30-03-2019, 07:16 PM
(This post was last modified: 30-03-2019, 07:16 PM by Ramesh_Rocky.)
While Maria was driving her Ferrari California back up the hill, Helen contacted the Tourism Board.
"No!" She told them firmly. "If we start pushing how we're still a safe, fun place for the whole family, the internet and every late-night talk show host is going to be laughing at us; and not in that fun way I appreciate, either." She thought for a moment. "Promoting our night life would be a mistake for the same reason. Tout our natural beauty, instead. Edit together a few old promos about wine country and the beaches being lovely year-round. Mix in some shots of friendly Policia officers helping tourists. Not too many, if we beat them over the head with it, they'll be on us for that, too. Also, take my scenes out of all promos for now. They're too light-hearted for a time like this; feels tacky."
La Contessa's orders given, she ended the conference call. Helen opened her cigarette case. Maria, without taking her eyes off the road, cracked open the passenger-side window for her.
"Was he a friend of yours?" Maria asked.
"I liked the kid. He certainly could have been." She answered, looking out the window at nothing in particular. She then turned to look at Maria. "Fuck, Eliot was younger than you, Maria. He could have been a whole lot of things, and now he'll be none of them."
Maria had no response to that. She nodded and kept driving. After a few moments of silence, she thought of something else.
"You're taking yourself out of the tourism ads." She said, not making it a question. Helen blew smoke out the window before responding.
"I serve two purposes in the ads: Provide a bit of levity and look carefree and hot enough to subtly imply 'Hey, come to San Finzione and La Contessa might very well fuck you. Only one way you'll find out.' It's not a time for either of those."
"I would suppose not. Does this mean that Great-Grandpapa's movie is cancelled?"
"You're the second person to ask me that; and no. We'll have to wait until we can assign another director, but the show will go on." Helen took another drag. "Maybe more of it in the studio now. I thought I'd be ok with all the Nazi stuff in the courtyard if it was for history and the movie. That's the kind of thing you can't be certain on until you're confronted with it." She looked down at the sketch on her phone. "And it won't help that half of the actors at the castle sort of look like this guy. La Policia are up there questioning them now."
"You think someone on the film had something to do with it?" Maria asked. "Or someone wanted his job badly enough to kill him for it?"
"Possibly the first; unlikely on the second. Silverman wasn't the only hopeful young director I met before choosing him. The ones who make it as far as rating time on my calendar? Unless they turn out to be total assholes, are usually good enough that I let them pitch me their idea or they come away with a project I feel is 'more them.' Not a lot of assholes get that far, but none of the ones I met with had that 'You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you' vibe. He was a film geek living his dream; I can't imagine him having any problems with the cast or crew that would escalate to murder. Not without my hearing about it before it got to that point."
"And you are certain that it is not simply a mugging gone wrong?"
Helen flicked the burning part of her cigarette out the window. The ashtray in Maria's car was for coins, not butts. She'd dispose of it back at the castle. Maria kept looking at the road and her mirrors. She'd lost a few family members to sports cars. Drugs, alcohol, or ignorance were major factors at those times, but she was going to take no chances.
"He was shot in the back of the head. Even if you're a mugger who's graduating to murder, you don't shoot them first, then search the dead guy's pockets for money; you make him give you his wallet, THEN you shoot them. This was a straight-up execution..." Helen let that thought lead her to another. "So they hired an executioner for it!" She closed out the picture on her phone and dialed the Prefect.
"Martin," Helen told him when he answered. "That sketch I sent you; I think we're looking for a pro here. Someone who didn't want his face seen badly enough to run after the boy, then bailed when the situation started getting out of control. Check international databases and if you're not doing it already, watch the train stations and airport and alert the Border Guard. He fucked up; if he hasn't gotten on the first plane or train out of here already, he'll go to ground. Then he's got to play Hide & Seek with me in my own country, and he's fucked. I've got someone else I need to send this to."
She ended the call and brought up the picture again. Helen sent it to Generalissimo Ramirez, along with the message "Worth passing along to Luc." When she was finished, Maria spoke.
"Your instructions to the Prefect make me think, Great-Grandmama: Why would this man choose to stay in San Finzione after this? The man he killed was your director, working on your movie. He has done this now. Whoever sent him had to know that you would get involved. Why would he stick around and risk a confrontation with you?"
Helen thought on that.
"He didn't know about the Propappou statues." She told Maria. "Maybe he hasn't heard the rumors about me either. Our best-case scenario is that he's done exactly that, though. That the blue car took him straight to the airport and he got on the next plane out of here. Then it's a matter of waiting for Ramirez's friend to track him down and sending some Ultimados to stuff him into a van and bring him back here so I can have a word with him. Then we just have to deal with the political mess that's to be expected when an American is killed on foreign soil."
"Mm-hmm." Maria Mm-hmmed. "And the worst-case scenario?"
Helen lit another cigarette as they approached the castle gates.
