Fantasy So Night Follows Day by TMaskedWriter

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Whatever other lying and deceiving I've done, Contessa, I did keep my promise not to cheat until you forced me to." Whyte explained. Helen agreed from the other side of the table.

"That's certainly true. OK, no punishment for trying. You had to try. So, I'd asked the last question, Leonard. It's your turn, now. This is fun."

Whyte thought for a moment as he ate.

"All right, then." He said at last. "I thought I'd figured out a way around your ability, you found a counter for it and proved my theory wrong. If I was wrong about that, then maybe I was wrong about the idea that it can't be transmitted as well, or someone as smart as you could have sorted that problem out by now, too. Oh, I know better than to ask you to show me how you do it, even as a last request. So that re-opens my original question: If she can do all of that, why doesn't Contessa Helena de San Finzione go on television; or, with all those languages at her command, go to the floor of the UN and conquer the world with a few words?"

She took a drink of the black coffee she'd ordered to come off the buzz of the alcohol. She shrugged, indicating that it was a fair question.

"That one's pretty easy, Leonard. Fact, I'll call it a freebie." Helena leaned forward and gave him a smoulderingly sexy look. "Why would I bother conquering something that's already mine?"

Whyte smiled a smile that said that he knew that it might be true, but also that it'd be the best answer he was going to get from her. Helen gave him a smile back that said that he was correct, and that there was no point in pursuing the question any further.

"All right, then. Well, with me out of the picture, your leaving the Auction with Springheel is a fait accompli. We both know what I was going to do with it; kill you, then make more. But what was YOUR interest, Contessa? If you need someone out of the way, you can just walk up and tell them to get out of the way. If you need to know something about your enemies, you just grab one of them and ask. Getting it so that none of your enemies has it makes perfect sense and is the only reason you'd have for wanting it. So, what're your plans once you've got it?"

Helen answered with a smile.

"Well, my maid will kill me if I don't at least let her try it on. After that, though, I intend to destroy it."

"Really?" Whyte replied, shocked. "Granted it was meant for assassination, but there IS more you could do with it. Why, that jumping and rope-shooting thing could be handy in rescue work. And there's so much more! Do you even know what Inertial Dampening is?"

"I know that the right phrase is 'Inertial damping,' and calling it 'dampening' makes you sound like a dork to other dorks, but that's about it. And that's all I care to, Mr. Whyte. The only thing I want to learn about Springheel is that I've melted it into slag and dropped the slag into the sea." She finished her coffee. "And speaking of sleeping with the fishes, we should get on with it, Mr. Whyte."

She walked over to a desk in the room and grabbed a handful of stationary and a choice of pens. Helen removed Whyte's plate and silverware and set the paper in front of him. She returned to the couch and lit a cigarette.

"First thing's first: let's get started on that suicide note. Make it a good one, Leonard. Confess your crimes, admit horrible things, but you know, I'm gonna be reading it after, so make it good. Don't say how you're going to do it, though. I'm still working on that. After what happened to your businesses today, I think the red ink pen would be fitting, but I'll let you make that decision. It's your note, after all. Now, write it. Let's say no more than five pages.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 25

"Did you light the candles? Did you put on 'Kind of Blue?'
Did you use that Ivy League voodoo on him, too?
He thinks he'll be all right, but he doesn't know for sure.
Just like every other unindicted co-conspirator.
Mata Hari had a house in France,
where she worked on all her secret plans.
Men were falling for her, sight unseen.
She was a genius."
-Warren Zevon, "Genius"

"There's another question for you, Contessa." Leonard Whyte CBE said as he composed his suicide note. "Back at the meeting, you mentioned... well, not a name, but a person. Lee knew who it was, and it had the right effect on him. Since I'm about to die, you can tell me now. Who was it? Whose name besides Contessa Helena de San Finzione's own puts the Fear of You into the Crime Lords of Asia?"

"You wouldn't believe it." Helen said, lying on her back on the couch, and smoking while he wrote. "And he's seen as a racist stereotype these days; his name's considered offensive now."

"Oh, come now. You've compelled me to cooperate and answer all your questions, and you seem to have answered most of mine truthfully. Like the interpreter chap who ran out of here, I know too much for you to let me live. You could make me forget it all; but after everything that's happened, I certainly know the choice that I'd make if our situations were reversed. You're killing me before this night is through, we both know that. So, it's definitely not going anywhere. Might as well tell me."

Helen thought for a drag, then decided "All right" and got up, walking over to the table. She bent down and whispered five syllables into Whyte's ear.

Whyte's eyes widened.

"Bullshit!" He said. "He's a fictional character, doesn't exist!"

"And that's what he wants everyone to go right on thinking, Leonard." Helen replied. "He's retired now. Though, from what I'm hearing out of Hong Kong, he's making a brief little comeback to get his house back in order, then he's back to his retreat in the Himalayas. Says the air's cleaner up there, and damn if he isn't right."

"But if he were real, he'd have to be..."

"I DID say I was into older guys. And they don't get much older than him."

"Well, you control minds, so do The Equals and this Bailey woman; why can't he be real, too, I suppose?"

"Reports are already coming in about a wave of 'mysterious deaths amongst rich, powerful, elderly men in Hong Kong.' Lots of exotic insect and animal bites; couple bizarre accidents. I think HE wants to save me a visit, too. Just for different reasons. We..." Helen searched for words. "Go a while in-between seeing each other, Leonard. He's sorta my idea of 'a bad boy.' But when we DO, Leonard..."

"So, that special name he gave you?"

Helen was still lost in the thought she'd trailed away from, realized what Whyte had asked, and sighed dreamily.

"I'm his little Cursed Lotus, yes."

Whyte laughed, then finished his note. Helen took it back to the couch to smoke and read. After a while, she set it down.

"Leonard." Contessa Helena de San Finzione said, reading over Whyte's work. "I must say that this is absolutely fucking beautiful."

"I can't take credit for the whole thing." He replied. "That 'third-rate Steve Jobs' line and some of the other things you kept making me call myself were all you."

"I hope you don't mind; well, actually, I don't care if you mind, but if my Ministry of Science ever develops time travel, I'm going back and giving this to Warren Zevon for lyric ideas. Also telling him not to be afraid of doctors. Definitely fucking him. Do you like Warren Zevon, Leonard? He's sort of a hero of mine. 'Genius' is, like, the best make-out song ever. Hell, if you'd played that song at any point during all of this, my pants might've made their way back to the table."

"I liked Werewolves of London." Whyte replied, a grimace on his face after writing out the five-page note. "Don't know anything else."

The grimace on Helen's face looked even more pained than the one on the face of the man who would die as soon as she got around to it. She fought the urge to slap him, as she wasn't sure if she'd want marks on him yet.

"And there went my last shred of sympathy for you. My Athiesmo, Leonard! The man came and went WITHIN your lifetime! You could have seen him play live! I don't know that he ever toured Yorkshire, but he HAD to have made it to London, at least. Definitely worth a fuckin' train ticket! Here." She grabbed the remote and turned the tv to the music channels. "Just because I'm about to end you, doesn't mean you can't get some fucking culture beforehand." She switched to the La Contessa's Favorites menu. "The hotel's music channels have two entire pages of Warren Zevon stations, each playing one of his albums on a loop, staggered every 15 minutes, so you can always find just the right Warren Zevon album or song to suit your current mood. Guess whose idea that was."

She selected through them.

"Now, which one's about to cycle around to track one? Ah, perfect!" She went down to one of the "Life'll Kill Ya," stations and selected it. The opening guitar and harmonica of "I Was in the House When the House Burned Down" came out of the TV.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Two's the title track." Helen explained, getting up and circling Leonard and the table, appraising him the way she did the reporters she'd been dressing at the mall earlier. "We don't have time to enroll you in a proper instructional course on Warren, but this album marks the beginning of the end for him; a year before the cancer diagnosis, he'd live less than three years more after this album. But he's getting sicker, feeling the darkness creeping in. I think it fits here. We won't listen to the whole album. I'm making the call now that I'll have finished orchestrating and carrying out your execution before, or possibly during, 'My Shit's Fucked Up.' That's track nine; little time, but not much. So, let's get started.

* * *

Leonard Whyte CBE lay on the bed, his gun in his mouth, his finger on the trigger, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he awaited the command to pull it, which he knew he would instantly obey. Contessa Helena de San Finzione looked over the scene.

