Fantasy Whatever Gets You through the Night by TMaskedWriter

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Story :- Whatever Gets You through the Night

Written by TMaskedWriter

"The phone don't ring.

And the sun refuse to shine.

Never thought I'd have to pay so dearly

for what was already mine.

For such a long, long time."

-Warren Zevon, "Accidentally Like A Martyr"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 01

Byroni Medina served as a sapper with the American 27th Infantry, a division of National Guard volunteers, in World War I; where he fought in the Battle of the Lys. In the fighting, he was separated from his unit and ended up alone on the wrong side of the Line but managed to make his way back to the Allied side the next day. History recorded nothing of his actions but his name and that he fought in the battle.

After the War, Byroni pursued the field of Structural Engineering, where he applied his training with explosives to helping build bridges and tunnels across America. He played some small role in most of the great American Public Works projects of the 20th century. An immigrant who could be spotted in the backgrounds of a few famous photos, but little other record exists of his involvement.

When Alaska became a state, he reasoned "They gonna need bridges and tunnels, too." And moved his business to the Land of the Midnight Sun. From then until a begrudgingly-accepted retirement in the 1990s, he put his skills to use connecting Anchorage and the state around it. None of the bridges or tunnels he built bear his name. There is no Medina Street in Anchorage, Alaska.

During those years, his grandson joined him Up North. He married and gave Byroni a great-grandson. From then on, he was most commonly referred-to by the Greek word for Great-Grandfather, Propappou. Years later, when Troy's parents were killed in an automobile accident, Propappou accepted retirement to raise his great-grandson with the same sense of caution and responsibility that a lifetime of safely handling explosives had taught him.

Propappou's great-grandson and his friends had been important parts of the final decades of Byroni's long life. The most important of Troy's friends had been a girl from a bad home where she was in constant danger. He tried to warn people, but few listened to the little girl and the old man about her home life. He fought for years to get the courts to take her away from her abusive father so he could adopt her; but by the time the man had shown the world that he'd been the kind of danger that Propappou warned them all about by murdering the girl's mother, the courts decided that Byroni was already raising one teenager and by then he was close to a hundred years old, and decreed too old to take on another. The girl went into the foster system, but always managed to stay close to Propappou, whom she regarded as her real father. It was because of him and the fact that he'd been the first to call her that name that she went by Helena rather than the name that the reprobate Parker family had given her, Helen.

Years later, the girl grew up to marry Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione, ruler of the tiny European nation of San Finzione; becoming Contessa Helena de San Finzione. The Count died two months before Propappou, leaving 22-year-old Helena as Reigning Monarch of the Sovereign County and Independent Nation-State of San Finzione.

As things were built or were renamed for her late husband and his great works, La Contessa determined that it was an affront that there were no monuments to Byroni Medina and set about fixing that. Many of San Finzione's emergency shelters and several medical facilities had been named or renamed in his honor. In addition, life-sized statues of the man stood outside most government buildings. In the seven years that Contessa Helena had been their ruler, children in San Finzione's schools had been taught "Run to Propappou if you are in danger. He will protect you."

The statues had been a boon to public safety, as they were always monitored and wired for sound and video, so that if someone came up to one in need of assistance, an operator at La Policia headquarters would see and be able to offer advice through the statue while dispatching help. The statues also had sensors to detect if they were being hugged. Those sensors would set off another alarm, causing the dispatchers to verify that it wasn't a drunken tourist, but someone in real danger. If it were the case, they would then slam down a red button that would alert every government employee within five city blocks to come to the scene and provide whatever assistance they could.

It was La Contessa's policy that if a child were to hug one of the statues, that the button be pressed immediately. Her logic for this was that a child running up to Propappou with something to tell him could just be telling on another child for taking the last cookie; but if a child ran up and hugged Propappou, it meant that they were in danger, that it was probably very real, and right behind them.

It was the weekend, and Stavro Poldouris, head of the Citizens' Grievance Office, was helping out in his father's butcher shop, cutting up a pig, when the alert came to report to the statue in front of the office. Luckily, because La Contessa had created the position and the office primarily for him, it was right across the street from the shop that his family lived above. Stavro set down his cleaver and ran into the storefront and out into the street, removing his gloves and apron as he went. The street was clear, so he kept running until he reached the statue, and the small boy desperately clinging to it and crying.

"Hey, hey, it's ok, I am here." Stavro said in Italian, the primary of San Finzione's four official languages. He tried to parse his Greek thoughts into Italian for the boy as he put his hand on his shoulder. "Of not to be fraiding. What is the matter?"

"He shot him!" The boy cried. As approaching sirens grew louder and the first policia cars pulled up, Stavro looked down the street in the direction the boy had been running from. Half a block away, Stavro saw a blond man in a suit who'd been running stop and turn around. Stavro began to run after him when he heard La Policia shout for him to stop and get down on the ground.

Stavro looked down at himself, then at the boy. In his hurry to get to the statue, he'd removed his gloves before removing his apron, and now his hands and the boy's shoulder were covered with blood. He'd seen enough American television to know what would happen if he tried to run after the man and the likelihood that they'd listen to him after finding him covered with blood and getting it on the child and dropped to the ground.

"It's pig's blood!" Stavro shouted to the officers, putting his hands behind his head and feeling the blood smear his hair. "I'm a butcher across the street!"

Stavro looked down the block and saw the man in the suit get into a vehicle. He tried to crane his neck for a better look when an officer shouted for him to stay down. As they kept their guns pointed at Stavro, other officers went to assist the child. After they'd handcuffed him, a foot patrolman from the neighborhood who knew Stavro arrived and was able to explain that yes, he was the son of the butcher and being covered in blood was not an unusual sight. The matter would be cleared up, but by then, the man would be gone.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Stavro kept his head down as the dispatcher who'd been watching the scene confirmed his innocence to the other officers. By the time all the confusion was over and he was able to give a statement, the only details he'd been able to recall were "blond man with a suit turned and got into a vehicle."

As Stavro's family came out of the shop to see if everything was all right, he thought and tried harder to recall anything that would help. He couldn't remember any more details to give La Policia. Whomever he'd shot, the man was going to get away.

It was then that it occurred to Stavro that he couldn't recall details on his own, but nonetheless, he'd seen the man. There was information in his head, even if he couldn't access it. At that point, Stavro remembered that he knew someone who could force him to recall everything. As soon as he was allowed to, he took out his phone and called his girlfriend.

He sighed while it connected. He didn't like using her influence and connections for himself, but reasoned that he could help catch a possible killer; a man who would murder another in front of a little boy. It was important enough.

"Maria," he said once she answered. "I need an audience with your great-grandmother. I have a problem, and I know she can help."

* * *

Contessa Helena de San Finzione lay naked on her bed, catching her breath. She sat up, removed the toy she'd been playing with, and gave a smoldering look to the woman who was doing the same on the screen of the laptop computer positioned between her legs. She reached for a towel and her cigarettes, lighting one as she spoke.

"So," she asked Susan Bailey, the woman who'd also been playing along with her on the other side of the world. "That's cybersex, is it?"

"There's another thing we do around here that we call cybersex," she replied. "But that's the usual definition. This is really a first for you? I've found a sexy thing that Helen has never done before?"

"Susan, dear," Helen said with a long drag of her cigarette to one of the few people who had permission to call her Helen. "Even without being 'La Contessa,' even without being able to do The Thing, I've always had a big, long list of options before getting to 'take Warren out of the nightstand and see if Susan's on Skype.' I just really wanted to explore that one."

Susan smiled at that.

"Well, those of us who haven't known the secret of mind control since puberty and couldn't literally grab anyone we want, any time we want, had to get creative. So, how was it?"

Helen had to think on that for a couple of drags.

"Different. Not being able to just command the other person to do what you want; or cum when you do? It's kind of..."

She took another drag, so Susan volunteered to complete the sentence.

"Kinky?"

"Frustrating." Helen found the word. "In a good way, though."

"Troy & Julie said the same thing the first time I suggested it." Susan replied, referring to their two friends who'd taught them both the ability to control minds.

Susan lived with Troy and Julie Equals in Federal Way, Washington; where she was the permanent third member of their poly-amorous marriage. Helen had known them her entire life, and the two of them discovered the secret of mind control at a young age. They taught Helen the ability in their youth to protect her from her biological father. Susan had come into their lives within the past two years, after Troy & Julie helped her escape an abusive relationship. They'd determined that Susan was a good and responsible enough person to entrust with the secret as well. She and Helen had problems at first, but that changed over time until their relationship took a turn for the better in the past two months.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Troy was also the father of Helena's twin sons, Lord Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione II and Lord Byroni Troilus de San Finzione. Her maid, Jeanne, had taken them for their 3-month checkup to La Familia Royale's doctor, who was part of the undercover security detail that La Contessa had assigned to Susan and the Equals; two members of La Squadra de Ultimados, San Finzione's elite Special Forces unit and La Familia Royale's personal guard. Susan and Julie loved the boys like their own too and were looking forward to their first visit to their "other castle."

