Fantasy So Night Follows Day by TMaskedWriter

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I've heard a story that Daniel Radcliffe wore the same outfit whenever he went out for an entire year to fuck with the paparazzi, because it made every picture of him look like it had been taken on the same occasion, making them worthless. Contessa Helena de San Finzione was doing the exact opposite, stopping every few stores to put together a new outfit (With some aid from her "Nobodies," naturally.), just giving the photographers enough time to change their memory cards/email what they've got to their editors/do whatever it is photographers do that I have no clue about before it was time for her to dive into the sea of flashbulbs again. It was during one of those changes that I'd been able to relay Troy's message.

"Lovely!" Helen said with a smile, after I read her that headline. "I'm gonna vomit from hearing it!" She grabbed a new top for her next look. "After this, we should head back to the hotel, catch dinner, let them go do their news thing. Whyte's story will have hit by then, too, and we'll be able to get an idea of what I'm up against." She found a hat she liked. "And whether or not this has been enough, or I've got to do the next thing."

She turned back to face her adoring public before I could ask what "the next thing" could be.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 21

By T. MaskedWriter with special guest author Susan Bailey.

*****

"Watch her every move. Superconductor. (Superconductor)
She can manipulate reactions. (Superconductor)
Watch her every move. Superconductor. (Superconductor)
Pin the donkeys on her tail. Fantasy for sale.
That's entertainment!"
-Rush, "Superconductor"

Leonard Whyte CBE looked at his phone and swore at it. More specifically, he swore at the stock ticker on the phone that showed Whyte Telecom had dropped one-hundred and twelve points today already and showed no signs of stopping. Whyte Computers and Whyte Electronics were following it down the drain as well. He watched the numbers plummet as his business empire was; very legally, with every "i" dotted and every "t" crossed, being taken down by Troilus Equals.

Whyte had found the video of the "hacker group's" statement to the media. The hacker's voice was on a scrambler, which they'd been certain to point out was a Whyte Electronics model, and his or her face was obscured by an oversized full-head Halloween mask that hung down and completely obscured the person on the video's identity.

Whyte immediately recognized which famous celebrity the mask was meant to caricature. It was a goofy novelty head mask of Contessa Helena de San Finzione. The person he was pretty damn fucking sure was Contessa Helena de San Finzione herself under the mask prattled some screed about how Leonard Whyte CBE; she made certain to spell out each initial, shared the hackers' dream of a utopia free of all technology except Whyte Brand products, or why would he create the devices that were allowing them to disable the communications of the good people of Seattle so easily? She started talking about how the superiority of the Whyte Phone over the lesser brands was undeniable, and Leonard could hear her suppressed giggle when she gave a "Whyte Power" at the end of that part of the speech.

There were other bits of "Heil Leonard" diatribe, mostly crediting him with being on the crackpot side of every STRANGERS issue, which was why the hackers were sabotaging the conference for the glory of technology's new Fuhrer. He could see her almost cracking up again when she started talking about "the purity of each circuit in the Whyte master phones."

He caught a slip in her grammar that La Contessa never would have made, and realized he was wrong. That under the scrambler, it was more likely an Italian woman affecting an American; specifically, Alaskan accent. It wasn't the first time that Miss Parker had stung him, but Leonard couldn't help feeling a bit more stung by the fact that Rita Delvecchio was not only taking a role in his downfall as well, but was improvising much better on the video than she did in person. She had Helen's mannerisms down well enough to convince him until that point that it was La Contessa under the mask, since she wasn't comically exaggerating them, like she did on her show. So, of course, it would be absurd to think that she had anything to do with it, because La Contessa was on the other side of the planet, on television, at STRANGERS, when the video hit the media. The woman couldn't be two places at once, after all. It was the perfect alibi, and worst of all, it was fucking clever, was what it was.

He pounded the glass coffee table, making a fist-shaped crack in the glass. Whyte looked up at the eight men in body armor, carrying AK-47s. He turned to the sign-language interpreter.

"Tell them that I would appreciate it..." He waited for the man to start signing. "No. GREATLY appreciate it; if one of them would be so kind as to KILL THAT FUCKING CUNT!!"

The interpreter hesitated. Whyte grabbed a .45 automatic pistol from the coffee table and pointed it at the man.

"Christ, if YOU can't hear me either, I want my money back." He made mocking sign gestures with his free hand. "TELL THEM TO KILL... THAT... FUCKING... CUNT!!"

He followed instructions.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Hey, Susan here. We'd finished our shopping spree and returned to the Hotel de Società Finzione, where three bellhops were needed to bring up all our bags. Mander insisted on carrying his own tuxedo that Helen had bought for him. Apparently, these Auctions are black tie only. He also had a new Rolex to go with it.

Martin LeGrasse, Prefect of La Policia, had arrived from San Finzione to oversee the investigation. Helen informed him that she knew who was responsible and that they were being dealt with, and that the video footage had me on it, so it was Classified. She told him that since there was nothing for him to really investigate, he should enjoy a little vacation at one of the other luxury suites. He went to see if one was available, as other STRANGERS delegates were also staying at Helen's hotel. Most had checked out after the attack yesterday, so there were. He remembered me. Apparently, our first meeting was still being talked about amongst the cops.

We turned on news channels to see what the word on Helen was. It turned out there were a lot of them. The thing she did at the Whyte store had been picked up by the major networks, especially after it caused another huge drop in Whyte Telecom's stocks. A stock that had opened that morning at 218 per share closed at around five dollars a share. The other Whyte companies had followed suit, and Troy had been ready to strike at home.

"So, Troy has made..." Helen took a drag of her cigarette as she calculated. "Hundreds of millions today. A billion or more isn't beyond the realm of possibility."

"I don't ask Troy about his money." I replied, sitting on one of the couches in the suite. "So, I don't know how much he's got; but even with all of it, I don't think he has enough to take Whyte down by himself."

"Susan," Helen said, looking at me. "Julie trusts that man with all that she is. And so do I. But I trust him with even more than my body, mind, and soul," She held up the credit card she'd been using all day. "When you accept the invitation, the 'Welcome to our Club' box that they send you contains two of these. I trust Troilus Equals with my other card."

"So, if it dropped down to five a share, Troy just made..." I thought, tried to figure out the math, and how many shares he would have bought. (Troy's explained "shorting a stock" to me before. Because, you know, you can't stop him from doing that kind of thing.) "Metric fucktons of money."

"Slightly fewer fucktons than you think." Julie replied. She'd called Troy about the drone strike as soon as we'd heard. "Just for Leonard, Troy bought back at eight dollars, eighty-eight cents, and one-eighth." She grinned.

"But the house is ok, too?" Helen asked her. "You know I'll pay for any damage."

"And you know we wouldn't let you. Troy says there's drone bits on the roof. He was going to try to pressure-hose them off when it stops raining. And that actually sounds kind of like a fun thing to do, like that carnival game where you shoot the squirt gun into the clown's mouth to pop the balloon. So I told him to wait for me; but once it's dry, if you want to send an Ultimado on a dangerous covert mission up a ladder to get the ones we can't hose off, that should take care of it."

Helen nodded.

"Hopefully, it happens before I leave." Helen replied. "Because you're right, that does sound like a blast."

"Well," I said. "A blast IS how it happened." I pretended to snuggle an invisible poodle. "Yes, it will, Precious, it will get da hose."

They got a laugh at that. We turned back to the news, which had apparently chosen "Con-Hel" for Helen's annoying media nickname. Footage showed Con-Hel giving the press their makeovers, that "plucking the olive out of her tits" video was replayed for what must have been the tenth time that I'd seen, and I'd only been checking the news every now and then, when we could get a signal while shopping. Then her triumphant march across the mall, a sea of irate former Whyte Telecom customers following her to Consumer Salvation. La Contessa buying out the Apple Store and sitting at a table, handing out iPhones and iPads to the crowd, autographing the boxes, letting people's first pic on their new phones be a selfie with her, and generally being delighted to meet everyone.

Con-Hel walking up to two parents with a cute little girl and giving the girl a dolly, then over to the toy store where she told the kids "Star Wars aisle; you pick, I'm buying! Two figures, and one vehicle or accessory or one figure and a lightsaber each." Her turning to the camera with a smile and telling it "I'll bend on that limit a little." Then turning back to the kids, walking over to the peg of Stormtroopers, and clearing it out before moving to the battle droids.

"Hey, I just thought of something here. No point getting a Han if you don't have a Boba Fett for him to fight. So, tell ya what: I'm going to buy all the bad guys myself, and everyone gets one, so you don't have to waste one of your picks on one of them. I'll put them in a garbage bag and we'll draw them at random. So, you might get a Stormtrooper, you might get Darth Maul, but FREE VILLAINS TODAY!!"

The kids cheered. The press cheered. I was starting to feel nauseous at seeing it all again through a camera lens, and reached for the remote. Helen grinned at that.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"You see?" She said as I changed the channel. "That's what I want every living room in the world doing right now. Being sick of watching that rich bitch toss money around to people who aren't them and switching over to Wheel of Fortune." She had a thought that made her laugh. "With any luck, I'll be an answer on Wheel, too! By the late news, only the conspiracy nuts will still be watching, listening for any word on 'Con-Hel.' Ugh! My skin crawls just saying that! I won't be saying it anymore."

"Good." I replied. "Sue was just telling me some of the things she'll do if any of us start using it."

Helen gestured for the remote and I tossed it to her. She changed it to the local news.

"First or second commercial break after the local news is when they'll start airing the tease for the 10:00 or 11:00 news. That's when I'll get my first glimpse of what I'm up against here."

