Fantasy So Night Follows Day by TMaskedWriter

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Story :- So Night Follows Day

Written by TMaskedWriter

"She's a killer queen,

gunpowder, gelatine.
Dynamite with a laser beam.
Guaranteed to blow your mind.
ANYTIME!
Recommended at the price,
insatiable in appetites.
WANNA TRY?"
-Queen, "Killer Queen"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 01

Lords of Acid's "Lover Boy/Lover Girl" blasted from inside the club. Julie Andrews, no relation to the actress of the same name, stood outside; watching everyone get turned away while smoking and tapping her foot. She snorted as she inhaled, contemplating taking another hit from the coke bullet in her pocket, but decided against it. She'd promised herself that she'd save the rest to do with Helena. If the fucking cunt ever got here.

A cab pulled up at that moment, and a purple-haired Helena Parker stepped out.

"Keep the change." Helena told the cabbie in French, tossing a $500 chip from the Casino Monte Carlo over her shoulder at him as she stepped out, meeting Julie's eyes with a predator's glare.

Julie opened her mouth to ask her girlfriend where the fuck she'd been when the could've-been track star quickly closed the distance between them and was upon her, placing her own mouth over Julie's and pinning the slightly-taller girl to the wall; her tongue playfully darting at Julie's still-miffed tongue until it relented and accepted Helena's invitation to dance.

"Hey, Girl." Helena said to Julie. She gave the kind of short, quick snort that Julie had been doing herself while waiting. "Sorry I'm late."

"Hey, Also Girl." Julie responded, licking her lips, and noticing with the predatory look in Helena's eyes replaced by happiness, that they were a bit glassy; making her realize her own probably were as well. "I was gonna ask what kept you, but I can still taste him." She smiled and reached into her purse. "If my eyes look like yours, it's shades time."

"This one deserved it." Helena responded, her own purse rattling as she searched it. "We had a great run at the tables on his dime, and he was good boy about being generous with the split, after." She winked at that. "Sent a quarter back home for Troy to invest and a quarter for any medical bills Propappou's got; or if I've taken care of those, something nice for himself. Cashed the third quarter."

They produced purple-tinted sunglasses, each held by one stem, flicked their wrists to extend the other, and put them on with one hand simultaneously, snickering as the cocaine made it extra funny, and she continued.

"I had twenty of these things left after that." She rattled her purse for emphasis. "So, I went 'Eh, what the fuck? This weekend, I'll be the biggest tipper Monte Carlo's seen until the next one!'"

She took Julie's cigarette while Julie fished the coke bullet out of her purse. Julie slipped it into Helena's hand when she took the cigarette back. Helena took an unsubtle snort and passed it back to Julie. Julie took a more ladylike hit and put it back in her purse.

"Ok." Helena said. "What're we after?"

"Before we begin, I should remind you of the rule: No breaking people up."

"Once!" Helen said with a playful shove, causing Julie to drop the cigarette. She crushed it out under the sole of her heel. "That happened once, and we made them forget and get back together!"

"Do you want to have that talk with Troy again?" Julie asked. "No, me either. So it's worth repeating."

"Ok, ok. Everyone gets to live happily ever after; got it, Princess Mesmera. Now, what's your flavor tonight?"

Julie thought for a moment. Like Helen didn't know what the answer would be, now that Troy Medina's name had been said twice.

"Greek." Julie said, almost without thinking. The shades concealed Helen's eye-roll. "Or Italian. You know, something Eastern Mediterranean for the guy. Surprise me on the girl. And Mistress' choice of fucktoys for the evening?"

"Oh, you need a special challenge, I think."

Helena put an arm around her girlfriend's waist and they started walking toward the door. Julie did the same with her own arm as they approached; watching the doorman make an English brunette their age work at flirting with him and to get in with her friends.

"I find myself in the giving vein, Princess Mesmera. That one there? He's not letting her in because she's 'cute and sweet,' but not what the Eurotrash inside would call 'hot.' Little Tin God, that one. But he'll keep letting her try. Because he knows that she just might get desperate enough to blow him, and he still won't let her in afterwards. Another story for the boys for him, a shameful memory to come back to for the rest of her life for her. Let's fix that.

"Bring her in and go find her friends. If that one's 'the cutie,' there's a wolf pack of richboys circling 'the hottie' and the others already. Pair them up or don't as you see fit. But that one and the hottest guy come back to the suite with us, Mistress. And, well, anyone else you see fit. Let's make this A Holiday to Remember for her."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Or A Holiday to Forget." Julie replied with the overly-loud laugh of someone clearly high. They separated when they reached the door. Julie went for the girl, and Helena went for the doorman.

"She's with us," Helena commanded the doorman in French. "And every time you try to make a woman debase herself for you to get into this shithole, you're going to have a very embarrassing premature ejaculation on the spot; and let her in, apologizing. Forget that I made you do this. Work out the association on your own. Now let us in, we're obviously VIPs."

"Of course, Mademoiselle." he said, holding the door open as Julie let their new friend past the velvet rope. "Welcome."

"Hi," Julie said with the sweetest of smiles. "I'm your new friend, Julie. That's your other new friend, Helena. What's our new friend's name?"

"Me... Melanie." She stammered. The look on her face turned from stunned surprise to happy recognition as her smile began to match that of her new friend, Julie. "Oh, Hi, Julie. Hey, Helena."

Julie took Melanie by the hand and led her in as the doorman held the door for the three of them. She took Helena's hand in her other while they walked.

"Helena's going to go do her own thing once we get inside, Melanie." Julie began raising her voice as they approached the inner door and the music got louder. "Why don't we find your friends, and then you can introduce them to their new friend, too?"

Melanie nodded happily. She couldn't wait to introduce Julie to the other girls.

The three of them entered the darkened dance club. Julie Andrews and Helena Parker kissed deeply before parting to find each other's targets. Helena headed for the dance floor, and Julie took Melanie's hand and led her toward the bar.

"Let's stop here, Melanie!" Julie shouted over the music. She led her to a pair of stools that freed up on Julie's request. She and Melanie sat down and flagged the bartender over. Julie saw someone drinking something blue and pointed at them.

"Two of whatever that is!" Julie said in French. He went to mix them and she turned back to Melanie.

"So, Melanie, my new friend." Julie said with the same smile, a bit further away from the speakers here, so she didn't have to shout. "Are you with anybody? Besides your friends, I mean. Like a guy. Or a girl? We're the kind of friends that you feel like you've known us forever. The kind that you know you can share anything with."

Melanie beamed at how well she was clicking with her new friends. Julie cared so much, and wanted to know about her. Of course they should know everything.

"No, and, er, he'd be a he. I mean, there's a guy back at uni, but I don't think he's interested."

"Well, he's a dumbass. You're beautiful, Melanie. And so damn lucky, because your new friends are... well, we like to play..." She looked Melanie up and down, appraisingly. Melanie noticed how expressive her new friend's face was, and found the look of approval on Julie's pleasing. "Ok, you don't need a fairy godmother, so let's call us 'genies.' And we want to help you, Melanie, have the best night ever! Helena and I know about a better party than this one, and I just KNOW you and all your friends will want to go when I tell you all about it. How many are you?"

"Five including me." Melanie replied, pointing to the table.

Julie signaled to the bartender that they'd want four more for the table. The look on her face conveyed the message "when you can get around to it." She then looked at the table and saw Melanie's friends who were able to get past the creep at the door without their aid. They looked like they could be persuaded to be a fun bunch.

"Whichever guy you're most attracted to tonight, he's yours. Don't care who he is, it's happening. So, you be really choosy here. But you, lady, are getting laid by the man... or men if you want, of your pick. Helena and I will be happy to help there."

"Wow!" Melanie said, amazed by how great Julie's offer was.

Julie pulled closer to her, bending down to accent her cleavage, and spoke in her ear at as close to a whisper as the techno would allow.

"You see, Melanie, Helena and I are THAT kind of friends. That sounds like something you'd want to try too, doesn't it? I mean, nothing counts on holiday, right?"

Melanie's smile took on a lustful tone, as she realized that yes, the thought of Julie and Helena being such good friends, and wanting so nicely to be hers too, sounded really hot. She was right. Nothing counted on holiday. And she could have any guy, too?

"That sounds amazing!" Melanie breathed back into Julie's ear, trembling now.

"I'm glad you think so." Julie said as the bartender brought the tray. She set 200 euros on the bar and grabbed the tray, having a little difficulty with it, until Melanie helped. "Now let's go make your friends think so, too."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"We're here, Contessa." Ernst, the pilot, said into the headset.

In the back of the helicopter, Contessa Helena de San Finzione awoke with a start. She looked down at the lush, tropical jungle of the island below against the blue backdrop of the Bahamas.

A Fincantieri cigarette boat and an old motorboat were moored at the single dock on the beach. From the beach, a trail led to a well-kept lawn in front of a large house with a satellite dish. Riding a mower around the lawn was a tall, bald man with an AK-47 strapped to his back, looking up with a smile on his face. La Contessa pointed to a spot on the lawn big enough to land. They descended and cut the engines as the man drove across the lawn to meet them.

"Oi! You're trespassin' on my lawn, Your Countessness!" Nigel Mander yelled in an East London accent over the helicopter engines powering down.

