and five-foot observation deck of the Space Needle. Leonard brought the phone back up to his ear and spoke.

"That, for example, they don't get paid if they kill the driver. Bystander, you see. Unless he killed himself just now, ramming into that garbage truck, but that was entirely his decision; I wouldn't fault them for that. I'm sure he'll live at least long enough to remember the words... I don't have it written down in front of me. What's the Cantonese for 'Slavery and Human Trafficking DO NOT happen in San Finzione' again?"

Those had been the exact words of her message to the Elders, that she'd sent back with the thugs Whyte had manipulated into trying to smuggle kidnapped women through San Finzione. She clenched her fist and took another deep drag of her cigarette to stop herself from shouting into the phone. Trying to get to her had been Whyte's motif from the beginning. She couldn't let him have the satisfaction of flying into a rage and screaming at him now. Or letting her friends see that side of her, especially Susan.

"Well, I have to congratulate you, Mr. Whyte. The warehouse thing and sending Morgan were the last clever things at which you've succeeded, and given your track record since, I kind of thought you'd blown your wad there. I mean, the war with the Elders will be easy enough to stop; I won't even need to use my abilities when they hear your confession. Oh, didn't I tell you, Leonard? I had the Minister of Intelligence put a tap on my own phone, just in case we ever got a chance to talk like this. We knew we wouldn't be able to trace you, of course, but we still had to try. Routing it to my birth parents' old house in Alaska was a nice touch.

"But without the recording, the Triad problem might've taken me all week to sort out, forcing me to miss the auction. So, don't get me wrong, this is still clever. I mean, take a cookie on your way out for the effort. But now the Elders are going to learn your name and how you've been playing them. You've got bigger problems now than me." Helen took a drag. "Bigger might be the wrong word, because I'm still your biggest. 'More problems' let's say, then."

"Indeed, I have, Contessa. But nothing I won't be able to solve once Springheel is mine. For now, though, the Elders are your problem, and I'm certain more will crop up as the week goes on. But I'm interrupting your reunion with The Equals. I should let you get back to your friends and preparing for the Elders response to the hit. I mean, what are the odds that traditional old Chinese gents like them will fall into that old 'saving face' cliché and have no choice but to hit you back harder before they'll be willing to talk peace. I wonder if they know about the Equals, too? I'll be better about calling this week. Ta-Ta!"

He ended the call, smiling as security officer cars and fire trucks gathered at the scene below. He breathed deeply, and caught scent of something. Fresh-baked pretzels? Yes. One of those sounded good to him right now. With a little cup of that cheese goo that Americans like so much. Lovely!

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He went to stand in line.

* * *

"Helen," Troy said as she grabbed the phone and started hitting buttons. "I heard the words 'Triad' and 'Elders' used in that conversation, seemingly interchangeably."

"Yes, Troilus," Helena spat as the phone rang. "The Elders control the Triads. Your Area 51/Men in Black conspiracy theory IS bullshit, but that doesn't mean that ALL of them are! You've learned about two secret organizations today. This is a slow day for me!"

The call connected.

"Hernando! Triple Maria's guard and tell her call me as soon as she can! I'll want both of you on the line when it can be done. Call in all staff at the Hong Kong Embassy and tell them to bring their families, then lock it down. I'll need a word with the ambassador, too. Have the Minister of Intelligence round up all known Triad associates in San Finzione. Set up roadblocks at the borders and tell La Policia to watch the trains and the air and sea ports. Whyte's just picked a fight with the Elders for us, and now they're GOING to strike back at us, unless someone will still take my calls."

She hung up and turned toward her friends.

"Well, Leonard just started a war with the Triads. How's everyone else doing?"

"You've got to pull Rita out of there now, Helen." Troy told her. "Get her out of the You Makeup, take a regular vehicle; not a limo or helicopter, and put her on the next flight back to San Finzione. Take some of the cars that you and the Ultimados brought. Nobody will be looking for YOU in an '88 Chrysler sedan!"

"Yes," Helen said distantly, thinking of something else, then processing what Troy had just told her. "Yes, you're right. I need to get Ortega on this."

She nodded and ran across the street, Mander trying to keep up behind her.

Julie Equals stood up and walked over to her best friend for life. Between the ability to control minds, and a career Army Intelligence officer father who'd made damn sure that his only little girl knew how to fight off and/or shoot any prick who couldn't comprehend 'no;' Julie didn't fear much in the world.