"You do this stuff all the time, don't you?" I asked. "Playing the media like this. Using them as your unwitting pawns."

"Unwitting pawns really are the best kind of pawns to have, Susan. The witting kind usually want money or something." She looked over at Mander. "But that doesn't mean we like them any less." When she looked away, he smiled a little at that.

"Oh, I wasn't saying it was wrong, Helen. They play us every day, so why not? But won't they know? Even if everybody changes the channel, aren't the press going to know? Won't people in the newsrooms watch it and have questions?"

"Yes, they will." Helen replied. "And if the public doesn't care, do you know where they'll ask those questions, Susan? In the Press Room at Castle Finzione. Or one-on-one interviews, talk show pre-interviews. Places where I can make them forget all their silly questions and destroy all that nutty 'proof' and worthless 'evidence' they've got. What were they thinking, reporting on this shit? Were they going to prove vampires are real next? And they'll laugh it off and remember being that foolish when the new guy says he's got 'the real dirt' on me. You've seen reporters sneak questions like those into live interviews. What happens right after that?"

"You end the interview." I said, being aware of some of her games' rules. "You 'get offended' and storm out. The press out of San Finzione start reporting about how 'hurt' you were that this long after Vincenzo's passing; forever does he reign in our hearts, you still have to hear the same 'peasant gossip' you've had to hear since the day he brought you home to the castle two years before the world lost him. And to bring it up again; when he's not here to defend himself or his Contessa, is as much an insult to his memory as it is to you. If they don't apologize, Società Finzione pulls their ads from the show and threatens to pull them from the entire network. At that point, they either kiss your ass or go on to host another 'anti-you' conspiracy podcast. It's about three or four months before another gets brave enough to try it again."

"I didn't even tell them the part about insulting his memory and him not being here to defend himself. They came up with that on their own, Susan. Vincenzo really was that good a man."

I accepted that and nodded. We turned to the TV and watched a few minutes of a sitcom whose name I don't recall. It's the one with the free-spirited single gal on her own in the big city and every man on the show is in love with her. You know, that one. Usually, I've switched over to BBC America by then, to see if they're doing another Next Gen marathon.

We were about to come back from commercial and find out if the free-spirited single gal was able to sneak backstage and get the interview with the rock band who were this week's guest star for the fashion magazine that I didn't have to be a regular viewer to know that'd be where she works. Because all free-spirited single gals on their own in the big city work for fashion magazines. Just like how in romantic comedies, all men are well-to-do architects. The final commercial before going back to the program was the teaser for the 10:00 news.

"Tonight, at ten," The newscaster said. "A shocking video of Contessa Helena de San Finzione emerges." Helen frowned. I understood why. After calling her "Con-Hel" all afternoon, they wouldn't revert to saying her entire name unless they had something good."

The video showed black & white footage of a woman dressed like a truck driver or farmer, but definitely wearing Helen's hairdo, sitting in a chair across from a group of naked Chinese men; one of whom was laying on his stomach on a stretcher and seemed to have something big sticking out of his butt. The woman dumped a box of switchblades onto the floor and kicked them over to the men. "What happens next?" The announcer asked. "Tune in at ten to find out."

Helen made a noise. Then a few more of them. I turned to her and saw that she'd dropped her cigarette onto herself and was recovering it and checking her new outfit for burns.

"It won't be enough." She said, once the cigarette was back in her mouth. "What they did after, with those knives, I have to do the next thing."

I tried to ask what the next thing was again, but Helen already had her phone out and was asking Julie a question.

"What's the hottest dance club in Seattle that's open on a Tuesday night?"

"Probably Neighbours." Julie answered. "With all that's going on, all the walking we did today, you want to go dancing?"

"No, but I want to find the hottest night spot right at this minute." She finished her text, brought up some other app, and tossed the phone to Julie as she stood. "Tell Twitter for me, please, would you? I need to go get changed. You two might want to as well."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Still me. The bellhops had "gone the extra mile" for their boss-lady, so Helen's bags had been taken to the suite's master bedroom, and ours were still in the living room with us.

"Helen's got the other thing she wants now. She's forced a confrontation." I told Julie as we began rummaging through shopping bags for something suitable for Helen's plans. There were boutiques in the lobby that would have had something perfect and were either still open or would open up specially at any time for a call from the La Contessa Suite, but I didn't want to go into another store for quite a while after today. "It seems like the best thing we could all do right now would be to go back to the house, sit behind our wall of Ultimados, and wait for him and his thugs to try something stupid, only to face them."

"People have been out to kill Helena before." Julie replied, finding herself a mini-skirt. "That started long before she was La Contessa."

"Well," I replied, finding myself something. "This game of theirs can't go on much longer, especially with Troy bankrupting Whyte." I thought about that a second. "Which puts Troy at number two on his list after her!"

"Helena's thought of that. And that's exactly why she's not going to let Whyte walk away. Evil rich fucks have come back from bankruptcy before." Julie said back. "They don't come back from crossing Helena." She grabbed something else she thought would work. "You remember how, when we were there, you saw kids playing and walking the streets after dark?"

I nodded.

"That's because there are no pedophiles in San Finzione."

That confused me.

"How can they be sure..." I began to ask, before Julie stopped me.

"When La Policia get a report of someone harming children, they don't send a couple of officers around to check it out. They call Helena, and SHE pays them a visit. La Contessa is welcome everywhere in San Finzione, after all. Nine times out of ten, it's a misunderstanding; a difference in parenting philosophies, the family ends up happy she stopped by and a bit better off for it.

"But that one in ten, that don't kill themselves as soon as her limo pulls up out front? Or run out the back into the arms of waiting Ultimados? They end up going peaceably for a ride with Helena. And that's the last time anyone sees them. By dawn, if they don't have a family, their former home is either government housing or a freshly-bulldozed vacant lot, and any public records of that person cease to exist. If they have family, nobody speaks of them again, and La Contessa drops by again now and then to make sure everyone's OK."

Julie looked at me evenly before continuing.

"There are no pedophiles in San Finzione. And as soon as she finds him, there's not going to be a Leonard Whyte, either. You may have noticed how not-freaked-out I am that someone tried to blow up my best friend and the home that all of us share a couple of hours ago." (I had noticed that, actually.) "You're not the only one with multiple women in your head, Susan. Yours are just more... well... pronounced, I guess." (That's accurate.) "Whyte might have thought he was attacking Troy Equals to get to Contessa Helena de San Finzione, but you should understand better than anyone else; that isn't the scorecard. He attacked Troy Medina, which means that he's got Helena Medina to deal with now. I keep telling myself that I want to be there when she catches him, but I know that deep down, I really don't. One thing I absolutely know, though, is that some time between when we part company with Helena tonight, and when we see her next, Leonard Whyte CBE will have died. And I will not care why or question how. I will just be happy to see My First Girlfriend fucking relax and be herself again for a second."

My mind kept going back to the image of the twisted metal doors in the hallway outside as we got changed. Something was really bothering me about those. Perhaps because they looked so surreal to me. Like, I know what doors are: those things in walls with the hinges and the knobs. And these things looked like them, but you usually didn't see them crumpled in the hallway. Oh, Chad kicked in a door or two, I know what THAT looks like. This was more like a child had been attempting to make a door out of Play-Doh, and it was almost perfect, but there was still something about it that they didn't like, so the kid had crushed it in their hand and dropped it on the floor.

My train of thought was interrupted by the sight of Helen re-emerging from the master bedroom.

Julie says that Helen's name has always suited her. She says that spending a night watching Helen sleep, you come to understand what makes a man start a war over a woman. That she's always been Kinsey-rating-questioningly beautiful. That even before the tiara, when the two of them were teenagers, mall-ratting around Dimond Center in Anchorage, guys came up and did stuff that she'd thought they only did in cartoons when a pretty girl walked by. Julie's beautiful herself, and didn't know guys could get that nutty in real life unless she was with Helen.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

If she'd gone the "drugs and porno" route that everyone thinks is likely what happened to her older sister, Helen's story wouldn't end the way we're all sure Persephone's did. She wouldn't end up an overdosed Jane Doe in an alley or ditch somewhere. (That's why we don't talk about Persephone, because that's the most logical answer any of us can come up with to the question "Why doesn't Persephone seek out her orphaned, widowed little sister who's now the fabulously wealthy queen of her own country and would probably run into her arms and let Persephone move into the castle and live off of her immense fortune forever?") She'd kick the drugs and become one of those porn stars who ends up making the jump to serious acting, winning awards for both along the way, and being completely unashamed of her "early work," autographing it and her Oscar Winners with that same "delighted-to-meet-you" smile and wink that she uses in public now. Her porn career would become something that only late-night comedians and shock-jock DJs bring up, and each filthy question would get a laugh and a filthier answer from her.

Even when Helen wore makeup for TV, it wasn't noticeable. She never looked made-up. But now, she did. The look on her face was one I know Julie had to recognize, because it was the first time I was seeing it, and it was unmistakable. Helen wanted to go to a club and find somebody. That person's fate was in question, but how she was getting into a club tonight was absolutely not. I'd been to the place where we were going, and it wasn't the sort where you have to be "on the list," but if it was, the doorman wouldn't even bother looking at it; he'd just hold the door for her. The fact that she could simply command him to do it wasn't even part of this equation. The mini-skirt, sheer stockings, and being Contessa Helena de San Finzione were all the ID she needed.

"Are we coming back here tonight?" Julie asked, looking at the tiny accessory purse that Helen was carrying, instead of the black Prada Arcade bag that usually functioned as her purse and I was pretty sure that she kept a gun in. This one looked like two condoms side-by-side would overstuff and destroy the bag.

