Fantasy So Night Follows Day by TMaskedWriter

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I wrapped my arms around Helen and whispered in her ear.

"Contessa Helena de San Finzione is not alone in this world."

Helen beamed. I gave her a kiss. A friendly one. On the lips, but still.

"Also," I said, still hugging her. "We need to rip this Band-Aid off and get it over with: You have had sex with the one in my skull, too, and I have all of her memories of it. You were dreaming, Helen. OR near death, or whatever. I'm ok with it. And they're nice memories to have. I'm not sure I'm ready to make new ones with you; however, I'm cool with having them. All of us are. Especially one that you'll probably meet at some point."

She grinned at that. I felt myself grin back.

We gave each other a "Don't Die," and Helen closed the back door behind her and went across the yard. She looked before crossing this time. Good for her.

I drank my coffee while checking my phone. There was a text from Claire, telling me that Inner Claire-ity would be closed until the stuff in Seattle was over, so it looks like I was off work like everyone else. I responded to a text from Rachel about how things were going here, and another from Brenda, desperate to know when she could come see La Contessa again, when the doorbell rang.

When I opened it, Mander was on the porch, Helen and her escort pulling away behind him on the street. He'd washed out the coffee cup and was holding it.

"Morning, Susan." He said to me. "I'm at a bit of a loose end right now, and... well, 'Er Countessness said Troy's got all of Doctor Who on video?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 18

"The drinks flow, people forget.
The big wheel spins, hair thins, people forget.
Forget they're hiding.
The news slows, people forget.
The shares crash, hopes are dashed, people forget.
Forget they're hiding.
Behind an Eminence front. Eminence front.
It's a put on, it's a put-on."
-The Who, "Eminence Front"

The "back from commercial" jingle played, as Sally and Cara, America's favorite contractually-obligated BFFs, pretended to have been involved in an intense conversation and just now noticed that they were back on.

"Welcome back," Cara said to the camera. "To Up Your Morning! With Sally & Cara." She turned back to her co-host; whom she would always silently resent for getting front billing, because 'Cara & Sally' even made fucking sense alphabetically, but noooo! "Well, Sally, like we were discussing during the commercial, lots of big news out of Seattle yesterday!"

"I'll say, Cara." Sally replied, aware of her co-host's resentment, but not giving a fuck, because HER tits would be 'television-worthy' without surgery for two years longer than Cara's, so of course the co-hostess leads the audience to the real one. "First STRANGERS and the protests, and that weird violence on the first day. All of that business with the phones. And then, of course, what happened yesterday, on DAY TWO!"

"Thank you, Sally." Cara said, because that's what the HOSTESS says to the CO-hostess, even if she is only made bearable by the contracts that say that they can drink wine on TV. "Yes, especially the big news about friend of the show, Contessa Helena de San Finzione! Her name's been in the news coming out of Seattle a LOT these past two days! First, that terrorist attack on her hotel Monday, and then what happened YESTERDAY! Can we even show the footage?"

"I'm not certain we can." Sally responded. "It's probably too shocking for our viewers." She perked up for the camera. "But it'll be up on the show's website, at the link at the bottom of the screen! Remember, it's not suitable for the faint-of-heart." She quietly wondered if anyone had ever said "Oh yeah, this is totally for the faint-of-heart. Come check it out, faint-of-heart!"

"That's right, Sally! And speaking of San Finzione, what do you suppose this secret movie project going on there is?"

* * *

While Sally & Cara were three hours into their previous day's episode, Contessa Helena de San Finzione was being offered caviar by a passing server at the Washington State Convention and Trade Center.

"No, thank you." She told him in English, before turning back to the men she'd been talking to and returning to Farsi. "But no, you don't get America to change anything by killing their soldiers. You do it by inconveniencing their soccer moms."

She wore an asymmetrical black dress, with a light-blue collar detail; which Vincenzo's pendant hung down over. Houndstooth heels almost completed the outfit, but there was one more vital accessory that she had to get at the convention: a half-empty champagne glass.

That was as much as she ever drank at these things. From that point, the glass qualified as an accessory. It wasn't that she'd been afraid of being poisoned; everything she drank had been supplied by the San Finzione vineyards and was under Ultimado guard from the vineyard until it was in her hand. She knew she had the genetic pre-disposition to walk over and consume the whole bar if she wanted; but the problem was that she knew she had the genetic pre-disposition to walk over and consume the whole bar if she wanted.

There were better drugs than alcohol, anyway; she'd had them. Everything but heroin and that skin-eating one, that she knew. She'd almost tried heroin once, had the vein tied off and everything, until the thought "Whatever happened to Persephone, this is probably how it started," ran across her mind, so she stopped and never looked back; except to deal with the guy who'd thought he'd get to take advantage of her once she'd shot up and felt 'cheated' somehow. Alcohol held little appeal for Helen for a similar reason. When it started to look obvious that she'd been holding the same glass for a half-hour or so, she'd refresh it and share some with the plants. George Carlin had been right, yet again. If you really want kids to stop drinking with a warning label, try "Alcohol will turn you into the same asshole as your dad."

"Well, it was a bold decision to come today; after yesterday, Contessa." One of the men said to her.

"The only kind I make." She replied with a wink. "Like a few bullets have ever kept me from anything." She lit a cigarette. There was no smoking allowed in the convention center, but hers wasn't the only one burning. Nor was tobacco the only substance she could smell burning, as someone else in the hall had decided to one-up her and others' flaunting of their Diplomatic Immunity.

Cocaine was undoubtedly being snorted close by, as well. She'd never had a problem with it; it was something she'd done for fun, and quitting had been as easy as her husband asking her to. Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione had led men to repel the Nazis from his castle and then his nation at the age of thirteen, saved his country's post-war economy by merging La Familia's business interests with the government; taking a direct hand in both, always with the good of the people foremost in his mind, at twenty. When he died at 79, convincing his fifty-seven years younger second wife to give up smoking was the only fight that he never won. But cocaine had been no problem. Nowadays, on the rare occasion that someone convinced her to do a line, when she came down, she felt a feeling that only Troy could get away with describing as "very Helen Parker of you."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She'd at least been able to do The Thing to a few of the delegates that morning. Mostly convincing the ones who really were there to attend the various sub-conferences to go in with an open mind; but not too open, because all of the issues for discussion did have clear right and wrong sides, and she told them what they were. Helena recognized another face in the crowd and excused herself from the conversation. She walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

Supreme Comrade and President-for-Life Simon Kiburi, of The People's Democratic Republic of Uongo turned around and his eyes widened. He must have managed to avoid Rita yesterday. Helen hadn't had time to get a proper debriefing from Rita, so had to go in cold, not knowing for certain whom "she" had talked to or hadn't yesterday, and what the subject was. Helena greeted him with a warm smile, and put her hand up to his neck, forcing him to bend forward a little so she could whisper into his ear.

"Simon, dear. There's no way you give a fuck about any of the topics, so that means you're here for the Auction, too. You can't possibly afford Lot 15, so you want something else. Whatever it is, you're enough of a dumbfuck to try to use it on San Finzione's troops or the Uongoian people."

The dictator was about to open his mouth to bluster something. Helena put her finger to his lips, stopping him.

"The Leopardess of San Finzione has tolerated you until now, Simon, because she's always had you under her paw. But the warlord partners who were going to betray you are gone, and it's time to give the country back to the original owners. So now, she allows you to run. Because the Leopardess has better things to do today, and she knows she can always catch you. Whatever you think you have to say, this is not the time for it. This is the time to go home and start trying to figure out how many golden candlesticks you can stuff into a suitcase. It's four, by the way. It'll look like you can get one or two more in there; but gold's heavy stuff. Any more than four, and you'll destroy a perfectly good suitcase."

