28-04-2019, 02:09 PM
So Night Follows Day Pt. 29
"Then on to Monte Carlo, to play chemin de fer.
I threw away the fortune I made transplanting hair.
I put my last few francs down on a prostitute,
who took me up to her room to perform the flag salute.
Whereupon, I stole her passport and her wig.
And headed for the airport, and the midnight flight, ya dig?
And fourteen hours later, I was down in Adelaide,
looking through the want ads, sipping Foster's in the shade."
-Warren Zevon, "Mr. Bad Example"
"Troilus," Contessa Helena de San Finzione grumbled to Troy Equals over the earpiece comms they were both wearing. "All those times I said, 'anything you want, my love; all that I have is yours?' Most of those were about sex, and I was NOT expecting you to cash them ALL in on a single night!"
"We're still using Whyte's money." Troy mumbled back to her. "I sort of promised him it'd all go to good causes."
Troy had convinced Helen to buy most of the items that had been up for bid as the Auction had gone on. A side area held the items that had already been sold, and a pile of terror weapons had been gathered in the area roped off for Helen's purchases. Troy's reasoning had been that San Finzione's Ministry of Science had the means to safely dispose of them, and that was far preferable to allowing any of the other world, criminal, business, and terrorist leaders present to walk out with them. He had been making mental note of who won the items that he couldn't get Helen to bid on so that he could pass the information along to her Ministry of Intelligence later. He could let them inform the CIA, and they'd keep his family's names out of it; now that he was a paid consultant for them.
"The next time I take you along to play Spy, Troy, we're going to a casino. Preferably one I already own. Even if not, buying the joint will be easier than this."
"There's no sport. I always win at your casinos, Helen." Troy replied. "Every time, in fact. Even if you're not with me."
"Yeah, weird, that." Helen answered. She looked over at the stockpile of death that she'd bought. "We'd need a space program to use half this shit."
"Mind ya," the voice of Mander came over their comms as he stood in an area with the other bodyguards off to the side. "I wouldn't mind having that laser cannon thing for the island, if you don't have other plans for it, Your Countessness. Self-defense and all."
Helen turned to Troy, a mock pleading look on her face.
"He'll only use it on people who deserve it."
"We can discuss it after." Troy replied. "That one WAS pretty Man with the Golden Gun, all right."
Mander and Helen both smiled when Troy wasn't looking. Mander had only known Troy a few days, but he knew as well as Helen that James Bond was how one appealed to Troy Equals.
"And now," the Auctioneer announced. "Our final item of the evening. The one you've all been waiting for. Our featured item. Lot fifteen: Springheel."
It was wheeled out on a cart like the other items, the suit on what Helen hoped was a dummy, standing in a revolving display case. A manual bearing the stylized Springheel "S" was on the cart in front of it. Only Troy noticed the tiny start Helen made when the cart wheeled over the space between one of the carpets they'd laid down like tarps inside the barn, and the suit seemed to move slightly.
"You have all seen the video." The Auctioneer continued, peeking out from behind the holes in his black hood. "You know what it can do, what it has done already, and you have imagined what you might do with it. What enemy's secrets you might plumb. What enemy might suddenly cease to exist."
Helen felt most of the eyes of the room fall upon her. Troy continued looking ahead, but took hold of her hand, realizing that she'd been right; most of them had Contessa Helena de San Finzione at or near the top of their Springheel To-Do list.
"If I may be so bold," the Announcer concluded. "Whoever walks out of here with it tonight, will certainly have fewer problems tomorrow. Bidding to begin at one-hundred million dollars."
Helen's hand, the one holding the sign, shot upwards.
* * *
"Then on to Monte Carlo, to play chemin de fer.
I threw away the fortune I made transplanting hair.
I put my last few francs down on a prostitute,
who took me up to her room to perform the flag salute.
Whereupon, I stole her passport and her wig.
And headed for the airport, and the midnight flight, ya dig?
And fourteen hours later, I was down in Adelaide,
looking through the want ads, sipping Foster's in the shade."
-Warren Zevon, "Mr. Bad Example"
"Troilus," Contessa Helena de San Finzione grumbled to Troy Equals over the earpiece comms they were both wearing. "All those times I said, 'anything you want, my love; all that I have is yours?' Most of those were about sex, and I was NOT expecting you to cash them ALL in on a single night!"
"We're still using Whyte's money." Troy mumbled back to her. "I sort of promised him it'd all go to good causes."
Troy had convinced Helen to buy most of the items that had been up for bid as the Auction had gone on. A side area held the items that had already been sold, and a pile of terror weapons had been gathered in the area roped off for Helen's purchases. Troy's reasoning had been that San Finzione's Ministry of Science had the means to safely dispose of them, and that was far preferable to allowing any of the other world, criminal, business, and terrorist leaders present to walk out with them. He had been making mental note of who won the items that he couldn't get Helen to bid on so that he could pass the information along to her Ministry of Intelligence later. He could let them inform the CIA, and they'd keep his family's names out of it; now that he was a paid consultant for them.
"The next time I take you along to play Spy, Troy, we're going to a casino. Preferably one I already own. Even if not, buying the joint will be easier than this."
"There's no sport. I always win at your casinos, Helen." Troy replied. "Every time, in fact. Even if you're not with me."
"Yeah, weird, that." Helen answered. She looked over at the stockpile of death that she'd bought. "We'd need a space program to use half this shit."
"Mind ya," the voice of Mander came over their comms as he stood in an area with the other bodyguards off to the side. "I wouldn't mind having that laser cannon thing for the island, if you don't have other plans for it, Your Countessness. Self-defense and all."
Helen turned to Troy, a mock pleading look on her face.
"He'll only use it on people who deserve it."
"We can discuss it after." Troy replied. "That one WAS pretty Man with the Golden Gun, all right."
Mander and Helen both smiled when Troy wasn't looking. Mander had only known Troy a few days, but he knew as well as Helen that James Bond was how one appealed to Troy Equals.
"And now," the Auctioneer announced. "Our final item of the evening. The one you've all been waiting for. Our featured item. Lot fifteen: Springheel."
It was wheeled out on a cart like the other items, the suit on what Helen hoped was a dummy, standing in a revolving display case. A manual bearing the stylized Springheel "S" was on the cart in front of it. Only Troy noticed the tiny start Helen made when the cart wheeled over the space between one of the carpets they'd laid down like tarps inside the barn, and the suit seemed to move slightly.
"You have all seen the video." The Auctioneer continued, peeking out from behind the holes in his black hood. "You know what it can do, what it has done already, and you have imagined what you might do with it. What enemy's secrets you might plumb. What enemy might suddenly cease to exist."
Helen felt most of the eyes of the room fall upon her. Troy continued looking ahead, but took hold of her hand, realizing that she'd been right; most of them had Contessa Helena de San Finzione at or near the top of their Springheel To-Do list.
"If I may be so bold," the Announcer concluded. "Whoever walks out of here with it tonight, will certainly have fewer problems tomorrow. Bidding to begin at one-hundred million dollars."
Helen's hand, the one holding the sign, shot upwards.
* * *
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