She started to speak, realized it was still pretty loud, and waited for the engine noise to die down before replying.

"To keep The Law and The Taxman off your back; Mander Island is, on paper anyway, a territory of San Finzione. Technically, this rather nice lawn is on San Finzione soil. La Contessa is welcome everywhere in San Finzione; so, legally, I'm actually incapable of trespassing here."

"So, what's 'at mean really?"

"In reality," Helena replied, lighting a cigarette and smiling. "Don't kill anybody who doesn't deserve it and don't hurt women or kids and do whatever the fuck else you want. It's some kind of conservatorship deal, that's why San Finzione sends you a little check every month."

"And 'ere I thought ya just kep' me on 'cause ya picked up some weird fantasy about Uongo, and some day, ya'd call, wanting blindfolded, gagged, and driven to the middle of nowhere by me again."

Helena gave her sweetest smile.

"Well, dammit, now that you've put it in my head, the possibility can never again be ignored. I don't know all the details. It helps that I have an ex who doesn't ask questions when I call him with stuff like," She mimed a telephone and raised the pitch of her voice. "'Hey, Boy. How do I launder an island?'"

Mander grinned at that. Helena waved for her pilot to feel free to get out and stretch his legs.

"Well, then," Mander said, nodding his agreement that yes, he'd been joking, and it was ok for the pilot to get out of the helicopter. "Wish ya'd given me time to run to the big island; buy a red carpet to lay out for ya."

Helena looked down at the grass.

"I'm used to seeing green everywhere I go, anyway. This is nice. Weren't there palm trees here before?"

"Yeah. But I figured I've got plenty of 'em. Never 'ad a lawn, though. It's nice. Saw ya on the tele, a bit back. You've 'ealed well. 'ow's Lady Maria doin'?"

The ash of her cigarette fell onto Mander's lawn. Helen gave him a slightly sheepish look. Mander smiled it away, and she replied.

"Thanks. Good. She's still Contessa-In-Reggenza until I come back from some personal business, following my injury, and resume power. I think this little taste of what she's got to look forward to, down the road, is turning out well for her. I may leave her in charge again once in a while, especially if I get..." Helena thought for a second. "...now and then." She changed the subject. "Hey, and I thought Limeys were supposed to be all about gardens, not lawns."

"Nah, bit sissy for me." He patted the mower. "'Sides, tried it. Only get to use one o' these babies once wit' flowers, then you've gotta wait three months to do it again. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of 'er Countessness' visit?"

"Some personal business." Helena responded looking up to the house. "And to make sure you're keeping your word about not stocking Budweiser."

"If I thought I could get somethin' past ya, I sure as fuck wouldn't risk it on that one. All right, let's take this in the bar."

As they walked, Helena noticed three red dots roaming Mander's back. She stopped and turned around and shook her head, mouthing "no," while making an odd motion with her arms meant to convey both "don't shoot" and "stand down" at the same time. The dots disappeared before Mander stopped and turned around.

"Sorry," Helen smiled sheepishly. "The Ultimados got here three hours before me. They've been on edge since the incident. They're not happy about the AK. I told them you're a geezer, but you know." She yelled to the trees. "We talked about this! He's OK! This is not the first time this man has been armed in my presence, remember? Some of you guys met him in Africa."

He stood up on the mower and waved to the trees as well.

"Oi! You remember me, right? All right if I hang it up inside?"

They gave no response.

"Callin' that a yes! C'mon in fer a pint if ya want. Bar's open. Nice to not see you gents again!"

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

At his home in Federal Way, Washington, Troy Equals walked into the house, carrying his phone, a bag of donuts, and two coffees in a cardboard holder. He walked through the living room and into the room that had once served as their library, but was now Julie Equal, his wife's, home art studio.

She sat in an office chair, with her back to the door; wearing a painter's smock and nothing else, expecting to have the house to herself for the day. She'd been looking at a blank canvas.

That wasn't true. The canvas already had the crowd scene at Pike Place Market the last time she'd been there on it, she was just figuring out where to make the first mark, so that she could start bringing it out. She jumped a little when the donut bag crinkled as Troy set it on a table. She then turned and smiled in relief at the sight of her life-long best friend bearing life essentials.

"Thought you'd left for class, Master." She said, rolling the chair over to the desk and grabbing her coffee.

"Almost got to the freeway, Mistress, before I got the message that classes have been cancelled for the week because of Helen's thing."

"Hmm," Julie hummed, taking a sip of her coffee. It was just what she would have ordered. She expected no less of the man who knew her better than anyone. Just like the chocolate-covered old-fashioned donut she knew would be in the bag when she reached inside. "Helena's coming to Seattle some time today, and all of a sudden, you get the week off school. Why do I get the feeling that these two things are connected?"

"Well, the text said nothing about UW being bought out by Società Finzione; it feels more like a consequence of Helen, rather than something she orchestrated."

"Probably the same reason I'm working from home this week."

She opened the lid of her coffee cup, dunked the donut, and took a bite. Troy did the same with his coffee and a blueberry cake donut. They then traded and did it again before Troy answered.

"They've got an over-protective husband who knows full well that their Army badass dads taught them how to kick any man's ass, but still thinks we should avoid going into Seattle if at all possible this week, too?"

Julie spun around in the chair to give her typical response to such remarks from Troy, a playful punch to the arm, when she remembered that she was also holding coffee and concentrating on keeping it steady rather than how she was moving. Troy tried to step back, but Julie's arm was still outstretched in a fist, causing her fist to impact with Troy's coffee cup, rather than his upper arm and splattering the liquid flying all over both of them and the room around them.

Julie's smock took all of the coffee that splashed her, and she set down her own, undamaged coffee cup before looking over at Troy.

Troy's school clothes clung to him, coffee all over his shirt and pants. It hadn't been hot enough to burn after the drive home, but it soaked him completely. After the initial shock, the pair analyzed the sequence of events in their heads, looked at each other, and began laughing. Julie stood up and wrapped her arms around him, coffee now soaking from his shirt and pants onto her smock. Troy tossed the ruined cup in the trash and completed the other half of the hug equation. The laughs started to become punctuated with tiny kisses, becoming bigger as the laughs died down, until the kiss was all that was left.

"You know," Julie said when the kiss ended, sniffing him. "That was a mocha, right?" Troy nodded. "You probably taste really good right now. Like, unusually so."

"Was this some happy accident, Mrs. Equals; or a ploy to get me out of my clothes?"

Julie's answer was to pull the smock over her head and drop it to the floor.

"It can be two things, Master. I prefer not to question how we so often get into situations where one of us is naked and the other should be, too. I'm just grateful for their frequency." Julie's hands went to unbuckle his belt. "Looks like all your plans for the day have been changed."

"Yeah, I know." Troy said with mock exasperation, taking off his shirt as his wife slid his pants and underwear away. "Here, I thought I was gonna bring my Mistress a nice little treeee..."

Julie decided not to let him finish the word, taking the tip of his cock into her mouth, and swirling her tongue around it immediately. She sucked on it a moment while gazing up at The Boy Next Door's eyes.

"Looks like you did, Master. And I was right about the mocha, too." She gave him a little lick. "But I'm sorry, hon. I interrupted you." Another lick. "You were telling me about your plans for the day?"

Her lips wrapped around him again, and Troy answered with a sigh and a grin.

"Well, I figured my best friend would be busy painting this morning, so I thought I might take Susan to lunch. Didn't have anything firm until then."

Julie smiled and rose to her feet. She looked over at the canvas. It had survived the incident undamaged. She turned back to Troy and looked into his eyes.

"I was going to, but it looks like something's come up, and I've got to put my plans on hold for a little bit." Julie took hold of her new plans. "So, I've got a little time to squeeze my best friend in."

She picked up her own coffee cup and took a drink. She looked down at his shaft, then back to the coffee cup. With a smile, she stuck her little finger into the cup to see how hot it was. Not overly anymore. She looked down at his cock again, an idea on her face.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Why don't you make your wife's morning before you go make your girlfriend's afternoon?"

Troy smiled back. He led her to their bedroom.

* * *

Helena looked around Mander's effort to recreate an authentic pub look for his in-home bar. It was certainly a work-in-progress.

She admired the stained-glass light fixture over the snooker table, advertising her brand of cigarette. Other lighting still needed to be wired over the area of the room that held the tables. The jukebox was in place and looked authentic, but only half of the wooden floor had been laid over the bare concrete.

"I hope Guinness is up to Her Majesty's standards." Mander said from behind the bar as he pulled her a pint before his own, his gun now hanging on the coat rack. "Because that's the only tap I've got sorted yet."

"That works." She took a drink. "You've really taken to the whole home handyman thing."

"Never 'ad a home before." He said, walking around the bar. He was about to take a seat next to her, when Helena jerked her head to suggest getting a table. Mander led, as Helen remembered how much that gesture would have hurt a week ago. "Now that I've got one, see the appeal. Er, there's no light in back there yet, Your Countessness."

"I know. It just, you know, feels right for the kind of talk we're about to have."

Mander looked at the darkened corner, the table in shadow. He thought about the possible reasons that, after giving him this island for his role in Lady Maria's rescue in Uongo, Contessa Helena de San Finzione might come pay him a visit. There weren't many, so it didn't take him long.