She had a recurring nightmare, though. Her 6th birthday party had been a pool party. For some imagined and long-forgotten slight to her six-year-old self, Joowie shoved Toy into the pool. He hadn't been ready for it, and started drowning. Troy's father jumped in and saved him, and everyone was now angry at Julie on her birthday for what she'd done. She had nightmares of what could have happened every night the next week, and whenever Joowie Annwews had nightmares, she'd do what she had done since the age of four: Leave the house in the middle of the night, go next door, and crawl into bed with Toy Madeenah.

Twenty-two years later, Julie still occasionally had the recurring nightmare of Troy drowning, and developed an abject fear of him going anywhere near a swimming pool. Other bodies of water were acceptable; they could visit the beach or a lake with no problem, or even go on a boat ride. Swimming pools, on the other hand, were nothing more than deathtraps designed specifically to kill Troy Medina of Anchorage, Alaska; because of the time that the boy who would grow up to be her lifelong best friend, true love, and one day soon, father of her children; almost didn't live to be any of those things due to one.

It didn't matter that as soon as Toy Madeenah was all right and saw Joowie Annwews crying all those years ago, the grown-ups mad at her for what she did to him, he ran over and hugged her and said "No cwy, Joowie. I yuv you, bes' fwend." It didn't matter that Troy Medina forgave Julie Andrews when it wasn't enough that he had become an expert swimmer and taken the first aid and water safety courses to obtain a Lifeguard Certification because outdoor swimming in Alaska could only be done four months out of the year, and going to the pool was the one favorite activity that he had to do without his Partner-In-Everything. It didn't matter that Troy Equals forgave Julie Equals every time she woke up at 3 AM, shuddering and calling his name until he woke up too and saw the sadness and fear on her face, and held her closely; whispering reassurances that he loved her and wasn't going anywhere until they both fell back to sleep.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Master," she said, taking hold of his hand. "I know in my heart that Helena can take care of this fucker. Whyte caught her off guard with a sucker punch, but she takes down little turds like him on her days off from kicking ass. And we're in this, because Ohana means family and all that. But Troy, we just had a conversation in our back yard, where 'stealth suit,' 'secret underground auction' and 'war with the Triads' were all completely serious topics of discussion. What was looking to be a lazy week around the house this morning, now seems very not that."

"I know, Mistress." Troy said, taking her in his arms. He looked over at Susan, who was still sitting and thinking. "Susan, this is the second time Helen's talked to him. He's mentioned my name and Julie's, but not yours. Helen's right, he must have seen us at the hospital; it's the only place Julie and I both went without you in San Finzione. If Whyte doesn't know about you, Susan, you're still safe in all this. Avoiding Seattle this week is an even better idea than we'd planned, so you might not want to stay with Rachel. Fact, I'd be more comfortable myself if you and Rachel wanted to see about staying with Claire or Brenda for a few days until all of this is over. Helen would put all of you up in a secure penthouse..."

Troy was interrupted by the sound of Susan's chair squeaking on the wooden patio as she stood.

"Fuck that, Troilus!" Susan told her boyfriend. "I didn't spend a week in Europe last month, having my own Very Special Episode about The True Meaning of Ohana to hide at the first sign of trouble! Helen's penthouses are 'secure' now, in the way that when they say on TV, 'we've got the witness under 24-hour guard in a top-secret safehouse,' and you already know you're about to see a house explode! And if we're wrong; if he knows who I am, but he's saving it for some dramatic reveal, then I'd be endangering one of our other loved ones. I love being your princess, Troy, but I'm not going to be locked up in the tower while the menfolk fight and die for me any more than Princess Mesmera would sit for that shit!"

She walked up and put her hand on Julie's shoulder, who turned to face her. Susan looked at both of them.

"You three played together as kids. You think I'm going anywhere now that Helen's shown up with a shit load of Hot Wheels and G.I. Joes?"

Troy reached out his arm for Susan to join their hug. Julie nodded with a smile.

"Not this time, Equalses." Susan told them. "Once again, Troy, too focused on the big picture to see what's right in front of you." She walked up and turned their heads so that Troy & Julie were looking into each other's eyes. "Like the look on the face of that gorgeous vision with whom we can't play Poker because it's just too fucking sad to watch. The one she's been giving you for the past couple minutes, but we're not used to seeing it in the daytime and out of the bedroom. Stop trying to save the world for a moment and you'll recognize it."