Kiburi turned and left the building. Helena didn't finish watching him leave the room, because she'd heard a grumbling moving through the crowd. An ocean of murmured profanities in a miasma of languages; all of which, she understood, washed over her. When she noticed that everyone in the throng who'd uttered them had been looking down, she took out her phone.

It was 10:13 AM, and there was no signal.

She gave a half-smile. Whyte seemed to be counting on her overestimating him, so a hit on the summit itself wasn't beyond the realm of possibility, but it would certainly be foolish in the extreme. In addition to her Ultimado detail, other attendees had their own security as well. A hit squad would be lucky to make it through the door. The building was being continuously swept for bombs after the explosions at her hotel yesterday, so he wouldn't strike that way. Helen considered for a moment that he might gas the convention hall, but wrote that one off. Despite what he wanted her to think, Whyte wasn't The Joker; his goons weren't about to rappel down from the skylights, firing machine guns, wearing costumes, and being named around a theme.

The murmur was rising now, as people even more unaccustomed to inconvenience than most began shouting at their phones for failing to give them a signal. Waving and holding their phones at arm's length and up in the air, trying to get a bar.

And then, as quickly as it began, it ended. Most of the attendees were too happy to have their own phone service back to have noticed that it happened to almost everyone.

"Except the ones carrying Whyte Telecom phones." Helen thought. She looked at her phone to see if Whyte was about to call. The only message delayed by the lack of signal was one from Ramirez, which she replied to. She looked up to see someone with a video camera running toward her, security running behind.

Before the man got close enough to say anything, something hard had slammed him in the stomach, causing him to double over. Another impact to the back of his knees forced him to the ground. Finally, the first collapsible metal baton that had nailed him in the stomach was pressed down onto the back of his neck, forcing him to kiss the floor of the convention center.

Primo Tenente Marisol Velasquez of La Squadra de Ultimados knelt down onto the man's back, ready to send the next blow into his skull at the slightest provocation. Helena motioned for her to let the man up to breathe. Once she mentally appraised the man's outfit and camera, she realized what he was; a 'reporter' from some conspiracy site, who broke through the press line to ask her about being a witch, or a sex-assassin, or wanting a confirmation or denial that La Familia de San Finzione's wealth came from being bequeathed the lost treasures of the Templars, and that the Ark, the Holy Grail, and Excalibur were all in a secret vault, a mile beneath Castle Finzione.

Sometimes, the beatdown itself was what they wanted, to "prove" that she MUST be hiding something! Otherwise, why would she be so "afraid of the truth" as to sic her guards on the "intrepid reporter" for running up and getting in her face with "a simple question" one month after someone had just done the same thing and ended up stabbing her four times and trying to cut her throat? He still had one hand on his video camera, and pointed it up from the floor, trying to aim for her face from this angle.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Contessa!" He gasped out when Velasquez let up on his back and let him breathe. "What do you have to say about the video?"

That made Helen pause. Video? Did the one with her and Rita get out? Or the one with her and... she racked her brain, thinking of how sex tapes she might potentially have out there.

"There are a number of videos that you could be talking about, sonny." She said to the man ten years older than herself. "I'm afraid I'm going to need a little more information than that."

"The one the internet's talking about; of you ordering men to torture each other."

Helen stopped in her tracks. There was, in fact, a video like that, of which she was aware. She bent down to look directly into his camera and smile.

"Young man, everything they say about me is true. The lies, doubly so. Oh, except that one about having Excalibur in my vault. The sword won't leave England without the One True King, everyone knows that. Won't go onto a ship or a plane, can't even fool it with the Chunnel. It just 'refuses' to go past the shores of the Isle without Arthur's true heir."

She motioned for Velasquez to release him to security and turned around, only then allowing her Camera Smile to vanish. She knew Whyte had her on video, but would he really just release it? Helen told another of her guards to bring the limo around as she dialed Whyte's number. She lit another cigarette while it rang.

"Morning, Contessa." Leonard Whyte CBE's voice said on the other end. He took on a faux-lusty tone. "What are you wearing?"

"Christian Dior." She responded. "And I've just heard something about a video, Leonard. Care to elaborate?"

"Well, it's like this." He replied, obviously talking over breakfast. "With your friends, the Equals, undoubtedly under constant guard, the Elders pulling out of our arrangement, and you probably classifying the guy in the helmet last night as 'an innocent,' you force me to take somewhat more drastic action today, Helena."

"More drastic than burning down a building to kill me? Which, by the way, you missed again, too. As you can tell by the fact that we're talking. And you're right, whatever you paid him, I'm sure blowing up his head wasn't part of the deal, so you're well past 'Upset' now, Leonard. You seem to have forgotten that I have tapes of you, too. Your confession to orchestrating the limo hit yesterday didn't mean much to the Elders, but I'm certain it would to the press or the Feds. Oh, also, we've compared it to the recording of the first call and can confirm that it's your voice behind the scrambler, so I've got your confession for the assassination attempt on me, as well. Oh yeah, and you admitted to killing Helmet Guy just now, too, so that's three confessions for them, Leonard! Are you ok, Leonard? You're not sick? Jeanne didn't sign me up for some wish-fulfillment charity for dying billionaires who want to go out like a Bond Villain and I forgot?"

"Afraid not, and using all of that stuff just wouldn't be your style, would it, Helena? Going to The Man, watching on TV as someone else leads me into a courthouse in handcuffs, airing my dirty laundry and waiting for The Judges and Public Opinion to decide my fate. That might satisfy Mr. Equals, but you never would have accepted my Jimenez 'gimme' if that was sufficient for you. And if I didn't end up somehow beating the charges, you already know what they'd give me; at my age, with my money." She heard him take a bite of something. "They'll 'lock me away' under house arrest in my palatial mansion like Madoff." He swallowed the bite. "Or I'll 'rot' in a minimum-security Federal Country Club with all my old golfing buddies. Until you inevitably pay me a visit, of course. That's if you can once the world knows 'Contessa Helena de San Finzione Can Control Minds.' That's an impressive headline, don't you think? I mean, 'Rich Old Fuck Did a Bunch of Evil Stuff to Get There?' That one's so DONE! Which link would YOU click first! If your name wasn't in one of them, I mean."

"You're right about that, Leonard. Orange would NOT be a good look for you, and I won't let you be caught dead in it. Red is more your color. And I have some ideas on how you can work it into what you've got going now that I'll be happy to share when we catch up."

"Oh, I don't doubt it, Contessa. With the Elders out, I'm back to the same old problem, aren't I?"

"Yes, indeed, Leonard. And although I don't like playing on your level, I did make a couple of calls to some friends in Sicily and updated them on everything that's been going on, so they'd like a word with you, as well. Don't worry, their instructions are to hand you over to me."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Then I'm even more of a hunted man than I became when I decided to cross you, Helena. I'll own that, it's my fuckup. Now there's no way I'm getting Springheel from you unless you're out of the picture before the Auction even begins, and there's no way I'm going to outlive you without it. Oh, I could try spending the remainder of my fortune and my 'golden years' keeping on the run from you until time robs you of the satisfaction; and I'm just enough of a petty prick to drag that game out as long as I can. But you're a runner, Helena. You'll catch me. I mean, sure, you could target my grandkids, but..." He laughed as he took another bite. "Go right ahead! Stupid, spoiled cunts, the lot of them, especially the boys. 'Grampa' is whose name is on the checks. After that, they only remember it when they feel like shouting it in someone's face after the words 'Do you know who I am' fail to stop them getting kicked out of the club or some bimbo's pants. Anything you did to them would be an improvement of their character, I assure you."

