23-04-2019, 03:50 PM
"I went to Oxford, Contessa. I wouldn't call them friends, but I've met John Cleese and Stephen Fry. I have been exposed to weapons-grade sarcasm. That's a power of yours that WON'T work on me. But please, do go on."
Helen nodded and took another drink.
"Susan is a real person, a pretty fucking smart one, too. She's the one who really figured out where you were hiding. Bunch of other stuff, too. Thinking about it now, one way or another, I wouldn't be here with you without her. You know, she worked as a waitress in a shitty greasy spoon for eleven years. She's a secretary now, but she's still got some self-esteem issues. Learning mind control's helped with that. Oh yeah, she knows how to do it, too; I can tell you all this about her, because, again, speaking to a dead man. And yet, she still kind of thinks of herself as 'just a waitress.' Susan is certainly far more than that, Mr. Whyte. She's not 'just' anything. However, for our purposes here and now, after all your 'clever' plotting and misdirection? I like the notion of being able to tell you that, in the end, it wasn't me who brought you down; but a diner waitress. A 'Nobody,' because her tax bracket was beneath YOUR notice! Although, she's also one of Troy's clients, so, knowing him and what he's done to your companies today, I imagine you'd notice the soft, voluptuous curves of her bank account now."
Whyte smiled back.
"Well, I know someone who wants to see what's in her billfold." He smoked the cigar a moment before adding "As the Bishop said to the Actress." It got a half-grin from Helen. "I'm never going to meet her, so I guess she still doesn't matter to me." He changed his tone. "Your late husband and I crossed paths a few times over the years, you know. He put a damper on the odd project of mine, like you've been doing recently to everyone who had a stake in business as usual in Uongo; and if there's one thing I can't stand, it's an idealist who's actually capable of accomplishing something. Like him and Mr. Equals. Oh, it's easy to see the similarities between the two of them; why you'd be drawn to both men. I honestly have to say that when you fucked the Count to death, I did one of those fist-pump things." He showed her the move.
"Huh. Vincenzo never told me. Your name never came up. Out of embarrassment, would be my guess." Helen took another puff off her cigar. "Oh, and if that was supposed to get a rise out of me and make me get on to killing you, then you haven't learned a fucking thing about me, Leonard. You're right about not leaving alive, but I haven't really settled on how yet. And after all we've been to each other these past couple months, it'd be a shame to rush this. Matter of fact..."
A thought struck Helen, and she got up and walked over to nearby phone on one of the lamp tables. She opened the drawer, got out a small book with laminated pages, and walked back to her seat. She tossed the book to Leonard. He saw now that it was a menu.
"I know it's late, and we've already had brandy and cigars, but let's make an evening of it. Hell, YOU don't have to be up in the morning. Roomservice is on me. And don't think you're limited to the menu. This is a condemned man's last meal, after all. Whatever you want, Leonard, I will get them to make it."
"It's after midnight, Contessa." He said, setting down his cigar and picking up the menu. "Will the kitchen still be open."
Helen's answer was given not by her voice, but by her look. The look said to him, far more effectively than her mouth or hands could have conveyed, "I am La Fucking Contessa and I own this hotel, Leonard. If they're closed, they'll open it back up for me." It turned into one of her big La Contessa smiles.
"Come on, Leonard. I pick up this phone and say, 'I'm in the mood for something,' and a three-star chef gets paid enough to make it worth his while to drag his ass out of bed and come into work at this hour just to cook it for us. So, what'll ya have?"
* * *
Leonard Whyte CBE ordered a Full English Breakfast. Contessa Helena de San Finzione, being a Tolkien fan because of all the languages, liked the sound of a Hobbit meal after the drinking she'd done this evening, and ordered the same. The server was gone, and they were alone again; Whyte having been commanded not to make any effort to escape, harm himself or anyone else, or do anything to signal Roomservice. She hadn't told him that he couldn't tip, though. So, when he tried to tip the server everything in his wallet, La Contessa told him how naughty it was and told the server to keep the money and remember a big party in the La Contessa suite upstairs where he got it.