His eyes followed her around the room. Begging and tears were never going to be on the agenda when this time came, for either of them. Looking one another in the eye at the end had never been in question, either.

She stood back from the bed a bit, raising her forefingers, and bridging her thumbs; looking at Whyte on the bed like she was trying to picture it on a screen.

"Over too quick." She said at last. "Let's try something else.

* * *

Leonard Whyte CBE was in the kitchen of his suite, kneeling on the linoleum. His head was inside the oven. Contessa Helena de San Finzione sang along with track two of the album as she looked over the scene.

"Nah," She said, after a little thinking. "Too old-fashioned. You're a more modern guy than that, Leonard."

"Plus. I'm pretty sure this stove's electric." Whyte said from inside. Helen had ordered him to cooperate fully with her on this project, so he was unable to stop her or attempt to escape in any way. What he'd done to the interpreter all week with a gun, she accomplished in seconds with a few words.

"Is it?" Helen said with a delighted giggle. "You're not going to believe this, Leonard, but I don't know a single fucking thing about cooking, and I have tried to learn. It's normally a little bit of a sore point with me, but right here and now, with you and me? Well, if you can't laugh at yourself. Ok, let's try something else."

* * *

Leonard Whyte CBE lay in a hot bath, still in his business suit, though his jacket had been removed. Steam filled the room, temporarily obscuring the face of Contessa Helena de San Finzione, who watched as he held the razor blade over his wrists.

"Too Godfather 2." Helen concluded.

* * *

Leonard Whyte CBE stood on a chair. A noose hung from the ceiling fan was around his neck. He was now in a dripping undershirt, soaked boxers around his ankles. He held his erection in his hand. Helen circled him, smoking.

"Too funny! I want people to FORGET you, Leonard. Nobody'll forget this! Also, since I know this is one of those things guys need to know?" She looked his semi-naked old body up and down with a long drag of her cigarette. "Yeah, OK, but I'd go in knowing you're no Troilus Equals and not expecting a lot."

"Well, you've already fucked one old man to death, Helena." Whyte said with a smile. "Think you can pull it off a second time? Know what you're doing now?"

An angry look came across her face.

"That's a very mean, hurtful thing to say, Leonard! Why I oughta just kick this chair right out from..." She paused and started laughing, as if she'd just understood a joke that took her a few moments. "Oh... that's what you WANT me to do! To put an end to the terror and humiliation, right? I get it. Ok, let's get you down from there and let you dry off and change. Don't want fuckin' pneumonia getting ya while I'm deciding."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Leonard Whyte CBE leaned against the railing of the balcony of his suite, dried off and wearing a new, black suit. Yesterday's rains were gone, and the sun was about to rise in the distance off the balcony. Zevon's cover of "Back in the High Life Again" came from the TV inside the suite.

"You know something, Leonard? The last time I stayed up all night with a man your age, I ended up marrying him." Contessa Helena de San Finzione said, pacing back and forth in front of him. "It's almost been as much fun as that night, but I'm running out of ideas. I guess we don't really NEED the note. Even if I didn't have diplomatic immunity, the consul successfully argued that the hotel is San Finzione territory. I COULD just fucking flay you alive in the middle of the hotel ballroom and hire Morgan Freeman to narrate the whole thing as I go, while a full orchestra plays 'I've Got You Under My Skin.' I could put ads for it on TV, for every sick motherfucker who'd get off on watching me do it to come this Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY! And nobody'd be able to do a fucking thing to stop me, but that note's so damn good! It seems a shame not to use it."

"Would it help at this point, Helen," Whyte asked. "If I said that I was sorry?"

Helen stopped and thought about it for a moment. Then she smiled.

"You know, Leonard? It just might. I mean, that IS one of the big problems with the world: nobody apologizes for anything anymore. They excuse, they justify, but nobody ever just admits a mistake and says they're sorry. And what kind of bitch would I be to turn my nose up at it? Forgiveness is such a rare commodity these days. Hell, I had a conversation with someone about it last night after the warehouse. And Troy has a saying about not punishing efforts to be nice, you know." She looked him up and down in his suit. "And I can think of a few ways you could still show ME how sorry you are, Leonard. Of course, I'm not the only one you'd need to apologize to."

"Ah, yes. Mr. & Mrs. Equals too, of course. Certainly."

"Them, for one." She told him, walking up to the man. "A nice card and a half-dozen donuts would go over well there. They like blueberry cake and the chocolate-covered old-fashioned. You're forgetting Susan again, though. For Susan, I'd say 'just the card.'"

"Untouchable, like Mr. Equals, huh? 'Thought that counts' and all that? Ok. And I'm sure your..." Whyte had to stop himself from making it an insult. "...Eastender would appreciate something for all his trouble, too."

"Five-thousand-dollar gift card for a home improvement store should cover him. Or just five-thousand dollars; whichever's easier. But again, there's still other people you need to apologize to first, Leonard."

Whyte nodded. She leaned in close.

"Of course, Contessa. Who else?"

Contessa Helena de San Finzione reached into the pocket of her jacket and grabbed the balisong knife she'd taken from one of the thugs back in San Finzione. She let out a soft, hot breath on Leonard Whyte's neck before thrusting it up between his ribs and into his heart.

"You need to go apologize..." She whispered to him. "To Raymond Chen."

Whyte let out a noise that was too high-pitched and weak to be called a squeal. Helena stabbed him again.

"And Helmet Guy!"

She pulled out the knife and thrust it into him repeatedly, shouting each word and punctuating them with another thrust, another twist, and another withdrawal.

"AND MORGAN! AND ALL! THE OTHER! PEOPLE! I KNOW! I'M MISSING!!"

With his life flowing down his legs and into his shoes, Leonard Whyte CBE stood helpless as Contessa Helena de San Finzione took a step back, dropped the knife, flattened her right palm, and bent her fingers. She took a step forward and put all her weight behind it as she rammed her palm into Leonard Whyte's chin. The force carried him over the railing, and he managed to let out a scream on the 50-story fall that took him through Seattle airspace and onto the pavement that was technically San Finzione territory below.

Helen picked up the knife and pocketed it as her phone indicated an incoming email.

She opened it and looked. She looked over the railing at the pool of Leonard fifty stories below.

"Hey, Leonard. They're announcing the Auction now! You got your..." She looked over and saw his phone back on the dining room table inside. She went and grabbed it, came back to the railing, and dropped it down to him on the pavement below. "Wouldn't want ya missing it on my account." She checked her own, got the time and location for the next evening, RSVPed, and put her phone away.

As the track changed in the suite, Helen lit another cigarette, reflecting that there was probably a lot of useful shit that could have been gotten off that phone. Then she remembered that it was still on San Finzione soil; and stuff like putting it back together was the sort of thing she had a Ministry of Science for. She walked out of the suite, past the bathwater from the bath they'd never turned off now flowing out into the hall, singing along with the song playing.

"Well, I went to the doctor. I said 'I'm feelin' kinda rough.' 'Lemme break it to ya, son: Your shit's fucked up."

She then remembered that she owned the hotel and would ultimately be the one paying for the water damage, went back, and turned off the bathtub. She picked up the tune from there and walked out again.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Helen learned from Whyte's interpreter that he really had been a prisoner and told her everything he knew. She replaced his memories, so that Whyte had just turned out to be a huge jerk who'd had him doing boring STRANGERS work and had paid him in full. He wouldn't remember why he'd be so pleased, but when he heard the dirt bag had offed himself the next day, he may have made a tiny fist-pump.

Talking to the Seattle PD after someone had jumped out of her hotel was unavoidable. And preferable to another war between San Finzione and the City of Seattle over whether or not enough bits of Leonard Whyte CBE had landed outside San Finzione territory to warrant a murder investigation on various patches of the street and sidewalk. Alternately, La Contessa could answer a couple of questions, they could tick the "suicide" boxes on the forms and everyone could go home. Helen agreed to that one.

No, she didn't know this man, or even that he'd been staying at her hotel. Just ignore the blood on her clothes, that time of the month, you know. Best to leave it out of the reports and forget about it. Lenny Something? She'd been relaxing with some friends after a long day out on the town, up in her own suite; and no, the security officer couldn't go up there and speak to any of her guests, they all have diplomatic immunity as well and won't talk to them; but this man certainly wasn't there. Wait, Leonard Whyte? The phone guy? She'd heard something bad happened to him earlier, but she'd been out shopping with her girlfriends all day, and then gone out to the clubs. Really? His phone landed ON TOP of his body, so it must have gone over the side AFTER? Huh! Well, it was one of his models, right? She wouldn't know anything about that; La Contessa was an admitted "Apple Whore." Oh yeah, I DO remember you from outside the phone store, Lieutenant. How's your new iPhone working out? And yes, if anyone needed to verify her whereabouts for the day, they could just turn on the news and get the story from any of the thirty reporters who'd been covering her every move. They'd said they were ok with that and left.