"I am." Helen replied. "And Mander is. You two are going home after we get back here. Roberto and Enrique'll give you a lift and take care of your bags. Whyte's only choices now are to spend the rest of his life on the run from me or kill me. He'll have to wait and see the aftermath of his video, though. His ego would demand it; he HAS to see 'his cleverness' in action! And I'm not endangering any of you again. I have to make sure the public loses all interest in that video. THEN he'll act!"

"So, how do we do that?" I asked, as she descended the stairs to join us. A bellhop came for the bags while we walked to the elevator.

"The same way you get anything done in the media." Helen replied. "By giving the people what they want." She laid her hand on the scanner and spoke to it. "La Fucking Contessa!" She paused. "UNO!"

The express elevator door opened.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 22

By T. MaskedWriter with special guest author Susan Bailey.

"Well, I saw Lon Chaney walking with The Queen.
Doing the Werewolves of London.
I saw Lon Chaney JUNIOR walking with The Queen!
Doing the Werewolves of London.
I saw a werewolf drinking a Pina Colada at Trader Vic's.
His hair was perfect."
-Warren Zevon, "Werewolves of London"

Hi, my name's Susan. I know that's what I usually say, so I've been trying to mix it up throughout things. We'd been riding to the club in the back of Helen's limo. Since we were going a longer distance than before, Mander rode up front, leaving Julie, Helen, and I alone.

"No, Werewolves is like his Walk on the Wild Side." Helen said, trying to avoid answering another question. "Like, they say if you love Walk on the Wild Side, you'll hate everything else Lou Reed has ever done; and if you love all of his other work, you hate Walk on the Wild Side. It's like that with Werewolves of London, except you can't bring yourself to hate it, because it's still Warren being Warren, dammit! His style wasn't Weird Al-level esoteric, more like They Might Be Giants: You knew he was gonna totally change the mood up on the next track, and you had an idea of what he might do, but you could never be sure. A true 'Moody Genius Artist' like yourself, Julie! That's why A Quiet Normal Life is such a brilliant album, and that was just a 'greatest hits up to 1986' one! He had another seventeen years of his career ahead of him! This is PRE Life'll Kill Ya stuff!"

As through most of the day after lunch, we'd had a full Ultimado escort, rather than the two to four that Helen usually travels with. She reasoned that one thing we know for certain about Leonard Whyte CBE; the man who'd been out to kill her for the past two months and whom she and Troy had been financially ruining throughout the day, was that he knew how to ambush a limousine.

Troy Equals had done something called "shorting Whyte's stock." Even if I didn't know he'd know how to do something with money like this for real, it had been a key plot point of the James Bond film Casino Royale, and so his obsession with 007 might have caused him to think of it anyway. At any rate, there was no way he wasn't going to explain it to me. Since he's the Math Boy, I'll give you a story problem, and those of you who care can solve it or not:

Whyte's stock is trading for $218.00 a share. Troy knows that Helen's about to do something that's going to cause Whyte's stock to take an absolute shit. (This is why Le Chiffre wanted to blow up the airplane in the movie.) Troy obtains a loan of a million shares, with a promise to return them by a certain date. He immediately turns around and sells those shares. Troy now has 218 million dollars. (There are brokers' fees throughout this process, however, let's presume that Troy knows and has everything he needs to act as his own broker, so there are no fees and the math stays clearer.)

A bunch of hackers brag about how easy it is to sabotage all communications for a day in Seattle with Whyte brand Signal Jammers. The public learns that "certain select customers" have a way around the jammers, and Whyte stores all over the world get flooded with freaked-out angry mobs who think their 911 calls can be sabotaged at any moment (They can't. Least not with these.) and demand "that rich white people only upgrade." (This is what Bond stopped Le Chiffre from doing by saving the plane, leaving Le Chiffre on the hook to pay back those shares that have now skyrocketed, forcing him into the poker game which, yes, Troy, we know it was Baccarat in Fleming's original novel.) Whyte's stock closes for the day at five dollars a share. When the stock drops to $8.88 1/8th of a share, Troy buys a million shares, turns to Whyte, and says "Here's that stock back like I promised. I don't want it anymore." How much profit has Troy made, and how completely fucked is Whyte now? Give your answer in the comments, where available. Show your work.

Troy may or may not have enough himself to do that with however many million it would take to ruin all of his companies. He does, however, have the unlimited credit of Contessa Helena de San Finzione, monarch of the Sovereign County and Nation-State of San Finzione; and CEO Emeritus of La Familia Royale de San Finzione's international business conglomerate, Società Finzione, behind him. And with all that, he could certainly raise whatever collateral a loan of the size to drive them into the ground requires.

Whatever money Whyte has saved up, it's never going to be enough to outbid Helen for Springheel. You'd think that would make him less dangerous, but like Helen told us, it just means she's given him no choice now but to come at her directly. Even before I knew Helen personally or that she could control minds, I could have told you what a fucking stupid idea that is. His "Board" and "The Shareholders" will be looking to unload their shares for pennies on the dollar now, and that's when Helen steps in and buys out the company to shut it down or start Finzione Telecom or whatever.

"Yes, Helena." Julie answered. "Everyone loves Werewolves of London, but that doesn't answer the question about the stuff you said we should see on that tape."

"I know, Mistress." Helen said, with a puff of smoke. "That would be the point of avoiding a subject. It seems that's not going to happen, though. So, yes, I tortured those pricks. Those women were not actresses, and they had far more than what I gave them coming."

She produced a balisong knife from a compartment in one of the armrests that looked to serve as Helen's junk drawer and idly flicked it open and closed before returning it. (The armrest that pulls down on the other side of her usual seat is a bit of a "Lost & Found of the Rich & Famous." It's how I ended up with Vicente Fox's silver monogrammed mustache comb. Helen gave it to me. She said the replacement she bought him two months before was gold and that he liked it better, so he's OK with me keeping it. I really try to keep my head about all this power and influence that Helen has, but I know this story because SHE CALLED HIM AND ASKED AND HE FUCKING SAID MY NAME AND THAT IT WAS COOL WITH HIM!! Then there was some private stuff with him and Helen, tell ya later. Rita's name came up.)

"How can you be sure they weren't actresses?" Julie asked.

Helen gave Julie a surprised look, like "Why would you even ask that?" Followed by an "Oh yeah, you're Julie" look. She turned to me and gave me a look that said, "Will you be ok with the answer I'm about to give?" I had a fair idea what kind of thing she was going to say and nodded. She turned back to Julie.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"The same way Susan would have known if she'd been there, Julie. Between The Thing and your daddy teaching you how to kill a man with your bare hands, you've never been physically assaulted." She paused, and her eyes moved to look at mine again. I nodded again and hers moved back to Julie's. "Or worse. There are things you think you get; you can certainly empathize with them, but you can't really get them. I'd rather die than let you get them, Julie."

"Dad taught me to defend myself." Julie replied, a little offended, but also seeing Helen's point and backing down.

Helen gave a laugh that turned into a cough because she'd been inhaling at that moment. As she was coughing, she turned to me.

"The Colonel didn't teach... his little girl 'self-defense.' The man was... Army Intelligence. What he taught her..." She reached for a bottled water, took a drink, and recovered. "Was something called the Fairbairn Fighting System! The mixed martial art developed for undercover OSS agents in World War II! It's also known as 'Gutter Fighting' and 'The Art of Silent Killing!'" She looked back to Julie. "Which he always refused to teach me, for some reason..."

Julie turned to me.

"Dad felt it'd be safer if I just looked out for Helena, rather than teaching her how to do a chin-slam takedown."

Helen gave a little smile at that and spoke to me.

"It's really cool to see, too. If you've got the fingers for it like Julie, you can nail the prick in the eyes with the same move. Even if you don't have her reach, go for the balls AFTER that move. You have to have met the Colonel when you came to Anchorage for the wedding. You'll have a guy his size on his knees and you'll still have hold of the fucker by the nose." She tried to show the move while sitting down, then turned back to Julie. "So yes, I can assure you that those pricks in the warehouse deserved far worse than anything you'll see on the video, but I had other shit to take care of in the morning."

Julie nodded in agreement. The discussion had been settled. Whatever Helen did to those fuckers, they had it coming.

"Well," I said. "It's a martial art, right? That means it's art, so of course Julie's going to be great at it."

Helen patted Julie's knee. Julie smiled.

"One of the great tragedies of this world, Susan, is that this woman has focused her efforts on the physical and graphic arts, and has never picked up a musical instrument or tried to sit down and write a poem. Because there's no way she wouldn't be brilliant at either of those as well. Your logic is infallible, Mr. Spock."

I think I gave Helen the biggest smile I'd ever given her at that.

"Thanks for that." I said. "I'm wondering, though: Why hasn't Whyte struck back yet?"

"You guys are here." Helen replied, taking another drink, and putting out her cigarette. "He still hasn't mentioned you, Susan, but he's already figured out that Troy and Julie know The Thing, too. He tried to play it off this morning as 'it just now hit me,' but he had to have come to that conclusion long before now. Between that and knowing I'd have some kind of protection on you all, I think that maybe he's seen or heard your name, but hasn't dug into their lives enough to connect you to them. If he'd sent any private eyes to watch your house or follow you, Roberto and Enrique would have immediately dealt with them and reported it to me."

Julie nodded in agreement and spoke before I could ask what "dealt with them" might entail.