"Ok," he said. "I can get that."

Helena took little sips from her pint as they walked around sawhorses and power tools about the floor and spoke.

"I expected to see a bunch of topless bikini babes down at the beach or the pool."

"They scarper on weekends for me. Supposed to be a man's time to take care of things 'round the 'ouse, you know. Plus the younger ones always wanna go dancin'. Have you heard the shit they play in discos these days? 'Ow do ya dance to that 'BWOM, bumpy-thumpy, wumpy-thumpy, BWOM' garbage? If we'd 'eard a noise like that up ahead in Africa, we'd turn the jeep 'round an' go the other way. That's why only the Masters of Old are going in that jukebox."

"Beatles, Who, and Stones?"

"TOO fuckin' right!"

They clinked glasses without looking and took a drink together.

"Throw some Warren Zevon in there for me, please. I was just a kid when he died, but... I hear him, and it's like, 'You GOT me, Warren!' He was just... he really understood, you know?"

He set his pint down, selected the darkest corner, and held out a chair for Helena. With a grateful look, she accepted the seat. Mander grabbed an ash tray for her from off of the pool table and set it on the table between them as he took his pint and sat at the opposite corner, so Helen's back was to the wall.

"Yeah, you see?" Helen asked, her face lit by the lighter's flame as she lit her smoke in the darkness. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs in a manner that would have appeased The Hayes Code as she puffed on it a couple of times to make the ember glow brighter, imagining her face only made a bit less shadowy by the bright red ember turning to ash. "Totally the effect I want, right?"

"Yeah, I see what you're sayin'." He took a drink and looked around, noticing this aspect of his semi-construction project. "Darkened corner table, just right for talking dodgy deals, I like it. Only thing missing's the saxophone. Jukebox ain't 'ooked up to anythin' yet."

"Don't EVER put a light in this corner, Mander. Fuck, when it's finished, I might be asking you if I could bring some of my business dealings to your island, just for this spot." She spread her fingers out to try to convey the ambiance.

"Ok," Helen took another sip of her pint. "To business."

Mander hoisted his glass and shouted "TO BUSINESS!" Helena returned the toast with equal enthusiasm, and they both laughed.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Helena nodded, indicating Serious Time, then leaned forward and took a drag of the cigarette, letting out a long, narrow puff of smoke. She offered one to Mander.

"No thanks. If I smoked, I'd know better than to accept one of yours."

She grinned at that, indicating that it was Serious Time, but not yet Totally Serious Time.

"So, this is all right?" She gestured with the cigarette. "I'm kind of new to asking."

"Yeah," Mander responded. "I mean, I bought the ashtrays; it's gotta smell like a real pub too, right? So, by all means, help out with the stale smoke there, Your Countessness."

"Good, then let me shake off the last little bit of silly here, because... well, it's somewhat fitting." Helen took a shorter drag from her cigarette. "I have a problem, Mander, and I could use a man of your talents."

They both stopped short of laughing, and soon their faces got serious again and Helena started over.

"So, you've tuned that satellite dish to the news in the past month. You know some of what's been going on?"

"Some Spanish nutter had El Bonero for ya and jumped ya outta the castle tour group. You did that thing you do, but it didn't work. You were stabbed four times and he tried to cut yer throat, but yer late 'usband's bauble stopped 'im, then yer boys in green blew 'im away. I'm guessin' ya didn't fly all the way here cause that's all there is to it."

Helena raised her left hand up to her neck, up to the one external scar that the plastic surgeon had told her was too close to some vital arteries to risk complete removal. She reached down her neck and grabbed the gold chain, pulling it up to reveal the pendant out the neckline of her blouse.

"Haven't taken it off since I got the chain repaired. I've been wearing it in the bath, too." Helena took another deep drag, followed by another jet of exhaled smoke, as she tucked the pendant back down. "But that's the public version, yes."

"And you'd be here about the un-public one, then?"

She nodded.

"The un-public one is that he was an old pro, dragged out of retirement by someone who knew how to pull his strings, and I've spent the past couple weeks looking for the prick. He's a Yorkshireman, that's the biggest lead I've gotten on him without turning to The Man; admitting that he's some mastermind and bringing cops back into the whole mess, now that I've finally just gotten rid of them."

Mander nodded. Never go to The Man, even if you own him. She continued.

"I wouldn't even have Yorkshire to call him; if he hadn't felt the need to do the whole 'I want to play a little game with you, Mr. Bond' thing."

"Fucking northern monkeys." Mander muttered, motioning for her to continue.

"I think I caught him off guard with my cunning plan of 'not-dying.' That could be why I haven't heard from him since. I mean, he gave me this," She took out the burner phone that she'd been given in Ireland. "In case he felt like taunting me a second time, but he hasn't, yet. He's still got plenty of time to try again. You know about Seattle, right?"

Mander looked confused for a second, then thought of what she was talking about.

"Oh, yeah. Saw that on the tele, too, figured it were one o' those. And bravo on the name!"

"I can't take credit this time. But yeah, that's why he did it. There's something he wants, he knew I'd want it as well, and tried to take me out of the running. And now that it's happening, you know the drill. No shenanigans once we're inside, but until then..."

"Open season. Yeah, I dig. Luckily, Your Countessness has got them Ultimados to watch yer back. And that general I keep seeing with ya."

"You saw how jumpy the Ultimados are right now. They all know I can do The Thing, they all know it was the only reason Ramirez couldn't put a stop to it; lucky for all of us, Velasquez and Maisson were there. Ramirez was their commander before he became my Generalissimo, back when they were just San Finzione's Special Forces. Now that Maria and my protection is part of their duties... they don't hold Ramirez at fault, but they see it as 'a stain on the regiment.' They, as a group, let me down, even though they totally didn't. This is personal for them; I can't have that in Seattle. That's how innocents get hurt, and that's Yorkshire's game; not mine. I... need the Ultimados elsewhere. And right now, Ramirez is advising Maria, which is the best place for him. He's needed in San Finzione."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Well, then," Mander said, understanding where she was going, but not wanting to. "If detached, professional protection is your need, I know some blokes..."

She cut him off.

"There's a reason I came to you; I think you already know what it is."

"Yeah, I guessed it." Mander shrugged, leaning back and looking down at her. "But ya do recall that my lack of personal integrity is how we met, right? If you're lookin' for someone to trust with yer life, why the bloody hell would ya come to me?"

Helena's cigarette had burnt out, so she lit another.

"A trusted friend once said that 'danger' isn't a word that I use often. Well, I'm using it now, Mander. I am going to walk into danger." She took a deep drag and a long drink while she let that sink in.

"Danger the likes of which, I couldn't possibly expose a trusted friend to. The kind where I need someone who's more valuable than a friend; far rarer than a man I trust."

Contessa Helena de San Finzione took a longer drag this time.

"I need a man I've already bought."

Mander grinned at that and downed his pint. Helen did the same.

"Therein lies the snag, Your Countessness. I'm bought and paid for. I've got my island, got the birds, got my lawn; the pub's a work in progress. And 'alf the fun of that is tracking the stuff down online, and doin' it meself, so that's not somethin' I'm after. Your 'little check,' covers anythin' else I might need."

"Certainly true." Helena took out her phone, searching through her photos. "And you're bringing it all here via the motorboat. I imagine the snooker table had to come in... what? Two, three trips?"

"Three's right." Mander said, thinking.

"I don't even want to know about the satellite dish. But I think we understand each other, Mander. The way Warren understood me. I know two people who were lucky enough to be born best friends. I'll tell you about them; you'll meet them soon. But you and me? We're both born criminals, man. I didn't stop being one just because they put a fucking tiara on my head."

"You've a throne an' you buy islands, Countessness. At your level, I think the proper term is 'crook.'"

Helen backed up a bit, frowning.

"That genuinely fucking hurts, Mander. Please don't ever call me that again. A crook is a politician, or an oil baron, or an internet health guru. A used car salesman! A banker, a fucking BANKER, Mander, is a crook! The people whom absolutely nothing you do to them is wrong, because they don't steal politely like us; they live, eat, and breathe fucking people over. THAT'S what a 'crook' is!"

"You're correct. I apologize. Your Countessness is absolutely a proper criminal."

"Thank you. That, from an Eastender, means a lot. Now, Mander, you like things you never had. I'm running out of them, but I enjoy that feeling, too. My yacht, for example." She showed him the photos. "It's only three years old. I don't really need a new one, but I'll likely get a decent trade-in for it. Same with the helicopter. Eurocopter isn't even around anymore; bought out by Airbus, so I need a whole new model. I'm sure I'd get some kind of deal on one or the other or both if I bought two. Of course, then you'd need to put down a proper helipad and build a bigger dock. You'd have to clear some more land and level it out, but hey, you're right about having plenty of palms left after. Then there's the concrete to lay and reinforce all by yourself, who wants to do all that? And the maintenance, ugh! I don't know if you can even fly one, anyway. If not, you'd need lessons; but Ernst is certainly qualified to teach. He lets me take the other stick for fun, now and then. I'm learning a lot."

Helena stood and walked back into the lighted area of the pub.