"And you'll all be ok having Jeanne staying there? It's no trouble putting her in a La Contessa suite downtown. It'd be on me."

Susan gave a dismissive wave.

"We all like Jeanne. And they bought this place with extra bedrooms in mind, remember? We're all happy to have them here; I just hope you won't go nuts without them for a few days."

A couple of days after the twins were born, Helen was overcome with Postpartum Depression and fled the country and everyone she knew for a month. Her friends managed to find her and bring her back, and she'd been trying to make up for the lost time with the children.

"I'm sure I'll find something." Helen said as she got dressed. "I 'gots the queening to do,' it doesn't leave a lot of time for sipping Chardonnay and catching up on soaps."

"You could've come with them, left Maria in charge for a few days. I've certainly missed you."

Helen looked at Susan dreamily.

"I'd have loved to. But the studio's new movie has started shooting, and as you can imagine, 'The Sword of San Finzione' is a subject very near and dear to me."

Susan responded with a sigh.

"Yeah, I know, Helen; Julie and I spent a damn week looking all over the countryside for that thing!"

Helen laughed and put out her cigarette.

"And I'm sorry for that again. That was supposed to be a prank on Julie. If you'd asked me instead of just going along with her, I'd have told you that it was a line from Vincenzo's most famous speech to the resistance during the war. He knew that The People of San Finzione could rise up and become the sword that drove the Nazis out of the country. And they did it, in the largest, best-coordinated resistance attack in history. I know you checked Wikipedia on him; you should've clicked a couple more links."

"Yeah," Susan replied. "I was mainly looking for stuff on you when I first looked him up; I've read up on my history since then. San Finzione Studios has been around over a year; I figured after 'San Finzione Shakedown,' a movie about Vincenzo's actions in World War II would've been your next picture."

Helen lit another cigarette. She had things to do, but she was also La Contessa, and most of those things would wait for her.

"I had to find a script I approved of, first." Helen explained with a long drag. "Then there were the creative differences over the big glaring historical inaccuracy they're going with."

Susan knew what she was talking about, because she'd mentioned it whenever the film came up during pre-production.

"I'm sad to say, Helen, the studio's got a point on that one: an audience wouldn't believe an actor as young as Vincenzo really was when he did those things." Susan thought a second. "Vincenzo the First, I mean; not my godson. He's WAY too young to do all that. I don't doubt that mine could by, say the age of four, though."

Susan let the thought trail into the grin they shared. The moment was interrupted by a knock on La Contessa's door, followed immediately by a text. With Jeanne taking the twins to their father's house, none of the castle's other servants had leave to enter La Contessa's bedroom under regular circumstances, so this was their method of reaching her. She looked at the text, then back up to Susan.

"Ramirez is here." Helen said.

Susan raised an eyebrow at that.

"Something going on?"

"I'd think he'd call if there was a crisis. He's probably here for the same reason that I do need to log off and get going. He wants to see the execution, too."

"That sounds like something they might not even wait on La Contessa for." Susan replied. "Better let you go. Don't die."

"Don't die, Susan." Helen replied. ending the call.

Helen finished getting cleaned up and went to see the Supreme Commander of her armed forces.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Helen stepped into Castle Finzione's central courtyard and frowned at what she saw.

Instead of the flag of San Finzione flying overhead, a red, white, and black Swastika flag was blowing in the breeze. Banners with the same symbol were hanging from the walls around gallows that had been constructed. Men in gray uniforms carried rifles and sub-machine guns and patrolled around it. A 1930s radio transmitter and tower had been set up, flanked by a Panzer tank and a German officer's car. Beyond them, she saw the film crew milling about the set, getting ready to shoot the scene.

Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez was being told by a man with a clipboard that he wasn't allowed on the set. The man stiffened when he saw La Contessa approach. Ramirez saw this, turned and saw her as well, and saluted. Helen saluted back.

"Contessa," the man stammered out. "I was... explaining to the Generalissimo that this is a closed location."

"He's with me." Helen replied. "And La Contessa is welcome everywhere in San Finzione, especially closed locations."

"Si, Contessa." The functionary apologized. "You are, as they say, the boss."

"Technically," Helena corrected. "We're both your servants; but yes, I'm ultimately the one who pays you, so let us through."

He stood aside. The Generalissimo began walking with La Contessa onto the set.

"You don't seem thrilled with the décor either." Ramirez told her after they were a few feet away.

"Can't do an accurate World War II movie without it, I suppose. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Nor do I." The Generalissimo agreed. Helena produced a cigarette as they walked and lit it. The Generalissimo did the same.

"But you also came to watch the hanging." She countered.

"I live on an army base named for the man whose murder is being re-enacted." Ramirez answered. "And it is an important event in San Finzione's history. I wanted to be here."

Helena nodded at that. She saw a group of actors standing and talking. The actor and actress portraying Count Ernesto and Contessa Louisa de San Finzione were talking with the actor who was portraying Werner Schell, the Nazi general who'd tortured and executed them for failing to give up the resistance cell that was hiding young Lord Vincenzo. It was the scene that they were shooting that day, in the castle courtyard where the real Executions of Count Ernesto and Contessa Louisa took place. The Count and Contessa, despite their formal garb, looked as if they'd been beaten horribly. Helen, having seen her father beat her mother to death, remembered to compliment the make-up artist if she ran into them.

General Schell had broadcast the original execution live over the radio to give the resistance incentive to surrender the last member of La Familia Royale's bloodline, and young Vincenzo had heard it; and every student of San Finzione's history had heard the recording at least once in their lives. Helena understood the Generalissimo's feeling of grim duty to witness the filming, because she'd been feeling her own.

Helen had only known Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione intimately for the last two-and-a-half years of his life. Like most American schoolchildren, she'd only encountered his name during an extra credit school assignment. One she'd been helping her first boyfriend do, about a man who'd saved his country's post-war economy by merging his family's business interests with the government, turning his country into the world's most prosperous tourist destination and the government's corporation into an international business concern worth hundreds of billions. By the time the report was finished, she'd filed the name away in her head with Paul Bunyan and Davy Crockett as someone who probably existed and may have done some cool things, but there was no fucking way all these stories about him could be true.

She'd thought that the stories about him as barely still a boy leading his people to take back his country were "feel-good stories." He couldn't have possibly inspired the resistance to create enough small disasters at once to force Schell and his officers into an emergency meeting in the castle that the young man he'd made Count knew well enough to sneak a squad into and capture them without firing a shot. And when Vincenzo had the man who'd murdered his parents at the end of his gun barrel, he forced him to order his troops to surrender to the People over that same radio.

In her own mind, Helen couldn't fathom that Vincenzo never pulled that trigger. Surely that was something that only heroes in movies didn't do. And then a second later, the guy would pull out a hidden gun and THEN it would be OK to shoot him! You didn't have the fucker who did all that to your family at your mercy and let him go, even if it was to deliver your badass message to Hitler: He'd get his tanks and planes back; as soon as they were painted Emerald Green, they'd be pointed right at him. Such a person couldn't possibly exist.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

It took one night with Count Vincenzo to change her mind. One weekend to agree to come back to San Finzione with him, and one month to agree to marry him. They waited six because the age difference between them caused enough of a scandal with the public that they didn't want to appear to rush into anything; however, because Vincenzo was in his late seventies, they didn't want to not rush either.

She'd been his widow for almost eight years now, since the night he died making love to her. He'd left her his crown; though it was a tiara for La Contessa, and a country that blamed her for his loss and not-so-secretly believed she'd deliberately fucked him to death to get it. After seven years of trying her best to live up to the man's name and deeds, the country was now 40% certain in the last unofficial survey; with 25% undecided.

"What happened to Schell when he got back to Germany?" Helena asked Ramirez with a puff of her cigarette, figuring that San Finzione's schools taught more of the story than Anchorage's.

"He didn't." Ramirez replied, taking a drag of his own. "Like Rommel at Normandy, he shot himself rather than report his failure to Hitler. One of the other officers had to deliver the message." He exhaled and took another. "I believe Hitler had him shot as well."

"For the record, Hernando, if anything ever goes bad, it's all right to tell me. I won't have you shot."