Helen nodded and took another drink.
"Susan is a real person, a pretty fucking smart one, too. She's the one who really figured out where you were hiding. Bunch of other stuff, too. Thinking about it now, one way or another, I wouldn't be here with you without her. You know, she worked as a waitress in a shitty greasy spoon for eleven years. She's a secretary now, but she's still got some self-esteem issues. Learning mind control's helped with that. Oh yeah, she knows how to do it, too; I can tell you all this about her, because, again, speaking to a dead man. And yet, she still kind of thinks of herself as 'just a waitress.' Susan is certainly far more than that, Mr. Whyte. She's not 'just' anything. However, for our purposes here and now, after all your 'clever' plotting and misdirection? I like the notion of being able to tell you that, in the end, it wasn't me who brought you down; but a diner waitress. A 'Nobody,' because her tax bracket was beneath YOUR notice! Although, she's also one of Troy's clients, so, knowing him and what he's done to your companies today, I imagine you'd notice the soft, voluptuous curves of her bank account now."
Whyte smiled back.
"Well, I know someone who wants to see what's in her billfold." He smoked the cigar a moment before adding "As the Bishop said to the Actress." It got a half-grin from Helen. "I'm never going to meet her, so I guess she still doesn't matter to me." He changed his tone. "Your late husband and I crossed paths a few times over the years, you know. He put a damper on the odd project of mine, like you've been doing recently to everyone who had a stake in business as usual in Uongo; and if there's one thing I can't stand, it's an idealist who's actually capable of accomplishing something. Like him and Mr. Equals. Oh, it's easy to see the similarities between the two of them; why you'd be drawn to both men. I honestly have to say that when you fucked the Count to death, I did one of those fist-pump things." He showed her the move.
"Huh. Vincenzo never told me. Your name never came up. Out of embarrassment, would be my guess." Helen took another puff off her cigar. "Oh, and if that was supposed to get a rise out of me and make me get on to killing you, then you haven't learned a fucking thing about me, Leonard. You're right about not leaving alive, but I haven't really settled on how yet. And after all we've been to each other these past couple months, it'd be a shame to rush this. Matter of fact..."
A thought struck Helen, and she got up and walked over to nearby phone on one of the lamp tables. She opened the drawer, got out a small book with laminated pages, and walked back to her seat. She tossed the book to Leonard. He saw now that it was a menu.
"I know it's late, and we've already had brandy and cigars, but let's make an evening of it. Hell, YOU don't have to be up in the morning. Roomservice is on me. And don't think you're limited to the menu. This is a condemned man's last meal, after all. Whatever you want, Leonard, I will get them to make it."
"It's after midnight, Contessa." He said, setting down his cigar and picking up the menu. "Will the kitchen still be open."
Helen's answer was given not by her voice, but by her look. The look said to him, far more effectively than her mouth or hands could have conveyed, "I am La Fucking Contessa and I own this hotel, Leonard. If they're closed, they'll open it back up for me." It turned into one of her big La Contessa smiles.
"Come on, Leonard. I pick up this phone and say, 'I'm in the mood for something,' and a three-star chef gets paid enough to make it worth his while to drag his ass out of bed and come into work at this hour just to cook it for us. So, what'll ya have?"
* * *
Leonard Whyte CBE ordered a Full English Breakfast. Contessa Helena de San Finzione, being a Tolkien fan because of all the languages, liked the sound of a Hobbit meal after the drinking she'd done this evening, and ordered the same. The server was gone, and they were alone again; Whyte having been commanded not to make any effort to escape, harm himself or anyone else, or do anything to signal Roomservice. She hadn't told him that he couldn't tip, though. So, when he tried to tip the server everything in his wallet, La Contessa told him how naughty it was and told the server to keep the money and remember a big party in the La Contessa suite upstairs where he got it.
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