Troy looked and saw that Susan was right. He had been too distracted by everything, but saw it now. He'd missed it because the only time he'd seen it during the day was once, at the age of six. After that, he'd only seen it again rarely, in the dark at three AM, when his best friend would shake him and sob his name. The look that said, "I need My Man to be holding me and whispering how much he loves me right now."

He looked at Susan. She nodded and gestured with her head toward their bedroom door with a smile and a "go ahead, I got this" look. Troy led Julie into the house and toward their bedroom for the second time that day. Susan closed the sliding glass patio door quietly behind them. Alone now, she returned to her chair, sat down, and closed her eyes.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 06

By T. MaskedWriter with special guest author Susan Bailey.

"All right!
Stop whatcha doin',
cause I'm about to ruin
the image and the style that ya used to.
I look funny,
but yo, I'm makin' money, see.
So yo, world, I hope you're ready for me.
-Digital Underground, "The Humpty Dance"

Note: Before Ms. Bailey takes over, I've gotten some comments about the use of parentheticals. Strong arguments were made about their taking the reader out of the story, and I agreed, so have been trying to use them less. Susan, however, has that "House of Cards/Ferris Bueller/Richard III" ability to stop and turn to us, the audience, say a few words, then go back to the story; so that's what she's doing when she uses them. So, Ladies and Gentlemen: I give you Susan.

Hi, my name's Susan Bailey. I used to worry about giving out my last name, but then I realized that there are like thirty of us on Facebook. So less worried, now. About that, anyway. I've acquired a lot more to worry about recently.

It's been a while since I did one of these. However, since some of this next part takes place in my head, that Masked Person thought I should step in for a bit here. My usual procedure at this point is to explain who I am: that I've been the "permanent third" in the marriage of lifelong BFFs Troy & Julie Equals since they saved me from an abusive prick about a year ago, that they know how to control minds and are teaching it to me, and that Contessa Helena de San Finzione; yeah, the one from the news and the billboards, is the fourth person in the world who knows the secret. No, really, I DO know her. I could take out my phone and call Helen right now, but she gets enough of that from Julie.

And bathroom walls.

Also Julie's doing.

Mostly.

Helen got off on the wrong foot with me. She's since apologized and we're doing better now. There have certainly been some adjustments. For example, the fact that a woman as strong and powerful as Contessa Helena de San Finzione attracts enemies simply by existing. Well, you've seen the news; someone tried to kill her last month. We know more about that than you might've heard by now. That it wasn't a stalker like they've been telling everyone, but a hitman hired by a rich asshole who wants to acquire a suit of high-tech stealth armor that turns the wearer into an invisible, super-jumping ninja and is coming up for bid at a secret, underground auction at the end of the week. Held by this group that call themselves The Auctioneers. Which, yeah, creative, huh?

All the stuff going on in Seattle right now with the protests? That's just a cover for the auction. The guy out to kill her, Leonard Whyte; yes, the cell phone guy, knows that Helen's probably the only person in the world who can afford to buy it out from under him, so he tried to kill her, and just a little bit ago, killed a group of Chinese mobsters and framed her for it. Oh, and he also knows that she can control minds; and he knows about Troy and Julie, but we're not sure if he knows they can yet as well; just that he thinks he can use them against her. He doesn't seem to know about me. We're trying to keep it that way.

As you might imagine, everyone's on edge, especially Julie. She's usually pretty fearless, but with Helen nearly getting killed last month, and now finding out about Springheel and the Triads and everything, she's worried that Troy will get hurt; which is one of the few things she does fear. Apart from the fact that Troy's parents and Propappou count in her case, Julie's the only one of us who hasn't lost immediate family yet. Whyte threatens her lucky streak, and it's a bit much.

Luckily, we're being protected by a small invasion force camping out on the lawn of our neighbors across the street. Don't worry, I know them; they're on Helen's side, they're all right. They're posing as tourists having a family reunion; and for being from a country whose primary industry is tourism, they're either really bad at it, or so good at it that it just looks bad to an American seeing it from the outside.