"Gracias, Contessa." He replied seriously. She smiled at that as they approached the actors.

"Hi, everyone." Helen said to the group as they approached, a delighted smile on her face. "Don't mind me; just Executive Producing. You know, showing up, acting important, not really doing anything useful or helpful. Just carry on."

The actors turned to her and she could see now that the actor in the German general's uniform was holding a coffee cup and the actress playing Contessa Louisa was smoking.

"Oh," Helen commented, seeing that she didn't seem to be interrupting anything at all. "I didn't know you were on a break. We're just going to sit with the director for this scene. Could you point me to Mr. Silverman?"

The actor playing Count Ernesto gave her a look of "You don't know?" Helena and Ramirez registered it on the faces of the others before he spoke.

"We have only just heard, Contessa." He told her. "So perhaps you have not yet been informed that the director was shot a few minutes ago. He's dead."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 02

"Oh, tell me, why was it always you
who, through the changes,
you who always sang and played
while the green vespers rang
in the heart of the hillside.
It's a sad song that we always seem
to be singing to each other. You and me,
sweet and slightly out of key.
Like the sound of a running-down calliope."
-Warren Zevon, "Tule's Blues"

Helen Parker made her way through the snow along the side of the road. A few houses down, illuminated in the streetlights behind her, Wade Parker stomped behind and shouted all the things he was going to do to her if she didn't get her bitch ass right back here. She was eleven years old and wasn't falling for it; she already knew that as drunk and pissed off as he was, he'd do most of those things anyway.

She couldn't run from him. Not safely. The past couple days of rain mixed with snowflakes led to the first real snowfall of the winter that day. Now, after dark, the rain revealed its true purpose: to freeze beneath four inches of snow and turn to ice. Plows wouldn't be out until the evening, and it would be a while before there was hard-pack along the sides of the road to walk on less treacherously.

Until then, no step could be trusted and trying to run would virtually guarantee a slip and fall, so their regular chase was happening at a brisk walking speed, but the stakes if she were caught would be the same. He'd take it away and she'd never get it back. At least she'd had her shoes on when she ran out the door this time. She hadn't been able to grab a coat on the way out, but he had.

In the past, she would have given him what he wanted right away and saved herself a beating, but this time, it was hers, and she stole it fair and square.

Most of the houses on their street had signs in the windows stating that they had either real or fake security systems installed. Some advised that the occupants were protected by Smith & Wesson or that they shoot every third trespasser and the second one just left. Practically every car and truck on the street had a bumper sticker advising that the driver was armed or that nothing in the vehicle was worth the reader's life, and most of them could have been addressed specifically to Wade John Wayne Parker.

Wade took pride in it. He wasn't the sort of person who commanded respect, so fear would do for him. None of the neighbors would interfere with his "disciplining his daughter" if he caught her. Although, he knew that if she reached either of the two neighboring houses she was running to and someone was home, both she and it would be out of his clutches.

A new family had moved in a few blocks down, where some of the nicer houses were. Neighbors didn't tend to talk openly if Wade were around, but his wife still made some effort to be sociable, so it was through her that word got back to him that the new people had a very expensive sound system installed. No signs on the lawn or stickers on the cars was a practical invitation to Wade, along with the fact that the house had an upstairs living room with a balcony and a sliding glass door; the kind people almost never thought to lock and were easy enough to jimmy if they didn't brace it with a piece of wood; which almost no one would think to do on a door to an enclosed balcony in what was, until you heard about the family a few blocks over, considered a good neighborhood. The balcony railings being low enough that an 11-year-old girl could be hoisted up to them; who could then slip in-between, open that sliding glass door, sneak through the living room and down the stairs to the front door, then unlock it to let him in meant that, once again, it was Take Your Daughter to Work Night at the Parker House.

As Helen made her way through the house to unlock the door, she spied the iPad charging on a table by the front door. Wade didn't seem to notice it or much else until they found the stereo and he ordered Helen to unhook it.

Helen pointed out that she was eleven and didn't know anything about stereo equipment. Wade insisted that she'd been able to program the clock on the microwave, so this should be no problem. Helen pointed out that reading the microwave manual wasn't the same as knowing how to unhook an expensive stereo system that probably had to be installed by professionals and he should have brought along one of his friends who knew stereos. Wade started yelling and demanding to know what good Helen was. Helen was starting to point out that they were on a burglary and shouldn't yell when the bedroom door opened, and the new homeowner emerged with a shotgun.

Helen ran out the front door, grabbing the iPod and cord as she went. She didn't see if Wade got out or not, but she wasn't about to go back for him. At her age, not only did she know it would get her arrested, but she'd already learned that Wade would never come back for her. She made her way to Julie's house, knocked on her window until Julie woke up and let her in, and slept there for the night. Colonel Tom and Vanessa Andrews, Julie's parents, knew about Helen's home life; and between that knowledge and their daughter's unusual sleeping habits, were by then accustomed to things like learning the next morning that Helen had needed a place to hide from her family and they had a surprise fourth at the breakfast table, so they were past questioning these things and didn't ask Helen for details.

She'd gone to school from there that morning, when the snow started falling. Thinking about things throughout the day, she hadn't heard the shotgun go off, so being rid of Wade was too much to hope for. If he'd been picked up, she might have a day or two to find a manual online and get to know her new acquisition. By then, he'd have forgotten about it and all she'd have to do is prevent him from discovering it in the future and it was all hers!

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Her luck hadn't been that good. About an hour after dark, which came at 5 PM at that time of year, Wade made it home from wherever he'd holed up for the night. Now he was in danger of losing his buzz, broke, and needed drinking money, so demanded the iPod he saw Helen grab on the way out.

Helen's cut when she was "brought along" on a job had always been the same: Whatever she herself could grab that wasn't what they were after was hers. It didn't matter to her that it was the only thing that had successfully been stolen and the pawn shops were closing soon. All Wade had done was hoist her up to the balcony. His part of the job could have been accomplished by a ladder, except that the ladder would have known more about stereos and being quiet.

About fifty feet behind her, she heard the stream of horrible things he was calling her interrupted by a "WOAH" sound. She turned and saw that Wade had slipped and fallen on his back. With the heavy winter coat he'd been wearing and his drunkenness, he was having trouble getting back up, and Helen saw her opportunity. They were close enough to the Medina and Andrews houses now and far enough away from their own that the neighbors had less tolerance for his shit.

Wade knew he didn't command that fear the closer he got to Helen's destination: Two houses with no alarm signs, no bumper stickers or signs about how armed the owners were. One house's vehicles had plenty of Army stickers on them, so that was something, at least. The other didn't have anything at all, and Wade knew that was specifically for him. The wrinkled old goatfucker who lived there had, for the past few years, practically been begging Wade to try to break into his place. He had a rec room in the garage, and during summer months, would sometimes leave the garage door open, cases of beer visible from the street, and sit there with his hand in the pocket of that stupid red velvet robe, silently daring Wade to try to grab one and run. Sometimes, the old prick wouldn't be visible from the street, but Wade knew he was there in the shadows.

Because there were two neighbors side-by-side who were willing to stand up to him at that end of the street, the others nearby weren't so afraid of Wade stealing everything they owned. One of the houses had a metal fishing boat next to their garage, upside-down and under a tarp for the winter. It looked like there was enough space for her to wriggle under it. Helen broke off from the path she'd been walking, into their driveway, and crawled under the boat.

She brushed the wet snow off her already cold skin and caught a whiff of stale, spilled beer, vomit, and fish guts from her chosen hiding place. She plugged her nose and listened as the shouting resumed and got louder.

As was generally the case with him, Wade was being guided by alcohol and rage, though the alcohol was fading and Helen's refusal to give up her prize and accept her beating for holding out on him was fueling the rage. Wade wasn't the cleverest person, even in those rare non-incarcerated moments where neither was a factor. This was why, rather than simply look down to see where the 11-year-old's shoeprints went off the side of the road and being led straight to her, he trudged on, shouting at a Helen that he presumed had gotten more distance on him how he never wanted one little cunt, let alone two.

Helen thought she heard his voice fading as she waited. Making sure her movements wouldn't cause the boat to move and give her away, Helen gently rocked. She knew she needed to keep moving. Alaskan children were taught the dangers of frostbite and hypothermia in school, and she wiped her wet, exposed skin on her clothes to prevent the water freezing to it. She knew that if she started feeling warm and good under this stinky boat, that it meant that she was freezing to death, but the cold and stench made that seem like a remote possibility.