"If he came across the name Susan Bailey while snooping into Troy's business." Julie added. "She'd just be another one on a list of all the people Troy invests for. I'd think he'd at least notice that you've got the same address as us, though. Troy would either file away anything with the potential for identity theft, or shred it and hand-deliver it to the recycling plant; so he wouldn't get much out of going through our garbage. A lot of paint and lube on his hands, maybe."

"It's something I'll have to ask him about." Helen replied, lighting a new cigarette as the limo rounded the corner where Neighbours was located.

I'd been to the place before. An all-inclusive dance club which, more importantly for our purposes than being a tolerant and friendly environment for all genders and preferences, was open and doing solid business on a Tuesday night. It wasn't usually the sort of place where they employed red carpets and velvet rope barriers, but we were driving around for a little while before arriving, so that by the time we got there, it would be packed like someone world-famous had announced to Twitter that she was going to be there a couple of hours before. She might have also confessed to be a filthy little slut who loved it up the ass before Julie's tweet got deleted and another was posted, with a winky-face "PSA from La Contessa" warning of the evils of handing your phone to your friends when you're all hammered.

"You command the waitresses at restaurants and bars to bring you the mocktail version of any drink you order or someone in the place buys for you. Or you do apple juice in a whiskey glass, like Dean Martin." I told Helen. "You haven't had a drop since this morning at the summit. None of us have; we've all been staying sharp for whatever Whyte throws at us next. Why would you tell Twitter that you're wasted?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"For the same reason I needed you and Julie today, Susan. If I'd been doing all the stuff we did today on my own, it would have been totally transparent. The press would've seen what I was trying to do, said 'thanks for the free lunch,' and then the story would be 'Contessa Helena de San Finzione is sucking up to us for some reason. What's she out to distract us from?' Butting in on a day out with my best gal-pals, on the other hand, means that they're getting 'the REAL me.' Especially if those gal-pals are 'Nobodies,' and I apologize again for the phrasing there, but you hopefully get the idea I was going for. The illusion of intrusion is mainly for delusion, ya might say."

I nodded. I wouldn't have said that, but I think I got it.

"If it'd been you with a couple of mega-celebrities or other world leaders blowing off the conference to go on a shopping spree, that would just be Tuesday. You and 'some Nobodies,' even ones they don't find worthy of filming, is a curiosity. And no, I wasn't hurt by it at all. We wanted them to ignore us, and Contessa Helena de San Finzione did what she does to everyone: she spoke to them in their own language."

I think she matched my Spock reference smile. I looked out the window.

"We're here." I told them, stepping in. "Unless what you have planned is another kung-fu brawl like yesterday, it's time for whatever The Next Thing is, Helen."

"Ok, the armrest on your left, Susan, should have reading material; couple books, newspapers, and a couple of magazines. What I need you two to do is sit in the back seat and hold them up like you're pretending to read them to hide your faces. Because that's what you'll be doing." Helen sighed. "These are different photographers from this morning, and it's a big crowd with more coming; so I won't be able to keep throwing The Thing around out there. That means Mander has to stay in the car, too; and puts us back on the Shoe Plan for you guys, but we're giving them some leg, too, because it's night time, and it's suggestive. I'm going to go in, do a thing, and come back out. And it'll work better if I look like I'm not a friendless loser and I've got my gal-pals waiting back in the car for me."

Helen saw Julie and I both opening our mouths to protest her statement about being a friendless loser when she looked to have caught herself and held up her hand in an "I know" gesture.

"Bad choice of words there. I know I have friends. The best ones ever." She opened her cigarette case and it was empty. Helen opened another compartment filled with cartons of her brand, and opened a new pack of cigarettes, a real smile on her face as she fiddled with the cellophane tab and her recently-done nails, reloading her case.

"What I meant was, I want to show this world that Contessa Helena de San Finzione KNOWS that she is not alone in it."

We stopped protesting and smiled.

"Neither is Helena Medina." Julie said.

"Or Helen Parker." I added.

She won the smile contest.

We pulled up to the entrance. Helen put a more stylish pair of sunglasses than her daytime pair on and loaded the new cigarette into her holder. We held up our magazines. She waved at one of the photographers outside behind the velvet ropes. The man couldn't have seen her through the tinted windows, but gave a subtle wave to the limo door. Helen gave a little wave back, again invisible to the man.

"You got another cool thing ready to say before you get out this time?" I asked her.

"Stop me if you've heard this one." She replied, already in character. "A Contessa walks into a bar."

Without another word, Contessa Helena de San Finzione proceeded to step out of the limo to walk into a bar.

* * *

Contessa Helena de San Finzione emerged from her limousine and felt the slightest of raindrops from the gap between the roof of the stretch and the canopy that had been put over the entrance to the club. It was another item that wasn't usually at the entrance, but had been put up because word had gotten out that a VIP was coming. One who had a reputation for stopping into clubs like this one, finding them "charming," and deciding to buy the joint before the night was through.

The shades protected her from the flash bulbs that probably would have blinded her during her first year with Vincenzo without them. From behind the press line, the people waiting to get into the club who could see her cheered. The cheer swept back into the crowd to the ones that couldn't even see her when Helena gave a wave to the public, and a nod to the man who was standing a few feet away from the others, whom she'd waved to before stepping out of the car.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He had a video camera slung around his neck, and pointed to a spot on the ground. A half-nod in his direction, and she began her walk toward the door, taking a deep drag of her cigarette. A bouncer held the door open.

"There's... uh, no smoking, your highness." The bouncer said.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione stopped in front of him and opened the tiny decorative purse she carried.

"Fifty-dollar fine in Washington State, right?" She asked. He nodded. Helena took out a hundred-dollar bill and put it in his hand. "Here's a C-note. I might stick around for a second one." She and her cigarette continued their journey into the dimness of the club.

She looked toward the bar for something, found it, and made her way toward it. People inside turned and stared as she stepped through their midst, some making faces at the cigarette; but, knowing who she was, and that they were in the presence of genuine royalty, were too awestruck to say anything. It would have been weird to not see her with one, and jerks would have come up and asked where it was.

La Contessa approached her target, a curvy brunette tending bar. She made her way purposefully toward the woman and leaned across the bar.

"Shot of Jack, straight." She told the bartender. The woman brought Helena a shot glass of brown liquid, which she immediately tilted her head back and consumed. Helena slammed the shot glass down on the counter.

"How much?" She asked the bartender.

"Uh... on the house for you, Contessa." She replied.

"Nonsense," Helena said, opening the little purse again, and seeing that there was nothing else in it, and it had barely contained enough space for the folded-up hundred she'd had in there a moment ago. "You definitely deserve something." She seemed to think for a moment, then made an exaggerated gesture of getting an idea. "Ah!"

Contessa Helena de San Finzione bent down and slid the silk panties she wore down her legs, being careful of the large bruise on her left leg, rendered invisible by her black stockings.

"These," She said, twirling her underwear around her finger for all to see. "Are easily two-hundred Euros in any high-end lingerie shop in Paris." With a smoldering look, she gave them a kiss and set them in the bartender's hand.

"Now they're priceless." Helena said, as the woman took them. She leaned in closer, allowing the bartender to smell the drink on her breath. "Hotel de Società Finzione, La Contessa Suite. Any time from Thursday to Saturday. Let me know how you like them."

With a small kiss, she turned and walked out of the club. By the time she'd gotten to the door, the swagger she walked with acquired a small stumble to it, as though she'd walked into the club 90% drunk already and that last shot had done the job. With a little wobble, she made it to the limousine door, and an Ultimado came and opened it for her.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione stepped into the limo. As she did, she stopped, and seemed to be thinking of something. She looked over to where the man with the video camera was kneeling in the right spot. Then, as she lifted her right leg off the ground, she had a second thought, stopped, and spun around, planting her foot on the ground and causing her skirt to rise up several inches.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"I FUCKING LOVE YOU, SEATTLE!" Contessa Helena de San Finzione cheered to the crowd. Several paparazzi twisted and crowded to get a shot of her bare slit before she closed her legs and stepped into the car. Julie and Susan watched with their mouths open as she closed the door and the car drove away.

* * *

Susan again. Just like at the restaurant and the mall, Contessa Helena de San Finzione entered the limo. But this time, she stopped.

She turned around and shouted to the crowd. Julie and I could see her skirt rise up and reveal that she wore nothing underneath. She gave another front-page-worthy smile to the crowd before getting in and closing the door. She looked toward the man she'd been looking at when we stopped. He looked up toward the limo and nodded excitedly just before we pulled away. The only one, I now noticed, who was in the right position to get a perfectly clear shot between Helen's legs.

Julie and I were in stunned silence for almost a minute before I said something while Helen put away her sunglasses and cigarette holder, lighting a new one without it.

"Do you know what you just did?" I asked her.

"Yes I do." Helen replied. "My pussy just became the news cycle; a talented young videographer with whom I once spent a lovely weekend will make enough from one clip to get out of this sick, sordid business, and focus on his art; and the San Finzione Tourism Board's website will gain what we conservatively estimate will eventually level out at a permanent 12.9% increase in traffic."

"This was 'The Next Thing?'" I asked. "This was your 'brilliant master stroke?' Flashing your pussy at that guy, whom I presume was Boris?"

"First rule of mass media, Susan." Helen said with a long drag. "Give the people what they want. How many people do you think want to see me brought down besides Whyte? Don't bother, I don't think Troy can count that high. And how many of them do you think also want to fuck me? Most of them, Whyte probably included. By the time they're done stroking it to THAT video, they'll be too tired to care about the other one!"

I let out a deep sigh.

"Well, I guess it works." I said. Both of them saw the disappointment in my face.

"What's wrong?" Helen asked.