Bluey and Mander were continuing to talk and drink. Helen silently chided herself for never even thinking to ask if Mander knew sign language. The Ultimados were taking care of the bodies, they'd have them disposed of before the repair crews arrived in a few hours.

With everything taken care of here, Contessa Helena de San Finzione told Mander where she'd be, called for the elevator, and went to the parking garage. Scappa pulled up in a beat-up 1978 station wagon. She opened the door and got into the middle of the back seat.

"Take me home." She told him, lighting a cigarette. He looked confused. "The local one."

The driver nodded and left the hotel. He got on I-5, and headed south, toward the SeaTac Mall Exit, to Federal Way.

He pulled onto the street where the Equals House and the Green House were located, and pulled into the Equals' driveway, knowing that theirs would be the one that La Contessa would call "home."

* * *

Troy and Julie Equals and Susan Bailey were asleep on the Equals' bed. They'd waited up as long as they could for Helen before retreating to the bedroom and calling it a night. The three of them were naked, in the position which they often tended to fall asleep together: Julie in Troy's arms, and Susan spooning up to him with her arm dbangd over him, so she and Julie could touch and hold hands as easily as she and Troy could.

A little green light flashed on Troy's nightstand. It wasn't bright enough to wake any of them, it just indicated that the front door had been opened. Since whomever had opened the door then closed and locked it, another indicated that the correct alarm code was entered, the lights changed to let the three unconscious people on the bed know that there was no further disturbance, and then turned off. The fact that none of the three people had stirred to acknowledge the messages was of no consequence to the lights; they'd held up their end of the agreement.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione quietly stepped into the bedroom. A life of crime had taught her how to move silently through a house with sleeping occupants and potential valuables in multiple locations. She'd been putting those skills to good use entering the house thus far, but there was one of the sleeping people whom she'd never been able to really sneak up on, and he sensed her presence and opened his eyes slightly to see her standing at the foot of the bed, looking at the three of them.

Troy gave her a smile that said, without speaking to wake the others up, "Hey, Girl." She gave him a "Hey, Boy" smile back and began undressing. Troy realized that although he, Julie, and Helen had been naked together a good portion of their lives, that Susan wasn't really "that good" with Helen yet, and reached for a blanket to cover her. His movement caused the other two to stir.

Julie saw Helen undressing. She gave her a "Hey. Girl" smile. Helen returned it with a "Hey, Also Girl" one as she began to remove her bra. Julie gave her another that seemed to ask "You get your thing taken care of, and now you need some Troy?" Helen nodded, and Julie broke contact with Troy, making room for her between them.

Susan saw Helen naked. She hadn't bothered replacing the panties she gave to the bartender earlier in the night. She had a moment of concern and started to reach for a blanket as well, but remembered that Helen and Suzy-Q had already seen each other naked. So, between Susan having all of Suzy-Q's memories and experiences and all of the Suzy Crew's exact resemblance to Susan, they'd already seen everything. So, she relaxed and changed it to a "Hey, Girl" look like the others. Helen met it with a "Hey, Other Girl" look, and crawled in-between Troy and Julie.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She assumed Julie's usual position, snuggling Troy. Julie spooned up beside her, the same way Susan had on the other side of Troy. Helen placed her left hand on Troy's side. Julie's left hand trailed down Helen's arm and rested on top of hers. Troy brought his right hand down to hold Julie's hand on top of Helen's. Susan's right arm then dbangd over Troy's to rest on his hand.

Their family back together, the four of them closed their eyes and went to sleep.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 26

By T. Masked Writer with Special Guest Author Susan Bailey.

*****

"Leroy says there's something you should know:
Not everybody has a place to go.
And home is just a place to hang your head.
And dream of things to do in Denver when you're dead."
-Warren Zevon, "Things to do in Denver When You're Dead"

Morning, Susan here. Well, afternoon. We all stayed up late, and Helen didn't get in until 7 AM-ish. We settled for a late bacon, eggs, & what was going to be toast before an Ultimado ran a plate of croissants out of the oven across the street to us for breakfast. Helen settled for two of the croissants. She also sent Velasquez to bring her some clean clothes and take care of the outfit she'd been wearing when she came home. (I didn't notice it in the dark, but apparently, "Why did you come home with blood that's almost certainly Leonard Whyte's on your clothes" is another "Question We Don't Ask Helen.")

"Sorry," She told us, accepting the coffee with hazelnut creamer to go with them. "I ordered room service after you guys left. Sorta did breakfast early this morning." I didn't have much either, leaving the two of us alone at the table, looking through the breakfast nook with the television off to one side, while Julie and Troy took care of dishes.

Julie started handing the breakfast dishes to Troy after passing them under the sink, and he'd check them to see if they needed extra work to get stuff off, or if they were dishwasher-ready. Rejects would be set on the prep table for further scrubbing afterward, and the others got efficiently loaded into the dishwasher. Troy extended his left hand, reaching past his field of vision to grab the dish that Julie had been holding just outside her own. It reminded me of the dishwashers at the diner, when we got some who'd stick around long enough to build up any kind of rapport, doing moves like that.

I think that's why I like watching Troy and Julie do kitchen stuff together. (Apart from the fact that it means that it's not my day to do it.) Because watching them set the table for dinner was the first thing I ever saw the two of them do as a couple. After the thought "robots" left my head, the one after it was "This is what two people who know and trust each other completely look like when they're working on a problem together."

Helen was still sipping her coffee, too. She'd also been watching them. And from the look on her face, thinking about them; like I'd just been, and imagine the same look was on my face. It seemed like she wanted to share her thought, so I let her.

"Do you know how I know that 'evil mind controller' Troy's always worrying about isn't out there, Susan?"

I did not. And if she had an answer, I certainly wanted to hear it.

"No, I don't. How?"

We sipped our coffee together. Helen took a drag of her cigarette. By now, it was just something that's a part of Helen. She used it to gesture subtly into the kitchen.

"Look at who found it. An artist and a mathematician; emotion and reason working in perfect harmony, love, and trust. No egos, no ulterior motives; no agenda other than 'I really wanna learn how to do this cool thing with my best friend and fellow oblivious soulmate.'"

Julie gave no response to that. She was at the sink, and it was running.

"Fucker like Whyte couldn't have found it." I agreed.

"No, or he would have. So would a couple dozen pricks who thought 'those other guys who've tried to take La Contessa down just weren't man enough, unlike me.' But nope, two kids, obsessively reading library books, comics, and books they ordered from ads inside those comics, figured it out."

Troy closed the dishwasher. He spun around to kiss Julie. She turned and kissed him, then grabbed the "need a little more" stack off the table while he started the washer. She then stepped to the left sink, and Troy slid into her former position on the right side to help with those.

"And that," Helen said, pointing with the cigarette again. "Is how I know that 'evil mind controller who might be out there' isn't. As for Troy's Men in Black/Area 51 thing, I know that's bullshit, because I've asked the right people, and I've been there."

My eyes widened. I'm sure all the ladies in my head's eyes widened too.

"What's in Area 51?" I asked. I was, after all, cleared to know this stuff now. At least in San Finzione. "I'll go live in San Finzione to know this!"

Helen leaned in closer.

"Nothing. It's a diversion. The good stuff's all hidden around Areas 1-50. But nobody even asks about them, because they're all too busy staring at 51 and waiting for the next laser show."

I smiled. She gave me one of those "Am I joking? Best answer you're getting, anyway." looks. I accepted it.

"All right, then. Well, when's the Auction?"

"Midnight." She replied. "We got the time and town to be in, We'll get the actual location two hours prior. Enough time for everyone to make sure we're not being followed and get there. There's usually a little cocktail thing before we get down to business; let the ones who 'need to' be fashionably late."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Ok." I took a drink before my next question. "So, how're you taking THEM down?"