"I definitely know their type." Helen replied, getting into her limo after the first two Ultimados entered, but before the other two. "But no. I already thought about that, and leaving them pissing away your money and your name after you're gone is far better than anything I could do to you in that department. Their gravy train is coming to an end, anyway." Helen turned on the TV in the limo and began flipping through news channels. "So, what channel am I on, Leonard? I want to see the video, too."

"Oh, none, yet. You don't just drop something like this on the public. It's just like coming out with a new product: I leaked the rumor to some of the conspiracy nuts first, get that 'internet buzz' to start things off, you know. It should hit the mainstream news about the time Ma & Pa Middle-America are gathering 'round the old Philco set to watch Uncle Milty. Gives 'em something to talk about during the commercials."

"I know you're doing a bit." Helen interrupted. "But I have to congratulate you on a solid Uncle Milty reference this far into the 21st century."

"Thank you. So, the video goes on the eleven o'clock news tonight, and there are torches and pitchforks waving outside Società Finzione hotels around the world just in time to give the morning shows something to blather about. A new phone needs to make an entrance, too, you know." He chewed on something a moment. "Say, thinking about it now, being able to control minds explains a lot of Mr. Equals' good fortune in the markets, as well. And if the two of you know how to do it, it only follows that Mrs. Equals does, too."

"Surprisingly," Helen said. "It's really all him with the money. And I'd like to thank you for bringing them up again. Because you're right about Helmet Guy, you're fucked for him alone. But bringing Troy & Julie back into things reminds me that I can't allow you to live, Leonard. Because now, you've endangered THEM. How ever much longer I continue to tolerate your presence on this Earth, you'll be a threat to them the whole time. A man I greatly admire, who had a terminal illness and knew that his time was short; was asked his advice on life now that he was facing the end. His reply was 'Enjoy every sandwich.' So, I hope that whatever you've been eating in my ear while we've been talking has been amazing, Leonard; because we won't be having many more of these conversations."

"Well, I think our little chats have been worth this entire endeavor, Contessa. But yes, you'll either find and kill me soon, or be too busy hemming and hawing at reporters to stop me, so I guess this is really it. I've lit the fuse on your big 'secret;' good luck putting your whammy on every reporter in town before it goes off, Helena. However much longer we play, know that I'm having fun. And if I can't win now? I'll settle for 'You Lose More.'"

He ended the call. She let him have the last word. Because it wouldn't be.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Julie Equals opened her eyes. Troy Equals was laying on his side next to her, his own eyes open, watching her sleep. It was something she did, too, when she woke up first and didn't need to go to the bathroom right away. Studying the face she'd seen her entire life, remembering how it had looked over the years, going from the boy next-door, whom she used to take naps and have sleepovers with, to the man she loved; with whom she still took naps and had committed to a life-long sleepover.

"Hey, Boy." She said to her archetypical boy. Julie's artistic talent was recognized at an early age; when any time the teacher told the class to "draw a boy," her boys were always clearly Troy.

"Hey, Girl." He responded to the girl whose picture was in the dictionary in his head for the word "girl" with a smooch. Troy's childhood drawings had tended more to look like smiling blobs that he'd have to write "Julie" over, so people knew who it was. Mostly, he'd wait for lunchtime, because Math came after lunch. Then he'd be able to help Julie and Helen out, the way Helen had helped them with English and Julie had done the same with Art.

Julie looked past him, then behind herself before turning back.

"Did Helena leave, Master?"

"Yeah." Troy replied. "She went to the conference to go 'Contessa it up' for the news. It's getting near noon. The hackers are on to something, now that we know where to look. Susan's up, too. She's watching Doctor Who with Mander. Helen hadn't been planning to really go to the thing, and I guess Mander's wanted on three continents; haven't checked which three, but he has to avoid cameras, so he's in our living room alone with Susan, instead. But, you know, Helen likes him and he's a Whovian, so he's ok. He's had a few remodeling questions for you."

Julie took all of it in for a moment.

"Things are weird when Helena's home, aren't they?"

"Yeah." He pecked her on the nose. "It's to be expected."

"Wouldn't have her any other way." Julie said with a smile, sitting up. "But I think from now on, we should go to San Finzione instead of Helena coming here. It seems safer."

Troy sat up as well. He'd been up for a while, and was already dressed. He would have put on Propappou's smoking jacket, since he wasn't planning to go anywhere today; but it was on the other side of the world, at Castle Finzione right now. Troy had let Helen borrow it when she was in the hospital, and was waiting until their next visit to retrieve it. He watched his best friend's ass while she walked across the room to her bathroom to get cleaned up for the day, then went back into the living room.

"See?" Mander was telling Susan. "They're all actin' a bit sad in this one, cause they really are; they'd just 'eard JFK got shot right before filming. But, ya know, the show must go on an' all."

"Yeah." Susan replied. "Like in the intro to Gilligan's Island, when the Minnow's pulling out of the harbor, you can see flags at half-mast; because they filmed that footage the day after JFK died."

Troy smiled, and wanted to join them, but he had work to do upstairs. He started walking up the stairs, when Mander and Susan got texts one after the other. Mander read his and looked up at him from the couch.

"It's from 'Er Countessness. Askin' me to escort Susan and Mrs. Equals downtown to join 'er at the hotel."

"Julie's just getting in the shower." Troy told him. "She'll be a little bit yet."

"I think she'll have the same one as me when she gets out of the shower." Susan replied. "Mine's got specific dress requirements. I'm to wear a wig, head wrap, or something that conceals my hair completely, big sunglasses..." She grumbled out the last one. "And fancy heels." There was a follow-up text a moment later, that puzzled her at the end. "Oh, can't be a Julie wig, though, has to be another one."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Troy thought for a second about that. He took out his phone and tried calling Helen, and it went straight to voicemail. A worried look crossed Susan's face.

"Could be busy." Mander offered.

Susan shook her head.

"Helen wouldn't ignore Troy's call, no matter how busy she was. Could Whyte be doing something to the phones again?"

Troy's frown turned to a remembering smile, and he resumed climbing the stairs.

"I'm sure it'll be all right again in a couple minutes. I'm needed in the library. Looks like I'll be all alone in The Safest Place In The World today. Take care of... well, everyone I love, Mander."

"Certainly will, Mr. Equals." Mander replied, putting on his sunglasses and getting back on the clock now.

"Dammit, Troilus, don't say stuff like that!" Susan called up to him. "You make it sound like 'two days to retirement.' Also, I love you, too."

Troy smiled and walked down the hall. As he did, he brought up the stock ticker on his phone and smiled again.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 19

By T. MaskedWriter with special guest author Susan Bailey

*****

"We're buying CDs and we're buying lingerie.
We'll put it on a charge account we're never gonna pay.
Department store, camera store, tobacco store, appliance store.
You buy everything you want, and then you want more."
-Warren Zevon, "Down in the Mall"

Hi, Susan here. Mander drove Julie and I to the SeaTac Mall, where we switched cars with one of the Ultimados. Then, he drove us to the airport parking garage, where we switched cars with another before going downtown to meet Helen.

"We got home like this last night." I looked over at the other rear passenger seat and said to Julie. "We changed cabs twice on the way back from the consulate, too."

Rain splattered the windshield as Mander made his way up I-5 for what had to be the fourth time for him in the past two days (If you include the drive up from Portland.).

I looked down at my outfit again and over to Julie. We were both dressed in long coats, with kerchiefs wrapped around our heads to conceal our hair. Dark sunglasses completed the look.

"Is there a special reason," I asked her. "Why Helen wants us to dress like 1970s housewives sneaking off to meet The Other Man at a seedy motel?"

"I'm guessing so that if any paparazzi get our pictures, we'll be unrecognizable."