"Nothing," I answered. "Just... I dunno, I expected something 'grander' from you, Helen. And from that little Die Hard joke you made back when all this started at the hotel, well... I kinda figured that 'The Next Thing' was gonna be... I dunno... that we'd do some kind of Die Hard thing."

Helen's face fell, and she moved over to sit alongside me and hold my hand.

"I'm sorry, Susan." She told me. "I can still set up something like that when all this is over. I mean, I own skyscbangrs, I've got the Ultimados; we could do a paintball thing, or, like, a re-enactment?"

I looked up with a smile.

"Some time, yeah, definitely. I mean, who could say no to that? But not tonight. It wouldn't feel right. Your vagina has won the day. I won't take that away from it."

We all laughed.

"Well, I just have to say," Julie said when her laughter stopped, putting an arm around Her First Girlfriend. "That it's the sort of plan I should have expected from a Fucking Cunt like this."

Helen took hold of Julie's head.

"Oh, get over here, you Skanky Cow!" Helen said, kissing Julie deeply, then stopping her hands from roaming. "No, no time to celebrate. You two need to get home. Leonard and I end this tonight, and I need to face him on my turf, not on your lawn. I told Twitter this morning that I'd be staying here tonight. Roberto and Enrique are ready to take you home in another car. This vehicle is a giant fucking bullseye right now, and we need to get you out of it and away from the hotel, so I can be the bullseye instead."

I leaned over and gave Helen a hug. She put her other arm around me.

"You better extra specially not die now, Contessa." I told her with a smirk. "You don't get to die until I get to drop your ass off of Nakatomi Plaza or hear you say the phrase '640 million dollars in negotiable bearer-bonds.'"

"Really, Helena." Julie asked. "What else are we going to do? Note that I didn't ask IF there was anything we CAN do, but rather WHAT we WILL do, because you know that your family is not going to stop backing you up any way we're able, Mistress."

"The best thing you can do for me, Also Mistress, and Susan; is go home and hold that man whom we all dig so much and I know you've had to be internally screaming to get back to after the drone thing, Julie. And I'll be home as soon as I can."

We all held hands as we rode back to the hotel.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

By T. MaskedWriter with special guest author Susan Bailey.

*****

"You've got an invalid haircut.
And it hurts when you smile.
You better get out of town,
before your nickname expires.
It's the Kingdom of the Spiders.
It's the Empire of the Ants.
You need a permit to walk around downtown,
you need a license to dance."
-Warren Zevon, "Life'll Kill Ya"

Contessa Helena de San Finzione bid her oldest and newest friends in the world goodbye at the hotel. She and Mander returned to the La Contessa suite.

Helen had made it easy enough for Whyte to locate her. That morning, before Julie and Susan had arrived, she informed Twitter that her faith in her guards and the Seattle Hotel de Società Finzione was so great, that she would continue to stay in the La Contessa suite tonight and while in Seattle. They passed through the entrance hall, the Ultimados flanking the door to the suite saluting her. The broken doors had been removed from the hallway, and workers would be coming in the morning to take care of the damage. More Ultimados stood guard on the now-exposed fire exits.

Helen entered the main room of the suite, walked over to the mini-bar, and got out two little bottles of Jack Daniels. She tossed one to Mander and opened the other.

"I've not seen Your Countessness do much drinking." Mander told her, opening his.

"This is something different." She told him, with a swig from her bottle. "One before going into battle."

Mander nodded and did the same with his bottle. Helen reached back into the minibar and got a Coke to go with hers. She offered Mander one as well.

"No thanks, Your Countessness." He told her. "Wouldn't want you racking up those minibar charges."

Helen smiled at that and tossed him one anyway.

"Minibar charges are, like, the easiest thing in the world to dispute. All you have to do is say 'I didn't even open that thing. One of the maids must have...' and it's one of those things where YOU know you're lying, WE know you're lying, and you KNOW we know you're lying; but at the same time, this COULD be that one time in a thousand where we have to do a shakedown in Housekeeping to unmask the criminal genius who decided to help herself to a fucking Toblerone on your dime. Probably because you or the asshole in the room before were such a dick or a creep to her that she just needed a little something to calm down. Some places, the accusation alone would get her fired; and the piece-of-shit loses nothing if he decides to push the lie to the point of costing a maid her job. The checkout clerk already knows all of this, and that you've probably got a flight to catch, which you'll blame us if you miss; and we just want your ass out of our hotel now, so, it'll just save everyone a lot of hassle if he swallows every natural human instinct to scream 'YOU ARE A FUCKING LIAR AND WE BOTH KNOW IT' to your face, says, 'my mistake, sir,' and hits delete. And yes, because accidents DO happen, we'd have to give him the benefit of the doubt; so, a complete dickhead could pull that shit a second time before we'd red-flag him as a scammer at all Società Finzione establishments and venues. Besides, I know the owner, she'll cover it."

She turned on the news, and she and Mander both started laughing at the frozen image of her with her crotch digitized out and the words "Helen's Gate-Gate" under it. They flipped through several channels, watching liberal news praise her bold, empowering choices; then watching conservative news condemn her for daring to go out in public, knowing full well that she had one of those things between her legs.

"So," Mander asked, finishing his drink. "Ya do this a lot? Like every time one of them yobbos gets a pic of ya sunbathin' with yer Bristols out..."

Helen lit her cigarette before replying.

"There's some other story that I need to make go away, exactly."

"So, when they get a naughty vid, does 'at mean ya've done somethin' like nuked Ottawa?"

"Sometimes, when I'm really pissed off at Julie, I'll threaten Troy that San Finzione's going to get The Bomb, but that's as close as it comes to us having nukes. No, leaking a sex tape is an extreme last resort, and everyone involved has to be on board. The video of Rita and I would have killed Whyte's story, but it would have taken Rita's career with it. The progress that Vincenzo made, and I still strive for aside, Mander, San Finzione is still a Catholic nation."

Mander raised a hand. She nodded and gave him a smile that let him know it wasn't required.

"Your Countessness, though, is in the news with blokes and birds all the time."

"I'm the wealthy young widow of a great and respected man, whose shoes only one other man on this planet could ever be worthy of filling, and he's always belonged to Julie. Because of that, I've sworn to never marry again. So, I'm allowed to be 'eccentric' and expected to 'have my little dalliances' with the Hollywood Pretty-Boy-or-Girl of the Moment who couldn't find San Finzione on a map in a castle with a gift shop where they sell maps of San Finzione and have some very helpful staff, who'll help you find just the right map for your needs. If La Contessa is seen with another woman, 'That's our Contessa!' But if Rita is seen with another woman, there'll be a bunch of people that I'll have to do The Thing to so that she can retain any semblance of her previous life. And as much as I hate to admit it; yes, dammit, Troilus, some of your lessons did stick!"

"Well, keep doin' what yer doin'." Mander said, cracking open the Coke. "Cause it's a better job than this lot here."

He gestured at the man on the TV, whose show was usually devoted to screaming about how the government is going to take everyone's guns any moment now, but had changed his tune today, and was now screaming about how government irresponsibility in not regulating vaginas more strongly was going to let the terrorists win.

The parts they laughed at most while flipping through channels was where the reporters and talking heads whose regular discussions had been put on hold for this "breaking story" stumbled to find ways to talk about her vagina without actually USING the word, or any of the common terms for it. Grown adults, some of whom had seen one up close before, sitting around a table at eleven o'clock at night, attempting to rapidly invent euphemisms as if there were a toddler in the room who would immediately pick up and start shouting any seemingly-attention-getting word they used; however offensive or vulgar, yet to-the-point it might be.

"What am I supposed to tell my children?" A woman on the screen asked the rest of the panel.

"Ya tell 'em to look down!" Mander shouted back at her. "An' whatever they see, they got their whole lives to sort it out." They laughed, then Mander changed his tone. "Whyte's comin' any time now."

Helen stopped laughing and nodded. She pressed a code on the large remote control that controlled most things in the suite, causing steel shutters to drop over all of the windows. She picked up her phone to look at the time. Julie and Susan might have made it home by now.

And saw that she had no signal.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Hey, Susan again. Rob and Eric had just stopped on the street in front of our houses before turning into their driveway. Julie jumped out as soon as the car was going slow enough and ran toward our house. I stayed in the car until it was stopped.

Troy was standing in the doorway. Julie ran up to him and didn't even let him get the "Hey" out before she threw her arms around him and began kissing him. Helen was right about the internal screaming.

Seeing him in the doorway, my mind kept going back to that twisted door in the hall outside Helen's suite. Something kept bothering me about it.

"Is Capitan Ortega available?" I asked Rob and Eric, getting out of their car.

"He will be in the command center in the garage." Eric said. "Go in through the house, please."

I nodded and thanked him. For being unstoppable killing machines, Ultimados are surprisingly polite.

I entered the house and made my way through the cots that had been set up in the living room to the garage. The scene inside was, indeed, what I would expect from the term "command center." The overhead light was off, but there was enough light to see by from the computer terminals and other military hardware that Julie could probably tell you what it is, but I couldn't. Four of the Ultimados were manning terminals. Capitan Gregorio Ortega, their commanding officer, seemed to pace around a black, shiny table in the center of the room. I looked at it in hope that it would turn out to be some kind of 3-D holographic map that hovers over the table, but if it was, it wasn't turned on just then.

"Señorita Bailey." He said, turning and noticing me. He didn't salute. Nor did he have to. I'm just as much a civilian in San Finzione as I am in America. "Everything is well across the street?"