"Wanna take a spin?" She said with a smile.

Mander smiled back.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 02

"Politicians hide themselves away.
They only started the war.
Why should they go out and fight?
They leave that role to the poor, yeah."
-Black Sabbath, "War Pigs"

-

"Well, Cara." Sally of Sally & Cara; co-hosts and co-alcoholics of America's

favorite early-morning talk show, "Up Your Morning! With Sally & Cara," said to her partner, taking a sip of their ever-present wine. "Big doings going on in Seattle this week, huh?"

"That's right, Sally." Cara beamed straight into the camera. "Leaders from many nations and CEOs of international conglomerates are gathering there for the Summit for Trade, Racial harmony, Agricultural science, Non-violence, Global peace, Education about vaccines, Religious acceptance, and Sexual equality; or 'STRANGERS,' which begins today. A week-long conference where all of those important issues will be considered at length."

"That's very interesting." Sally read from the teleprompter. "But, yes. One

attendee was on our show recently: Contessa Helena de San Finzione."

"Oh, yeah, Sally!" Cara seemed to be just remembering, as her own instructions said. "We interviewed her just a few hours before that tragedy."

The most popular tourist video clip of the attempt on Helena's life played on the screen.

"Ooh," Sally said, as Velasquez's face filled the screen after kneeing the cameraman in the testicles, then dissolved back into her own. "Get well, Helena." She turned to Cara. "She told us we could call her Helena, right?"

"I think so. But yes, we'd talked to her just a couple hours before that stalker attacked her." Cara sensed the mood might darken, and instantly perked up at the camera. "And she'll be up there in Seattle this week!"

"Well," Sally said, taking another sip of wine. "With all of those vital issues

being discussed peaceably by so many important people, I'm sure everyone will welcome STRANGERS to Seattle."

* * *

The protesters filled the streets for blocks around the Washington State

Convention and Trade Center.

Riot security officer held them back from the line of limousines approaching the building. All of the slogans and insults hurled at them garbled into an endless argument about how every subject on their agenda would either save or destroy the world; with nothing in-between. Signs and banners lined the streets, mostly playing off the STRANGERS acronym: Don't talk to STRANGERS, STRANGER DANGER. One had a drawing of Yosemite Sam saying, "We don't cotton to STRANGERS here in Seattle, Varmints!" That one was her favorite, thus far. The Ultimados sitting in the back of Contessa Helena de San Finzione's limousine were wearing black suits and sunglasses instead of their usual uniforms.

"Oh, come on, guys." She said to them. "Someone put some work into that one."

She turned to look out the side window, and accidentally crushed her cigarette against it, sending hot coals scattering. The Ultimados put out any that got on the bottom of her dress and took care of the hole in the upholstery where the bulk of it had landed.

"Sorry." She said with a sheepish grin, taking out another cigarette. She

reached to light it, when one of the Ultimados produced a Zippo lighter.

"Allow me, Contessa." He said in Italian, lighting the new one for her. She

coughed a little on the exhale. Her expression changed to a serious one when she saw a protester in a gas mask throwing a coffee cup at the limo.

"Thanks," She told him. "You guys think this might go bad?"

"Just keep your vest on and stay in the middle of us, Contessa." Another told her. She'd noticed now that their fingers were resting on the trigger guards of the UMP40 machine pistols they had at the ready as they pulled up to the red carpet.

She started to exit the limo, when the man on her right side held out his arm, opened the door, and stepped out first. She almost went again when the second man blocked her off. One of the ones behind her motioned that it was her turn to get out now. She stepped out to where the first two were standing at attention and waited for the last two to leave the vehicle. They walked around her in a plus-sign formation as she made her way down the carpet, past the film cameras and reporters.

"Contessa!" A reporter's voice shouted above the other various questions. "Why is the summit happening in America, when America wasn't even invited?"

"They should try asking nicely next time!" She yelled back, without breaking

stride. The Ultimados led her into the lobby and away from the crowds.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Troy Equals and Susan Bailey licked ice cream cones as they sat on a bench in downtown Tacoma, looking at the door of the bank on the opposite side of the street.

"So," He asked her. "What's the plan?"

Susan watched people go in and out for a few seconds before answering.

"I talked to the manager a few days ago. I made him forget it, but now we know how much is in the vault, when the big drops come in, the combination, and which security company monitors the cameras. Julie went there and found out which guy watches the bank's cameras yesterday. Last night, she went to his house and convinced him to turn them off, take a long lunch, and forget about her. He'll act two minutes before we make our move."

Troy licked his cone while she spoke.

"Good thinking, there. Then what?"

"Then we go in two minutes after that." Susan replied, with a lick of her own

cone. "We walk in, I tell the guard to give me his gun and take a nap while you talk to the room and make them all obey us and not activate any silent alarms."

"Ok, I can do that."

"While that's going on, Julie pulls a plain white van that we've borrowed up to the back door. She checks the offices for any stragglers or would-be John McClanes. We don't want violence, but if it comes to that, we let Julie handle it."

She looked down at the bulge in Troy's pants, the up into his wounded-seeming eyes.

"You are absolutely The Man, Troy, but she's our Fighter. I need our Wizard handling crowd control." He nodded and Susan resumed.

"The Cleric, me, will stay up front and Turn Undead any walk-ins. I'll tell them

it's someone's birthday and we're doing a surprise party for them. That'll explain some of their missing time to them. Even though we know the combination, you command the manager to open the vault for us; to avoid unneeded fingerprints. Unless you thought to bring gloves."

"I did." Troy responded. "Made sure we ALL had them before we set out. Getting into the vault's going to be no problem. Then what?"

"We make the employees get rid of any trackers or dye bombs in with the money. They and the customers all start loading bags into the van. Might go faster if we make them stand in a row and pass them, like the old bucket brigade firemen. I'd say 30-40 minutes to secure the building and load up the cash. Longer if we've got to make them pour it all into the bags we brought with us; in case they don't have a way to deactivate the trackers on the bank's bags."

"Solid planning, Susan."

"While that's going on, I make sure the alley stays clear, and Julie re-joins you inside. The two of you give everyone false memories of everything. Business just made time fly by for the employees, the customers just remember that there was an unusually-long line at the bank. We return the van, load the bags into Julie's mini-van and our cars, and make the people at the rental place erase their records and any videos; then we drive home and pile all the money onto the bed. At that point, you fuck me, Julie, and any cuties we pick up along the way; on top of the money."

"Excellent plan, Susan." Troy said with a grin, licking the cone again, and still watching the front door of the bank intently. It changed back to a serious look before he casually asked her "So: Why don't we do it?"

"Because... it's wrong?" Susan asked, puzzled.

"You've already beaten Helen's top score, but go on."

"They'll definitely notice the money missing, possibly within an hour. I don't know the ins-and-outs of banking, like I'm sure you do; but even if we make them

[Ramesh_Rocky]

think it's all still there, someone will notice sooner, rather than later. Probably when they start trying to give customers 'special money that only smart people like you and me can see,' or an armored car driver points out that the vault's empty, and all the employees insist the money's 'Right there, you fool!'"

"Mm-hm." Troy mm-hmed. "Then what happens?"

"Someone freaks and hits the panic button. The FBI might even show up before the Tacoma PD. When they find there was conveniently nobody watching the cameras, if they don't charge him as an accessory, that guy loses his job. Same for everyone at the bank. The Board will fire the whole branch and let the Feds sort 'em out. Best-case scenario, nobody finds work involving a background check again. Worst-case, they get sent to prison and/or the looney bin... Wait, no. Worst case, someone KILLS themselves to avoid prison or the looney bin! Or they get killed inside. We'd be directly responsible for that."

"Hoped you'd catch that one." Troy said. "What else?"

"The bank's insured, so they'll get it all back, but that kind of money 'going

missing' is news! Now reporters, reward-seekers, and conspiracy nuts are all in the mix. And the bank's stock or whatever will certainly take a hit; you could exploit that. But it's not going to be the big crooks on The Board who'll pay for it; this is the kind of shit that rolls downhill. They'll punish the small-time customers with all kinds of new rate hikes and fees to appease The Almighty Shareholders."

"Or a government bailout, taken out of 'The Little Guy's' taxes, so that turdball hits him either way. You've beaten Julie's score, now. Wanna set a record?"

"Yeah. We can't spend it. Enough of the bills will be traceable back to the

bank. If anyone can launder money, I'm sure it's you, Troy. I don't know anything, except that putting the money in the washing machine probably isn't really involved. But we'd have to do that, too; our DNA will be all over it. We might end up just having to burn it all. And the law can't stop looking for us until the Statute of Limitations expires for bank robbery. Then it becomes an 'unsolved mystery' that never goes away, like Amelia Earhart, or Jimmy Hoffa. Someone will sniff around and might find holes in my plan and track us down to our doorstep. We can take care of any snoops that come our way, but it'll be like the movie 'The Cheyenne Social Club;' Jimmy Stewart shoots the first bad guy, and his five brothers come for revenge. Stewart and Fonda take out the five brothers, find out that fifty cousins are coming now, end up having to flee town, and go back to life on the trail. We'd be in the same boat, except we'd have to take Helen's standing offer to move into Castle Finzione with her for the rest of our lives. I have an extra credit answer, too."