"I don't know about that." Mander said from the driver's seat. "Two beautiful ladies with 'Er Countessness. So, three beautiful ladies? Someone's gonna wanna know who those 'mysterious beauties' with 'er are."

"Thanks. And that's why she wanted us to wear striking shoes." Julie said, before turning to me from Mander. "Any cameras we come across will all be pointed at Helena. But one of them, like Mander says, might think to care who these 'mystery women' are, so someone MAY snap a picture of us. And the shoes are a detail that'll stand out. Neither of us have ankle tattoos, so if anyone remembers us, it'll be for our feet and the shoes. If we have to risk camera exposure, those'll be the detail that draws the eye. Worst case, you have to live with the knowledge that somewhere in the South, a Baptist minister or politician is whacking off to a picture of your feet." She lowered her sunglasses and looked me in the eye. "You get used to it."

It sounded logical.

There were more protesters outside the Seattle Hotel de Società Finzione than yesterday. Different groups now, dressed for the rain. Mostly protesting all the violence from yesterday. The cops in riot gear with assault rifles were now patrolling the streets, as well as gathered around the barricades. By an astounding coincidence, one of the Ultimados had just retrieved the LeBaron, and we found the same spot vacant as yesterday.

"Sue had this idea yesterday," I told Julie as we walked. "Of grabbing a megaphone and telling all the racist assholes to go home and read a science book or something."

Julie thought about that a moment.

"Troy would approve, then he'd rethink it and disapprove. Half the crowd have their phones out and are recording this. I know the whole 'million hits on YouTube overnight' thing's only in the movies, but half the videos that get to that point started out like George Carlin said. 'There's always some dick, some yo-yo, some putz; and he is going to film EVERYTHING!' Some guy's walking around with a camera, just in case he sees something like a beautiful woman taking a bullhorn and commanding a crowd of idiots to go home and realize that other people having the same rights as them isn't a bad thing; and them all doing it. What have you said was the main lesson you took from all those years of customer service?"

"EVERYONE has ALWAYS been 'waiting twenty minutes' for their food or on hold. Never more, never less. Twenty minutes every time."

"The other thing."

I sighed.

"'That Guy' is always out there. Dammit, Troilus, you're not even here and you're right."

We made our way through the crowd. I decided not to go topless this time. Thinking about it now, it's entirely likely that someone caught me on camera. However, I wasn't doing anything anyone else in the crowd wasn't doing, and Julie's earlier example was probably true there, too: If anyone got me on film, they're probably just jerking it to my tits somewhere right now. Suzy-Ho told me she could certainly live with the knowledge as we entered the lobby.

Helen was upstairs, surveying the damage up in the La Contessa suite. None of us were in the security system to use the express elevator, and the regular elevators weren't serving that floor currently, so I tried phoning Helen from the lobby. It went through on the third try, and she sent Velazquez, now in uniform, down to collect us. The hallway upstairs to enter the suite looked like... well, like a small war had been held in it yesterday. I looked at the bullet holes, broken decorations, and the hunk of twisted metal that was one of the fire exit doors the day before and remembered seeing those explosions on the monitors. It'd been such a nice place the last time I walked through it.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Contessa Helena de San Finzione sat on one of the couches and beckoned us over. She was on the phone with Maria, speaking Italian. I knew this not just because she said Maria's name, but because as of yesterday, I know the language myself. Something Suzy-Q brought back from one of her trips to Helen's Subconscious. I mouthed a "Hi, Maria" as we sat and did the math in my head. One in the afternoon in Seattle would be ten o'clock at night in San Finzione. Helen told her that we were here, Maria said hi back, and they ended the call.

"Everyone ok?" I asked her.

"Yeah. The Triads are boarding up their windows in San Finzione, and I'm going to have to convince a movie studio to come film a summer blockbuster in the city."

"Or buy one." Julie replied. Helen's eyes lit up at that. She picked up her phone again and held it in the way she does when she's about to leave a voice memo to Jeanne. From Helen's tone and what I could guess of the French by what I know in Italian, it seemed she was asking Jeanne to see if any movie studios were for sale. (I also understand why Julie was so confused last night, as she searched her head for French words to approximate the Italian ones that I was saying and deduce the meaning.) She ended the memo and lit a new cigarette. I looked in the ash tray and saw she'd had more than a few while waiting for us.

"Called Whyte, he's leaking the video of me in the warehouse where all this started, commanding those goons around. It'll hit the evening news."

"Can't you deny it?" Julie asked. "Say it's not you on the tape?"

"Oh no," Helen replied. "He hasn't shown it to me, but I commanded them to carve things into each other's foreheads, and one guy got his own cattle prod up the ass; he wouldn't have anything to show the media if it wasn't good."

"So, are you saying it's time to start packing up the house for San Finzione?" I asked.

Helen gave a worried smile, as if she wanted to say "maybe," but was looking for a spin to put on it.

"That offer's not just for emergencies, you know." Helen replied, having found one. "Just, any time you're bored with the country whose very name is a bigger punchline than mine on Rita's show."

"Oh, Claire texted," Julie said, giving Helen her out. "She said she'd forgotten to compliment you on your response to the 'grab 'em by the pussy' thing."

I remembered her response, but let them steer the conversation. I picked up that the "pack up and move" discussion wasn't one either wanted to have right now, and let them make their way back to Helen's problem.

"Thanks, but I'll grab my own. I have more faith that MY dainty little lady-hands are up to the job than yours?"

"Yeah. She asked if you'd leave it as a voice mail before you go. And speaking of going, what're we going to do about this?"

"And why," I asked. "Does it involve us dressing like we're bored with our suburban lives and are going out shoplifting to get some kind of thrill?"

Helen turned to Julie.

"You explained the shoe thing, right?"

"On the way here." Julie responded.

"Ok, good." Helen nodded to her, then turned back to me. "I have to bury the story. We can't go to every news station in town, seeing if anyone's gotten an anonymous video of me. I have to give them something that'll make them forget all about it. I need to make a big, extravagant splash. I asked you two to dress like that for the same reason I'm going to have to ask Mander to hang back. There will be cameras. Paparazzi intervention was inevitable. And, as it happens, necessary. I just need to think of someone I know locally..." She took another drag, her eyes widened.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Boris," Helen whispered almost reverently. "I have one more call to make to set everything up, then we can go. Have you had lunch yet?"

"Not yet." Julie admitted.

"Right." Helen nodded. "What's the most expensive place in town? We'll start there."

"Metropolitan Grill's open." Julie said, taking out her emerald green iPad.

"Do they take reservations?" Helen said, getting up and walking toward the balcony door.

"Yeah."

"Perfect. Don't make one. Call's going through, just a sec." Helen started walking toward the master bedroom, speaking Russian to someone, presumably the Boris she'd just mentioned. I turned to Julie.

"Do you know what she's got planned?" I asked her.

"Something requiring an entourage. Helen generally doesn't have one of those, unless you count the Ultimados, but they're on the job. That's where we'd come in: as her hangers-on. I'm not sure what it is yet, but I'm guessing we're about to do something that only rich, famous, pretty white girls can get away with."

"So," I thought aloud. "Absolutely anything."

"Pretty much, yeah."

Helen returned, saying "dosvedanya" to whomever Boris is and ending her call. She grabbed her black Prada Arcade purse from the table and turned back to us. "Shall we go? We're going to need a decent lunch."

We left, and she continued talking on the way down the elevator. Velasquez was still too famous for the video of her and Maisson shooting Morgan to be seen by the media in public again, so Sgt. Pappas and three other Ultimados whom I hadn't met before escorted us. (It's not like I've met every one of them. Just, ya know, a lot.)

