03-04-2019, 04:52 PM
Below, a van pulled up very close behind the limo. The driver caught on a second too late, just in time to ram into a garbage truck that'd stopped in front of him.
"So, if anything happened to their delegation, say..."
He held his phone up in the air as the men on the motorcycles opened fire with sub-machine guns into the limousine from both sides, audible over the phone, even from the six hundred and five-foot observation deck of the Space Needle. Leonard brought the phone back up to his ear and spoke.
"That, for example, they don't get paid if they kill the driver. Bystander, you see. Unless he killed himself just now, ramming into that garbage truck, but that was entirely his decision; I wouldn't fault them for that. I'm sure he'll live at least long enough to remember the words... I don't have it written down in front of me. What's the Cantonese for 'Slavery and Human Trafficking DO NOT happen in San Finzione' again?"
Those had been the exact words of her message to the Elders, that she'd sent back with the thugs Whyte had manipulated into trying to smuggle kidnapped women through San Finzione. She clenched her fist and took another deep drag of her cigarette to stop herself from shouting into the phone. Trying to get to her had been Whyte's motif from the beginning. She couldn't let him have the satisfaction of flying into a rage and screaming at him now. Or letting her friends see that side of her, especially Susan.
"Well, I have to congratulate you, Mr. Whyte. The warehouse thing and sending Morgan were the last clever things at which you've succeeded, and given your track record since, I kind of thought you'd blown your wad there. I mean, the war with the Elders will be easy enough to stop; I won't even need to use my abilities when they hear your confession. Oh, didn't I tell you, Leonard? I had the Minister of Intelligence put a tap on my own phone, just in case we ever got a chance to talk like this. We knew we wouldn't be able to trace you, of course, but we still had to try. Routing it to my birth parents' old house in Alaska was a nice touch.
"But without the recording, the Triad problem might've taken me all week to sort out, forcing me to miss the auction. So, don't get me wrong, this is still clever. I mean, take a cookie on your way out for the effort. But now the Elders are going to learn your name and how you've been playing them. You've got bigger problems now than me." Helen took a drag. "Bigger might be the wrong word, because I'm still your biggest. 'More problems' let's say, then."
"Indeed, I have, Contessa. But nothing I won't be able to solve once Springheel is mine. For now, though, the Elders are your problem, and I'm certain more will crop up as the week goes on. But I'm interrupting your reunion with The Equals. I should let you get back to your friends and preparing for the Elders response to the hit. I mean, what are the odds that traditional old Chinese gents like them will fall into that old 'saving face' cliché and have no choice but to hit you back harder before they'll be willing to talk peace. I wonder if they know about the Equals, too? I'll be better about calling this week. Ta-Ta!"
He ended the call, smiling as security officer cars and fire trucks gathered at the scene below. He breathed deeply, and caught scent of something. Fresh-baked pretzels? Yes. One of those sounded good to him right now. With a little cup of that cheese goo that Americans like so much. Lovely!
"So, if anything happened to their delegation, say..."
He held his phone up in the air as the men on the motorcycles opened fire with sub-machine guns into the limousine from both sides, audible over the phone, even from the six hundred and five-foot observation deck of the Space Needle. Leonard brought the phone back up to his ear and spoke.
"That, for example, they don't get paid if they kill the driver. Bystander, you see. Unless he killed himself just now, ramming into that garbage truck, but that was entirely his decision; I wouldn't fault them for that. I'm sure he'll live at least long enough to remember the words... I don't have it written down in front of me. What's the Cantonese for 'Slavery and Human Trafficking DO NOT happen in San Finzione' again?"
Those had been the exact words of her message to the Elders, that she'd sent back with the thugs Whyte had manipulated into trying to smuggle kidnapped women through San Finzione. She clenched her fist and took another deep drag of her cigarette to stop herself from shouting into the phone. Trying to get to her had been Whyte's motif from the beginning. She couldn't let him have the satisfaction of flying into a rage and screaming at him now. Or letting her friends see that side of her, especially Susan.
"Well, I have to congratulate you, Mr. Whyte. The warehouse thing and sending Morgan were the last clever things at which you've succeeded, and given your track record since, I kind of thought you'd blown your wad there. I mean, the war with the Elders will be easy enough to stop; I won't even need to use my abilities when they hear your confession. Oh, didn't I tell you, Leonard? I had the Minister of Intelligence put a tap on my own phone, just in case we ever got a chance to talk like this. We knew we wouldn't be able to trace you, of course, but we still had to try. Routing it to my birth parents' old house in Alaska was a nice touch.
"But without the recording, the Triad problem might've taken me all week to sort out, forcing me to miss the auction. So, don't get me wrong, this is still clever. I mean, take a cookie on your way out for the effort. But now the Elders are going to learn your name and how you've been playing them. You've got bigger problems now than me." Helen took a drag. "Bigger might be the wrong word, because I'm still your biggest. 'More problems' let's say, then."
"Indeed, I have, Contessa. But nothing I won't be able to solve once Springheel is mine. For now, though, the Elders are your problem, and I'm certain more will crop up as the week goes on. But I'm interrupting your reunion with The Equals. I should let you get back to your friends and preparing for the Elders response to the hit. I mean, what are the odds that traditional old Chinese gents like them will fall into that old 'saving face' cliché and have no choice but to hit you back harder before they'll be willing to talk peace. I wonder if they know about the Equals, too? I'll be better about calling this week. Ta-Ta!"
He ended the call, smiling as security officer cars and fire trucks gathered at the scene below. He breathed deeply, and caught scent of something. Fresh-baked pretzels? Yes. One of those sounded good to him right now. With a little cup of that cheese goo that Americans like so much. Lovely!
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