"Yeah," I said, still a bit distracted by all the high-tech stuff. I'd heard Troy and Julie came over last night, when they were worried about Helen. I got caught up in wondering how the hell Julie ever got him out of this garage, then remembered why I'd come over. "Everything's fine there. I had a question, though. You know that video of the incident at the hotel yesterday that doesn't exist, and if it did, every copy has been accidentally destroyed?"

"Si?" Ortega replied.

"May I watch it?"

"Si. You are now cleared." Ortega said, going over to an empty computer and pulling the seat out for me. I thanked him, figuring it was a reflex from working for Helen. He opened the file and hit play. Apparently, Helen's "top secret clearance" spell last night worked.

I watched the footage. Me accepting that I'm not gonna pull some Matrix shit in this scene, Mander giving me an understanding nod that said "Yeah, this is gonna get serious, Susan. You go to Rita, we got this," Velazquez pulling some Matrix shit in this scene. And then the explosions at either end of the hall. The fire doors flying off the opposite walls, twisted things on the ground now.

"You've got guards watching those doorways now, I'm guessing."

"Si." Ortega responded.

The question that had been digging at the back of my head finally poked itself forward.

"So, where did those other guys come from?" I asked Ortega. "Velazquez, Mander, and I saw the six guys get in the elevator, and they shot those six guys. So where'd the guys on the fire exits come from? Did they run up the 51 floors to the La Contessa Suite? I'm sure Helen has cameras on the helipad. Somebody would've noticed another helicopter landing on the roof before Ernst. Even if it just hovered for a moment and they slid down on ropes like you guys do, there'd be camera footage of that. And then they'd have had to get into the stairwells. But the rooftop fire doors were intact, your guys had to blow those open themselves..."

I spun around and looked Ortega in the eye.

"I know where Whyte is!" I said, fishing for my phone. "And he's about to attack Helen!"

I dialed her number as he shouted commands at the others in Spanish and they went scrambling into action.

"You've got extra Ultimados in the hallways tonight, covering those now-breached fire exits. Where did you pull them from?"

"The balconies." Ortega replied. "La Contessa has the steel shutters on the windows."

"Then that's where he's coming from! Whyte's been all about misdirection from the beginning! He had them blow the doors off, so you'd focus your attention on the hallway. The Triad hit was never meant to succeed. The real attack is tonight, and probably coming from the now-deprioritized balconies! And there's only one place he'd hide: A place so stupid, that Helen would never think to look there."

The call went to voicemail. I hung up. There was nothing I could do to warn Helen.

"Fuck!" I shouted. "I'm not getting through. That probably means he's already on his way!"

That thought spawned another. There was nothing that I could do to help. But there was someone who could.

"I need something." I told him as I took my chair and dragged it off into the corner.

"What do you need?" He asked as the sound of Ultimados piling into vehicles outside could be heard. I sat down in the chair.

"I need a moment." I told him, closing my eyes. "I need..."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I was coming out of a diner bathroom, a copy of Modesty Blaise under my arm. I heard other Mes out in the restaurant proper, shouting. I remembered that I had a .45 under my belt and drew it, pointing it at Suzy-Ho, who was standing on top of a table waving a gun of her own around. Seated at one of the tables, Suzy-Q wore a jheri-curl and had a gun pointed at Sue. A briefcase was sitting on the table, and Sue was holding a sack of some kind. I put the gun away and dropped the book.

"Sorry, Suzy Crew." I told them, sitting at the table. "A Pulp Fiction bit sounds fun and all, but I don't have time for it. I have to congratulate you though, Sue, on finally not being a waitress in one of these. Suzy-Ho, get down off there!"

Suzy-Ho pouted.

"Well, what's the point if I don't get to be The Gimp, anyway?"

I sat down next to Suzy-Q.

"Ok," I told her. "You know everything going on out there, so you know we need to warn Helen, and the only way to do that now is you, Suzy-Q. Anything you've figured out at all about how to get through to her, we need it now."

I took hold of her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye.

"We're all about helping people. Helen needs our help now. I need to help her. Which means you need to help her, too. Maybe she's right about this 'I can do anything if I'm helping someone' thing. If she is, it means that you can too. It's time to test that, hon."

Despite being in the role of Jules in this one, a look of unease crossed Suzy-Q's face.

"She's been unconscious both times before. I still don't know how."

"Yeah," I told her. "But you've got an idea. And like you said, you guys are from my Subconscious; and the Subconscious is a place of ideas. So maybe the idea is all you need."

Her look changed to one of concentration. It reminded me of last night, when I was told I was speaking Italian and I concentrated on speaking English again. This was more intense, like she had known long ago how to speak English and was trying to remember it. I gave her an encouraging hug and took hold of her arms again.

"Helen needed help both times, I needed to help her both times, and you were somehow able to go to her. The only thing that's different now is that she's hopefully still awake. If everything else we know about how it works is right, then it shouldn't matter if she's awake or not. This is how we can help. If I DO have some kind of deep connection with Helen, if helping others is our special talent we get along with this, then you can do it, Suzy-Q. Because we all need you to. And it would help."

She nodded, understanding.

"I'll try. There's something I need first, though."

"What's that?" Sue asked.

Suzy-Q picked up her gun, pointed it at Sue again, and gave her a huge grin.

"I need my wallet. It's the one that says 'Bad Motherfucker.'"

"Suzy-Q," Sue said, trying to do Tim Roth's accent. "Susan says we don't have time to do the bit."

"I know. We're not doing the whole bit. But how much shit have you given me over the years, Sue? When I was still Chad's slave? How many times was my name 'Story of O,' or 'Robert Palmer's Fetish Maid?' How much 'tough talk' have all of us had to listen to? Well, now we're in a scene where, for the sake of the bit, I am REQUIRED to point a gun at you. And that Confidence we get from it? It's making me really fucking enjoy this. It's like when Susan was on the bridge of the Enterprise and just needed a moment to take it all in. I don't know if anything would even happen if I pull this trigger, because Jules never does it in this scene. I am seriously becoming aroused at the notion that it might be an option at this moment, though. Suzy-Ho, if I'm able to do this, I'm going to have a job for you when I get back."

Suzy-Ho did one of those gleeful jumps where she bends her knees in mid-air and lands safely.

"So right now," Suzy-Q continued. "While Chad's Whipping Girl finally has one of these where she gets to point a fucking gun at your fucking face, Sue, I don't care that it's also my own and Susan and Suzy-Ho's; I want you to reach into the bag, pull out my wallet, and hand it to me. Again, it's the Bad Motherfucker one."

The smirk that Sue gave back seemed to have a couple of messages behind it. "You fucking bitch" was the first one, of course. There was also "Hey, I'm kind of curious to see what happens too. Go for it!" But the biggest was "It's about fucking time you stood up to me and did something like this." Sue reached into the bag, pulled out Suzy-Q's Bad Motherfucker, and handed it to her.

"And I'm not fucking giving you my money in this version, either." Suzy-Q said, putting the gun away. She turned to me and kissed me. "Ok, there's something specific to this scene that I actually think might help with this."

Suzy-Q grabbed the MacGuffin Briefcase and turned it to face herself. She turned the dials to 666. She opened the briefcase and looked at the glowing thing inside.

And then she was gone.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Contessa Helena de San Finzione and Mander were low-crawling through the central room of the suite, moving from furniture cover to furniture cover as they tried to reach the stairs up to the Master Bedroom/Panic Room.

As she crawled from the couches over to the bar, she thought she saw someone standing behind the bar. She had no way to turn back, and was reasonably sure the mercenaries hadn't breached the room yet, so it was likely an Ultimado.

When she made her way behind the bar, Suzy-Q was standing there, dressed as Jules Winfield in the final scene of Pulp Fiction. She looked down at Helen.

"Pack of Red Apples?" She asked.

Helen was dumbfounded for a moment, then finally spoke in a whisper.

"I know I'm not unconscious." A smile crossed her face. "Have you figured it out?" She asked a bit more excitedly. That got a shushing from Mander.

"Just cause they can't hear doesn't mean we shouldn't stay quiet, Your Countessness." He whispered.

"I know." Helen whispered. "Suzy-Q's here, though."

A look like he might be thinking Helen was insane crossed Mander's face, before he remembered that this was a thing that they'd all sat around discussing last night.

"She's here?" He asked. "I don't see her. Then, I guess I wouldn't if she's in your head."

"He raises a good point." Suzy-Q replied. "Since I AM in your head, maybe you can just, like, 'think at me,' so we don't have to do that old 'you're the only one who can see or hear me' thing where you're talking to an invisible person."

Helen nodded. And then she thought.

"Like this?" She tried to point the thought in Suzy-Q's direction as best she could.

"Yeah, perfect!" Suzy-Q said. "Ok, now for why I'm here. Susan's figured out something important. She knows where Whyte is, and she knows how he's going to strike."

"He's jamming the phones, so that means they'll be here any second." Helen thought back. "If you're going to tell me, make it quick."

Suzy-Q knelt down onto the floor, to be level with Helen's face.

"I think I know a quick way. This worked with Susan."

She took hold of Helen's face. Helen felt her touch, even though she wasn't really there. Then she felt Suzy-Q's lips press against her own, and her tongue gently request permission to join her own. Helen parted her lips and allowed it inside, her tongue snaking out to meet Suzy-Q's.