"I'm not, Susan." Came the last reply I was expecting. She saw the expression on my face and continued. "The Auctioneers have been around for quite a while, Susan. Where do you think the movies got the 'I'll sell it on the black market, to the highest bidder' idea from in the first place? They're not something you 'shut down.' This isn't even the fifth or sixth group to call themselves The Auctioneers. There's too much money to be made for someone not to keep it going. If this group goes down, a new group of Auctioneers forms the next day. It might take them a while to build up the old group's contacts and connections; and who knows if they'll be better or worse than the last one? If they'll start inviting people who absolutely shouldn't get hold of this shit or who were taken off the last group's list for a good reason. The current group are good about not letting their items fall into STUPID hands, who'll use it without a single fucking thought in their heads; then blab about them when they get caught. That's why none of the 'superpowers' are on the mailing list. What if the fuckhead you've got in there right now got hold of Springheel? Do you think he'd use it wisely, or would anyone who calls him a not-nice name in the press start meeting with strange accidents until he can't resist tweeting the whole world about it? No, the best thing I can do, Susan, is keep myself on the list; in case something like Springheel comes up, so I can make sure nobody else gets it."

I gave her a smirk on that one.

"Channeling evil into good DOES appear to be the San Finzione Way, but I've been in your head, Helen." I told her. "Well, Suzy-Q has, and she can't lie or help telling me everything. She briefed me when she got back last night; you've seen how that works now."

Helen nodded. It seems she didn't get the full experience that I get from what I'm calling 'Suzy-Q's little memory upload kisses.' (I may come up with a shorter name later.) Suzy-Q IS me experiencing those things, and that would explain why it takes me a while to sort things out after she shares them with me; like whether I had sex with Helen or Suzy-Q did. I mean, it was her idea, and technically, she WOULD make the same choices that I would in any given situation. It was more than I wanted to consider right after breakfast, when I still had a point to make to Helen.

"The point, Helen, is that I know why you really want Springheel. Because the first time you watched the video, you thought 'This is the instrument of my death. This is how someone finally gets to me,' And it's haunted you ever since. So, as soon as you've gotten hold of this thing and destroyed it, that's when you'll be able to relax. Like Julie's said she wish you would and all of us are thinking."

We looked over at the TV, which was on mute. By afternoon, the news was growing tired of showing us digitized-out pictures of Helen's pussy and had moved on to other stories, like the suicide of tech mogul Leonard Whyte CBE early this morning after losing everything in the stock market yesterday. I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV and the black & white photo of Leonard Whyte's face on a black background, with his birth and death dates in big red numbers.

I patted Helen's hand and left mine there. She didn't stop me.

"And speaking of things everyone's thinking, Helen? I learned about the other thing too. Suzy-Q didn't tell me; we stayed up late waiting to hear if you'd be ok, holding each other, and talking. It wasn't until Ortega told us that everything was under control that we were all able to relax and get some sleep. So, of course, you were the main subject of conversation, Helen; you wanting Troy's baby and him wanting my thoughts on the matter before making a decision came up eventually."

Helen's eyes widened as she sipped her coffee and barely managed to avoid a spit-take or choking on it. It must be that "never let them see you sweat" thing that people like her have to develop.

"You guys have made this weirdly easy for me." Helen replied, once she'd fully recovered.

"You've got enough problems." I told her. "None of us want to add to them. So, I'll tell you what I told them: That I don't know if I'll want kids or not. Up until a year ago, I figured that it was something I wouldn't even have a say in; having all of it is still sort of new to me. However, if I ever do, there's no one I'd rather have them call Daddy than Troy. We seem to go back and forth on things we can't blame each other for. And there are no other kids besides his and Julie's whom I'd want more for them to call brother or sister. Thinking about it, though, his and yours would be just as cool."

She was overjoyed. It turned into a kiss. Her joy fueled mine, until the kiss became a real one. The one she knew exactly how to kiss, either from Suzy-Q, or the man I'd learned it from. It didn't matter. It was too fucking hot. It made Suzy-Ho beg me to invite her up to see my room. I ended it moments before I would have agreed and relaxed back in my head and let Suzy-Ho make the offer.

Both of our first reaction was to look over at Troy and Julie at the sink. If they'd noticed us, then their not noticing us now was deliberate. It seemed genuine enough.

I looked back at Helen. Her eyes seemed like they didn't know whether she should apologize or not. People live or die based upon this woman's decision-making skills, and she was using all of them to determine whether or not she'd "gone too far, just like Helen Parker always does."

I took the hand I'd been patting, picked it up, and held it in my other hand, so it was gently pressed between both.

"Not just yet, Helen." I whispered to her. "Those odds of 'love' becoming an acceptable word between us aren't as long as they were when you made that video; and I can feel them decreasing all the time; I'm just not there yet. There are things to consider like, do I want it to be just us that first time, or..." I nudged my head toward Troy & Julie, wrapping up in the kitchen. "As a family, since that's bound to happen eventually, too; or how? I know I'll be cool with the idea soon, let's at least get this Springheel thing off your head first." I thought a moment. "Plus, Denise wanted to know if she could come meet you yet, and she's still in high school, so there's a 'none of that when Denise is around' rule. That thing OR That Thing."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She nodded her understanding. I nodded back to let her know that this part of the discussion was just on hold for now. I had something else to tell her.

"About that first night, I called you." I said, looking down. "There was something..."

Helen patted my hand now.

"Suzy-Q explained about Propappou's jacket in that last kiss. I know you didn't mean anything by it. And you've forgiven me for so much fucking shit, how can I not?"

We hugged over that. This time, I saw Troy & Julie looking, then pretend they weren't and start to head into the living room.

We picked up our coffees and followed them.

"Well," Helen said, entering the room. "Equalses and Baileys. It looks like I'm suddenly free until tonight, and we already did the 'wreck up Seattle' thing yesterday. I heard Denise wants to stop by, I'd like to meet her, too. Anyone wanna do anything until then?"

* * *

At a Seattle area weekly publication, at the desk of one of the photographers, something was happening. He'd been covering the crowds outside the phone store when La Contessa and her own group arrived. There'd been something in his own photos that he hadn't noticed; or rather, it was a thing in his own photos that he hadn't thought at all unusual until he noticed it missing from the others' photos of their day with La Contessa.

"The other women." He thought. "The ones with the shoes. The taller one had red, strappy heels on." He compared them with the feet waiting in the back of La Contessa's limo in front of the club the night before. Different shoes, but two other women with her again. "They'd just been shopping all day, so of course they'd change shoes and outfits for clubbing; still in all likelihood, the same two who'd been with La Contessa all afternoon.

He looked at the red heels again. They were sticking in his memory for a reason. After a few moments' thought, he got up and walked over to his co-worker's desk.

"Hey," He signed to the writer. "The art show in Spokane we covered a couple months ago; you have that stuff handy?" The writer nodded back that he did and handed him a binder. The photographer signed his thanks and returned to his own photos.

With the memory of "Spokane," it didn't take him long to remember exactly where he'd seen those red, strappy heels: on feet at the bottom of legs that disappeared into a form-fitting knee-length red dress that surrounded an amazing hourglass figure. And atop that figure, a bright, expressive face, surrounded by a mane of hair that couldn't decide if it was dishwater or buttery blonde.

He looked at the pictures he'd taken of the exhibit, and why he'd remembered those heels fell into place: Because the beauty of both the artist and her work had been memorable. He'd admired her expressions of the world around her. Everything was beautiful in her eyes, all the world. And the artist gave that beautiful vision back to the world on her canvasses.

The shoes stood out to him, because the artist herself had stood out to him. Oh, a sexy woman, absolutely; great ass, amazing tits, all that. But that wasn't what made him remember the entire woman based on the shoes she'd worn to an art showing two months ago. It had been that THE ARTIST had been such a work of art herself. As much a part of her showing as anything on the walls. Not just a pretty woman, but a person so completely sincere and honest with both her facial expressions and her brushstrokes that you could see it in Julie Equals' eyes; that was the name of the artist, he remembered now. You could see in her eyes, the beautiful place from which her vision stemmed. She'd moved him as much as her paintings had. He couldn't hear her voice, but he imagined that it was as beautiful as everything else about Mrs. Equals; of course, a woman like her would be married, and her works both were. She'd been a radiant woman, whom people gravitated toward, and the photos showed it.

He looked at the artist's biography and read the first sentence.

"Julie Equals and her husband, Troy, consider themselves fortunate to have been born best friends and next-door neighbors, a week apart, in Anchorage, Alaska. They reside in Federal Way, Washington, where Mr. Equals is..."

Yeah, that's how he remembered she was married; how do you not lead with a love story like that? "Anchorage, Alaska" floated through his head for a moment. It looked for something else to connect with in yesterday's photos.