"So, if low-profile was what I was trying, and failing, admittedly, to do yesterday, today, I need the exact opposite. I need paparazzi swarming about, watching my every move, and hanging onto my every word. I'm talking about complete overexposure! It's coming up on one, now. By six o'clock tonight, I need Ma and Pa America to be completely fucking sick of hearing the name Contessa Helena de San Finzione, and reporters sick of saying my whole name and title like that and giving me an asinine nickname that makes anyone with a brain change the channel or stop reading right there! If we want to start taking bets now, my money's on 'H-Fin.' So, we're hitting the town. I posted on Twitter where we're going for lunch."

"Didn't Whyte kill some guys at lunch yesterday?" I asked. "Isn't that a really bad move?"

"That was when the Elders were backing him up. Now he's got to be more careful than that. I've got dirt on him, too. At least three confessions to murder and sending Morgan to kill me. But the fucker's right; I have more to lose than he does."

"So..." I thought aloud some more. "Your plan to keep us from being discovered is to drag us in front of cameras all day?"

"Yeah," Mander spoke up. "We've discussed my aversion to cameras, Your Countessness."

"Oh, I'll just tell them you're the taller half of Right Said Fred, they'll ignore you. They're all going to be crowding around me, pointing their cameras at me. And they'll be a small enough group that I'll be able to command them not to take any pictures when one of you is in the shot. If someone shoves a microphone in your face," Helen pointed and me and Julie. "They won't be too busy to do The Thing and make them go away. They can cover each other, too."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"We're just going to have lunch and invite the press, then?" Julie asked. "Also, my money's on 'Sandy Fin' for your obnoxious media nickname."

Helen reached into her purse as she replied.

"We're having lunch because we'll need our strength. We're inviting the press, so they'll follow me around all day." She produced an American Express Centurion Card. "And then, whether you fucking like it or not, I'm taking you two shopping!"

* * *

Troy Equals sat at his computer. With the information to start looking into Triad connections for Whyte, the hackers were making headway. He looked at a couple of spreadsheets that they'd been able to get out of Hong Kong thus far. A smirk grew on Troy's face.

"He's got his fingers in a lot of pies." Troy told Carlito Cortez, head of the San Finzione Ministry of Intelligence's Electronic Intelligence Gathering Division, over Skype. "Smuggling arms, medicine, drugs of the other kind..." Troy paused a moment. "Women. Whyte Electronics certainly gives him a distribution network to work with. I'd imagine Customs probably waves them through to keep the unruly mobs who've lined up around the block for the newest Whyte smartphone from revolting. I really think his bank records are going to be the key. Any luck with those?"

"Afraid not." Cortez replied. "Money goes to the Caymens and Switzerland. We'll never get warrants. And we'd need better access than we can forge here to hack in."

Troy's phone rang at that moment. He recognized the international prefix for San Finzione. He only knew five phone numbers in the country: Helen's direct line, Maria's, Stavro's, Colleen's, and the main number for Castle Finzione. Had he given the Yia-Yia his number?

"Just a moment, Carlito. Someone from San Finzione is trying to call, and practically everyone I know there is with the government." He answered the phone. "Hello."

"Señor Equals." The voice of Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez, Supreme Commander of San Finzione's armed forces, said. "I trust things are going well?"

"Yes, sir." Troy responded. He wondered for a moment if Helen gave the Generalissimo his number, supposed that was ok; then remembered that as close personal friends of La Contessa, the Ultimados had files on him, Julie, and Susan that would certainly include phone numbers. There were a few ways Ramirez could have gotten his number. "We've made some progress; however, there are avenues we can't pursue without access to international banking systems."

"I see." Ramirez responded. Troy heard him lighting a cigarette on the other end. A familiar sound from calls with Helen. He looked over at the pictures of the three ladies on his desk. "You have the Skype, si?"

"Yes. I'm working with Carlito in the Ministry of Intelligence on it now. I can give you the number if you like." Ramirez said that he would, so Troy gave it to him. "Maria and Stavro should have it, too. Is something going on with them, sir?"

"Oh, no. That is not why I call you." Troy heard him take a long drag. "I call because I wish to know how La Contessa is doing, and I call you with this question, rather than her, so that I might receive a straight answer."

Troy nodded. Ramirez apparently did know Helen quite well.

"She's trying to downplay everything that's going on; hide her worries with humor, the usual. I think we've gotten through to her, though. She knows we're here for her and that she's not in this alone. Julie, Susan, and Mander are with her now. While we're seeking straight answers, Generalissimo, what do you know about Mander?"

Ramirez thought for a moment.

"I know him. I would not describe him as 'a good man,' more of a 'talented' one. He respects La Contessa, and he knows that she delivers on her promises, so whatever she has offered for his protection, he knows he will receive it if she survives; and she will beat any other offers he receives. I don't think that he is a danger to any of you for the same reason. I would, therefore, not question his... let us call it 'loyalty;' however, there are a great many other things that I would question."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"So," Troy thought. "He knows which side his bread's buttered on, at least. That's good. Which one of them is the bad influence on the other?"

"That would be hard to say." Ramirez replied, thinking on the expression Troy had just used. He wasn't familiar with it and would have to remember it. "With you and Señora Equals and Señorita Bailey, she has a family. With Mander, she has an accomplice."

"Well, they're all in the city now. I'm here alone. There's, ah, something going on with the phones there today, so I haven't got all the details. She's trying to take control of a news story, I think."

Ramirez was silent for several seconds.

"I have some speeches to practice in the mirror, then. Thank you, Señor Equals."

"And how are you doing, Generalissimo?"

Ramirez put out his cigarette.

"There was a political cartoon today. La Contessa is being stabbed, and I am recoiling with frost on my fingers, because the gun on my belt is frozen in a block of ice."

"That is completely undeserved, sir. I hope you understand that there are people in the world who know the truth."

"Si. The news is starting to do 'Has the Media Gone Too Far' stories. La Contessa says that means that they're getting tired of reporting it, and want to seem better than their competition by moving on to something new before the others. It will be over soon."

"I hope you and Maria and the whole country are ok."

They ended the call. Troy went back to speaking with Carlito about what they had, and what could be done with the scattered money trails, when another Skype call came in to Troy's computer. He answered it, and a face he didn't recognize was on the other end.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Equals." Said the man on the screen.

"No Français." Troy replied. "Damn, my wife's not here. Maybe Maisson's still across the street..."

"Ah, it is all right. I know English." Said the man on the other end. "I am Detective Inspector Luc Allaine with Interpol. A friend gave me your number. I understand you are American. Eh, please do not sue me."

Troy smiled at that.

"Yeah, I'm on the west coast. We like a little 'hi, how're you doing' before getting on to the suing everybody."

"That is good." Luc replied, seeming to not know whether or not Troy was joking back. "Now, my friend tells me that you are having some difficulties obtaining international banking records?"

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Susan again. I'd ridden in Helen's limo a couple of times before, and I'd expected the four of us and the Ultimados to be jammed into the back of it, but one rode up front, and three followed behind in an SUV, giving us the back to ourselves as we headed to the restaurant.

"I should explain before we get started." I told them. "That someone in my head has forbidden me from ever doing a Sex and the City bit. It's Sue, and I think she really means it."

"Not big enough for us." Helen said, taking out a small box I'd never seen before. I watched her open it and take out a gold cigarette holder. (For all the smoking she does, I've never seen Helen use a cigarette holder before. Not only does she actually have one, but it's gold, and she keeps it on standby in a protective case.) "We need to be full-on Absolutely Fabulous here. But without the drugs and booze."

"No!" I said. "We're not doing Ab-Fab either!"

"Why not?" Julie asked.