The idea that she could feel warm and good in that place became even more absurd when she heard Wade's voice getting louder again. He must have realized that Helen ducked off the road into one of the yards, but hadn't seen which one, and was now pacing back and forth, sliding on the ice occasionally, as he continued to scream for her bitch ass to get out here. Then she heard another voice shout for Wade to shut the fuck up.

That was the thing she'd needed. Now Wade had a distraction; he couldn't find Helen, but he had a new target and started screaming back about how it was a family matter and that asshole needed to mind his own fucking business. Helen allowed herself a little smile. It was only a matter of time now before someone called the cops and they hauled him away. Trying to sneak past him was still too risky, but she could wait him out under here, no matter how bad it smelled. If she just didn't have to listen to him.

Helen fished the object that all of this had been about out of her pocket. She'd never had an MP3 player and hadn't had time at school to look up the instructions. She'd planned to do that once she got to Troy's house. She didn't know how it worked or what music was on it, but if she could drown out Wade, she knew she could hold out until after the cops showed up to haul him away; Helen could do her time under this boat easy. She put in the earphones, turned it on, and started pressing and wiggling the circle until music began playing. A cheerful little guitar, drum, and piano mix. And soon the singer came in.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Dry your eyes, my little friend." Warren Zevon sang to Helen Parker from 1978. "Let me take you by the hand. Freddie, get ready. Rock steady, when Johnny strikes up the band."

Helen had no idea who Johnny, Freddie, or the man singing were, but they all sounded cool to her. She looked at the screen and the picture of the man with the long hair and glasses, his lips in a pout, wearing a black turtleneck with a bright red background, as she read his name and the title of the album.

"Warren Zevon." She mouthed quietly. "Excitable Boy." She didn't know the name, but the voice sounded like one she always heard singing about werewolves in London. She saw red and blue lights flashing on the snow outside as she listened to Warren sing to her about how Johnny was the keeper of the keys, he'd put her mind at ease, he was guaranteed to please, back by popular demand.

Helen felt a warmth now, but she knew it wasn't one to be afraid of. In-between tracks, she heard the distinctive sound of Wade arguing with cops and knew it wouldn't be long before she could get out from under the stinky boat and continue her journey to the Medina house, where she'd be certain to ask Propappou about this man.

The next track played, and Mr. Zevon started singing about Roland, who was a warrior from the Land of the Midnight Sun. "Hey," Helen thought. "That's what they call Alaska, where I'm from!" Her smile broadened. The show outside was almost over, and then it would be time to leave this place and get somewhere warm, dry, and less nasty-smelling.

But first, Helen wanted to hear more about Roland and his Thompson Gun.

* * *

"How well did you know him?" Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez asked Contessa Helena de San Finzione as they rode in his staff car toward the crime scene.

"Eliot Silverman?" She asked, taking a distracted drag of her cigarette. "I approved him as director. San Finzione Studios are still the new kid on the block in the film industry, so we're taking a 'Hollywood of Yesteryear' approach; giving new talent their big break, listening to the dreamers first and the accountants second, that kind of thing. He was two years out of film school, I liked his indie stuff, and met with him. Wanted to be the next Spielberg, said he wanted to approach Vincenzo's story like 'Band of Brothers.' I asked if he could make it shorter, since we're planning a movie rather than a series, and he said, 'Saving Private Ryan it is!'" Helen gave a little snort of a laugh before taking another drag. "He was the one who convinced me to let them shoot on location at the castle rather than on a set."

Over a year previously, an enemy of Helen's had managed to make a video that would have served as proof of the rumors that La Contessa had the power to control minds. She managed to cover up the video as a leaked screen test for her cameo in a film that was being made in San Finzione. This, then, left Helen needing to persuade a movie studio to make a film in San Finzione. After a comment from a friend, she decided to buy one instead, and "San Finzione Shakedown," San Finzione Studios' first picture, had become the action-adventure hit of the year. The studio was owned by Società Finzione, the government's corporation and the largest employer in the country, where the Reigning Monarch held the title of CEO Emeritus, which meant in practical terms that, as with the rest of the country, La Contessa had the final say in all matters. She did her best not to micromanage and stay out of the artists' way; her best friend being an artist. A WWII film about her late husband, however, virtually guaranteed that she'd be earning her Executive Producer's credit.

Ramirez looked surprised at the news that someone had convinced La Contessa of anything. He regretted not meeting the man even more, as he might have been able to give him some tips on doing that in the course of his own job. He knew of La Contessa's ability and knew that she was generally the one who did any convincing that got done.

The driver stopped at the edge of La Policia's blockade and let them out. Many in the crowd of onlookers switched from taking photos and videos of the officers telling them to move along to pictures of Helena as they approached the barrier and an officer let them through and called for Martin LeGrasse, Prefect of security officer.

"Contessa, Generalissimo." The Prefect said with a nod as they approached. He was used to Helen's taking advantage of the old law that said that La Contessa was permitted everywhere in San Finzione, which made no exception for crime scenes. The Generalissimo's presence was somewhat unusual, but the two men worked together occasionally and Ramirez nodded back. "I did not expect to see you here. I'm afraid it is murder."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"That's what we'd heard, Prefect." La Contessa replied. "That not only has someone been murdered in San Finzione, but that the victim was someone I knew and liked personally; and there are Nazi banners and gallows in my courtyard, waiting for him to come and film them, which I don't foresee happening today."

"I would not think so." The Prefect replied. "Eliot Silverman, studio ID said he was a director, shot in the back of the head as he was unlocking his bicycle. A boy was playing at the end of the street and saw it. He ran to Propappou, we have him now. There was an altercation at the statue involving someone else whom I believe you know, Contessa: Stavro Poldouris."

Helen turned her head up at him. Of course, she knew the name of the young man dating her great-granddaughter, Lady Maria de San Finzione; and whom she'd appointed head of the Citizens' Grievance Office so that the traditional young Greek man would feel more comfortable dating someone of Maria's standing. Having been mostly raised by an old Greek man and been in love with his descendant most of her life, she had some understanding of how their minds worked.

"They're all right? Stavro and the boy?" She asked, taking out a cigarette. The Prefect nodded. She gave a relieved sigh as she lit it. When she heard "altercation" and Stavro's name, she pictured him trying to take the shooter on himself and being hurt. Such a thing had happened before. They walked away from the crime scene before Helen left any ash that might contaminate it. Officers cleared a path for them through the crowd, and they walked toward where the boy had been playing.

Helen looked down that street, realizing now because of how they'd approached the house the director was renting, how close she was to his father's shop and the family's home, and mentally pulled up her map of the neighborhood.

"The boy saw it..." Helen thought aloud. "There was a witness. The shooter went after the witness, either to hopefully just scare him into not talking, or to... do something else." She turned back to the two men and motioned for them to come in close enough to whisper to both.

"This isn't going to turn out to be a mugging gone wrong, Martin." She told the Prefect. "But that's what you should sell the public. I'm guessing he still had his wallet?"

"Oui, Contessa." The Prefect responded, understanding. During his eight years of having her for a boss, he'd long ago read her record from America and learned where she got her insights into the criminal mind. "Still in his pocket. You're not thinking he just didn't have time to grab it after seeing the boy?"

"He wasn't a local." She replied. "If he was just a mugger who'd made a mistake, he'd have known that there was a Propappou just around the corner, and that's where a child would run at a moment like this. He wouldn't go after him and be there when every cop for blocks closes in. If he wasn't too panicked to remember to take the money that this was all about in the first place, a local thief would know to just run in the opposite direction and hope the child didn't get a good look!" She turned her neck to get a closer look at the scene. "Or the key's still in the bike lock. If money was what you were after, and now you need a getaway, just turn it and hey, free bike!"

"There was a second one." The Prefect confirmed. "Mr. Poldouris says he saw the suspect get into a car."

"Why was the director at home?" The Generalissimo asked. "There are actors and a film crew waiting for him to shoot a scene up at the castle. You know more about making movies than I, Contessa, but don't they have food there?"

"They said he'd called lunch." Helena answered. "He was an eccentric; Spielberg was his idol, remember? He wouldn't go to Craft Services or take advantage of the castle's kitchens, he'd ride his bike down La Collina and heat up a can of his hero's favorite food: SpaghettiOs." She gestured to the bike, still chained to a post, next to the covered body. The two men didn't seem to know what she was talking about. She took a deep drag before continuing. "Any other American kid would kick you both in the balls right now. When they shot 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' in Tunisia, everyone on the cast and crew got food poisoning except Spielberg, because he only ate his favorite food, SpaghettiOs; which he'd brought along crates of from America. Silverman thought it might bring him luck on the project, so he did the same. Obviously didn't work. Where's everyone else now?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"The child is at headquarters with our psychiatrist. The Poldouris boy says he saw a blond man with a suit get into a car and doesn't recall much else." LeGrasse said. "There was some confusion. He was covered in blood. By the time it was over, the vehicle was gone. Nobody else saw anything, they were all focused on him."