"The worst case is that he HAS chosen to hole up somewhere in San Finzione. Because it means that the job's not done."
"No!" She told them firmly. "If we start pushing how we're still a safe, fun place for the whole family, the internet and every late-night talk show host is going to be laughing at us; and not in that fun way I appreciate, either." She thought for a moment. "Promoting our night life would be a mistake for the same reason. Tout our natural beauty, instead. Edit together a few old promos about wine country and the beaches being lovely year-round. Mix in some shots of friendly Policia officers helping tourists. Not too many, if we beat them over the head with it, they'll be on us for that, too. Also, take my scenes out of all promos for now. They're too light-hearted for a time like this; feels tacky."
La Contessa's orders given, she ended the conference call. Helen opened her cigarette case. Maria, without taking her eyes off the road, cracked open the passenger-side window for her.
"Was he a friend of yours?" Maria asked.
"I liked the kid. He certainly could have been." She answered, looking out the window at nothing in particular. She then turned to look at Maria. "Fuck, Eliot was younger than you, Maria. He could have been a whole lot of things, and now he'll be none of them."
Maria had no response to that. She nodded and kept driving. After a few moments of silence, she thought of something else.
"You're taking yourself out of the tourism ads." She said, not making it a question. Helen blew smoke out the window before responding.
"I serve two purposes in the ads: Provide a bit of levity and look carefree and hot enough to subtly imply 'Hey, come to San Finzione and La Contessa might very well fuck you. Only one way you'll find out.' It's not a time for either of those."
"I would suppose not. Does this mean that Great-Grandpapa's movie is cancelled?"
"You're the second person to ask me that; and no. We'll have to wait until we can assign another director, but the show will go on." Helen took another drag. "Maybe more of it in the studio now. I thought I'd be ok with all the Nazi stuff in the courtyard if it was for history and the movie. That's the kind of thing you can't be certain on until you're confronted with it." She looked down at the sketch on her phone. "And it won't help that half of the actors at the castle sort of look like this guy. La Policia are up there questioning them now."
"You think someone on the film had something to do with it?" Maria asked. "Or someone wanted his job badly enough to kill him for it?"
"Possibly the first; unlikely on the second. Silverman wasn't the only hopeful young director I met before choosing him. The ones who make it as far as rating time on my calendar? Unless they turn out to be total assholes, are usually good enough that I let them pitch me their idea or they come away with a project I feel is 'more them.' Not a lot of assholes get that far, but none of the ones I met with had that 'You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you' vibe. He was a film geek living his dream; I can't imagine him having any problems with the cast or crew that would escalate to murder. Not without my hearing about it before it got to that point."
"And you are certain that it is not simply a mugging gone wrong?"
Helen flicked the burning part of her cigarette out the window. The ashtray in Maria's car was for coins, not butts. She'd dispose of it back at the castle. Maria kept looking at the road and her mirrors. She'd lost a few family members to sports cars. Drugs, alcohol, or ignorance were major factors at those times, but she was going to take no chances.
"He was shot in the back of the head. Even if you're a mugger who's graduating to murder, you don't shoot them first, then search the dead guy's pockets for money; you make him give you his wallet, THEN you shoot them. This was a straight-up execution..." Helen let that thought lead her to another. "So they hired an executioner for it!" She closed out the picture on her phone and dialed the Prefect.
"Martin," Helen told him when he answered. "That sketch I sent you; I think we're looking for a pro here. Someone who didn't want his face seen badly enough to run after the boy, then bailed when the situation started getting out of control. Check international databases and if you're not doing it already, watch the train stations and airport and alert the Border Guard. He fucked up; if he hasn't gotten on the first plane or train out of here already, he'll go to ground. Then he's got to play Hide & Seek with me in my own country, and he's fucked. I've got someone else I need to send this to."
She ended the call and brought up the picture again. Helen sent it to Generalissimo Ramirez, along with the message "Worth passing along to Luc." When she was finished, Maria spoke.
"Your instructions to the Prefect make me think, Great-Grandmama: Why would this man choose to stay in San Finzione after this? The man he killed was your director, working on your movie. He has done this now. Whoever sent him had to know that you would get involved. Why would he stick around and risk a confrontation with you?"
Helen thought on that.
"He didn't know about the Propappou statues." She told Maria. "Maybe he hasn't heard the rumors about me either. Our best-case scenario is that he's done exactly that, though. That the blue car took him straight to the airport and he got on the next plane out of here. Then it's a matter of waiting for Ramirez's friend to track him down and sending some Ultimados to stuff him into a van and bring him back here so I can have a word with him. Then we just have to deal with the political mess that's to be expected when an American is killed on foreign soil."
"Mm-hmm." Maria Mm-hmmed. "And the worst-case scenario?"
Helen lit another cigarette as they approached the castle gates.
"The worst case is that he HAS chosen to hole up somewhere in San Finzione. Because it means that the job's not done."
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