In a flash, in an instant, Helen's mind flooded with images and feelings. Images of the fire doors blowing off their hinges and being destroyed, of the sight of them still on the ground the next day, and of some nagging thing in the back of her head bothering her about it. Going to see Ortega, asking to watch the tape. Looking at it and asking the same question about the goons in the stairwells. And then suddenly, the answers that came into Susan's mind entering her own. The whole point of the Triad hit had been to blow those doors off, so the Ultimados would devote more attention to those obvious points of access. That would mean pulling them away from some other area, deemed less important. Helen figured out where that was as the information on where Whyte was hiding entered her mind and made perfect sense.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Mander watched her seem to passionately kiss empty air for a moment, then checked behind them to see where they'd have to break cover to sprint for and up the stairs. After everything else he'd experienced with Contessa Helena de San Finzione, the idea that she'd choose this moment for a snog with The Invisible Woman was absolutely within the realm of possibility.

"Of fucking course!" Helen had to remind herself to whisper when the kiss was done. "Thanks, Suzy-Q. Hey, think there's other stuff you can do? Like, can you go there and see if they're coming in yet?"

Suzy-Q shrugged, looked at the rear wall of the bar, with all the bottles behind it, and stood up. She tried to walk through it. Although she didn't disturb anything on the shelves, she was unable to go through the wall.

"Looks like I don't get to be your Al, Helen. It's probably like how The Thing works," She said. "Where I have to be near you. I'm probably limited to your immediate proximity. But I'm feeling the pull back now. Maybe because I've told you everything I can think to that'll help. Everything except one thing."

Helen looked up at her, knowing what that one thing would be, and saying it in unison with Suzy-Q.

"Don't die."

Knowing what she did now, she rose to her feet and darted up the stairs, shouting to the Ultimados.

"They're coming up over the balcony!"

Mander followed after her.

"That what Suzy-Q told ya?"

"Yeah," Helen said, reaching the top of the stairs. "We took guards off the balcony to watch the fire exits, because we've got the stee..."

Helen didn't get to finish the word before an explosion rent one of the steel shutters over the windows, sending fire, glass, and hunks of metal flying into the suite. Helen and Mander both fired into the cloud of smoke entering the room from the explosion as the shockwave knocked them to the ground, causing Helen to land on her still-bruised thigh; when another shutter exploded. This one was in front of them, between them and the Panic Room.

The Ultimados took positions behind the furniture, guns aimed at the two breached shutters. Helen's hearing was still recovering from the explosions when the lights in the suite went out. Mander picked her up and hoisted Helen onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry, running back down the stairs.

The Ultimados, night-vision goggles active, waited for him to bring her to cover, then turned their attention to the men entering through the breaches.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 24

"I'd like to help you, Tom, in any way I can.
I sure appreciate the way you're working with me.
I'm not a monster, Tom. Well, technically, I am.
I guess I am."
-Jonathan Coulton, "Re: Your Brains"

Leonard Whyte CBE paced around his suite as the sounds of gunfire and explosions thundered from one floor above him; in the La Contessa Suite at the Seattle Hotel de Società Finzione. He wore a blue suit, identical to the one he'd given the vagrant before sending him to his death the night before. This helmet was for his own use, though, and didn't contain an incendiary device like the other one.

There were still ropes hanging from the balcony of the suite above, down onto the balcony of his own suite, from the grappling hooks that the mercenaries had used to climb to the floor above and plant C-4 charges on the steel shutters that protected Contessa Helena de San Finzione from them about a minute ago.

There was a frantic knock at the door. He picked up his pistol from the table. If the Ultimados had won the fight upstairs and figured out where he was this quickly, they'd have kicked it in and chucked grenades, rather than knocked. Leonard looked over at the frightened sign-language interpreter that he'd hired to relay his orders to the men. He pointed the gun at the man.

"Be a good chap and see who's at the door, would you?" Whyte said, cocking the hammer.

Whyte had been terrifying the sign-language interpreter over the past few days with the instructions that he was giving and the fact that Leonard wouldn't allow him to go home. The absolute certainty that, at this point, he "knew too much," and there was no way that Whyte was going to allow him to live after killing this woman, did not help either. Because of this, Whyte added to his instructions.

"Don't just open it, use the peephole. And remember that I have this aimed squarely at your back if you try to make a break for it."

The interpreter gulped and did as he was told, knowing that trying to open the door and flee was probably his one chance at survival; but also that the man who had the mercenaries prevent him from escaping and made his life a nightmare since he accepted the job was completely serious in his threat. He knew now that Whyte would absolutely shoot him in the back if he thought he'd try it.

"It's them." He said, after looking through the hole. "Three of them, anyway."

Whyte looked dumbfounded. He'd been skeptical about their chances of success, but never imagined that any of them would make it back alive. He let out a "Fuck!" under his breath as he realized he'd probably have to pay them now. From his own pocket, no less; since his companies' assets were done for. After he dealt with Miss Parker, he'd have to rebuild his empire on what would be left of his own fortune, so every cent mattered now.

"Well, let them in, I suppose." Leonard said. The men were wearing body armor, but he might still have enough bullets to kill four men, if he could use the lack of hearing of three to his advantage and catch one or two in the back of the head before the others noticed what was happening.

He opened the door. The three men stormed past him into the room. The interpreter realized that they were now between Whyte's gun and himself, and this was his one chance at self-preservation, so he bolted out the door and around the corner while he had the opportunity. The three men continued walking directly toward Leonard Whyte CBE.

"What are you..." Whyte started to ask, before realizing that they couldn't hear him anyway, and seeing the look in their eyes. He aimed for the one in the middle's head and fired, putting a round through it. The man's body dropped to the floor, and the other two continued toward him, seemingly oblivious to the loss of their teammate. Leonard turned to another and was able to shoot both, dropping the second, before the third was upon him, yanking the gun out of the old man's hand.

Whyte's scream changed from coming out the speakers of the helmet to directly from his mouth as the last mercenary pulled it off of his head with the last of his strength before succumbing to his wounds.

"Hi, Leonard." A familiar voice said, from the balcony behind him. He started to turn before the voice added "Don't move." He immediately found himself unable to compel his body to complete the action of turning around and froze in place. Seeing, just out of the corner of his eye, Contessa Helena de San Finzione and Mander standing on the balcony, guns pointed at him.

"Also," She added. "Dun-dun-DAAAAA!!"

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Contessa Helena de San Finzione lit a cigar, then lit Leonard Whyte CBE's cigar. She sat in an easy chair across from the man who'd made her life hell for the past two months, seated on the couch, and looked at him. She'd worn the black leather jacket she'd taken from the Triad goons back in San Finzione, but now paired it with a matching skirt and shoes.

The interpreter had run straight into Dr. Tenente Paul Maisson of La Squadra de Ultimados as soon as he'd made it around the corner. He'd subdued him, and Helen ordered him and Mander to take him up to her suite and give him a drink or something. As soon as Maisson had let him talk and he'd told him that Whyte had been keeping him prisoner, Helen ordered them not to let him leave until she could learn how much he'd been involved; and if he was really being held against his will, what he knew and that she'd allow him to remember.

"Mander had an idea about tracking you down via your interpreter." She told him, taking a puff. "Turns out that there's a lot of them in Seattle, and almost all of them were booked up because of STRANGERS and unreachable. Still, it was a good idea."

Whyte took a sip of the double brandy that she'd allowed him to have. She did the same from her own, feeling a little buzzed at having drunk more alcohol today than she normally did in a week. Everyone else had returned to her suite, leaving Helen and Leonard alone.

"I figured you'd appreciate the misdirect." Helen continued. "With Mander and I using the same ropes your men used to grapple up to my suite to get down to you. Pretty scary from fifty-one floors up, but the Ultimados showed me how to do it back at the warehouse, then it was fun. Like driving a semi for the first time."

Whyte nodded.

"I'm fully aware that I'm not walking out of this suite alive, Contessa. You're going to win whatever happens next, I know. However, while we're finally having this little face-to-face, I hope you'll at least pay me the courtesy of telling me what happened up there."

"Oh, absolutely, Leonard." Helen said with a smile, blowing a smoke ring. "And I'm glad we're on the same page on your Leaving Alive status. But I've wanted to talk to you like this for a while now. We've got all the time in the world. Well, I do, anyway. No reason not to be civil about it. Speaking of, that 'If I die, Contessa Helena de San Finzione killed me with her mind powers' video you left with your solicitor pal in London? Thanks for telling me about that. I mean, I know I made you tell me with my mind powers and all, but still. We have 'cultural attaches' at the London embassy, they'll see to it, possibly him, too."

"Well," He said, smiling back, taking another drink, and dipping the end of his cigar in the brandy. "For what it's worth, I'd planned to skip out on the bill anyway."

They shared a small laugh at that.

"As for what happened upstairs," Helen explained. "The first guys in the windows were wiped out before they even set foot inside. I managed to take control of three of the others. The fourth turned out to be an old friend of Mander's. Recognized him and went "Mander?" He told the Ultimados to hold their fire and went over to talk to him. Mander knows sign language! Who'da thunk, right? So, Mander told him 'Oi, Bluey!' He calls him Bluey. 'Look, whatever this crafty butcher's payin' ya, this bird'll triple it. I know they all say that, but she's a geezerette, she's on the level.' He could've started at double, but Bluey dropped his gun and assumed the position, just like Mander did when we met. They're upstairs having a pint now. He assured me that these guys were rotten tossers, though; and I have learned to trust his judgment on the subject of rotten tossers. Plus, I DID promise you a suicide charge in return. Except this one was just to disarm you and get that helmet off your head if they had to use a blowtorch. So, I guess I HAVE sunk to your level now." She thought for a long puff. "I wouldn't call that a victory if I were you. I've sunk lower, and I will again."

"But how'd you control them?" Whyte asked with a puff of his cigar. "Your power doesn't work on people who can't hear you."

Helen dipped the end of her cigar in the brandy as well and blew another smoke ring.