"His father's a butcher." Helen replied. "He helps out in the shop, that'll happen." She remembered at this point that she'd silenced her phone before going onto the set. Having done multiple tourism commercials, Helen was familiar with some of the procedures before she'd acquired a studio. She took it from her purse and checked it; four missed calls from Maria and a text from Jeanne stating that Maria had called her, forgetting that she was in America with the twins currently.

"This was his habit every day while making a film? Go home and eat these Spaghetti-Uhs?" LeGrasse asked La Contessa.

"SpaghettiOs, and yes." She replied, calling Maria. "He was a sweet kid. Brought me a can when we first met; said he knew they weren't big outside the US and thought I might've missed them. He was right." They looked at her, seeming to recall them fondly. She noticed their looks. "Hey, it's a bowl of spaghetti you can microwave in two minutes, and even I can figure out a microwave. I'd have starved without them."

"Then this was his routine." The Prefect continued. "And the killer knew it."

"And he was American." Ramirez commented. "The diplomats are going to be busy. I am going to be busy."

Maria picked up on her end and Helen began speaking Italian to her immediately.

"Maria, are you with Stavro? I'm with the Prefect now and he says he's ok."

"Si." Maria replied. "I am at his home. He is fine. He wishes to speak to you in person, Great-Grandmama. He has asked me to ask you for an audience."

That caused Helen to stop and put out her cigarette. She saw Stavro all the time, both because he was dating Maria and because his job at the Citizens' Grievance Office was determining if a complaint was worthy of La Contessa's direct attention and, if so, bringing the matter to her himself. He wasn't normally talkative and asking Maria to request her presence wasn't something he'd normally do.

"Well, as it happens," Helena replied. "I'm just around the corner. I can be there in a few minutes. Love you." She hung up and looked up and down the street again. LeGrasse saw that she was paying attention to the light posts.

"It is a residential area, Contessa. Not much in the way of tourist traffic. The nearest cameras would have been the ones on the statue itself."

"So, maybe we'll catch a look at the car going by, if we're lucky." She completed the thought. She looked back over at where coroners were hauling Eliot Silverman's body into a van. "And I think we've already learned today where belief in luck gets you. My next stop is right around the corner, and that's where I'm expecting mine to end. Until I or your people can tell you something else about all this, Martin..." She trailed off to let him complete the sentence.

"Mugging gone wrong. Oui, Contessa." He replied with a nod. He motioned to some cops that La Contessa would be leaving in that direction and they moved to prevent onlookers from following her. Helena nodded back and turned to Ramirez.

"We've both got people to call and get off their asses and on this, Hernando. I'll take the Tourism Board if you take the Ambassador."

"If I am being given a choice, I prefer to deal with the Ambassador, Si, Contessa. Does this mean the film is cancelled?"

"No." She replied. "It delays things, but that's what they have assistant directors and second-unit directors for. And it means a bunch of people are going to get paid today to hang around Vincenzo's home dressed as Nazis and Wehrmacht for nothing."

The two men bowed their heads and muttered "Forever does he reign in our hearts."

"I'll get a ride back to the castle with Maria. Gentlemen."

The Prefect went back to the crime scene and the Generalissimo went back to his car.

Helen watched the coroner's van proceed down the street and turn left before following it and turning right to go see what Stavro needed.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 03

"Father wears his Sunday best.
Mother's tired, she needs a rest,
the kids are playing up downstairs.
Sister's sighing in her sleep.
Brother's got a date to keep,
he can't hang around."
-Madness, "Our House"

Georgia Poldouris shouted at her children to clean faster. She dusted a credenza fervently as her younger children picked up toys and her older children picked up laundry.

"Mama," Lady Maria Louisa Francesca de San Finzione said in English to the woman whose oldest son she'd been dating for the past two years. "Great-Grandmama is coming to speak with Stavro." She put away dishes as she spoke. "You don't need to do all this."

"Maria, dear," Georgia explained. "You are not Contessa; you are sometimes Contessa, but not right now. SHE is Contessa! The first time she come by, she surprise us at dinner and she still in wheelchair from psycho. This time, we got warning; so, everybody gonna speak English and this place gonna look nice."

Maria understood that there was no arguing this point and finished with the dishes. When Georgia finished her dusting, she ushered Maria into a kitchen chair and began inspecting her hands.

"What are you doing, Mama?" Maria giggled, having an idea what she was doing.

"Checking you hands. We can't let La Contessa know we got the Princess doing work in here."

Maria laughed, because that's what she thought the older woman might be checking for.

"Great-Grandmama would want to know that I help out, as often as I am here."

A digital chime rang both downstairs in the shop, and upstairs in the family's apartment. From the front of the store, they could both hear Costas, Georgia's husband, greeting La Contessa down below. She pointed at one of the children; she wasn't going to bother cycling through their names just now.

"I tell you to watch for her limo!" She half-whispered to the child.

"She was just around the corner." Maria said. "She walked."

Georgia turned her head at Maria quizzically.

"She walks places?"

"Yes. She has been known to run, too."

While Georgia contemplated this new information. a knock at the door caused her to stuff the feather duster into a drawer as another of her children answered it.

"Mama!" Her daughter shouted from the doorway. "It's La Contessa!"

"That's not how you announce a guest!" Georgia shouted back and rose to her feet as Contessa Helena de San Finzione entered her kitchen. Georgia went to her and shook her hand, because she knew Americans liked that. "Contessa, you look very well. It is an honor to have you again in our home."

"Efharisto, Georgia." Helen replied in Greek. "Your home is lovely. And I thank you for speaking English to accommodate a newcomer's language; however, my best memories of childhood were spent in the company of Greeks, which was part of why I so heartily approved of Maria and Stavro. It was the second language that I learned as a child, and I always enjoy an opportunity to use it."

Georgia leaned out the kitchen door.

"Ok, everybody, back to Greek for La Contessa." She called to the children. She then moved over to the stove and turned a kettle on. "Maria says you like hot cocoa, Contessa. I sent one of the children to the market for some, she should be back soon." She set an ashtray in front of a chair at the table before sitting down.

"Thank you again." Helen said, taking a seat and accepting the unspoken invitation to light up. "You didn't need to do that. And Maria is dating your son, Georgia; Helena will be fine. I certainly hope she's helping out."

"Oh no," Georgia started to lie. "We wouldn't ask that of..."

Maria cut her off.

"I did the dishes."

"She's very good with the dishes, yes." Georgia concluded without missing a beat.

Helen smiled at them. She made a mental note to visit the Poldouris family more often.

"I wish my visit were entirely social." She said with a drag. "However, I'm told that the head of my Citizens' Grievance Office, who's doing a fine job, by the way, has a special matter for my attention."

"I should say so." Georgia replied. "My boy was trying to help. All they had to do is turn around and there's a butcher shop right here. My son could have been shot on the street like an American!" She then remembered where La Contessa was originally from. "Not that all Americans get shot! I mean... you know what I mean."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"He is getting cleaned up." Maria offered before she dug herself any further. "They had him on the ground."

"It's no worry, though." Georgia said. "I get blood out of his clothes all the time, they'll be no problem."

At that point, Stavro entered the kitchen, wearing a suit. He'd combed his hair and shaved as well.

"Stavro," Helen said to him as she turned to see him. "I was just telling your mother that you really don't need to go all out when I stop by."

"Thank you, Contessa." Stavro answered. "But I would be more comfortable handling this in a professional capacity. I am, after all, a citizen with a grievance this day."

Helen nodded at that.

"I'm sure you have the keys to the office if you'd rather speak over there."

"Yes, Contessa, I would prefer this." Stavro answered. Despite dating Maria as long as he had, and being told it was ok numerous times, he still couldn't bring himself to address her by name.

"Ok," Georgia said as the front door opened again. "If La Contessa wants to go there to talk, that's fine. Take the ashtray, I'll have someone run the cocoa over to you. Stavro can bring them home."

"Would you like me to come?" Maria asked. Stavro's answer was to smile and nod that he would. Helen stood up.

The three of them left as the youngest child came up the stairs with a box of cocoa.

* * *

Stavro turned on the lights. The Citizens' Grievance Office was closed for the weekend, and the three of them walked through the silence to his desk. Stavro held chairs for both women before moving behind the desk to sit at his own. A couch sat against one wall, and royal portraits of both Helen and Maria hung on the wall behind him. Desktop photos of Maria and football posters comprised most of the rest of Stavro's office décor.