"Because," I told her. "You are OBVIOUSLY Patsy, which makes Helen Edina by default, and that leaves me as Bubble!"

"Bubble was the hot one." Helen replied.

"And the stupid one! And no, the hot one was Saffie and you know it!"

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Well," Julie asked. "Would you rather get treated like Saffie or Bubble?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Bubble." I grumbled in reluctant agreement.

"All right." Mander said. "If that's the game, then I'm definitely Marshall. Cause then I get to be Mike from The Young Ones, an' General Staal, too. Also, I'm gonna take the longshot on the annoying media nickname thing an' pick 'Fin-Bone.'"

Helen nodded.

"Only fair. So yes, we're going to be spending enough to feed starving villages today. Probably four of them for lunch alone. Just, please remember that I also DO feed starving villages when I'm not having to resort to shit like this." She turned to me. "And yes, I'm going to be buying you lots of stuff today. It's not because I want you to be my friend, it's because you ARE my friend, and I NEED you to! If you don't want to get anything for yourself, hit Sharper Image or a comic shop and get Troy some cool stuff. Or get things to donate later; I'll be doing a lot of that. Hey, if there's a collectible shop, and they've got a phaser or Leonard Nimoy's spleen on the wall, I don't care how much it is, you're getting it." She turned to Mander. "And don't think you're out of this, either. You see that Rolex you always wanted, you let me know. I think I have a punch card with them by now."

We pulled up to the restaurant. Before the Ultimados were out of the SUV, people with cameras swarmed the limo.

"I'm not going to be rude to any wait staff or retail clerks." I told Helen.

"Neither is anyone else. That's not the kind of thing we want to do. Tip heavily and often. You guys wanna take some of the platinum cards and split up or just stay with me?"

"I'd prefer if you all stayed together." Mander said. He turned to Helen. "Before we left, Mr. Equals offered me $5,000 to look after the two of them today. He said if I got another offer an' I were up front wit' you about it, your counter-offer would absolutely beat it, you'd decide to keep Julie an' Susan close enough that I could watch all three of you easier anyway, an' I clean up on both ends."

"Fucking Troilus. Ok, I'll double it, but that doesn't get you out of buying shit, too. One of the Ultimados will open that door for me in ten seconds. Anyone have anything else?"

She took the big, gaudy sunglasses she'd been wearing when she showed up on the porch out of her purse and put them on with a flick of her wrist.

"Yeah." I said. "My choice for the nickname bet is just your initials: C.H.D.S.F.."

She lit the cigarette in the holder.

"Let's do this, Sweetie-Darlings."

The door opened, and Helen disappeared into the flashbulbs.

"Lovely to see you all!" The voice of the woman I'd been speaking to a moment ago told the crowd of photographers. "Ignore the nobodies with me, everyone. They're SO Nobody that any shots you get with them in the picture will be worthless and you'll destroy all copies immediately. Now, who else is famished? Lunch is SIMPLY on me! You're all going to need your strength to keep up today!"

Contessa Helena de San Finzione walked toward the entrance and we followed.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 20

By T. MaskedWriter with special guest author Susan Bailey.

*****

"If your mem'ry serves you well, you'll remember that you're the one

who called on me to call on them to get your favors done.

And after every plan had failed, and there was nothing more to tell.

You knew that we would meet again, if your mem'ry served you well.

This wheel's on fire, it's rolling down the road.

Best notify my next of kin. This wheel shall explode."

-Bob Dylan, "This Wheel's on Fire"

How's it going? Susan here. I don't seem to be to most of the people with us right now.

We were finishing lunch at the most expensive restaurant in Seattle, where Contessa Helena de San Finzione paid for hers, mine, Julie's, Mander's, the paparazzi, and everyone else in the place's lunch, as photographers jockeyed around her to find decent shots without me, Julie or Mander in them. Before we'd emerged from the limo, La Contessa had commanded them to ignore us and destroy any footage they got with any of the three of us at all in the shot. Since we were staying close to her, they had to work hard to get decent angles.

I usually only refer to Helen as "Helen," but didn't just now, because that wasn't who had stepped out of the limo. She wasn't Helen Parker, the woman I'd discussed intimate secrets with over plain old drip coffee with hazelnut creamer earlier this morning. This was the woman I'd seen on television for years before I met Troy and Julie; Contessa Helena de San Finzione.

Occasionally, I hear Helen say something she'd said in an interview in person, and get a little smile about it. But since our conversation during the thing in Uongo, I haven't really thought of her as "The Lady From the TV," until I realized that's who I was seeing mugging for the cameras and acting like she was about to take a freakishly large bite of something, or tossing back another drink with wild abandon. Giving the tabloid photographers exactly what they wanted as a martini olive whoopsied its way into her cleavage and laughing it off with queenly disregard, as she plucked it out and ate it with a front-page-worthy smile.

When we returned to the limo, the rest of us entered before she did. La Contessa stopped and turned to the crowd of reporters. An Ultimado held an umbrella over her head as she told them to go ahead and look over what they've got to make sure there aren't any Nobodies in any of the shots, delete any of those, send off the good stuff, and meet us at the mall next. She made a joke about several of the press corps seriously needing a wardrobe upgrade, suggested she might do something about that when we get there, and got into the limo.

As soon as the door was closed, La Contessa removed the sunglasses, took her cigarette out of the holder, and Helen flopped onto the back seat.

"THAT," Helen panted, as she took the bottled water that Mander had already seen she needed and gotten from the fridge for her. "Was why I said we'd need a good lunch before we begin."

Julie was checking the news on her iPad. She thumped it briefly, then got something.

"The tabloid sites wasted no time." She reported. "The UK ones are the first to jump on it, like you said they'd be."

"Fucking Almighty Athiesmo save the Queen." Helen replied with a smile.

"There's a clip of the olive thing, with the headline 'Contessa Helena de San Finzione: Shaken Not Stirred.' Troy's going to want a shot of that. Oh, one about you buying them all lunch. 'Contessa Helena de San Finzione to Press: Let You Eat Cake! Buys lunch for reporters and entire restaurant!'"

"Perfect." Helen said, taking another drink. "My full name, cozying up to the press, AND them patting themselves on the back. Who's not gonna hate that? Let's keep that up at the mall; pick out a couple reporters and get them makeovers, buy them clothes, something." She thought a second. "We should have grabbed one of the big luggage carts with the roll bar on it, back at the hotel. Is there a store that sells those? That should be our first stop."

Reception in downtown Seattle seemed to be coming and going that day, but I was able to bring up Facebook and see various pro-and-anti Helen pages talking about the first stories coming in.

"One of the conspiracy groups," I told Helen as I scrolled through mentions of her. "Is talking about how you have Dracula's Coffin in your secret vault under the castle and that sleeping in it is your secret to eternal youth and beauty."

Helen laughed pretty hard at that one.

"The nut who tipped me off about Whyte's video. He was ten years older than me, and I was fucking with him; calling him 'sonny' and 'boy.' I figured he'd go report it back as 'proof' that I've got the Holy Grail in 'the vault,' but Dracula's Coffin is even better!"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Facebook also had a little headline about phone and internet difficulties in Seattle, but when I went to check it, my connection dropped.

When we got to a light, Helen got up and sat next to me.

"How're you doing, Susan?" She asked. "I know this has been a lot already, and it's only going to get bigger as the day goes on."

"I know it's going to be weird at the mall." I told her. "I know you won't bat an eye at whatever I get. It's only been since I moved in with Troy & Julie that I've really had 'stuff,' you know? The occasional nice thing I got for myself would vanish to the pawn shop whenever Chad was low on beer."