He went to his computer and brought up the Wikipedia page for Contessa Helena de San Finzione, looking for her place of birth.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Susan here. We were gathered around the living room table. Troy had dragged out a board game, and the drinks had switched from coffee to hot cocoa. I've noticed a distinct "hot beverages preferred" theme with Helen, and that they vary with her mood. Cocoa, I've observed, is the most positive one so far. I'm told it was what Propappou always made for her.

"So, I have two questions I have to ask, Helen." I had to ask Helen. "The question that Rita answered that tipped me off to her. I have to know what your answer would have been: Why wasn't America invited to STRANGERS?"

Helen took a sip of her cocoa and looked me in the eyes.

"We tried to make the President a special invitation that would explain all the issues to him in a way he'd understand, but then, SOMEONE broke the crayon."

When we all stopped laughing, I asked my second question.

"The Bank Robbery Quiz: What was your answer to the 'Why don't we do it' question?"

"Helen cocked her head and smiled.

"I never answered that question. When he asked how I'd do it, I just stood up, said 'Why the fuck would I tell you my plan, Troy? You'll just try to stop me.' and ran into the bank. I was already in the vault when Troy caught up with me. After I made up for the assignment, we came out and spent a whole ten minutes talking to the manager and the cops clearing it up. By then, most of the cops in Anchorage were like 'Yeah, that's The Parker Girl, this kinda thing happens,' anyway."

Everyone who wasn't Troy laughed at that. Then he joined us.

From across the street, we heard My Generation start booming from the speakers and all concluded that Mander must have made it back. Helen had said that she didn't have much for him to do now until the Auction, so he had some free time, and had been catching up with some guy named Bluey back at the hotel.

"Bluey's agreed to stay as Your Countessness' prisoner at the 'otel." Mander told us when he stopped by. "Told 'im it'd show good behavior if 'e 'elped maintain the illusion 'at Your Countessness is still occupyin' the suite insteada bein' 'ere. Orderin' room service, gettin' some pay-per-view, chargin' a couple things to the room. Ya know, makin' it look like someone who don't care 'bout money's really stayin' there."

"Top notch service, Alfred." Helen said with a grin. She turned and whispered to me. "And yes, I'm aware that he's up to something when he turns up the Cockney."

"Who's Bluey?" Troy asked.

Helen looked down her nose at Mander and replied in the tone of a 19th century Victorian landlord introducing the thugs he's brought along to help collect the old widows' rent.

"Another reliable gentleman such as himself." She dropped the accent. "Whose taste in porn I'll trust won't be too weird when I get my bill."

"Oh, don't worry about that." Julie said with a smile. "Wait til you see some of the freaky shit you ordered while you were in the bathroom a couple of times."

I smiled at that. Helen tends to pick the porn that her hotels air, too. Another of La Contessa's personal touches.

Troy had still been setting up the game and was asking Mander if he wanted in when there was a commotion outside. Mander took point as we all made for the front door, his hand on the gun at his side.

Out on the street, which was more visible now that most of the Ultimados' vehicles had been put into storage until Troy could find some local charities that could use them; four Ultimados dressed in ripped jeans and plaid flannel shirts were accosting a man who'd just gotten out of his car in front of our house. (The Ultimados were better dressed for Seattle today, because Julie and I took the opportunity while shopping yesterday to pick up a few less-conspicuous outfits for some of them. We'd distracted our nerves while awaiting word on Helen from the command center last night by giving some of the ones not busy taking orders from Ortega some 'How to Blend into the Crowd in the Northwest' fashion tips.)

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Helen shouted "Stop!" at the Ultimados as a command, when one pulled a camera and notepad from the man's pockets. Julie and I weren't sure why it became urgent at that point, but Troy seemed to know. I tried to remember to ask why later. They froze in place, and the man looked at them curiously, but retrieved his notebook and camera from one of them and started walking toward Helen. They looked stunned at the man who continued slowly, non-threateningly, walking toward her. Helen told the Ultimados to move, but let the man be.

"Contessa Helena de San Finzione?" He signed, once his possessions were returned to his pockets and his hands were free.

Helen nodded.

"I'm Tom Arnette with the Seattle Acquaintencer. Is this not the home of the artist Julie Equals?"

"Yes, it is, Tom." Helen signed back. "While you still remember that, how did you find me here?" A moment later, she signed "Forget I said that. How did you find me here?"

"I recognized Mrs. Equals from the shoes she wore to an art showing a couple months ago."

Helen swore under her breath. As we'd talked since, I'd found out that the "shoe plan" had been something she and Julie had cooked up during one of their "post-coital and still high-on-whatever" conversations during their Party Girl days, about how if one of them married someone rich and famous; for money or something, the two of them would still carry on behind that person's back. They hadn't discussed it much since then, especially since by the time it was actually needed, the one who was famous was a widow, and the other's husband was someone they both dearly loved, who positively encouraged, and played an active role in, their relationship. It apparently didn't cover the other of them also achieving some modest level of fame, and someone connecting the two of them that way.

"Who else did you tell you were coming here?" Helen signed to him.

"A couple guys back at the magazine." Tom signed back. Helen turned her head down Troy & Julie's street, and saw two news vans coming their way.

"Nessuna sparatoria!" Helen shouted to the Ultimados, running for Troy & Julie's door and ushering everyone inside. Tom started to follow them. Helen turned and signed "Not you, you stay out here" to Tom as she did.

"Helen?" Troy asked, as soon as we were all inside. "Why did you just tell the Ultimados 'No shooting?'"

"Because the day you've always feared so much that it's made me fear it too, has come, Troy. The media is here. My world IS about to come crashing down on your doorstep!"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 27

By T. MaskedWriter with special guest author Susan Bailey

"Abandon all hope, and don't rock the boat
and we'll all make a few hundred grand.
Everybody's tryin' a be a friend of mine.
Even a dog can shake hands.
You'll be making the scene, till they pick your bones clean.
No, they don't leave much for the fans.
Everybody's tryin' a be a friend of mine.
Even a dog can shake hands."
-Warren Zevon, "Even A Dog Can Shake Hands"

***

A note from T. MaskedWriter before we begin: As this story winds down, I'd like to say a word about feedback. I appreciate it. Even if you're telling me I suck, there might be something beyond awareness of my general suckiness to take away from it. It turns out that Comments Sections are for more than racism and political arguments. I know, I was shocked, too!

But seriously, on one of the sites that lets the writers see the numbers, my last short story got, as of this time, 5,417 views, 17 ratings, 2 favorites, and no comments. What this tells me as a writer: 5,375 people clicked on that last story (I figure 27 of those views have to have been me.), and of them, seventeen people had an opinion either way; two of whose were high enough to merit extra-special thanks, but none of which were strong enough to actually say anything about.

So yes, I'm aware that asking the internet for opinions is like standing naked and blindfolded with your hands tied behind your back, your dick dangling over a bear trap, and a box that says "Free Long Sticks" next to you. However, I'm trying to think what to do next after this story ends, so I'm open to ideas. A few things from comments have made it into the stories, too. Give it a try. I might be one of those cool people, I don't know.

But I'm interrupting Susan now. Thanks for listening.

* * *

Hi, Susan here. Troy Equals stood in silence, taking in the words that Contessa Helena de San Finzione had told him. That the woman who'd defeated African warlords, military coups, assassins immune to the secret power that she wielded, and the very Phone Company itself; had brought to our home something that even though she knew how to game, she was ultimately powerless to stop, and which he lived in fear of: The Media.

A few seconds passed. Then he walked to the closet, grabbed a handful of folded cardboard boxes, and went into the kitchen, all of us following him and asking what he was doing. Troy didn't say a word as he got a roll of tape and a pair of scissors from it. He walked toward their bedroom, dropping a couple of the boxes along the way. The questions continued until he sat on the corner of his and Julie's bed, over by the display of little best-friend gifts he and Julie had given each other over the years and started taping up the bottom of one of the boxes.

"Get the pictures in the living room and hall, Mistress. I'll secure these, then get to shredding everything in my office. Susan, you should take a couple up to your room and start packing too, I'll be up to help in a bit. I'll wipe the hard drives, all my business data's backed-up off-site, nobody's going to lose their money, I'll send a mass email to all my clients once we're on the way to San Finzione and I can set up shop again there. Looks like you're finally getting your wish, Helen. We're moving to San Finzione."