"Now, then." Stavro said, trying to look as professional as he could. "The business outside: There was a shooting in the neighborhood earlier. A young boy saw a man shoot another man."

Helen nodded and lit another cigarette. Stavro looked around a moment, then produced an ashtray from his desk. Most government employees kept one handy in case La Contessa stopped by.

"I was at the scene when I got Maria's messages." Helen responded. "The man he shot is dead and I knew the victim."

Stavro nodded grimly at the news.

"Then Alfonzo, the boy who saw the shooting, has witnessed a murder. I saw the man who had been chasing him, but then the thing with La Policia happened. By the time I was able to tell anyone, I had forgotten most of the details."

"You probably saved Alfonzo's life, Stavro." Helen replied, taking a drag. "That man was chasing after him BECAUSE he was a witness. He could have done anything if you hadn't arrived."

"That makes it even more important that this man be brought to justice." Stavro added. "If he wanted the boy so badly, he may try again."

Helen nodded at that.

"Children are safe in San Finzione. I'll get Policia protection for the boy." She thought a moment. "If he was that desperate and saw you see him, he might come after you as well. Some protection for you and your family may be needed. I'll take care of that, too."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"If there is a choice," Stavro replied. "I would rather he came for me. If I got that gun from him..."

"Is that your grievance, Stavro?" Helen asked, followed by a long stream of smoke. "When La Policia catch him, if a minute or two alone in an interrogation room with him is what you want; such things can easily be arranged. I can get the Prefect to loan you his nightstick..."

"I am not asking this, Contessa." He thought about it for a moment. "Maybe no stick, just hands. My concern is that I saw the man, even if I cannot recall details."

Stavro hesitated. While he did so, his youngest brother ran over with a cup of cocoa for Helena. She thanked him and took it, then waited for him to leave and turned back to Stavro.

"And there's something else that you didn't want to discuss in front of your mother or the rest of the family." Helen said.

Stavro nodded and resumed.

"I was a teenager when you were crowned, Contessa. I recall the things people said about you and Count Vincenzo, forever does he reign in our hearts. I remember the things that the grown-ups would whisper of La Contessa. Of course, I have gotten to know you since then, and know that most of these stories were untrue. Except for one."

"I know the one you're speaking of, Stavro." Helena answered. "And yes, you're someone who's allowed to know the truth, and I appreciate the discretion. I think I know what you're getting at. Yes, once La Policia's psychiatrists have gotten what they need from Alfonzo and we've caught this guy, I can take away the boy's trauma. Make him forget the experience; like I did for Umiwama back in Uongo."

"That would be nice, too, but that is not what I want, Contessa. I wish for you to use this power on ME, to FORCE me to remember the details. I have seen it done in movies and television; such things are possible with the power you possess."

"And I've seen you do such things, Great-Grandmama." Maria spoke up. "When you and your friends tell stories to each other and you use The Thing to make the listener experience the tale. If Stavro saw something that La Policia can use to catch this man, we have to try."

Helena took another drag as she looked over at the woman who, despite being only six years younger than her, was her great-granddaughter. Vincenzo had done so well for the country and his family that his children and grandchildren became wastrels and fell prey to short lives of having the world handed to them until they choked on it. Maria was the last of his royal bloodline when Helen came into her life. Over a year ago, Helen had been attacked by an assassin and Maria became Contessa-In-Reggenza until she recovered and resumed power. She'd proven more than up to the task, and now often ruled in her great-grandmother's place when needed.

"Nobody's ever asked that before." Helen answered after a moment's thought. "Yes, I can certainly do it. I mean, you're right, the things you saw are still in your mind somewhere, and I can bring them out and make you remember clearly. I'm sure I could get a good security officer sketch out of it." Helen had another thought and took out her phone. "Actually, I happen to know an artist who's faster and better than any of La Policia's. And her Greek is as good as mine, so there won't be any translation issues." Helen tried to work out the time difference between Seattle and San Finzione in her head. "She can get out of bed for this."

The call was answered, and Helen began speaking English.

"Wake up, Skanky Cow!" Helena shouted into the phone. "Your patron needs some art!" There was a brief pause. "Oh, hey, Troy. Yeah, is she there? Ok, thanks. Hey, Skanky Cow, listen up..."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

After a couple minutes of Helen and Julie trading insults, Stavro sat on the couch. Maria watched from her chair as La Contessa sat next to him and put her phone on speaker, setting it on the coffee table.

"Ready on this end whenever, Helena." The voice of Julie Equals said in Greek out of the speaker from the other side of the world. Julie was also someone who had leave to refer to her as Helen; but having grown up alongside her and also spending her life knowing both the Parker family and the Medinas, she knew which family Helen preferred and agreed strongly enough herself to eventually marry Troy, so she used Helena whenever possible. "Charcoal and sketch pad in hand. Go ahead."

Helen took a deep breath.

"Ok, Stavro." She said, before issuing the command. "Remember the man you saw. Remember him clearly. Describe him."

"He had short, blond hair, parted in the middle." Stavro began to recall for them. "Clean-shaven. His blue eyes had a fury in them."

As he spoke, Julie quickly sketched the man's face. When he finished, Julie took a photo of her work and sent it to Helen.

"I might've made him look too mean." Julie said as Stavro looked at the picture.

"No." Stavro replied. "That is him. I've seen your paintings hanging in the castle, Julie. I knew that your work was great, but this is the man I saw get into the car."

"You were able to give us something on the plate, too." Helen told him, lighting another cigarette. "Just enough to know that the car was a rental, but it's a place to start looking. Shame you're not a car guy, but blue rental gives La Policia something." She forwarded the photo and the other information Stavro gave her to the Prefect.

"I do not recall seeing the license plate."

"No, but you did, so I made you remember it. This is really going to help a lot. I'll pass this along to La Policia. I'm afraid your name is already in their reports, Stavro. I'll get them to remove it; minimize any risk to you and your family."

"Helena," Julie said over the speaker. "That guy's creepy. I mean, drawing his face, I was getting creeped out. You said there's a child involved. I'm worried enough about Stavro with this guy, but a kid, too..."

"I'm arranging Policia protection for them." Helen told her first girlfriend.

"With this guy," Julie replied. "I might see if any Ultimados have some free time as well."

"Not a bad idea. How're the boys?"

"Cute as always. They're downstairs with Troy and Susan. I feel like going down there and seeing them now, too."

Helen and Julie said their usual goodbye insults and ended the call.

"Well," Helena said to Stavro. "You're helping us catch a murderer and you've shown me a way to use The Thing that I hadn't thought of before. I can see this being handy again. Expect something extra in your next paycheck."

"Efharisto, Contessa." He replied. He knew that there was no point in refusing.

"Perikalo," she responded before turning to Maria. "Ramirez brought me to the scene. I said I'd get a ride back up La Collina with you if you don't mind."

Maria nodded and walked over to kiss Stavro.

"I will be back soon." She told him.

"Please do, Cardia Emay."

Helen smiled at the two of them. There were other reasons beyond simply being Greek that she approved of Stavro.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

While Maria was driving her Ferrari California back up the hill, Helen contacted the Tourism Board.

"No!" She told them firmly. "If we start pushing how we're still a safe, fun place for the whole family, the internet and every late-night talk show host is going to be laughing at us; and not in that fun way I appreciate, either." She thought for a moment. "Promoting our night life would be a mistake for the same reason. Tout our natural beauty, instead. Edit together a few old promos about wine country and the beaches being lovely year-round. Mix in some shots of friendly Policia officers helping tourists. Not too many, if we beat them over the head with it, they'll be on us for that, too. Also, take my scenes out of all promos for now. They're too light-hearted for a time like this; feels tacky."

La Contessa's orders given, she ended the conference call. Helen opened her cigarette case. Maria, without taking her eyes off the road, cracked open the passenger-side window for her.

"Was he a friend of yours?" Maria asked.

"I liked the kid. He certainly could have been." She answered, looking out the window at nothing in particular. She then turned to look at Maria. "Fuck, Eliot was younger than you, Maria. He could have been a whole lot of things, and now he'll be none of them."

Maria had no response to that. She nodded and kept driving. After a few moments of silence, she thought of something else.

"You're taking yourself out of the tourism ads." She said, not making it a question. Helen blew smoke out the window before responding.

"I serve two purposes in the ads: Provide a bit of levity and look carefree and hot enough to subtly imply 'Hey, come to San Finzione and La Contessa might very well fuck you. Only one way you'll find out.' It's not a time for either of those."

"I would suppose not. Does this mean that Great-Grandpapa's movie is cancelled?"