Troy turned to her and raised an eyebrow. Susan stopped looking at the bank and back into Troy's eyes, placing her hand on his knee.

"Since my boyfriend is too modest to have it on the quiz: We don't talk about money much, and my lunch is almost over, so I can't afford to get him turned on right now. Therefore, without talking too financial to him, I can infer by what he's done for me this past year, and the knowledge that he's invested for himself and his best friend since before they could drive; there's no point. Maybe he's not 'La Familia de San Finzione' level; however, If Troy Equals wants to fuck his wife and girlfriend on a bed of money, he can probably just go to one of his online bank accounts and have it delivered legitimately. Or send La Contessa a booty text about it. She'll text right back. 'Scappa and security officer escort running lights to Treasury, then Airport. How do you want it? Dollars? Euros? Bars of gold? Pick a damn currency, Troilus!'"

Troy laughed and stood up; their cones finished. He offered Susan a hand up off the bench, and she took it with a smile. When they were both standing, the kiss he gave her was one that held a particular meaning in their relationship; the one that they shared when words were inadequate for expressing their agreement to whatever the other of them had just asked or said.

"There are also the individuals in the bank to consider." He said, pointing at an old man walking in with a cane. "What if he's got a bad heart? Or needs to take his medicine in the next half hour?" He pointed to a woman their own age, running out the door and to her car. "She might be running to get her kid from daycare? Their late fees are by the minute, and I don't know how long they typically wait for a late parent before calling CPS, but THEY want to go home, too. Suppose a pregnant woman's water breaks because we've got her lifting heavy money bags? Or she miscarries. Someone else has a bad back and ends up in a wheelchair for life from us pushing him past his limit. Any of those things would be on us. And, as we've learned recently, if even one person in there is hearing-impaired, it's Anything-Can-Happen Day."

He offered his arm and she took it. They began strolling back towards Inner

Claire-ity Yoga, where Susan worked as the owner's assistant. Troy wrapped up the lesson.

"Doing What We Do can be fun as hell; putting an asshole in his place, solving people's problems and turning it into a fun little MC sex game with the women I love."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Troy gently patted Susan's hand with his free hand and looked her in the eyes.

"Spotting the beautiful, radiant soul imprisoned by one of those assholes.

Helping her break free and see how wonderful she is and what the world has to offer her."

Susan gave Troy the same kiss as before, then nodded for him to continue his wrap-up.

"The four people in the world who know how to Do What We Do can help others in many ways, and we can hurt them in many more altogether-too-easy ways. It creates in us an even greater obligation to consider the consequences of our actions than those who carry guns all day for a living. They just walk around with the power to end lives. We walk around with the power to destroy them. We can never forget that, and we have to be more careful than them."

"Hmm... 'Ethics for Mind Controllers 101.'" Susan thought aloud. "Does U-Dub offer that course?"

"No. I'd pitch the idea, but my teaching method thus far has only a success rate of 1.75-in-3."

"Odd number." Susan thought a second. "Both of them."

"The 'it's wrong' counted for half your grade. I could only give Julie a 50

percent. At first, anyway."

"So, how'd she raise that to a C?" Susan asked.

"She blew the teacher." Troy said, matter-of-factly, with a smile.

"Oh, EQUALS FAMILY Ethics for Mind Controllers. Ok." Susan mused. "Well, I've already got an A+, so, what would that get me?"

"A gold star for being such a Good Girl."

Susan stopped, closed her eyes, and shivered. Her nipples stiffened. Troy looked at her quizzically before he, too, felt the chill breeze off the Sound as well, and gave a smaller shiver.

"Why haven't we made that into an orgasm trigger yet?" He asked her as they continued walking.

"Because in the mind control stories I've read in the course of learning this stuff, 'Good Girl' is ALWAYS the orgasm trigger."

"Yeah," Troy rebutted. "It's a classic."

"Yes, it is." Susan agreed. "So, if we ever encounter some evil mind controller who hasn't taken your course, don't you think it's the first one he'll try on me and Julie?"

"That's a good point. Ok, we'll come up with something special."

Susan kept going, breathing the words in an ever-more excited tone as she spoke.

"And he and his thugs keep whispering it to us, again and again. 'Good Girl. Good Girl.' I'm on my knees, squeezing my tits, unable to stop cumming again and again. Julie's rolling around on the floor, hands thrust between her legs. And they won't stop saying it and saying it as they haul our unresisting orgasm-wracked bodies into the back of their van. 'Good Girl. Good Girl' playing on a speaker in the back, keeping it going until we both black out from pleasure and wake up as his willing harem girls."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"And there's your answer to the question 'Why haven't I shared Julie's trigger yet.' I'm saving hers for a special occasion. Also, I think you might have the basis for one of those stories there. Certainly have the groundwork for that gold star taken care of."

They rounded the corner to the street that the yoga studio was on to see Claire, the owner, walking out the door toward them.

"Hey!" Claire called out from up the street. "Julie's been trying to call both of

you!"

"Fuck!" Troy muttered, checking his pockets, and remembering that his phone was probably still in the soaked pants that Julie had removed from him a couple hours earlier. He hurriedly took out his keys. "What's going on?"

Susan realized that she'd left her own phone in her purse at her desk, when Troy surprised her by showing up and taking her to lunch. His classes in Seattle had been canceled this week because of the protests, and concerns that they might escalate into another WTO Riot. Julie was working from home today for the same reason, so it benefited her to have Troy out of the house as well

"She said it's not an emergency, and nobody's hurt." Claire said, reassuringly. "Just that something's going on at your house, and you both need to get home and see this for yourselves now. Go ahead and go; we're closing early today, anyway. All the students are either protesting or staying home because of them."

Troy opened the door and held it open for Susan to get in while she thanked Claire. As he walked around. Susan leaned over and unlocked his door for him before buckling in.

"I always hate when they do that on Star Trek." She told Troy. "Picard calls

down to Engineering and asks 'What's wrong? What the devil's going on down there?' And Geordi or Riker replies 'You'd better come see for yourself, sir.' No, the captain just told you that he wants information. You TELL HIM about the green, glowy, pulsing blob that's suddenly shown up and attached itself to the warp core! You don't go 'Just come put yourself at risk, too, Captain; because it's important enough to bug you about, but not so important that I can be bothered to explain while you're relatively safe, and needed, up on the bridge.'"

"I'd like to think Julie would have given more details if it was something like

that."

"Well, you're the Math Guy around here." Susan said as Troy buckled in. "What are the odds that this does has something to do with the fact that Helen is coming to Seattle today?"

Troy pulled out of the parking space, toward the bridge to Federal Way.

"The odds of a fact tend to be 1-to-1."

* * *

Halfway home, the two of them realized that Susan hadn't gone back into the office to retrieve her purse, so she was without a phone as well. Troy found a pay phone, and Susan called Claire; who informed her that she saw it while locking up, and that her new plans for the afternoon took her past Federal Way, so she'd drop it by on the way.

The first indication of something unusual happened a block from their house, when they noticed the number of cars parked on both sides of their street. Troy drove slowly down the residential road, when they heard the music coming from up ahead.

"What is that?" Susan asked Troy.

"I Can't Explain." He replied.

"Lot of that going around today. Sounds like music."

"No, I'm saying that's what it is, 'I Can't Explain," by The Who." Troy

began singing along. 'Dizzy in the head and I'm feelin' blue. The things you've said, well maybe they're true. Getting funny dreams again and again. I know what it means, but." He started playing Keith Moon's drums with invisible sticks, then hit the brakes when he saw a tall, bald man in a black muscle shirt, cargo shorts, and sunglasses come running from his yard, across the street to the Greens' house. He held up a Frisbee and waved at their vehicle before continuing his journey. They both waved to him before getting around the motorhome blocking the neighbors' driveway to see what was happening in their yard.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Rob and Eric, their neighbors across the street, had a yard full of people. Smoke bellowed from a large barbecue and classic rock blasted from tall speakers. A professionally-made banner hung up over the living room windows and read "Green Family Reunion." A badminton net was being raised, and Frisbees were being tossed around. Troy and Susan looked over at the men and women partying, all well-built, attractive people in their late 20s and early 30s.

Troy and Julie Equals and Susan Bailey had known for some time that Rob & Eric Green, their neighbors, were soldiers of La Squadra de Ultimados, San Finzione's elite Special Forces unit, which also served as the personal guard of La Contessa Helena de San Finzione. After an experience that she'd had with a warlord abducting Lady Maria in Africa, Helena had secretly bought the house across from them and moved in a pair of Ultimados; Roberto and Enrique. They posed as a gay couple who ran an unspecified web business out of their home; thus, justifying big deliveries and someone always being at home and awake at odd hours.

Their true purpose had been to provide protective surveillance for Troy, Julie, and Susan; in case someone tried to come at La Contessa through her loved ones again. The fact that Emerald Green was the royal color of San Finzione and other unsubtle clues led to the three of them figuring out who they were very quickly.

The three of them had met some of the other Ultimados recently, when Helen had been injured and they went to San Finzione to be by her side. Some of the faces in the crowd were familiar to them. Troy recognized Dr. Tenente Paul Maisson; one of the Ultimados who'd shot the assassin that injured Helen, aided her medical team, and was now also La Contessa's personal physician; flipping burgers behind the grill, wearing a "Kiss The Cook" apron.