Helen looked like she expected an angry look and tone to go with those words but found a defeated grin and tone of "oh, well" instead.

"No!" I shouted. "This is not the end!" I turned to Helen. "What did that guy sign to you? How did he find us?"

"Julie's shoes." Helen replied. "He covered her art exhibit the week before this all started."

I began laughing. Troy set down the tape and scissors as everyone looked at me.

"Troilus, My Love." I told him, then turned to the others. "Julie, Helen; this 'problem,' this 'nightmare scenario,' has ALWAYS had a built-in solution!"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Everyone looked to me expectantly. I looked at Julie.

"Julie, you are a fucking artist! And a gorgeous one. People would want to take your picture and interview you eventually. You can't 'get a design studio off the ground' AND 'stay out of the public eye' at the same time! These have always been mutually-exclusive goals!"

I turned to look at Helen.

"Helen, Julie is an artist, and you are a fucking PATRON OF THE ARTS! Go out there and fucking patronize her!"

As Helen processed the idea, Julie turned on the news, which was showing a picture of our house with the caption "Con-Hel in Secret Love Nest?" (I don't need Helen to explain that phrasing it like a question not only implied the answer but was probably a legally safe way to attack her, because a question doesn't have to be supported with evidence; so, whatever bullshit "question" you "ask," you put them in the position of "answering to you" or "hiding something.")

Helen looked out into the living room, to see Mander putting on the Julie wig she'd left on our coffee table three days before and no one had bothered to pick up since, looking out the back door to see if he could make it across the street to the Green house undetected.

"It's been a lovely few days, Your Countessness." Mander told her. "But, eh, this is 'bout the time a guy like me does a thing like this. So, I'll make me own way back to the island, if that's all right."

"I can't even be mad. It's the smart play to make, and the knowledge that you make smart plays is why you were the only man for this job in the first place, Mander. And because I knew you'd get along with them, and that if you failed to protect me, you'd at least try to get THEM out of the situation safely with you first before you bailed on them. I'd be outrunning you to the island right now, if it wouldn't leave my family holding the bag and Springheel in the hands of Whoever. So, while I'm throwing my Countessness around, I'm decreeing that it isn't going to happen, you're not going to be caught on camera, either." Helen explained calmly. "Susan's idea is brilliant. I can take care of this."

"Susan 'as some good ideas." He responded, slowly removing the wig. "I better be stayin' cause I really believe you can pull it off, not cause any o' you lot are makin' me believe it."

"I'm not, and they're above that kind of thing." Helen replied. "Our agreement was protection until I left Seattle with Springheel. With Leonard and The Elders gone, the Auction's not likely to explode into a bloodbath anymore. In fact, our little war has kept everyone else too scared to pop their heads up by making a play for one another, so it'll be pretty safe. But we never signed anything, so I guess you've earned about 75% of what's been promised if you want out now."

"And you WOULD be upset enough if I scarpered at this point to give me a yacht with no bottom or 75% of a helicopter, with no landing gear or rotors, wouldn't you?"

Helen nodded.

"Is that what she's paying you to risk your life for?" I asked, stepping out the open door to the bedroom. "A yacht and a helicopter."

"'Er Countessness already given me an island. Are you sayin' a yacht an' a helicopter ain't enough for that?" Mander replied.

I had to think on that one. Julie emerged from the bedroom and looked out the front window.

"They've set up a podium with microphones." She said.

"They're calling me out." Helen replied. "They'll camp on your lawn until I go talk to them, and every minute I delay, another will ask the camera 'Just why is she hiding from us?' 'Because you're camped out on the fucking lawn,' would be the answer, but the public will ignore that one."

She fished her sunglasses out of her purse and lit a cigarette. She seemed to be looking for her cigarette holder, but I remembered that she'd probably left it back in her limo downtown. I walked over to her and put my hands on her shoulders. Carefully, because I knew she'd had some breaks in the left one when she got stabbed.

"Do you need reminding?" I asked her.

"Oh, hell no! Julie's coming out there with me." She turned to Julie. "When I signal for you, if you don't mind." Julie nodded and went to get camera-ready. Helen didn't need to worry about that; she's always ready for cameras. Helen had another thought.

"Oh, damn! Denise is coming by! When?"

Troy checked the time on his phone.

"Her bus should be stopping at the highway about now, she'll bike from there. About twenty minutes."

Helen nodded. It was explained to me later that this is an Anchorage thing. Everything in Anchorage is "twenty minutes away" from everything else. How long will it take you to get from the airport, out past Spenard, to your friend's place in Muldoon; on the other side of town? Twenty minutes. How long will it take you to run up to the corner store? Twenty minutes. When you spend a good portion of the year waiting for your vehicle to warm up enough to drive, it's a safe estimate. Anchorage is a city, but everyone thinks of it as "town." (I wonder if it's related to the twenty minutes that every pissed-off customer has been waiting. You can't even call them on it and say, "I clocked on seven minutes ago and you walked in after," because it'll just prolong the argument.)

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She took out her phone and sent a text, then put on her sunglasses. She thought a second, then stepped into the bedroom, where Julie was still getting ready.

"I need a hat." Helen said to her. "This is a hat moment, too. Ah! Were you planning to use this one?" Julie nodded no, so Helen went out of sight to grab it. A moment later, she returned, wearing one of the white, floppy sunhats that Julie, Brenda, and Claire wore around San Finzione for the honeymoon prank.

She lit a fresh cigarette, put her hand on the doorknob and went to turn it. I yelled for her to stop.

"Say something cool before you go out there." I told her with a tiny smile. "It's worked out the last two times."

Helen thought for a moment.

"Time to give 'em more than they got last night at the bar?" She asked me. I nodded.

"It'll work. Don't die."

Contessa Helena de San Finzione put on her best "delighted-to-meet-you" smile and stepped out our front door.

* * *

The Media watched the front door of the Equals house open. Chatter turned to murmurs, turned to silence. That was when Contessa Helena de San Finzione stepped out the door and approached the podium. She put out her cigarette.

"You're on private property. Nonetheless, you're here. And so am I. So listen carefully."

She allowed the silence to resume, as the crowd of reporters stopped everything they were doing, each compelled to listen carefully. Helena turned to Bob Arnette.

"You, and anyone else who can understand me," Helen signed. "Turn off your recording devices and go over to the lawn across the street. Help yourself to some barbecue, just ignore us for now, and I'll get to you in a moment."

She turned back to the microphones as Bob and two others in the crowd walked over to the Greens' yard.

"Ok, for a start, if you could all forget the address and how you got here once you get wherever you're going after you leave, yeah, that'd be great." Helena commanded, going for the Lumburgh impression. She took out another cigarette and stuck it in her mouth. "Now, I don't have all day to take questions, so let's keep this..." She lit her cigarette. "This short. I'll point to you, you'll ask your question, you'll take a plate of barbecue if you're so inclined, and then be on your way. There's a secret bonus question that'll extend the time, but let's not waste it. You."

Helen pointed to a reporter in the third row of the squeeze in front of the podium. She often wondered if this was why they still referred to themselves as "The Press."

"Why did you leave the hotel with no underwear last night, Contessa?" He asked.

"I didn't." Helena replied. "I simply gave them to someone in the bar. There's your story, go print it. Next. Um... you."

"What do you have to say about all the violence in and around your hotel recently?"

"Who DOESN'T love the Mariners, but try to keep it down, Seattle, ok? Next. You."

"Contessa," A reporter from one of the more widely-read papers asked. "Leonard Whyte CBE jumped out of your hotel last night to his death. According to reports, there was a gathering going on in your suite upstairs. Explosions were reported. Were you involved in Mr. Whyte's death?"

Helen looked taken aback. She took a step back from the microphones to match it.

"Lenny White? Chick Corea's drummer? My God, has something happened to him?" The reporter shook his head no.

Helen mouthed "But Lenny's ok, though?" The reporter nodded affirmatively. Helen sighed. La Contessa stepped back up to the podium.

"Oh, the phone guy? Didn't he lose a bunch in the stock market yesterday? Like, more than ALL the guys who jumped out onto Wall Street in the 20s combined? Was he that old? Could he have been around to see that back then and think of it now? Well, from what I know of him, if he was at my soiree, he DEFINITELY wasn't on the list, and he CERTAINLY made NO impression whatsoever." She seemed to think for a second. "That might've been poorly worded. We have four official languages in San Finzione, you know; Italian is the one we use most around the castle. But that's your answer, learn to cope. OK, eeny-meeny..."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Denise Cole got off the bus and took her bike off the rack provided on the front. She started riding toward the Equals house, when her phone gave her a text notification. It wasn't an ordinary one, though, but one that she'd bought specially for this particular number. She'd only heard it a couple times since she bought the ringtone with one of the gift cards that the owner of the number had sent her.

