20-04-2019, 09:50 PM
"I just want to talk." Helena gestured to the helicopters patrolling the farm and the land around it. They were far enough away that the sound of the engines didn't impede the conversation. "They're here for everyone's safety. I need to have a word with you about your husband."
Molly gave a fearful sigh; she walked over to an outdoor chair against the corner of the house. Ramirez wheeled Helena closer, surveying their surroundings.
"Before we talk, I need to tell ya," Molly said, looking around. "The man who came ta talk ta Gar... Frank. He told me that if I tell ya anythin' about him, even if ya somehow force me ta tell..." She turned back toward the inside of the house for a moment. "He'd destroy ev'rythin' left that I love." She began sobbing and buried her face in her hands before continuing. "He said he'll let me keep the money." She looked up at Helena with tears streaming down her face. "Tha' I'll need it... ta try an' find... some measure o' happiness in the world... when he's done..."
Helena nodded her understanding and spoke in Gaeilge.
"I won't ask about him, then. But, you know who your husband was before? You knew him when he was Frank Morgan?" She motioned for Ramirez to push her closer and reached out to pat her on the shoulder. Molly recoiled from her touch.
"Yes, I did," she responded in Gaeilge as well. "I'm sorry, Countess, I know you mean well, coming out here and talking like this; and I've no earthly reason to be angry with yourself, and every reason to be angry with him, but..."
"I lost my husband, too," Helen said, sympathetically, while withdrawing her hand. "I'd have given anything for there to be someone I could hold responsible. Someone to blame, other than myself." She offered the woman a cigarette, and she took it. With the breeze blowing, they were hard to light, until Ramirez produced a Zippo lighter and lit both of them. Helen offered him one as well, but he refused. She turned back to Molly. "Hate me all you want. I'm used to it."
"I don't blame you, of course, Countess. Not rationally, anyway. Rationally, I blame him; the man I can't talk about."
"Everything I know about him tells me that he's somehow watching, and probably listening, isn't he?" Molly nodded. "And I'm certain that if he doesn't know what we're saying, he's got translators who will tell him every word, so I won't ask you anything that will put your children in danger."
Molly's tears subsided, and she nodded to Helena to continue.
"How long ago did your husband get sick?"
"Six years. His hearing started going, and he'd always had headaches, but he figured it was just signs of getting old. He avoided doctors, was worried that if he was put in some computer system, someone might connect him to the bad old days. When the trembling in his hand and leg started, he tried all kinds of crazy herbs and oils and things; spent most of the savings left from those days before risking it. They told him it was too late by then."
"And then the man we can't talk about came into the picture, I'm guessing. Don't answer that. I wasn't asking. This question is about Frank, not him: Do you know how much my life was worth?"
"Frank said we'd get five million if he succeeded, one million if he failed. I still begged him not to go! But The Man made good on it, I was contacted with the account information the next day, and the money was there. But I'd give it all back if Gar..." She started crying again.
"I understand that part, too," Helen replied, thinking that he wouldn't have gone through with the money transfer if he'd been planning to harm the Finnegan family. Though Helena suspected that a million Euros was as much a drop in the bucket to this man as it was to her. He was insane, but she wasn't sure to what level, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn't kill them afterwards, simply for a laugh. "So, he's watching us; or listening to us, or both. He knew I'd come to you eventually. Did he leave a message?"
"Aye," Molly said, switching back to English, and producing an older-looking flip-phone burner, much like the one Helen had left in the box for the Equals and Susan. "I'm supposed to give ya this, an' call him when ya leave. He said to have yer people check it over, but it'll ring the next night, at exactly 11:57 PM San Finzione Time, for exactly ten seconds. An' if anyone but Contessa Helena de San Finzione answers, he'll hang up, an' it'll never ring again."
Helen took the phone and signaled her thanks.
"You're supposed to call after I leave," Helena asked. "He knew I would come to you, but he couldn't have known when. So, I'm guessing that the recording equipment has been in place for a while." Molly nodded. "He'll be able to hear and see me now?" She nodded again. "Good. That means I get to give him MY message before he gives me HIS."
Helena cleared her throat and spoke with a raised voice.
"Hi, there. It's me. Thanks for the Jimenez thing, we went with it. I'm looking forward to your call, but I expect you plan to do most of the talking there, so let me get this out now: You're done with these people. And any other innocents you're thinking it might be fun to bring into this. If you want to do the cat and mouse game with me, I'll play. And I'll win. And I won't be dragging you to Arkham Asylum so you can break out and we can do it all again next week. Men have thought that their power and status protected them from me in the past. They don't think anything, anymore. If they could, they'd tell you what a mistake it is to come at me through others.