"You're the second person to ask me that; and no. We'll have to wait until we can assign another director, but the show will go on." Helen took another drag. "Maybe more of it in the studio now. I thought I'd be ok with all the Nazi stuff in the courtyard if it was for history and the movie. That's the kind of thing you can't be certain on until you're confronted with it." She looked down at the sketch on her phone. "And it won't help that half of the actors at the castle sort of look like this guy. La Policia are up there questioning them now."

"You think someone on the film had something to do with it?" Maria asked. "Or someone wanted his job badly enough to kill him for it?"

"Possibly the first; unlikely on the second. Silverman wasn't the only hopeful young director I met before choosing him. The ones who make it as far as rating time on my calendar? Unless they turn out to be total assholes, are usually good enough that I let them pitch me their idea or they come away with a project I feel is 'more them.' Not a lot of assholes get that far, but none of the ones I met with had that 'You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you' vibe. He was a film geek living his dream; I can't imagine him having any problems with the cast or crew that would escalate to murder. Not without my hearing about it before it got to that point."

"And you are certain that it is not simply a mugging gone wrong?"

Helen flicked the burning part of her cigarette out the window. The ashtray in Maria's car was for coins, not butts. She'd dispose of it back at the castle. Maria kept looking at the road and her mirrors. She'd lost a few family members to sports cars. Drugs, alcohol, or ignorance were major factors at those times, but she was going to take no chances.

"He was shot in the back of the head. Even if you're a mugger who's graduating to murder, you don't shoot them first, then search the dead guy's pockets for money; you make him give you his wallet, THEN you shoot them. This was a straight-up execution..." Helen let that thought lead her to another. "So they hired an executioner for it!" She closed out the picture on her phone and dialed the Prefect.

"Martin," Helen told him when he answered. "That sketch I sent you; I think we're looking for a pro here. Someone who didn't want his face seen badly enough to run after the boy, then bailed when the situation started getting out of control. Check international databases and if you're not doing it already, watch the train stations and airport and alert the Border Guard. He fucked up; if he hasn't gotten on the first plane or train out of here already, he'll go to ground. Then he's got to play Hide & Seek with me in my own country, and he's fucked. I've got someone else I need to send this to."

She ended the call and brought up the picture again. Helen sent it to Generalissimo Ramirez, along with the message "Worth passing along to Luc." When she was finished, Maria spoke.

"Your instructions to the Prefect make me think, Great-Grandmama: Why would this man choose to stay in San Finzione after this? The man he killed was your director, working on your movie. He has done this now. Whoever sent him had to know that you would get involved. Why would he stick around and risk a confrontation with you?"

Helen thought on that.

"He didn't know about the Propappou statues." She told Maria. "Maybe he hasn't heard the rumors about me either. Our best-case scenario is that he's done exactly that, though. That the blue car took him straight to the airport and he got on the next plane out of here. Then it's a matter of waiting for Ramirez's friend to track him down and sending some Ultimados to stuff him into a van and bring him back here so I can have a word with him. Then we just have to deal with the political mess that's to be expected when an American is killed on foreign soil."

"Mm-hmm." Maria Mm-hmmed. "And the worst-case scenario?"

Helen lit another cigarette as they approached the castle gates.

"The worst case is that he HAS chosen to hole up somewhere in San Finzione. Because it means that the job's not done."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 04

"Empty spaces. What are we living for?
Abandoned places. I guess we know the score.
On and on. Does anybody know
what we are looking for?
Another hero. Another mindless crime.
Behind the curtain. In the pantomime.
Hold the line. Does anybody want to
take it anymore?"
-Queen, "The Show Must Go On"

"How do you put up with all this?" Contessa Helena de San Finzione asked her husband, Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione. She sat by his right side in the back of his convertible limousine as they slowly wound their way through the marketplace. Ahead of them in the parade, the surviving veterans of the original La Squadra de Ultimados sat on a float, laurel wreaths upon their bald and gray, wrinkled heads; still cutting figures in their old parade dress uniforms. And in front of them, the very same Panzer tanks stripped of all German markings and painted Emerald Green, flying the flag of San Finzione and, on all sides, proudly displaying the crest of La Familia Royale; that they followed into battle decades ago, led their way once more. A squadron of Emerald-Green-painted Messerschmitts performed stunt maneuvers overhead.

"The Count may have whatever he wishes on his birthday, Helena." The dashing vision in his full military regalia said, with a look that told her what he planned to wish for later. She took his hand and gave him a look that told him that he may, indeed, have whatever he wished this day; right here in front of The People, while they cheered him on, if he liked. "And right at this moment, he wishes to see His People, happy and free. They know this."

He waved at and then saluted a group of elderly Resistance widows who'd made a banner thanking him.

"Their husbands died for you and they're grateful?" Helen asked.

"They fought and died for San Finzione, Fiamma Mia." Vincenzo corrected her. "For one moment in time, represented by a boy of eleven years who hadn't stopped blubbering since he'd heard the Nazi General hang his Mama and Papa on the radio. They fought to save La Familia Royale, which, by then, was down to that boy."

Helen had been distracted. She thought she'd seen a glint on a rooftop just a second before. When she looked that direction again, she thought she'd seen a flash of Emerald Green, and then the glint was gone and never returned to the rooftop. She looked ahead, where the parade was taking a turn, and saw the limo in front of the tanks. Generalissimo Armando Santori, Supreme Commander of San Finzione's Armed Forces, stood proudly in the back of his convertible, taking bows and blowing kisses.

"You'd think this was all about him." Helena observed, motioning with her head for her husband to check out Santori milking it for the crowd up ahead. She'd been looking for Maria, but she was too far up ahead of them, on the Children's Float. "That HE was there with you, not his dad. How much do you want to bet that one of those costume shop medals is for Personally Killing Hitler With His Bare Hands?"

Vincenzo chuckled, knowing she was probably right.

"He IS the kind of man who will stab you in the back, then call La Policia and tell them that you have a concealed weapon. The Santoris had fishing boats, his father knew smugglers. He brought the Resistance guns, though never as many as we paid him to bring." Vincenzo had another thought but kept it to himself. "Let him take some underserved bows. His ego shall feast for a month from today. Armando is an empty uniform, sewn together from the sacrifices of his forebears and stuffed with undeserved ambitions of the hero's welcome his father and uncles received at the taverna."

"Sounds like someone you should just kill now and save yourself a lot of trouble." Helen mused as they rounded the same corner and she waved to the Yia-Yia she'd seen at that same table in the café every time she passed since Vincenzo brought her home 18 months before. She turned back to him and saw a look on his face that, thanks to Tolkien, the word "dour" popped into her head as fitting it. It had never occured to her before to look up the word's exact meaning. However, given that she usually read it in conjunction with dwarves in the fantasy genre, Helen concluded that it was a look that required a seriously righteous beard to properly pull off, and Vincenzo had one of those.

"Helena," Vincenzo said seriously, putting his smile back on for the adoring public. "The Reigning Monarch has the authority to call for the death of an Enemy of San Finzione, Si. I can snatch a matter from the courts and say, 'I shall hear this case personally for The Good of The People,' and no judge in the land may dispute my ruling." He looked back up and continued his grateful waving to His People, singling out faces in the crowd for special attention; an extra nod or a little "hey" added to his wave just for them. "But I have never forgotten how my parents died. So, I have never exercised that privilege, even for The Good of The People. No matter how many men I have met whose actions caused them to deserve it. Just because I have that right does not mean that I have that right. I would much rather turn an enemy into a friend." Vincenzo looked at Santori as the parade took another corner, coming to the end, where they could drive up La Collina and go home. "Or, if all else fails, a useful stooge."

That got a laugh from Helen. Partly because, up until the end, it sounded like something that one of the other two men in her heart whom Vincenzo knew he shared it with would say. It took her mind off what the signs tended to say about her. Most that paradegoers were holding were meant for Vincenzo. Well-wishes on his birthday, gratitude for all that he had done for his people and was still doing, prayers that God might sustain his glorious reign for all Eternity; made to Helen all the more beautiful by the fact that signs and banners had been written not simply in the four official languages of the country to which she was now "La Contessa," but the occasional flash of others as well. That she knew what they all meant, and that they, too, were well-wishes for her husband, delighted her. Throughout the parade, she'd occasionally point one out and tell him what it said.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

And all of them seemed so sincere! Not a single member of the crowd appeared to be rolling their eyes or to have shown up "ironically." Phones and cameras were out, but they were all pointed at him... holy shit! And SHE was right next to him, so HER, too! All the jokes about his age were meant in good fun, and the rest was nothing but love and respect for Grandpapa Count on his special day. Even people who weren't members of La Familia, which she could tell, because so few had shown up, called him that! Young and old!