Helen had just gone across the street, along with her new protection, a big, bald Englishman named Mander who's surprisingly polite for someone that you can take one look at and know that he's killed people for money. Julie and Troy had just gone to the bedroom so he could comfort her, leaving me alone on the back patio. I thought of calling Rachel, a new girlfriend I've made recently, and asking her to come stay with us while Seattle's likely to erupt into rioting at any moment, but I don't want to put her in danger, too. Huh, I guess she really is safer there than with us right now.

I wasn't sure what to do next, but luckily, I knew some people whose advice I found myself able to trust more often than not. I sat down in a chair and closed my eyes.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

There was me, that is, Susan, and my three droogs, that is Sue, Suzy-Q, and Suzy-Ho; on account of she was such a ho. And we sat there in the Korova milkbar, trying to make up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening. The Korova milkbar sold milk-plus, milk plus vellocet or synthemesc or drencrom, which was what we were drinking. This would sharpen you up and get you ready for a bit of the old ultra-conference-between-myself-and-my-other-personalities.

Sue brought us our milk-plus on a tray, because she can't ever seem to stop waitressing. Although she wore a droogie outfit like mine, hers bore a nametag. During the bad days, when I was still with Chad, Sue was the part of me that did whatever she had to in order to power through and keep going. She's the one who spent eleven years getting her ass pinched and/or slapped every night, then trying to explain to Chad why someone besides him was leaving marks on me.

Suzy-Ho realized she couldn't touch herself in the costume, and was struggling to remove it. She doesn't usually do clothes. As the name implies, she's kind of my inner nympho. I always know what her advice is going to be.

Suzy-Q was getting into the setting and her costume and taking a long sip of her milk-plus. Her role in my head is a bit up-in-the-air right now. She used to deal with Chad's abuse by always giving in to him and convincing us that we deserved it somehow, but now that she's not needed for that, we're trying to find a new place for her within the organization.

"Well, ladies," I told the other Mes. "You know what's going on out there. Danger like we've never encountered, and quite frankly, I'm a bit stuck for what my next move should be. I can guess your answer already, Suzy-Ho; but I'd like to hear what the other two have to say first."

"Whole thing sounds pretty fucked." Sue said, in a gruff version of my own voice. "We all love Troy & Julie, and we're warming to Helen." I could have sworn I saw Suzy-Q smirk out of the corner of my eye at that, but she turned away. I turned my attention back to Sue. "That said, my first idea is swallowing our pride, telling Troy 'Yeah, this is pretty overwhelming, and I should go somewhere for a week.' Maybe take Rachel and/or one of the other ladies for a few days' drive up to Canada, or down to Oregon. Somewhere along the coast, away from all this until it's over."

I almost did a spit-take with my milk. I sort of think of Sue as a mix of my Survival Instinct and Self-Esteem, and a plan like "run and hide" wasn't like her. She never even suggested we run from Chad. A number of other things, not all of them good, but not running.

"That's not very like you, Sue. I figured once we found out Yorkshire's name, you'd be all for kicking in his door and slapping the fucker around."

"Any other time, yeah, that'd be my first plan. This Whyte prick, though... he could have picked a fight with anyone in the world and he chose Helen. That means he's crazy enough to think he can win and has the means to try. I mean yes, you live with people who're teaching you a superpower, that's damn cool. But there's a reason Hawkeye calls the other Avengers when Ultron shows up."

"Hawkeye still stays and fights, though." Suzy-Q stepped in. "Even with his little bow and arrows, he'll keep trying to dent Ultron all day while the others find the big weakness. I mean, yeah, Whyte doesn't seem to know about us, but what if we're wrong about that? What if he knows you exist and isn't saying because he has something special planned for you, Susan? Running away might be playing right into his hands; he could have people ready to grab you as soon as you're away from Helen and everyone else's protection. You know, we've been thinking that he blew his one big master stroke trying to kill her in the first place and has been playing catch-up since, but maybe we're supposed to think that. This guy managed to play both Helen and the Triads. He's no idiot."

"That's certainly true." I agreed with myself. "I read the transcript of his first call to her, and that was the impression he was trying to give. Whatever evil shit Troy uncovers when he starts going after the guy, he has gotten away with it up until now. And he killed those people and let Helen get his confession on tape? He had to know she'd record the call. He didn't get stupid all of a sudden just because Helen survived the first attack; he knows how to cover his tracks."