Molly gave a fearful sigh; she walked over to an outdoor chair against the corner of the house. Ramirez wheeled Helena closer, surveying their surroundings.
"Before we talk, I need to tell ya," Molly said, looking around. "The man who came ta talk ta Gar... Frank. He told me that if I tell ya anythin' about him, even if ya somehow force me ta tell..." She turned back toward the inside of the house for a moment. "He'd destroy ev'rythin' left that I love." She began sobbing and buried her face in her hands before continuing. "He said he'll let me keep the money." She looked up at Helena with tears streaming down her face. "Tha' I'll need it... ta try an' find... some measure o' happiness in the world... when he's done..."
Helena nodded her understanding and spoke in Gaeilge.
"I won't ask about him, then. But, you know who your husband was before? You knew him when he was Frank Morgan?" She motioned for Ramirez to push her closer and reached out to pat her on the shoulder. Molly recoiled from her touch.
"Yes, I did," she responded in Gaeilge as well. "I'm sorry, Countess, I know you mean well, coming out here and talking like this; and I've no earthly reason to be angry with yourself, and every reason to be angry with him, but..."
"I lost my husband, too," Helen said, sympathetically, while withdrawing her hand. "I'd have given anything for there to be someone I could hold responsible. Someone to blame, other than myself." She offered the woman a cigarette, and she took it. With the breeze blowing, they were hard to light, until Ramirez produced a Zippo lighter and lit both of them. Helen offered him one as well, but he refused. She turned back to Molly. "Hate me all you want. I'm used to it."
"I don't blame you, of course, Countess. Not rationally, anyway. Rationally, I blame him; the man I can't talk about."
"Everything I know about him tells me that he's somehow watching, and probably listening, isn't he?" Molly nodded. "And I'm certain that if he doesn't know what we're saying, he's got translators who will tell him every word, so I won't ask you anything that will put your children in danger."
Molly's tears subsided, and she nodded to Helena to continue.
"How long ago did your husband get sick?"
"Six years. His hearing started going, and he'd always had headaches, but he figured it was just signs of getting old. He avoided doctors, was worried that if he was put in some computer system, someone might connect him to the bad old days. When the trembling in his hand and leg started, he tried all kinds of crazy herbs and oils and things; spent most of the savings left from those days before risking it. They told him it was too late by then."
"And then the man we can't talk about came into the picture, I'm guessing. Don't answer that. I wasn't asking. This question is about Frank, not him: Do you know how much my life was worth?"
"Frank said we'd get five million if he succeeded, one million if he failed. I still begged him not to go! But The Man made good on it, I was contacted with the account information the next day, and the money was there. But I'd give it all back if Gar..." She started crying again.
"I understand that part, too," Helen replied, thinking that he wouldn't have gone through with the money transfer if he'd been planning to harm the Finnegan family. Though Helena suspected that a million Euros was as much a drop in the bucket to this man as it was to her. He was insane, but she wasn't sure to what level, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn't kill them afterwards, simply for a laugh. "So, he's watching us; or listening to us, or both. He knew I'd come to you eventually. Did he leave a message?"
"Aye," Molly said, switching back to English, and producing an older-looking flip-phone burner, much like the one Helen had left in the box for the Equals and Susan. "I'm supposed to give ya this, an' call him when ya leave. He said to have yer people check it over, but it'll ring the next night, at exactly 11:57 PM San Finzione Time, for exactly ten seconds. An' if anyone but Contessa Helena de San Finzione answers, he'll hang up, an' it'll never ring again."
Helen took the phone and signaled her thanks.
"You're supposed to call after I leave," Helena asked. "He knew I would come to you, but he couldn't have known when. So, I'm guessing that the recording equipment has been in place for a while." Molly nodded. "He'll be able to hear and see me now?" She nodded again. "Good. That means I get to give him MY message before he gives me HIS."
Helena cleared her throat and spoke with a raised voice.
"Hi, there. It's me. Thanks for the Jimenez thing, we went with it. I'm looking forward to your call, but I expect you plan to do most of the talking there, so let me get this out now: You're done with these people. And any other innocents you're thinking it might be fun to bring into this. If you want to do the cat and mouse game with me, I'll play. And I'll win. And I won't be dragging you to Arkham Asylum so you can break out and we can do it all again next week. Men have thought that their power and status protected them from me in the past. They don't think anything, anymore. If they could, they'd tell you what a mistake it is to come at me through others.
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