It had originally been the national anthem of the Sovereign Country and Independent Nation-State of San Finzione. However, based upon the number's owner's request, had been changed to the chorus of the song "Lawyers, Guns, and Money."

Denise stopped her bike, took out her phone, and looked at the message.

Whatever happens when you get here, whatever you see, play it cool; wait for my signal, and Harvard's on me.

Denise wrinkled her brow at it, thinking about conversations she'd had with Julie about the woman she was trying not to squeal about being on her way to meet. How Contessa Helena de San Finzione tended to use hyperbolic language when speaking to her friends. Denise had managed to keep cool when Julie inferred that this meant she could consider herself a friend of La Contessa's at the time.

She practically vibrated as rode the rest of the way. She hadn't known what to expect when she came to see them today, and La Contessa's message had only amplified the effect. It was because of this that, as she rounded the last corner to the Equals house and started smelling barbecue, the sight of news vans with extended aerials and a crowd of reporters had been an unexpected, but not a surprising one. Hadn't she seen reporters following La Contessa around on TV all day yesterday? And barely spotted Julie and Susan in the crowd?

As Denise got nearer, she could hear the reporters asking questions to someone who was surrounded by too many people to see from that far away.

"There's a video making the rounds online, something to do with you and some men in a warehouse..." A familiar voice cut him off.

"Oh, THAT," Contessa Helena de San Finzione replied with a laugh, her voice amplified by speakers that Denise couldn't see. "You might've heard some rumors, but yes, San Finzione is making a movie. There are too many details to be ironed out yet, I can't say much about it, but it looks like someone leaked my screentest for my cameo. Probably have to do another, maybe that one'll be a DVD extra."

The reporter had a follow-up question.

"On the video, it seems you're ordering men to torture themselves and each other."

"Well, there's some local San Finzione folklore involved in the story; 'Peasant gossip,' they called it in the olden days. We're going to have a little fun with it. That's the San Finzione way! It's going to be kind of like Big Trouble in Little China, but you know; we're not going to try remaking a masterpiece like that. We're not gonna try to re-create Jack Burton or something. No, we'll have a new hero, and ours will have its own cosmopolitan San Finzione flavor, and probably a lot more special effects. Robots, there's going to be at least one robot, too. There's still a lot of thought being put into it. Next question."

"What's the movie going to be called?" Another asked.

"San Finzione Shakedown." Helen answered, almost automatically. "Next question. Hurry, it's burning out."

"What are you doing down here in Federal Way?"

"Ah," Said Helena's voice, as the crowd parted so she could now see the woman she'd never hoped to meet until one fateful day in the park. Beautiful, stunning, commanding, smoking. Denise didn't care for that last one much, but Julie explained that she was under constant stress, so it was either smoking, or beheading random peasants for no reason. La Contessa put the cigarette out on the podium. "Now THAT was the magic question. That buys you until I want another and that one's out! The answer would be that I've been visiting a dear old friend from back in Alaska. I'm from Alaska, originally, you know. And no, we can't see Russia from there. You're not clever, just stop it."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Denise watched La Contessa turn her head slightly and her arm move under the podium. She moved around the reporters to follow her gaze and saw Julie walking out, just as stunning as the moment they'd met. Denise hadn't seen Julie's outfit before and figured she must have bought it while shopping with La Contessa yesterday. Helen had told Denise that "Helena" would be fine, but she still couldn't reconcile it in her head. Denise's friend Julie was walking up to a bunch of microphones and standing next to Contessa Helena de San Finzione; the woman she'd even recognized that she'd spent far too many hours asking Julie about.

"The artist I am about to introduce you to," La Contessa continued, taking Julie's hand in a friendly way. "is my oldest, dearest friend in the world; and quite possibly, one of the most talented artists in it, Julie Equals, ladies and gentlemen." She gave a moment for the scattered applause before continuing. "Julie had a very successful showing of her paintings in Spokane a couple of months ago, which is where some of you may remember her. I'm proud to say that at least one Julie Equals painting hangs prominently at Castle Finzione." She turned to Julie and bumped her hand. "And I'm even more proud to say that last night, I managed to acquire a couple of new additions to my collection of Julie Equals originals."

Julie smiled. Helen turned back to the media.

"So yes, I'm spending time planning a big debut for her and catching up with my dear old friend. I know that she's been in the Seattle area not even two years yet, but Julie's also been mentoring a young art student, as well. In fact, I believe that's her protégé coming up the street now.

The reporters turned as one to face Denise. Many had their cameras pointed directly at her.

"Don't be shy, Denise. Come on up here. Let her through, everyone." She felt the voice as much as heard it. Felt the reassurance that she had La Contessa's attention, and that she was wanted, and shouldn't be shy. The reporters cleared a path for her as she walked her bike up to the podium, dropping it on the Equals' lawn.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Press," Helena continued. "Denise Cole, my friend's protégé. Dear friend of mine, too. Tell them how we met, Denise."

Helen smiled at Denise, lifting up her sunglasses to show her eyes; and in that moment, something changed in La Contessa for the girl. It was as though La Contessa had been wearing a mask for the cameras since before Denise got here, and she'd pulled up her mask to smile and say hi before pulling it back down. Her smile changed back to the one she'd been giving the crowd. Helena was different in her eyes now. Not diminished; if anything, made more real. The powerful woman she saw on TV who'd just said her name and now had Denise on Holy Shit, Fucking Television, had just shared a secret with her, in front of a crowd of reporters who didn't catch a moment of it: "Don't be fooled, I'm a real girl like you under all this fancy stuff, and I get how totally weird this is. Just follow my lead and everything'll be cool."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Denise then detected the anticipation in Helen's face, as she now became aware that several seconds had passed and the reporters were waiting for her to say something. She leaned forward, toward the jumble of microphones that she didn't even want to think about what they looked like all pointed at her like this.

"I... uh... won an essay contest." Denise said.

"An essay contest!" Helena replied, half a beat too early for it to have registered in her brain, making it obvious that she was just going along with what Denise said. "That's right. 'Why I Want to Visit the Lovely Beaches of San Finzione,' I think it was called."

"Conservatory." Julie corrected.

"Conservatory!" Helen shouted. "Yes, the Sofia de San Finzione Conservatory of the Arts, the world's finest, of course." She stepped back from the mics and mumbled to Julie. "Never correct La Contessa, Skanky Cow."

"Don't use Denise to plug your next ad campaign." Julie hissed back, before moving forward.

"Thank you, Cuntessa!" Julie said cheerfully, stepping into Helen's previous place at the microphones. She opened her purse and took out a stack of cards. Helen lit her new cigarette behind Julie, blowing a long stream of smoke into the back of her first girlfriend's head as she tried to smile for the cameras. "Yes, I'm afraid you've actually caught us planning something, where La Contessa will, no doubt, be in attendance, this being her plan and all." Julie grinned and gave the tiniest, satisfaction-deprivingest cough she was able as the cloud of smoke made its way around her head to billow out in front of her face. "So, we're a bit busy now, but why don't you guys pass my business cards around, call sometime next week, see if we can do an interview, maybe."

The reporters felt compelled to pass Julie's business cards around, as though everyone must get one. And that they were certainly going to try to get an interview with Julie Equals next week and make that event. They were thinking up new questions for La Contessa already.

La Contessa resumed her place at the podium. While the reporters were looking down, making certain everyone got a card, she broke off the front half of her cigarette, lit the back half with it, and crushed out the front part. When they turned back, they noticed her cigarette was almost gone.

"Yes, by all means, call Julie next week for an interview. But I've reached the end of this, you've all got stories to file. Don't forget to turn off all recording and video equipment, take a plate of barbecue if you're so inclined, and leave in an orderly manner, ignoring everything going on over here. Thank you. Ciao!"

Julie gave Helen a slight scowl, as she took in the significance of Helen's last statement to the journalists now packing up their equipment and heading over to the grill.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Susan back. The reporters were heading across the street to the Greens' barbecue. Some stayed behind to take down the podium. Julie, Helen, and Denise had stepped back into the driveway, so they could pack everything up.