"To be honest, it's a little much for me sometimes, too. I still think of myself as the girl who, despite what Wade said when he was drunk, had to shoplift her college clothes or get hand-me-downs from Julie; which I was always grateful for, but they were her size, of course. If he ever remembered my birthday or Christmas, he'd steal me a Barbie. No Ken, no accessories, no car; just a Barbie he could stuff in his coat if the house he'd just robbed had any girls with dolls. I had eight Barbies, and nothing for them to play with but each other unless I took 'em over to Julie's. I think it explains a lot about my sexuality.

"And Troy used to invest for me, too, but I tended to blow through it. Hey, I could always get more out of the next Eurotrash asshole. I've always thought of the money and everything that I have now as Vincenzo's, rather than mine, so I don't do a lot of these 'shopping benders.' And still, when I see something I really want, try to figure out how I can walk out of there with it before remembering that I can afford the entire store and The Thing takes all the sport out of it, anyway."

I nodded.

"Maybe Whyte's whole 'Miss Helen Parker' bit got to you a bit more than you want to admit." I told her. "Not the way he'd hoped, but the dredging up your past could have taken a little nibble from your confidence back there." I took her hand, and saw Julie smiling out of the corner of my eye. "He wanted you thinking about who you used to be, rather than who you are. Because he might've been a match for Helen Parker; but he knows he doesn't stand a fucking chance against Contessa Helena de San Finzione."

Helen hugged me.

"I really do think that supporting others might be your thing, Susan. Like how Troy can do miracles with money and if you put any artist's tool in Julie's hands, you'll get back a masterpiece. When you're helping someone, it seems you can do anything, too."

I smiled at that. So did Julie. Mander was in Bodyguard Mode now, so his lips only curled a little.

"So, when we're in there," Helen told me. "And you see something you want, don't hesitate. I know you probably feel weird taking my money, Susan; but remember, you'll be helping me. Helping all of us. Whyte's next step after outing me can only be making sure the world learns Troy & Julie's names, and then we'll have those reporters on your doorstep that none of us want. Unless we can make the public so tired of hearing about me by then, that they change the channel at the mention of my name."

"Well," I said with a smile. "I can think of some stuff I know Troy would like."

Helen smiled, and we continued to the mall.

* * *

Troy Equals was alone in his kitchen, making himself a sandwich while Luc and Carlito discussed things on Skype, when his business line rang.

Troy had been investing for himself and others from an early age. While he was working on his doctorate in Economics, he'd come up with a side-business; helping people get out of debt and finding investment or savings plans that they could afford and stick to. Troy found workable plans, and Doing What They Do insured the customers would stick to them.

"Troy Equals Financial Planning." He said, answering the phone. An unintended consequence of the last name that he and Julie had chosen was that it made for a good business name. Julie's business was called "Julie Equals Graphic Design," and both their customers often found it clever that "Equals" was the owner's last name. It also gave them a natural excuse to help each other's business by being able to work into the conversation that "my husband's/wife's business is called..." quite organically.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Good afternoon, Mr. Equals." The voice of Leonard Whyte CBE, said on the other end. "I hope it's not bad form to call you on this line. I mean, you have it listed."

"I suppose I can't have a problem with that." Troy replied, finishing making his sandwich. "If you're looking for La Contessa, she's out shopping right now. It's quite literally 'all over the news,' and you can tell Helen and Rita apart, so I feel safe telling you."

"That's all right. I can see her on the TV just fine. No, I wanted to have a little chat with you. 'Man-to-Man,' as we used to say before everything became required by law to have a double-meaning."

"So, this isn't a formal business call, and I don't have to address you as Commander Whyte or Mr. Whyte CBE?"

"I'll let it slide this once." Whyte replied.

Troy sat down on the couch and grabbed the remote to see if he could find Helen on TV.

"Are you calling to make me an offer, Mr. Whyte?" Troy asked. "Am I Helen's Tom Hagen? Or is this my 'I could use a man like you in my organization, Mr. Bond' moment?"

Whyte's response was a chuckle.

"Heh. No. I recall the name of your other business, Mr. Equals. I suspect you'd enjoy that far too much. Plus, you're a very loyal grandson, so I'd have to be a fool to think YOU had a price I could meet. If I thought I could buy any of you, it'd be Mr. Clean's Childhood Bully. Have you had fun looking over my finances, tracking down all my dirty dealings? You're not downtown with La Contessa and her entourage; one of whom I presume is Mrs. Equals. No, you're special. She'd keep you safe behind a desk, all on your own, following the money. You know you're not 'gathering evidence' for her to take to the security officer, right? That she's not looking to 'build a case' against me here."

"Yeah, I figured that. Helen's never been the 'trust cops and judges to solve my problems' type. She's out to destroy you, so she's got me finding every dirty little operation you've got a cut of, so she can shut it down. I've gotta tell you, Mr. Whyte, if you were a videogame boss? Hong Kong would be the glowing part of the flamethrower on your back that we should have been shooting at all this time."

"And you have no issue being a party to that, Mr. Equals? You struck me as an ethical man; law-abiding citizen and all that. You know what she has planned for me, don't you?"

"There are certain questions that I don't ask Helen, sir. Like 'Why did Wade start a race riot fifteen minutes after we left the prison,' or 'Why would you need to know how to launder an island?' 'What happened to Ramirez's predecessor,' or 'Why is the music of Daftpunk outlawed in San Finzione?' But once I knew who you were, 'Why do you want my help destroying Leonard Whyte CBE financially' wasn't one I HAD to ask, sir. I also don't intend to ask her about any other plans she has for you."

"Well, you'll make certain all of my money goes to worthy causes, I'm sure. Everything I've ever done, there's some group opposed to it. Not going to keep any for yourself? Processing fees, and so on?"

"I've been meaning to ask you, Mr. Whyte, about the money thing: Are you coming on to me? I'm sure you're thinking 'he's Greek, he's probably down,' and, well, yeah, I AM Greek; so of course, I've tried it once or twice. Turned out it wasn't my thing, but you be you. I'm not going to tell someone else how to live. Well, except most people who call this number; but they're generally asking me to do that."

"Almost as much a pity as learning I've blown my shot with La Contessa." Whyte replied.

"Well, you DID have her stabbed, sir. I am aware that is not sufficient reason for La Contessa to rule out a potential lover in and of itself; but neither of us has 'evil' listed as one of our turn-ons. Well, not 'corporate evil,' anyway."

Troy found a channel reporting on Helen. There were a lot of close-ups of her with shopping bags, where Troy could see her mouth making the word "darling" repeatedly. The volume was muted, but the images on the screen looked like they should be accompanied by an 80s dance song with lots of keyboard; perhaps I'm Too Sexy. Occasionally, in a blur as Helen moved and the camera tried to find her again, Troy could make out a vague sub-blur that looked like one of the outfits that Julie and Susan had been wearing when they left. He didn't see Mander, but figured that meant that he was doing his job.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"So, ya won't talk ta Mikey for me, Tom?" Whyte replied. "Get me outta this, for old time's sake? Eh, what does it matter? I've had a pretty fucking good run. Well, you've poked around by now, you know."

Troy flipped through channels showing the same images of Helen's shopping spree until he got to financial news. He got up to get some chips to go with his sandwich.

"I'm afraid you've caught me in the middle of something important, Mr. Whyte." Troy said, as he thought about whether or not to grab a small bag of potato chips or cheese puffs. After some deliberation, he settled on the regular chips and reached for those. Then he saw the plain corn chips and thought that they also had their merits. The sandwich was a ham & cheese with mustard, it just needed a good salty crunch of some kind to go with it. "But I'll be certain to give your words the consideration that they deserve." Troy continued, as he thought how the corn chips were always the last ones in the big box, after all the good stuff was gone. Why not show the corn chips some love? They're part of the team, too. Troy put the regular ones back, took the corn chips, and returned to the couch.