"This sounds like the kind of conversation you should be having with Helen. Troy, too, when he's taken care of Julie. You heard Helen earlier, when she talked about how good you are at helping people; I've actually been thinking on that one a little. Maybe La Policia would have put together that Morgan's shrine was a phony eventually without you, or maybe they would've seen what Whyte wanted them to. Maybe we ARE just weird enough, or have watched just the right episodes of Law & Order to see something that real cops might miss. If we learned anything from Remington Steele, it's that the only skill you really need in life is Movie Trivia. You helped Troy & Julie when you guys were on the plane, and we're always saying, 'I'm here to help.' Hell, isn't that what we dropped out to spend eleven years doing in a shitty highway diner; helping people get their food? You've always been a very supportive person, Susan. She could be on to something there. You're going to be needed in some way, I can sense it."

"You've been talking like that a lot, lately." I told her. "Ever since we got back from San Finzione, in fact. And you were pretty quiet while we were there, now that I think of it."

"Was I?" She asked, maybe a bit too innocently. "Sue and Suzy-Ho were doing most of the 'helping you keep the others going' job, and you all seemed to have things under control, so I... found something else to do."

"What?" I asked. "You live in my head and critique my life; what else could you have found to do?"

Suzy-Q got a far-off look for a moment before turning back to me.

"I'd prefer not to say yet, Susan. It's not a bad thing, it's actually pretty good. But I know if I tell you right now, I'll get it wrong, and it might come off bad." She thought for a bit. "I should probably take you through it in stages, and I can't think of how to even start. If you insist, Susan, I know I'll tell you everything as best as I can. I don't think any of us are even capable of lying to you. I've never tried, and I'm pretty sure the others haven't, either. Just... you're having a strange-enough day as it is. Adding to that would not be 'being here to help.'"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Hmm..." I hmmed. "Sue's idea is 'run and hide,' and you have something you don't feel ready to tell me. Maybe the Clockwork Orange motif wasn't random this time. Seems there's been some very LARGE talk behind my sleeping back." I looked over at Suzy-Q again, saw the hurt look on her/my face, and changed my tone. "Ok, Suzy-Q. You've never asked anything like this before, but I know you'd never do anything to hurt us. It's something important to you, and because you are part of me, logic would only follow that it's also important to me. So, I'm going to do the thing that everyone says not to and blindly trust a voice in my head, here. Please don't make me regret it, Suzy-Q."

"I won't, Susan." She said, smiling back at me with my own smile. "I love you. I wouldn't waste this on something that didn't matter. And as soon as I can figure out how to express it, I will. Just, you know, not right now with everything going on."

"Ok, dear. You're right about it being a strange day, though. Even in here. I think this fucker's got you two even more 'not yourselves' than Julie right now. Hell, let's complete the trilogy." I turned to Suzy-Ho. "What're you thinking right now, Hon?" I asked her.

Suzy-Ho looked up from the activity of trying to figure out how to get her fingers under the codpiece that the Groovy Young Malchick outfits we were wearing all sported and looked up at me.

"Hmm?" She hmmed, distracted now from her task. "Oh, this is about that Whyte guy, right? Yeah, let's kick his fucking wrinkly old ass."

I stood up and almost hurled my drink on the floor in frustration, but dammit, my old waitressing instincts forbade me from harming cups, glasses, or plates; or through my action or inaction, allowing them to come to harm. So, I set it down on the table, instead.

"Ok, weirdness in here..." I calmed down and thought for a second. "Beyond agreed-upon parameters, let's say; can't be happening while it's going on out there. I can't go from all that, to a place where Sue wants to run away, Suzy-Q has a secret, and Suzy-Ho is the one who wants to go kick some ass. Those two set me up for some kind of twist, but I thought yours would be something like 'Let's fuck Velasquez' instead of Helen. Would you care to expand on that, Suzy-Ho?"

"Sure. And since you brought it up, you saw Velasquez's bikini! We've never had Latina before, and she is completely fucking edible!" She said, standing up as I sat back down. She managed to get the suspenders off and caressed her/my breast with her right hand while her left still tried to figure out the codpiece.