"No," Troy said, pulling into their driveway, and pressing the button to open his spot in their four-car garage before moving in. "This quite clearly has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with Helen. I like the government, too."

He turned off the car and they got out. As the garage door was closing, someone from across the street ran over to their front door and rang the bell. He and Susan heard the voice of Julie Equals coming from within the house, shouting for whomever it was to just fucking come in, dammit.

As they entered the house, Julie could be heard giving someone bored directions to the bathroom and telling him to just leave the front door open. She ran up to her husband and gave him a welcome home hug with accompanying kiss.

"Hey, Boy." Julie greeted Troy.

"Hey, Girl." He replied. The special greeting was one of many little love and

friendship rituals they'd developed over the course of their life together. Julie turned to Susan.

"Hey, Girl." She greeted Susan. As with Helen, the two of them loved Susan enough to extend it to her, as well.

"Hey, Other Girl." Susan answered.

Julie talked, guiding them toward the living room.

"They started showing up about half an hour after you left." Julie told them, as Troy reached out and gently rubbed away a spot of paint that had gotten on her forehead. She handed Troy's phone back to him. "Found this when I tried to call you. How was lunch, anyway?"

"Great," Troy said. "She's got the new high score."

Julie looked at Susan, puzzled.

"You ate, figured out how to rob a bank, AND had time to suck him off during your lunch? Man, Claire really IS the best boss, isn't she?" Almost on cue, Claire's vehicle slowly made its way down their street.

As they looked, another Frisbee landed in their yard, and a woman with bright blonde hair the same shade as Julie's after the dark brown inches on her head that somehow, at her age, faded naturally to that shade, wearing a bikini top, short skirt, and a floppy, white sun hat; ran after it, and looked over the top of the large red sunglasses she wore at everyone in the Equals house that was staring out the window. She then smiled and waved, tossing the Frisbee back to the neighbors' yard, before quickly running to re-join the party.

Claire pulled into the Equals' driveway. As she got out of her car, holding

Susan's purse that she'd left at the office; a blond man ran toward the Equals' front porch. The TV had been on for background noise while Julie had been painting. Susan looked over and saw the afternoon news, where Contessa Helena de San Finzione walked down a red carpet, saying something to a reporter without breaking stride.

"Try asking nicely next time?'" Susan thought aloud. "That's not very..."

Her thought was interrupted by the doorbell.

"And there's that again." Julie said, walking toward the door with Troy

following. "Guess they've only got two bathrooms over there, and I counted about forty..."

Julie opened the door. At this range, the horrible attempt at a surfer dude

toupee on his bald head was obvious.

"Pardon me, DUDE," The man said, putting emphasis on the 'dude.' "But, like, WE'RE staying at your NEIGHbors' place a couple days, and I was all, LIKE..."

"Lose the rug and the accent, Capitan Ortega." Julie told him. "You're causing an international incident with both. Bathroom's the first door on the left. If not, there are two off the master bedroom, but only if there's someone in there. And use the one on the right side; Mr. Equals' bathroom. You'll know if you're in the wrong one."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Claire walked onto their porch, unable to take her eyes off the scene across the street. Julie turned to greet her with a smile and gave her a welcoming kiss.

"Aren't those the guys who..." Claire started to ask her.

"Yeah." Julie told her, gently pulling her toward the inside of the house.

"But aren't they..."

"Uh-huh."

"So, shouldn't they..."

"That's right."

"But they're not..."

Julie lost patience. Not with Claire, but how the day was turning out.

"Yes, Claire, it's REALLY fucking suspicious, now get inside!"

Once they were back inside with the door closed and Ortega in the bathroom, Julie allowed her friend to speak sentences again.

"I thought those guys were Helen's Green Beret bodyguards or something."

"Green with black stripes." Julie said, leading her into the living room with the others. "And yeah. Ultimados are great at the 'unstoppable killing machine' part of their job, but they suck at undercover."

"I thought she was going to busy at the summit." Claire responded.

"Yeah, she was just on the news there. We're going to try to squeeze in going to dinner a couple times while she's in town, but it seems like she'd be too busy to hope for more time with her than that."

"So, what are they doing here?" Troy asked, joining the conversation. "Backup security after last month?"

"I'm not sure yet." Julie said as the toilet flushed. "So far, my interactions with them have been having my painting interrupted until I lost focus and telling them where the bathroom is."

The doorbell rang again and Julie Equals stomped toward it.

A tall woman with short, blonde hair and wearing a bikini was at the door.

"Don't bother faking an accent, Tenente Marisol Velasquez. I'd think Helen would have given you guys some kind of accent training besides old Baywatch episodes. And the whole world saw you shoot that fucker and kick that other fucker in the balls on TV. A new 'do is not fooling anyone. Door on the left; If Ortega's not done, there are two bathrooms in the master bedroom, go ahead and use the left one." As she walked past, Julie shouted after her. "And congratulations on the medal!"

Ortega emerged from the hall bathroom. Julie turned to him.

"Capitan, would you please just tell everyone else where the bathroom is and to come in? I'm about to just put up a sign and leave the door open, but I haven't had time for it since you guys showed up. And hey, aren't all of you commandos? Aren't you trained to hold it in for days?"

"We apologize for the intrusion, Señorita Equals. We are attempting to keep a low profile while La Contessa is in Seattle."

"I got that. It's not working." Julie said as the doorbell rang again. She

stomped toward it, raising her voice. "What possible need could there be for so many of you here, though?"

Susan came out of the living room and into the hall where all the conversation seemed to be happening."

"Guys," she said. "I don't think..."

Julie opened the door. The blonde woman who'd waved from the yard earlier was there, a black Prada Arcade purse over her shoulder, and an emerald pendant on a chain around her neck. She removed her sun hat, revealing that her hair under the hat had the same color combination as Julie's. She took off her sunglasses and smiled at Julie.

"Hey, Girl." Contessa Helena de San Finzione said to her oldest friend in the world. "Can I use your bathroom?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

So Night Follows Day Pt. 03

"I showed up late one night with a neon light for a visa.

But knowing I'm so eager to fight can't make letting me in any easier.

I know I been wearing crazy clothes, and I look pretty crappy sometimes.

But my body feels so good, and I still sing a razor line.

Every time."

-The Who, "You Better, You Bet"

Contessa Helena de San Finzione stood in the Equals household's living room, rapt in nostalgia. She admired old photos of the three of them at various stages of her life up until about seven years ago, and remembered when the pictures had been taken. She was genuinely flattered at the number of photos containing her with them, or her with Propappou, or just her by herself.

She looked at old knick-knacks, decorations, and pieces of furniture that she hadn't seen for almost a decade, brought down from their parents' homes in Alaska, where she and the Equals had grown up. She took a deep sigh, and grinned. She was experiencing memories of happy times with them, but this time, without the dread of knowing what would be waiting for her at home when the feeling ended.

"Helena!" Julie called out to her, breaking her out of the reverie of the past that comprised their living room. "Of course we're happy to see you, Hon; and I'll be happy to sit down and look at some old photos with you later on, but it's been like five minutes since you walked in. So, would you mind answering our fucking questions now?"

"Yeah, ok. Sorry. Just, you know, I abandoned everything I had left in Anchorage, and it's cool to see that you guys saved some things." Helen took a seat on one of the couches. Troy sat in a recliner, and the other three ladies took the couch opposite her.

Helen thought for a moment.

"Ok, let's pretend I was too distracted on Memory Lane, and you were all talking at the same time too much to really pay attention and start again; try going one at a time." She thought a second before pointing to Julie. "What was yours, Julie?"

"I guess my first one was what's with all the Ultimados tossing Frisbees in the yard and coming to use the bathroom?"

"Oh, pretexts for checking out the house and back yard, sweeping for bugs, that sort of thing. Which, by the way, they didn't find any; so now you know your house is safe, too. They didn't want to ruin my surprise, so they couldn't just ask 'Mind if we make sure your house is secure before La Contessa surprises you?' You didn't recognize me when I waved?" Helen took off the wig she was still wearing that matched Julie's usual hair length and colors, revealing her own short, black hair with curled bangs beneath, and plopped the wig onto the coffee table. "Man, you are an effective disguise, Julie."

Claire and Susan looked at the wig, then at Helen. Something that they'd done during the Equals' honeymoon trip had involved Claire and Brenda, another friend, coming to San Finzione with Troy and Julie on their honeymoon; she and Brenda trading off disguising themselves as Julie, and walking around on Troy's arm to distract their security officer shadow while Julie set up their revenge prank for Helen's at their wedding. Helen saw the two women looking between her and the wig and got a feeling for what they were thinking.

"What?" She asked them. "You didn't know that I owned a Julie wig long before any of you?" They looked up at her again, about to open their mouths to speak, when Helen leaned forward and told them "The answer to all your weird questions about it is 'Yes.'"

Susan came forward with the next question.

"Ok, so that's even more obviously not you at the summit. A reporter asked a question, and the answer 'you' gave... well, it wasn't really a 'you' answer. Like, it was ok, but below your level."