"So, when the time comes, you're not going to be Mr. 'No, Helen! If you kill him, you'll be just as bad as him,' then? I've got to say, that's a bit unexpected."

"Greeks write thousand-page epic poems about revenge, sir. That was never going to be me. Julie's business number is listed, too. And the fact that you chose me to grace with this call means that you imagined I'd be the soft heart that you could get to. I get that you had to try. I know I'm not the first to say that San Finzione's primary export is Fear of Helen."

"Or perhaps, I was calling to say goodbye, Mr. Equals." Whyte responded. "By the way, did you know that Whyte Electronics also makes military drones?"

There was the sound of an explosion.

* * *

"Yes, Mr. Whyte," Troy continued, calmly opening Julie's laptop. "Yes, I did. And did you know that my neighbors' big satellite dish isn't hooked up to their TV at all, but to a small SAM defense battery that Helen put in?" Two more explosions followed outside. "She'd said that a drone strike was 'just the sort of thing a tech weenie who hides behind his phone like him might try.' The woman really DOES try to think of everything. Why?" Troy asked, innocently. "Are you trying to blow up my house with drones, sir? That's so cool! I'm probably missing a great show outside!"

Another explosion followed, then silence.

"I'm guessing Helen's got far more little missiles than you have drones. They are surprisingly little missiles, too. Got to hold a disarmed one, they're about as big as a deodorant stick. Neighbors probably think we're setting off fireworks. I may have to talk to the security officer in a bit. So, you know, I guess that brings down my day a little. Excellent work there, sir."

Troy entered his login and brought up his usual browser windows.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Whyte. I know you expected this conversation to be over by now. I'm kind of surprised you've been able to get a signal out of Seattle this long. With all the problems everyone's been having today. You might not have noticed, though. I mean, you built them both, right?"

Whyte recalled Helen using those words last night and tried to think what their significance might be.

"I'm afraid you have me at a loss, Mr. Equals."

"Funny you should say that, sir." Troy replied. "Because loss is what it's all about. Loss of signal. Practically nobody's been able to stay on the phone more than a couple of minutes in Seattle all morning. Apparently, it's from all these Whyte brand jammers going off in the city, disrupting the conference, and the lives of everyone within city limits. Not down here in Federal Way, of course. Have you been too busy with your little game with Helen to tune in to non-celebrity gossip news, sir?"

Troy could hear fumbling for something on the other end, followed by the sound of a television switching channels.

"Since they don't really do that 'for those who just tuned in' thing like on TV, I'll save you some time, Mr. Whyte." Troy continued. "There's this crazy hacker group operating out of Eastern Europe, somewhere on the Mediterranean; and they've put out a statement that they're going to be protesting STRANGERS by disrupting communications with roving Whyte cell signal jammers around downtown Seattle. They were very specific about that brand name, sir. You got some good product placement out of it. I think they mentioned Whyte Telecom twelve times, and your own name seven times, as being the ones making it all possible. They're not disrupting emergency or aircraft frequencies, but they've made certain to mention that there's a button for that if they really wanted to."

Troy heard sounds of Whyte sputtering on the other end of the line as he logged into his business pages.

"There's no button like that on my jammers, Mr. Equals."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"I know, but how quickly do you think the news will retract it after saying there is for the last two hours. You make it really hard for just anybody to go out and buy those jammers to see for themselves. Why, you practically have to be a government to get hold of one. Hey, you know what's weird? I slept with someone who happens to BE a government last night!"

"I only fucked with the phones a little, Mr. Equals. What you're doing is Domestic Terrorism."

"Yeah, but it's for a good cause, and my wife and I have somewhere to run if it becomes a problem. And I have to give Helen all the credit on this, sir. She thought it up on the way to meet you last night. She was talking to Mander about how you couldn't disrupt all the phones in Seattle all week, just to fuck with her; but she realized SHE could certainly disrupt all the phones in Seattle, off and on for a day or so; just to fuck with YOU!"

Whyte saw his picture on the screen. Troy continued.

"And every mildly-inconvenienced soccer mom in the city who didn't know the name Leonard Whyte CBE before, absolutely does now. I'm sure your board of directors might have said something, if you hadn't been so hard to get hold of lately. Probably haven't even checked your stocks on your phone, have you? You should, you're one of the few people in Seattle who can right now. The hackers mentioned that certain privileged Whyte phone customers have a special upgrade to get around the jamming, so everyone's rushing to their local Whyte Telecom stores, demanding the upgrade. I'm more concerned about them turning violent than I am about STRANGERS, personally."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

The two news stories they'd been watching collided, when the reporters following Helen around encountered the reporters at the mall who were covering the angry crowd outside the Whyte Telecom store. Troy's television was on mute, but he could see Helen stop and talk to the crowd. They started cheering. Troy caught Julie and Susan trying to stay out of view of the new cameras as Helen led the crowd across the mall to the Apple store, holding up a black credit card in her hand triumphantly, like a bandleader's baton. She even gave it a couple of twirls between her fingers.

"Man, I hope they're stocked up on Emerald Green." Troy said to nobody, before turning his attention back to the phone. "Speaking of stocks, I've got some to short, Mr. Whyte. I'll let you guess which ones. I know you're releasing some tape to the media to blackmail Helen this evening; however, that's not going to matter to you. You're going to be too broke to attend the Auction by then. Ta-ta, Mr. Whyte."

Troy ended the call and went to his other work.

* * *

Hi, Susan back. Did you know that black credit cards were created in the 80s because there were rumors that the credit card companies had some kind of secret, invitation only, no-limit card for ultra-rich people like Helen, and the card companies decided it sounded like a good idea and went with it? That's one of the things I've been learning today.

I've also learned that some high-end stores have "VIP sections" that you can't get into unless you're "Somebody." Contessa Helena de San Finzione being "Somebody" and all, I've seen a few of those today too. You sit on couches and they bring you drinks. Then you tell them what you're looking for, (Star Trek toys and action figures, to pick something entirely at random.) and they send people to go out into the aisles, deal with the proles and everything, get a selection, and bring them back to the lounge for your perusal. And sometimes, yes, they have special merchandise that's only for sale in the VIP Lounge.

They also have people who'll deliver those things to your house immediately, but Helen wasn't having any of that. We had, as she suggested, stopped at a luggage store first thing and bought a big cart like the ones at the hotel. It was being piled up with bags and boxes from stores that rappers brag about shopping at.

As Helen had suggested, some of the paparazzi were getting new outfits and makeovers at the stores where we shopped. La Contessa made a show of looking over each one carefully for the cameras, like a fashion consultant examining "her latest work" from various distances and angles before proudly displaying her finished product. It was hard to get a decent signal (Helen had explained to me why by then.), but when I saw the pictures running with the headline "La Contess' Dresses Press for Success," I knew Helen's plan was working. I know and care about the woman personally, and I want to punch her for that headline's existence.

Troy sent me a text after Helen declared that she would buy the angry mob outside the Whyte Telecom store new iPhones, letting me know that Whyte had tried the drone strike idea that Helen had thought he might and that her preparations worked, and nothing was damaged. Also, since she was too busy "being on" to check her own messages, that Whyte Telecom shares were already dropping like a stone, but she'd caused a forty-point drop with that move alone.

I could see some of the reporters who'd been following us around since the restaurant start to tire. Many had already sent off their pictures, made their money for the day, but continued to swarm on after us as Helen refused to stop giving them more and more to work with. When it seemed like some of them were ready to call it a day, that's when Helen would run into some parents with an adorable little girl and buy her a new dolly, or reward a nice cashier with a kiss and a thousand-dollar tip.