"Troy and Julie Equals are not just our family, Susan; not just our friends. They are the suppliers of our orgasms! You know I'm a connoisseur of orgasms, and I've always enjoyed your solo work, Susan, but I've grown particularly fond of Equals Brand Orgasms. This bastard has made Julie sad twice now, and I like it better when Julie's happy, because sex is more likely to happen then. As for Helen? My opinion is well established. Yes, I want her. And Velasquez, and maybe a couple more of the other Ultimados, too. So, this asshole threatens four or more people whom I either fuck or want to fuck, so yeah, I have a problem with this prick, and I say we deal with him so we can get back to that 'mutiple and multiple times a day' schedule I enjoy so much!"

I walked over to Suzy-Ho and kissed her. The kind of kiss that I knew she/I wanted. While I had my arms around my other self, I reached behind her and unhooked the codpiece. She squealed in delight and began shimmying out of the outfit while I turned back to the others.

"Sorry I doubted you, hon. Ok, so, established: We're staying right here and doing whatever we can to help. One of us will be touching herself, but that's always been factored in." I looked over at Suzy-Ho, who'd gotten her shirt off and was working on the pants. She nodded in agreement and I continued. "Does anyone have any suggestions beyond going across the street and asking Helen how we can help? Because that's all I got, and I'd like to have something to bring to the table."

"Well, ok." Sue said, walking over to sit next to me. "If you're not going to take my survival advice, lady, I still got your back. I can think of something; Helen probably won't go for it, but you can do it and the others can't." She whispered in my ear. It sounded good. I thanked her and left.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I was back on the porch. I didn't have a watch on or look at my phone to know how long I was in there, but it never seems to be more than a second or two. It feels like a thing I initiate, rather than something that happens to me on its own. If I knew how to operate heavy machinery, it wouldn't be a problem. (Cars are heavy machinery, right? Ok, I can use one of those.)

I looked back at the Equals' bedroom door, still closed, then across the street, to where hot dogs were now being added to the burgers on the grill. I got up and walked over to the Greens' yard, wearing better shoes for it than the last time.

I'd gotten to know some of the Ultimados during my week in San Finzione. I recognized Sgt. Pappas, pretending he had a groove thing to shake, and asked him where I could find La Contessa. He pointed to the front door of the house. I rewarded him by informing him that nobody real "twirks," and even then, it's women that are supposed to do it. He stopped immediately and started doing the Zorba dance to the classic rock coming from the sound system.

Mander was leaning against the front doorframe when I approached. He jerked a thumb toward the inside of the house.

"Imagine yer lookin' for 'Er Countessness." We were further away from the speakers than Pappas, but he still had to raise his voice. "She's in the dinin' room, tryin' to tell the Elders about that Whyte crafty butcher."

I walked into the house. I'd only been here twice before. Once to accuse them of being spies after Helen was stabbed, and the other a few minutes later, to accept the offer of San Finzione citizenship that she'd left with them as an emergency escape plan in case something really bad happened, and the three of us needed to flee the country and go live with her in San Finzione. (I needed a passport immediately, and it was the only way. The address on my San Finzione passport and license is 1 Strada al Castello. Apparently, I live at Castle Finzione. So, that "live with her" is more literal than I first thought.)

I'd stayed in the living room those times, and hadn't bothered to look around the rest of the house. I heard Helen's raised voice shouting something in Chinese and followed it and the trail of cigarette smoke toward the dining room.

The rest of the house was furnished like the living room; like someone had just opened a catalog to a page, slapped their hand on it, and said "Ok, give me... that. Just, this page. Make it happen." (I had a pretty good idea who that was.) And they set everything to catalog photo specifications. Apart from the fact that someone had been keeping up the dusting, most of it appeared unused.

That wasn't surprising. Part of what had tipped me off to the Greens was the fact that, for two gay men who love each other enough to get married, they showed no romantic affection toward each other. That, by itself, confirmed nothing, of course. Keeping their love secret in public could have just been an old habit. But even if that'd been the case, their façade had shown no cracks at all, now that they were married and had a home. They don't even go jogging together, because someone has to stay home and watch our house at all times. (Helen also personally gives each Ultimado special training via "The Thing." As a result, their loyalty to her and Maria is unquestionable, they don't sleep much, and if an enemy ever caught one, they'd be impossible to torture. Probably some other things that I don't know, as well.)