While Susan spoke, Helen took a thin, silver, rectangular box out of her purse and began looking around for something.

"Hmm..." Helen thought, as if she wanted to answer, but was looking around for something as she fidgeted with the box.

"We don't have any ash trays, Helen." Susan said, sensing what she was looking for. "Nobody smokes in Equalshousia." She pointed to the sliding glass door through the kitchen, leading to the back patio. Helen followed her finger and nodded, standing up and walking through the kitchen toward the patio, making it clear that since she couldn't smoke inside, that was where questions would continue.

Helen spotted an empty soda can on the top of the garbage in the kitchen wastebasket and grabbed it on the way past, guessing there would be no ash tray waiting outside either. She took a seat at the patio table, produced a cigarette from the case, and lit it with a lighter built into the case. The other four grabbed chairs and arranged them into a line a few feet away from her, out of direct smoke-blowing range.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Sorry about that, Susan. But no, I'm not at the summit. Rita Delvecchio is at the summit. She's me on 'È Solo Divertente Se Conosci L'italiano'." She thought for a drag. "It's only funny if you know Italian; it's San Finzione's version of SNL. I heard you're learning the language, you should check YouTube for her, even if you might not get all the jokes yet, because..." Helen chuckled. "Her 'Me' is just dead on! The girl who plays Maria doesn't look a thing like her, but Maria says we could be twins when Rita's in the wig and makeup. And I'll watch and go 'Damn, I totally do that, don't I,' or 'I can hear myself saying that, too!' So, I invited her up to the castle for dinner, we hit it off, and now I hire her to fill in for me when I don't particularly want to be at some events, but have to."

"I have SO many follow-up questions on this!" Susan responded.

Helena took a deep drag.

"Let me take care of the top five for you." She counted them off on her fingers. "Yes, I have a double. Yes, I have had sex with my double. No, her impression of me is not THAT good! Yes, OF COURSE, I filmed it. Maybe, if you're REALLY nice to me, we can watch it later."

"And that took care of most of them. How often do you have her do this?"

"Well, Rita's gotten pretty good at forging my signature, but we might technically still be at war with Iraq."

Claire stood and went next.

"I'm just here because Susan left her purse at work and it was on my way, and I need to get going, so I don't really have a question, Contessa. I'd just like to say that it's nice to finally meet you."

Helen rose from her chair and walked over to shake Claire's hand.

"Well, thank you. It's nice to meet you too, Claire. Sorry you have to go, hope we all get more time to talk while I'm here. And Helena's fine. Or hell, guess I better get used to being Helen again in America. So, yeah, go with Helen."

They said goodbye, and Helen sat back down as Claire showed herself out, then she addressed the others.

"Speaking of weird stuff about being back in America, did you know that I apparently CAN'T go into any corner store, grab a carton of my brand, say 'Invia la fattura al Castillo,' and walk out with them? At least, in Oregon, anyway. When did this shit start? But seriously, I know Troy's question is going to totally kill the mood, so Julie, did you have one?"

"Well, of course I'm thrilled to see you, Helena." Julie replied. "I'm just curious as to why Rita's downtown instead of you."

"Day One of these things is always just handshakes, photo ops, and 'how's the ol' regime holding up?' Really, I could send my Madame Tussaud's statue, if we could find a way to make it drink champagne, nibble caviar, and pretend to be happy to see everyone. Actually..." Helen took out her phone and spoke French into it. "Message to Jeanne: Have an idea, mention Madame Tussaud to me when I get home; I'll remember what it's about."

"There's a good, and hopefully not too much of a mood-killing question." Troy said when she finished. "Because, naturally, I am very happy to see you, Helen. I thought you'd be busy and the best we'd be able to do is dinner out some night this week. But what happens when someone walks up to Rita Delvecchio and starts asking her questions in Tagalog, or Navajo, or Portuguese, or German? Any of the many, many languages in which Contessa Helena de San Finzione is known to be fluent, and I would imagine that Rita Delvecchio is not."

Helen smiled, supposing it was a fair question. Her, their, and Susan's ability to control minds brought with it a natural confidence; the self-assuredness of knowing that they had the power in all of their interactions with others. A by-product of that confidence had been the ability to excel in their chosen interests. Troy had always had a natural genius for investment and finance, and was pursuing a doctorate in Economics. Julie had always possessed an artist's eye, and was becoming well-established in the Seattle area as a professional artist and graphic designer. Susan had only recently learned their secret, and because of the abusive relationship that had been the only one she'd ever known before meeting Troy and Julie, was still new to concepts like hope and encouragement; so was still working on discovering hers.

Helen's had been a talent for languages. The many different means by which cultures all over the world conveyed thoughts and ideas had fascinated her as much as mind control had Troy and Julie, causing them to discover the secret that they'd taught to her and Susan. Learning new languages came naturally to her, and late-night talk show hosts occasionally paraphrased a famous quip about Dorothy Parker, to whom she'd been no relation, modified for Helen: "She speaks every language in the world, and she can't say 'no' in any of them."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Mic in her signet ring feeds to live translators who tell her what to say back into an earbud. If Rita gets in over her head or anything, she's got a signal. The Ultimados come up, one whispers something in La Contessa's ear, she acts like he just told her about some urgent matter, and they extract her from the conversation. You act like I haven't thought this through, Troilus."

"Well, that brings us to the Ultimados." Troy replied. "Contessa Helena de San Finzione does not need thirty-six Ultimados to protect her in Seattle. Even if riots broke out and the city became a war zone, she could re-take it with less than ten. You've had us under 24-hour surveillance with just two of them. After the attempt on your life last month, say fifteen or twenty might be a reasonable precaution. Some of whom, you'd need to keep downtown with Rita, of course.

"Now, the 'Green Family Reunion' is going on next door; and, by the way, nobody who isn't on TV or in the movies goes and gets a damn professional-made banner for a party. A party where all of the family members are adults in their 20s and 30s in peak fighting condition with no children or elderly present, many of whom are wearing baggy summer outfits that could easily conceal a pistol. Not Velasquez, of course; she couldn't hide anything in that bikini, but some of them. Some are 'casually' going off in pairs to take strolls around the neighborhood, others go out in groups for 'another supply run,' when you've got enough stuff to hold your own rock festival already. So, I'm thinking that our street, and maybe a five-block radius around it, is presently the safest place in the world. My question, then, and I have a feeling you're going to want to answer this one privately: 'Why does Helen's visit mean that our house needs to be the safest place in the world?'"

"Is that too many?" Helen answered, coyly. "I guess I did only need twelve of them to destroy the balance of power in Central Africa, didn't I?" She saw that Troy was still waiting for an answer and straightened up. "We haven't even been to Seattle yet. We landed in Portland with no fanfare yesterday, spent the day buying some used cars, trucks, a Winnebago or two, and drove up I-5 early this morning. So extra protection was needed for the road trip. The rest..." Helen took a final drag of her cigarette before dropping it through the hole in the can. "Yes, we'll probably want to talk in private about that. Is there a place we can go?"

"Well, Helen," Susan said with a genuine smile. "If it means we've got a little time to actually see you; then I, for one, welcome our new Ultimado Overlords."

Helen gave a genuine smile back, as well. "Genuine" was a word that she'd come to associate with Susan more and more since they'd put their bad first meeting behind them and were working on being friends. It was a trait that Helen associated with Julie, as well.

At that moment, a Frisbee landed in the middle of them. The tall, bald man with sunglasses, whom Troy and Susan had seen cross the road when they pulled up, came into their back yard in search of it. Helen waved him over.

"Oh hey, gotta introduce you guys." She called over to him. "Oi, Mander!"

Troy and Susan had been too startled to notice when he ran across the street before, but as he approached, they could now see the large caliber, black-finished pistol in a holster on his belt. Susan leaned closer to Helen and spoke before Mander came into earshot.

"I have another question, Helen." She said. "Why is the henchman from every 80s action movie in our yard?"

"You think so?" Helen replied. "I always think Vinnie Jones."

Mander bounded over to them.

"Right 'ere, Your Countessness. An' I'm guessin' these three are Mr. & Mrs. Equals and Ms. Bailey. Lovely to meet ya." He leaned over to Helen and whispered, "Who was the game bird that left?"

"That was Claire..." Helen hesitated a second. "You know, I didn't get her last name. She had to go, I don't know how often she comes by, but I'm sure I can get her number for you."

"This ain't that kind of vacation fer me, I'm afraid." Mander replied.

Helen turned back to the group.

"Mander's going to be helping me out with some stuff while I'm in town. But yes, Troy. We should talk somewhere else."

Troy stood up and made a "right this way" motion back into the house. The two of them left.

Mander took Helen's seat, and he, Julie, and Susan looked across from each other for a number of seconds.

"Lovely 'ome ya've got 'ere." Mander said at last, looking through the open kitchen door. "What kind of tilin' izzat?"

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Troy closed the bedroom door behind him. Helen stood, looking at the display case of little gifts that he and Julie had given each other over the years, and remembering the stories behind most of them.

"What'd you ever do with mine?" Helen said, looking at the pair of pink, lace panties in the case that Julie had removed on her and Troy's first night together and given to him as her first gift to her newest and final boyfriend. She then gave out an "Oh!" as she noticed the engraved gold invitation she'd given them to the castle ball, from the first time they'd gone to San Finzione.