"Let me tell you something about myself, Leonard. I'm what they call a polyglot. I know, it sounds like the Pokémon that nobody likes. Like you'll go to the toy aisle, and they'll be sold out of Pikachu, and Jigglypuff, and Squirtle; and there'll one sad, lonely little peg of Polyglots on an otherwise empty rack. I'm sorry if that reference is lost on your generation, sir."

"My grandchildren weren't born worthless, Helena. It took them a couple of years to get good and entitled. And even at my age, knowing nothing else about Pokémon, who the fuck doesn't know the Pikachu Monster?"

"Good. I got your Uncle Milty reference this morning; my Real Father educated me in 'the classics,' so I wanted to be sure. No, polyglot is the term for someone who speaks and uses multiple languages. And I love languages, Mr. Whyte. All of them. I've learned every one I've been able to. I mean, I'm the kind of nutty about them that I'll get the mood to sit down and just read a few pages from a Norwegian-to-Inupiaq dictionary like it's a regular book. And I'm reasonably certain that I HAVE that actual dictionary, Leonard. Three shelves in Castle Finzione's library are devoted to translation dictionaries, because reading them like that is literally a thing that I sometimes do for fun! Some people like to do the crossword, this is my thing.

"And I deeply love that the country that it is my privilege to rule had four official languages before I even got there! I am, by no means, a morning person; I'm simply used to being on the schedules of elderly men. So, I DO have a habit of getting up with the sun. My first thought when I wake up in the morning; well, second after 'Holy shit, it wasn't a dream, I really DID fall in love and marry a handsome king who died, and now I have to rule his country' is 'I rule an entire fucking nation of fellow polyglots! I will be employing multiple languages all day today! How fucking cool is that?'"

"About as cool as Mr. Equals' James Bond obsession. But don't let me interrupt you, Helena."

She didn't.

"So yes, all the ways that people on this planet communicate with each other have always fascinated me, and I wanted to learn them all! I wanted to be able to understand anyone and everyone's thoughts and ideas and express my own back to them. Every new one that I've mastered throughout my life has given me a thrill that no lover has ever been able to match. Even Troy and Vincenzo are tied for a close second. You own... well, WILL have owned, a phone company until your shareholders unload their stock on me for pennies on the dollar and I shut it down; or weed out your cronies, wipe your name from everything, make Leonard Whyte CBE and his electronics empire go the way of Betamax and Zune; absorb everything into Società Finzione, and give my nation another new industry to branch into. Still deciding, both ideas have their merits. Oh, I say 'another,' because we're getting a film industry within the next couple months."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Oh, who do you think you're fooling, Helen. We all know that Mr. Equals is going to make you take the 'don't put my half-million legitimate employees out of work' option. Shame I'll never catch one of your pictures." Whyte said, attempting to blow a smoke ring himself, but failing. Helen responded with a perfect ring, followed by a second, bigger one.

"I suppose you're right. But you should know better than anyone, Mr. Telephone Man, that communication, understanding each other, is the key to EVERYTHING! So, I'd like to thank you, Mr. Whyte." Helen said, putting her cigar in the ash tray for a moment and gesturing to go along with the rest of her statement. "For reminding me to brush up on my sign languages."

Whyte laughed out loud at that.

"Of course! Well, you ARE smart, Contessa. I should know, that's what I've been playing off from the beginning. And I can certainly tell what Mr. Equals and your late husband saw in you beyond your appearance."

"Why, thank you, Leonard." She replied with a sincere smile. "And may I say that if you'd been able to contain that Riddler-like need to outsmart your opponents before you take them down, we might've gotten another day or two out of this game. You gave Troy shit for his company's name; but checking in a month ago under the fucking name 'Leonardo Le Blanc?' You are no one to talk, Leonard. It's unhealthy, as I hope you now see. Now, I've got a question for you."

"Well, you ARE compelling me to stay seated in this chair, not make any attempt to escape or harm either of us, and to answer your questions honestly, so I guess I can't really stop you."

She looked him up and down as she took another drink. Her tongue slid between her lips before she reminded herself that she was drunk and here to end his skeevy fucking existence.

"No, you really can't. Crying fucking shame, Leonard. I don't think you get me like Mr. Zevon or Mander, but on some level, we coulda been something. So, my question, then: How the fuck can you know Troy & Julie Equals and NOT know Susan Bailey, the permanent third member of their poly-amorous marriage?"

Whyte seemed puzzled for a moment.

"Who?" Then he remembered. "Oh, right! I came across that name when my people paid off the Equals' garbagemen for their trash. Appears that Mr. Equals is pretty good about shredding anything of use to them, so based on what they put together, we concluded that it was the name that Mrs. Equals orders her sex toys and Star Trek memorabilia from the internet under. Sometimes, one and the same. I already had 'exposing the fact that you and they can control minds' to threaten you three with. I figured 'Gorgeous Artist is Closet Sex Freak and Trekkie' was, yes, a headline that people WOULD click first and the bigger story would lose focus."

Helen smiled as he spoke, which turned into a laugh at the end.

"No, Leonard, first off, there's NOTHING 'closeted' about Julie, and she calls them 'Troys.' Assigns them numbers instead of names. 'Troy 2, Troy 3," and so on. It's cute, but a little nauseating, like they've always been together. It actually goes back to when we were all toddlers and she couldn't say her Rs yet, so 'Troy,' would come out 'Toy.' Second, it's a new millennium, Mr. Whyte, Sir! GIRLS can go into the adult bookstore now. WITHOUT the accompaniment of a male relative of at least 12 years of age." She thought a moment. "That's actually worked out better for everyone; but no, they even let us BUY stuff, too! With OUR OWN MONEY, no less! Why next, us little cupcakes'll be wanting to VOTE!"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"I went to Oxford, Contessa. I wouldn't call them friends, but I've met John Cleese and Stephen Fry. I have been exposed to weapons-grade sarcasm. That's a power of yours that WON'T work on me. But please, do go on."

Helen nodded and took another drink.

"Susan is a real person, a pretty fucking smart one, too. She's the one who really figured out where you were hiding. Bunch of other stuff, too. Thinking about it now, one way or another, I wouldn't be here with you without her. You know, she worked as a waitress in a shitty greasy spoon for eleven years. She's a secretary now, but she's still got some self-esteem issues. Learning mind control's helped with that. Oh yeah, she knows how to do it, too; I can tell you all this about her, because, again, speaking to a dead man. And yet, she still kind of thinks of herself as 'just a waitress.' Susan is certainly far more than that, Mr. Whyte. She's not 'just' anything. However, for our purposes here and now, after all your 'clever' plotting and misdirection? I like the notion of being able to tell you that, in the end, it wasn't me who brought you down; but a diner waitress. A 'Nobody,' because her tax bracket was beneath YOUR notice! Although, she's also one of Troy's clients, so, knowing him and what he's done to your companies today, I imagine you'd notice the soft, voluptuous curves of her bank account now."

Whyte smiled back.

"Well, I know someone who wants to see what's in her billfold." He smoked the cigar a moment before adding "As the Bishop said to the Actress." It got a half-grin from Helen. "I'm never going to meet her, so I guess she still doesn't matter to me." He changed his tone. "Your late husband and I crossed paths a few times over the years, you know. He put a damper on the odd project of mine, like you've been doing recently to everyone who had a stake in business as usual in Uongo; and if there's one thing I can't stand, it's an idealist who's actually capable of accomplishing something. Like him and Mr. Equals. Oh, it's easy to see the similarities between the two of them; why you'd be drawn to both men. I honestly have to say that when you fucked the Count to death, I did one of those fist-pump things." He showed her the move.

"Huh. Vincenzo never told me. Your name never came up. Out of embarrassment, would be my guess." Helen took another puff off her cigar. "Oh, and if that was supposed to get a rise out of me and make me get on to killing you, then you haven't learned a fucking thing about me, Leonard. You're right about not leaving alive, but I haven't really settled on how yet. And after all we've been to each other these past couple months, it'd be a shame to rush this. Matter of fact..."

A thought struck Helen, and she got up and walked over to nearby phone on one of the lamp tables. She opened the drawer, got out a small book with laminated pages, and walked back to her seat. She tossed the book to Leonard. He saw now that it was a menu.

"I know it's late, and we've already had brandy and cigars, but let's make an evening of it. Hell, YOU don't have to be up in the morning. Roomservice is on me. And don't think you're limited to the menu. This is a condemned man's last meal, after all. Whatever you want, Leonard, I will get them to make it."

"It's after midnight, Contessa." He said, setting down his cigar and picking up the menu. "Will the kitchen still be open."

Helen's answer was given not by her voice, but by her look. The look said to him, far more effectively than her mouth or hands could have conveyed, "I am La Fucking Contessa and I own this hotel, Leonard. If they're closed, they'll open it back up for me." It turned into one of her big La Contessa smiles.

"Come on, Leonard. I pick up this phone and say, 'I'm in the mood for something,' and a three-star chef gets paid enough to make it worth his while to drag his ass out of bed and come into work at this hour just to cook it for us. So, what'll ya have?"

* * *

Leonard Whyte CBE ordered a Full English Breakfast. Contessa Helena de San Finzione, being a Tolkien fan because of all the languages, liked the sound of a Hobbit meal after the drinking she'd done this evening, and ordered the same. The server was gone, and they were alone again; Whyte having been commanded not to make any effort to escape, harm himself or anyone else, or do anything to signal Roomservice. She hadn't told him that he couldn't tip, though. So, when he tried to tip the server everything in his wallet, La Contessa told him how naughty it was and told the server to keep the money and remember a big party in the La Contessa suite upstairs where he got it.