Helen sat at the head of the otherwise-untouched dining room table. That part of the table had been set up into a makeshift mini-office for her, with a laptop, printer/fax; the usual things you'd expect at a busy person's desk. An ashtray sat next to the laptop, and Helen put her cigarette in it as she calmed down and her tone with the person on the other end became more peaceful. She'd been back here less than twenty minutes, and there were two extinguished butts in it already.

I pulled out the chair next to her, and noticed the indentations in the carpet that told me that this was the first time it had been moved since it was placed here originally. She turned to acknowledge me and continued her call in what I found out later was Mandarin. I waited for her to finish. When she did, she turned to me.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"I managed a meeting with a representative of the Elders this evening. I told them about Whyte and Chen and the recording and how he set me up and probably has more planned. Turns out, they've heard of the prick and are willing to give me the benefit of the doubt until they hear it."

"Does that mean Rita's safe?" I asked.

"Not at all," Helen replied, putting out her cigarette and lighting another. "By now, the hit's Word On The Street. My cease-fire is with The Elders, but by the time the 'No Retaliation' order makes it down the chain to the local level, some underboss might've already decided to 'show initiative.' There could be a local contract on me already that would take time to rescind; one that the Elders could wash their hands of, because 'these things happen.' Rita still needs to go home."

"Let me get her." I said. "The Ultimados know me, and Whyte doesn't. I can bring her here or take her to the consulate or your jet, whichever. Maybe a passenger flight would be safer. Sounds like everyone's still playing by your 'No bystanders' rule." I thought a second. "And I just remembered I left my car at work. Troy would let me borrow his."

"No, he wouldn't." She replied with a puff. "I see your logic, Susan, but it's too risky. Troy would never go for it. I get the feeling that we're right that he doesn't know you, or he'd have included you that last taunting session; but we can't ignore the possibility that he's got an ace-in-the-hole planned for you. Your loss would devastate all of us, Susan. Troy would work the numbers in his head and say no."

I leaned my left elbow on the table and held my left hand up in the air, turning so she could see the back of it.

"Troy is my boyfriend, and I love him with all my heart, just like you and Julie. But there's no ring on this finger. The woman who bears that ring is presently being reassured that all this stuff going on doesn't mean her Partner-In-Everything-Forever is going to die; to say nothing of the fact that this is the third time this year that she's had the same fear for Their Mutual First Girlfriend. Troy probably has her deep in trance, and is going down on her, assuring her with each stroke of his tongue that Her Man will always be there to give her the love and pleasure she's feeling right now. I'm tempted to go back home and join in comforting her, except that they need Just Us Time right now."

"And you want to keep her that way?" Helen asked, gesturing with the cigarette now. "Just because you're relatively new around here does not make you at all expendable, Susan. To ANY of us! They'd never forgive me, I'd never forgive me. At best, they wouldn't be able to live in that house anymore, because they'd see you everywhere; and assuming it wouldn't be the one thing that could possibly be big enough to tear them apart, their first-born girl would absolutely be named Susan. Julie's scared for Troy right now, yes. However, I know that OUR names have been whispered through her tears in the bedroom they've probably locked themselves in right now. Her moans, too; because if I know how those two work, you're right that he's presently eating her pussy."

She got an email, checked it, and replied. I waited. I knew I was bugging her at work. She finished and looked back to me.

"Susan, the core tenet of our friendship is 'Don't Die.' Even though the risk is low, I can't do anything that might cause that."

I leaned forward and matched her gaze. Troy's told me that there's only been one event that could properly be called a "duel" with The Thing We Do, and it only happened back in the hospital. I didn't try it, though.

"I'll tell you what I told Ramirez when he didn't want to take me to Morgan's motel room, Helen: What would willful inaction do to you at a time like this?"

"Make us all happy that you're safe, Susan. That's what it would do." She started to make a dismissive wave before realizing that I don't work for her, and stopped midway through, her face twisting into a look of sorrow for what she'd been about to do.

I took the hint. I got up and started walking out. I'd grab a plate from the barbecue and head home.

"Susan?" Helen called before I rounded the corner. I stopped and turned around.

"Yeah?"

"You're going to try to do something anyway, aren't you?"

"Yeah." I admitted.

"And if I just let you walk out of here, you'll probably do the dumb thing someone does in every movie with a 'safehouse' and try to slip out or something, won't you?"