Helen walked back across the room and hugged Troy.

"Thank you." She said. "Something of mine, up there. I get what that means."

Troy hugged back.

"Like your paintings, we thought it just belonged."

Troy kissed Helen on the forehead. Helen tried to pull him toward the bed. Troy let her for a couple of steps before he stopped and pulled away. She sighed and sat on the bed.

"They'd probably hear us, anyway." She said with a smirk. "It's safe to talk here?"

"I'm pretty sure I saw Velasquez come out of here, so I imagine it's been swept for bugs, and we soundproofed the bedrooms."

"Mander might be interested in hearing how you did that. He's gotten into home improvement in a big way since I last saw him."

"Ok, let's start with Mander." Troy said, taking a seat on the chaise lounge across from her. "You have thirty-six elite troops, ready to kill or die on your command; even without Doing What We Do to make them, having what looks like a pretty good barbecue across the street."

"You're all invited, of course." Helen interrupted. "Sorry, I just should have said earlier."

"Thanks. Maisson's burgers are smelling pretty good, we just might come over. Back to the question, though: Why is the larger of the two thugs that Professor Moriarty sends to abduct The Girl traveling with you?"

Helen suddenly laughed at that. Troy looked confused until she spoke.

"Sorry, it's just... that's... you don't know..." Helen spoke quickly to change the subject before Troy asked for more on that. "The Ultimados have been on edge since the attack, Troilus. Nobody who knows about The Thing blames Ramirez; although there have been some fairly unflattering political cartoons about him lately. That's why he's not here. He's advising Contessa-In-Reggenza Maria while this blows over. The way they see it, La Squadra de Ultimados failed before they succeeded. So, they're out to redeem themselves, even though there's nothing to redeem. They're TOO ready to kill or die on my command right now, Troilus. It's the kind of irrational, macho, 'there's us and there's them' military pride that we grew up around in Anchorage, and it leads to people who DON'T have a 'stabbing me' agenda getting hurt."

"Susan says you get a lot of that in the service industry, too. Like, even more than Marines, because they've also got to put up with the Marines sometimes being asshole customers, just like the rest of us. You could always command them get over it."

Helen gave him a blank look before responding in a Valley Girl voice.

"Yeah, like, I know, right? But there's, like, this guy I know? And he's always going on about this guy named 'Prince Upulls?' And he's, like, MAJORLY cute, so I thought I'd check it out? And one of the ones I'm trying is, like, NOT disrespecting the people who've, like, sworn to put bullets into other people for me? Or, like, get bullets put into themselves for me? So, I don't want to like, handwave their feelings away, ya know? I'd rather save that for something more important than wounded pride?"

Troy smiled at that. It made Helen smile too.

"I can see that you're trying, Helen." Troy said, taking hold of her hand. "I can also see that you've been trying to use humor to deflect things since probably before you cooked up the reunion idea. Definitely since you knocked on the door. Petalouda, there's something you're trying to put off telling me as long as you can. I suspect that whatever it is, I'm not going to like it any more a few days from now than I will right at this moment. Do you need me to help you go deeper and be honest?"

"No, Troilus." She said, pulling away. She looked down, then back up at him. "You know that the man who stabbed me wasn't some lone psycho. He'd been a hitman, back when we were kids. He went straight, Troy. Like how Wade used to promise the parole board he would, but never had any intention of doing."

Helen stopped for a moment, as if she'd stunned herself by what she'd just said. She continued speaking as her hand slipped into her black Prada Arcade bag.

"In fact, hearing it out loud like that, that's not a bad comparison: This guy was, like, the Anti-Wade. He MADE The Big Score and got out clean. Went straight, married his girl, got a farm out in the country, had kids, raised them to be better than him; did all the things that Wade promised Marion he'd do 'someday.'

"Then he contracted a terminal illness; a brain tumor. The money dried up, he'd lost his hearing, and things were only going to get worse from there. The coroner's report..." She dug out what she'd been seeking in the purse, and dropped a thick file folder onto the bed. "Said he'd have been bedridden within a few months, dead within a year. A man found him, preyed upon his fears of leaving his family impoverished, and paid Frank Morgan enough money to throw his remaining life away in an effort to end mine."

Troy reached over to the bed and opened the folder. The coroner's report was on top of a number of other documents stapled together inside; many showing holes where the staples had been removed and replaced multiple times.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"And this is all about that word you said back then? Springheel?"

"I'd foolishly hoped you'd have forgotten it." Helen said with a sad smile. "I know you've Googled it at least, Troy. What do you know?"

"I know about Springheel Jack; a monster from English folklore that Americans sometimes confuse with Jack the Ripper because of the names. A bat-winged beast with a man's face, said to be able to leap great heights and distances. It terrorized women walking alone at night. I'm guessing that it's not the real creature that we're talking about."

Helen reached for her cigarettes before remembering where she was. She took a deep breath, instead.

"Not quite. And it's time I told you more, but when we rejoin the others. I don't want to have to go through it again for Julie and Susan." She thought a moment. "Fuck, I don't think I've even shown Mander yet, come to think of it. The short version is 'It's something that both I and the man who tracked down Frank Morgan and paid his widow and children a million euros just for the effort of trying to kill me, want.' I'm told they would have gotten five million if he'd succeeded."

"A hitman who couldn't hear, Helen." Troy told her. "So you couldn't command him to stop. Because the man who hired him knew that you could do that to one who could hear you."

Helen reflexively reached for her cigarette case again, then backed off from it.

"Yes, Troy. He knows I can do The Thing!" She took the burner phone out of her purse. "Frank Morgan's widow gave me this in Ireland, a week after you guys left. The next night, back at the castle, he called me on it. Gave me the whole 'What's your favorite scary movie" song and dance. He figured it out, he staged an incident so that he could see it in action, and then realized 'Hey, what if the assassin can't hear her commands?''' Helen looked down again.

"There's something else."

Troy nodded. Helen reached for a smoke a third time, then went into her purse and pulled out the worry beads that Propappou had given her long ago.

She held them between her index and middle finger and began clacking them.

"He knows your name, Troy. He said it to me. That's why your neighborhood is full of Ultimados right now."

Troy said nothing.

Helen waited. She knew that one of his biggest fears was that her world would come crashing down on his doorstep. He feared it so much that Helen feared it as well, did The Thing or spent large amounts of money to keep their names out of things; and now she'd made the fear real for both of them. She had no idea what to expect next.

She'd planned on shouting, considered panic. Although Troy had never raised a hand to her in anger, and she knew in her heart that he never would, she would completely forgive the last living man whom she loved if he stood up and backhanded her at this moment. If her first boyfriend walked over to the display case, took out her invitation, hurled it at her, and told her to never contact them again; she would spend the rest of her life in tears, but would walk away forever from the only family she'd known before Vincenzo and Maria.

Troy did none of that. He rose to his feet. He looked down at Helen. She held her arms to her sides, awaiting the judgement of the only man whom she permitted to judge her.

She dropped the worry beads onto the bed. He'd probably want those back, too. Tell her to never think of herself as Helena Medina again, and return all of Propappou's things they'd sent her after he died.

Troy picked up the file. He set it on his nightstand and sat next to her. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"Ok," he said. "I can't say I never considered this possibility, Helen. I know you do everything you can to keep the media from digging into your oldest friends' lives. However, someone drawing a line between you and us was inevitable. I mean, you've named San Finzione's hospitals, runaway, and women's shelters after Propappou! Byroni Medina has a Wikipedia page because of you, Helen."

"I keep it updated." Helen said, still trying to tell the tears behind her eyes that they wouldn't be needed, as he resumed.

"And when we were on our way to you, a bunch of old friends from Alaska that I hadn't heard from in years called to see if we were ok and if we were still in touch with you and knew anything. We never got to take you to Greece to meet the rest of the family, but they all know about Propappou's Petalouda Mikro and they called me, too. We've always been a worse-kept secret than the urban legends that Contessa Helena de San Finzione is some kind of witch who can make others obey her commands. Forced to give it serious thought now, we've always been anyone who cares spending ten minutes on Google away from being connected to you."

"I don't think he knows about Susan." Helen said, looking up at him. "He said 'those two' were safe, as long as I play ball. He might have seen you at the hospital."

"Or he could have seen me out walking with Susan in the Marketplace or anywhere else and think she's my wife. Either way, you and one of the two of them, and myself are in danger. You know what that means."

Helen backed out of the hug and stood up.

"Yes. I have to go."

Troy took hold of her wrist and gently pulled her back down onto the bed.

"No, Helen. It means the opposite of that. It means we're a part of this now. Contessa Helena de San Finzione is NOT alone in the world. You're not going to keep us under house arrest with the Ultimados, if that's what you were planning. You didn't ask for us to be in this, we didn't ask to be in it, but the fact is, that's what's happened. And it sounds like none of us are safe until whatever is going on is over. So, no pushing us away."

He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a deep kiss.

"We love you, Helen. How can we help?"

She reached into her purse and pulled out a flash drive.

"Well, I guess we should start," she replied. "By telling you everything."