"'Don't correct La Contessa???'" Julie growled at Helen.

"Well, not when I'm working, Mistress." Helen said with a smile. Denise was standing behind her, not sure what to make of what was going on between her older friend and her heroine. She'd heard Troy and Julie's whole "Master/Mistress thing," but I could see that hearing Helen say it to Julie filled her mind with questions she already knew that Julie wouldn't answer. Helen turned around to face Denise.

"Hi, Denise." She said shaking Denise's hand and giving her, not Helen's patented Delighted-to-Meet-You smile, but a sincere one. "I'm Helena, it's nice to finally meet you, however, I'm afraid that before we can really talk, I have to see to some of the other reporters that are still across the street. If you'd care to wait in the house until they're gone, then go on over and grab a plate, there's plenty of food over there. Tell 'em I said it was ok. Oh yeah, that reminds me; Troy and Julie's neighbors across the street and their guests... well, I'm told you're quite interested in San Finzione, so I'm sure you know what Ultimados are. And come to think of it, there's another friend of mine in the house now, who... You know what, Denise, it's a safe bet that anyone big and scary that you see around here when I'm in town is probably with me."

Denise smiled back, her eyes finding another few microns to widen further.

"It's nice to meet you, Helena. I'll be fine waiting at Julie's house."

Julie took the vibrating string that was Denise into the house. I walked up to Helen.

"So, what now?" I asked her.

"Now, I go deal with the reporters who were hard-of-hearing, go in and chat with Denise and see if Troy's got a board game big enough for six players until it's time me, him, and Mander to go to the Auction."

"Troy's going?"

"There won't be any trouble now, and a Money Man in there could come in handy. I have another reason, too. For now, let's go grab a plate ourselves. I'd kind of like to be surrounded by Ultimados when Julie fully realizes that I just commanded all those reporters to spend next week blowing up her phone, looking for interviews."

My mouth opened. Then laughter came out. We walked over to the Greens' yard.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 28

"I started as an altar boy, workin' at the church.
Learning all my holy moves, doing some research,
which led me to a cash box labeled Children's Fund.
I'd leave the change and tuck the bills inside my cummerbund.
I got a part-time job at my father's carpet store,
laying tackless stripping, and housewives by the score.
I loaded up their furniture and took it to Spokane,
and auctioned off every last Naugahyde divan."
-Warren Zevon, "Mr. Bad Example"

Helen Parker pulled herself up onto the roof of the sleeper car, feeling the wind howling in her face, until she stood atop the train. In the light of the full moon, she saw him. Or rather, a steadily-blurring version of the man who was making his way along the roof of the car, about half its length away.

"Dr. Girard!" Helen shouted to the man in French, just before the steam whistle on the Orient Express blew, clutching the stiletto in her hand. "You failed to give me twenty-four hours' notice before cancelling our appointment! I'm afraid I'm going to have to charge you for the full session!"

"That sound means that we are approaching the Simplon Tunnel, Miss Parker!" The man shouted back, laughing as he produced a long knife of his own. "As a doctor, I would not recommend fighting me in your condition!"

"Here's my second opinion, Doctor! I'll have that antidote now!" Helena said, fighting the poison coursing through her veins.

"Over your dead body, Helena!" He cackled as they sprinted toward each other.

The effort was too much, her heart was already pumping, and the poison was working too quickly. The last of her strength faded, and Helen became aware that she'd dropped to her knees. She saw the insane former man-of-medicine bearing down upon her, ready to kill.

As the train's whistle blew a second time, Helen heard a sound over it; that of a revolver shot, and Dr. Girard dropped dead a few feet in front of her, the stoppered glass vial rolling out of his watch pocket, onto the roof of the train. She reached out for it, but it was rolling faster than her dulled reflexes could reach. As the train entered its final turn before the oncoming tunnel, it rolled toward the edge of the car.

A man's gloved hand shot out and grabbed the vial at the last possible moment, before it tumbled off the roof and into oblivion. Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione, a silver-haired vision, though dashing at any age, looking roguishly handsome in his emerald green tuxedo; held a smoking revolver in his other hand. He dropped to his knees and set down the gun, cradling her in his arms.

"Helena, my love." He said to her, breathlessly, as he held onto her with one powerful arm while bringing the vial up to his mouth to open with his teeth. "You must drink this, darling. You must live!"

"No, Vincenzo!" She said to the man she'd only known a couple of wonderful, exciting months, but to whom her heart already belonged. "YOU are the one who must take the antidote! There's only enough for one of us, and I am nobody," She began to lightly cough. "Just an ordinary girl from Anchorage, Alaska, my love! The people of San Finzione will ALWAYS need you! MARIA needs you! Do it for HER, Vincenzo!"

He looked at her with grim determination.

"I will do this on one condition, Helena." He said to her. "That if I swallow this antidote and save my own life, purely for the good of The People, and for Maria; you MUST promise me that you WILL fight off the poison! That you will LIVE! That you will marry me and be my Contessa!"

"Oh, yes, Vincenzo!" Helena called out, the words seeming to give her a new surge of strength by themselves. "Yes, my love, I will! And of course, I'll marry you! But hurry and drink!"

With a tear in his eye, Vincenzo imbibed the blue fluid. As he felt his own strength returning, he saw color returning to the cheeks of his beloved bride-to-be. He pulled an enormous diamond engagement ring from his pocket and put it on Helena's finger. She felt his love revitalizing her and smiled as she pulled him down to her and the train steamed into the tunnel.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Helena!" Julie Equals shouted at Contessa Helena de San Finzione. "The girl asked how you became Contessa! She's fifteen, not Troy!" Julie turned to Denise Cole, who'd been listening to every word. "We met him at one of his resorts in Spain. I can't give you the details after that, but, not those ones!"

"Ok, yeah, Julie's right." Helen admitted with a laugh. "But still, you'd go see that movie, right, Denise? I'm kind of looking for ideas right now."

"Sounds great." Denise said, taking a drink of her soda. "Need any actresses?"

She smiled at her own question. Denise had relaxed after everyone came back into the house. Formal introductions had been made; and Troy, Julie, and Susan had to suppress snickers when Denise curtseyed to Helen. When Helen gave a perfect formal curtsey in reply without missing a beat, they could no longer be suppressed.

"Sorry, Denise." Julie chuckled. "It was really nice. It's just... we've seen Helena do that on TV, meeting other royalty; it's just funny to see her do it here at home."

"Don't listen to them, Denise." Helen said, turning to the others with a grin. "It's nice to see someone show some proper respect for a change."

There was a moment of silence before everyone but Denise exploded into laughter.

"Now I'm sorry too, Denise. These people are my family. Real kind, not crime kind. They do not show me 'respect,' and I won't hold it against you if you don't, either."

That got a smile from the girl. Soon they were able to talk, and Denise asked her first question of Helena: How she became Contessa, before Helen began spinning her story.

"Well," Helen said afterwards, drinking her cocoa. "What would you think of a trilogy about a special Chosen Girl who's really clumsy but can do this one thing that nobody else can; or she's the best in the world, anyway? She thinks she's unattractive, but every boy wants her; especially the two or more super-hot ones that everyone 'teams' for. She eventually chooses one, then leads the revolution and overthrows the dystopian future government; she does some PG-13 stuff with him, and the series ends."

Denise thought for a moment.

"I'd say I've read that trilogy six times and every time, it had a different author and title."

Helen turned back to her family.

"Ok, I like her!"

Denise began to risk strain to her smiling muscles. Helen turned back to the game that Troy had set up.

"So, how do we play? Can I be the banker?"

"NO!" Troy and Julie shouted simultaneously.

"Helen," Troy said. "You know you're never allowed to be banker. In anything. Ever."

She turned back to Denise and winked.

"Yeah, I do." She informed her. "I just never get tired of seeing them do that." Helen turned back to the rest of the group. "I should probably step out back for a smoke before we get into the game, since Denise is here. Mind giving me a few minutes first?"

Stunned silence fell over the room. Denise was confused again, until Julie spoke.

"Helena, I don't think you've ever straight-up asked permission like that since..." Julie had to cut herself off before saying "we taught you how to Do What We Do."

"I was just shown a great deal of respect." Helen explained. "I'd like to return it. In fact, Denise, if you don't mind coming out with me and sitting out of smoke range, I wouldn't mind hearing any movie ideas you might have."

Denise nodded and ran to the patio door to open it for Helena. She gave a thankful nod and the two of them stepped outside, closing the door.