And scattered through the crowd was the occasional sign or banner stating the holder or holders' opinion of Helen Parker of Anchorage, Alaska and her job as the provider of Grandpapa Count's orgasms. Vincenzo seemed to be deliberately not noticing them, but she was unable to do so. She looked at a sign someone had made from an internet meme of Grampa Simpson saying, "I'm not robbing the cradle, SHE'S robbing the grave!" One sign she'd seen multiple times throughout the day was a portrait of Vincenzo's first wife, Contessa Sofia, with a message expressing how the nation still grieves for her loss and wishes she could be here with Her Beloved Husband and Her People on this day.

Helen didn't know whether to take it personally or not that those signs made no mention of her whatsoever.

A lot of the signs held by boys her own age, and a few women too; were addressed to La Contessa and ranged from nice to flattering to nasty to offensive to vulgar to she'd have to remember to ask Vincenzo if he'd like to try it when they got home. She wondered what she'd have to do in order to get them to say as many nice things about her as they did about her husband. A few more seconds of reading The People's opinions of her, and she concluded that she'd probably have to get stabbed or something.

Helen reached for her purse to take out a cigarette, when she turned back to Vincenzo and saw his look. A look she'd gotten to know well enough to understand it's meaning entirely. "Helena, Fiamma Mia, I know that neither of us care to think about these things; however, I am old, and you are young, My Love. I hope you've been paying attention, because there are things that you shall need to know one day; and we can't always delude ourselves that we'll have forever."

She replied with the look that conveyed to him, "Yes, dear. And YOU know that I DON'T like thinking about that, and cracking jokes, preferably at my own expense, is one of my main psychological defenses; however, just because I was thinking up my next one does not at all mean that I wasn't listening, My Count. I'm a polyglot, listening's what I do."

Vincenzo made his final point with the look that she knew meant, "YOU are supposed to call me 'My Husband,' not 'My Count.'"

Helena wasn't done with the facial-expression conversation and came back with her look that told him, "Oh, yeah? Well, why don't you stop holding my hand, throw me down onto the seat, and remind me, Husband?"

His response was to turn back to the People and continue to smile and wave, thanking them for coming out to honor him on his special day and that he loved them as well. He then let go of Helena's hand and wrapped his arms around himself, giving a slight shiver. He nodded to Scappa to put the top up. The onlookers saw this and nodded, waving harder as they understood: Grandpapa Count was starting to feel cold and tired now and wanted to go home.

Word preceded them down the parade route, and although the People's cheers didn't diminish, they didn't take it personally that he wouldn't be doing any more smiling and waving at this event. They knew he'd appreciate it, even with La Contessa appearing to be wrapping herself around him before the windows darkened. No doubt, to provide the great old man with some warmth.

"The Count may have whatever he wishes on his birthday." was the last thing anyone outside might have heard her say before the roof sealed.

The parade carried on toward the castle.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez finished his call on the official line with San Finzione's ambassador to the United States. The ambassador told him that he would talk to someone, but that the Americans would want the murderer caught quickly and that State Department involvement would be unavoidable. Ramirez asked him to do what he could and assured him that La Policia were on the case and ended the call.

He checked the text from La Contessa that he'd gotten while on the phone. As she instructed, he forwarded the sketch on to his old friend, Detective Inspector Luc Allaine of Interpol. Ramirez lit a cigarette and then looked at the emails he'd missed while out.

Two minutes later, his personal phone played a ringtone that he hadn't programmed into it. Chuckling, Ramirez answered.

"Buenas tardes, Luc." He said, still chuckling.

"What has Violeta changed my ringtone to now?" Luc asked.

"It's Raining Men."

"An improvement from 'Lady Marmalade.'" Luc replied with a chuckle of his own. "Now that this is out of the way, what has happened in San Finzione that your Contessa would send you a sketch of Heinrich Dietz to pass along to me?"

"He murdered someone in the City earlier. An American." Hernando thought for a second as he smoked. "Luc, it is the weekend; more likely than anything, you were curled up with Sam watching Netflix. You are not at work, nowhere near your computer; I find it worrying that you know this man off the top of your head from the drawing."

"The artist is very good. We've been after Dietz for some time." Luc replied. There were the sounds of movement on his end. "A killer for hire, motivated racially as well as financially. Hits that we've connected him to have all been targets of white supremacist groups. He's what's known as a 'true believer.' Considered a legacy in those circles; his grandfather was... cheerfully employed at Dachau."

Ramirez's response was a noise that was half a groan and half a sigh.

"What you are telling me, Luc, is that the Jewish director of La Contessa's World War II film has just been murdered by a Nazi."

He heard the sound of a laptop computer powering up as Luc replied.

"You were right about my weekend, Hernando. We've been watching videos rather than news, and this is the first I am hearing of it. How long ago?"

"Almost three hours, you would not have seen it on the news yet. I would have called sooner, but the victim was an American. We needed to get the diplomats into action as quickly as possible."

"Mmm," Luc mmmed his understanding. "This film is La Contessa's pet project, no? The tale of the late Count's heroics in The War? And he was the director? You'd be surprised at how many people in this world cannot grasp the notion that Nazis are bad. I'd imagine the man got death threats; people in his line of work and mine get them all the time. He probably laughed them off or considered them some badge of honor; a sign that he's doing something right. You have all means of leaving the country being watched for him, correct?"

"Si." Ramirez replied. "The Prefect tells me that he left the scene in a blue rental car. No such car has crossed the borders and they are stopping all vehicles. All other means of leaving the country are being watched. They are going over tapes now to see if he got on a plane, boat, or train."

"If this is about the movie," Luc said as he typed. "Then whomever hired Dietz wanted to send a message to your Contessa. They will probably keep him in town to see whether she's received it or if they need to send another. But this film is a labor of love; I still must meet the woman, but I would imagine from what I know that this has not been enough to deter her."

"I can tell that she is firm on this. She's determined to find another director and continue."

Luc nodded at that on his end.

"Non, It is a love letter to her dear departed husband; she would be resolute. In this case, there are several things that I need to do now, old friend. The first is to call a taxi. The second is to have an argument with Sam as I pack a bag with my badge and gun. Then, either I, or hopefully, both of us; will be on the next flight to San Finzione."

Ramirez nearly dropped the phone. Because his old friend's husband worried so much about Luc's line of work, he accepted a desk position at Interpol HQ in Lyon; in a department where he was strongly disliked but his conviction record was high enough to make him essential, as he often picked up the slack of the less-competent but better-liked people in his department. The idea that Luc would come out into the field over this case was almost laughable to Ramirez, until the argument that he would have once they got off the phone began playing out in his head.

"You don't need to do that, Luc." He replied after a few seconds. "You have been behind a desk longer than myself. Giuseppe at the local office is a good man; he's been a good go-between before."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Giuseppe is good at following instructions and relaying information, Oui." Luc answered. "Heinrich Dietz is important, though. And possibly too big for him. Many of Dietz's victims were fighting for rights for people like myself, so I cannot deny my own interest. Catching him would balance enough books to be worth any personal risk; Sam will just have to understand this. Dietz is a racist killer who loves his job; this does not mean he works for free. Someone hired him, we'll need them as well. On top of it all, the victim is American. There is no way the State Department will let us get away with keeping them out of it. They will send some Dirty Harry cowboy who has seen too many movies to shoot holes in your country and wreck automobiles until someone confesses simply to spare any further innocent loss of life. He will bulldoze right through Giuseppe. You are going to need me to handle him. You are getting your wish at last, old friend. I am coming to San Finzione."

The Generalissimo took in how important this was to his old friend as he re-lit the cigarette that had burned out, then spoke.

"Violeta will not hear of any hotel nonsense. Let us know what time you will arrive. One of us will pick you up. Or I'll send a car."

They said goodbye, then Luc hung up and went to go have an argument and Ramirez called to ask his wife to prepare the guest room. Most likely, for one.

* * *

Contessa Helena de San Finzione entered her study, her office in the Palace Wing of the castle, and turned on the television. While her computer booted, she checked her phone. Ramirez had called and told her that Luc was coming to San Finzione while relaying his other information. She offered him a guest room in the Palace Wing or to put him up in the best suite; La Contessa's, in one of the many hotels that she owned. The Generalissimo replied that for all of Violeta's jokes about the man, Luc was her friend as well and she wouldn't allow him to stay anywhere but their home. Helen knew the Generalissimo's wife and liked her, so that closed the matter all around.

Once her computer loaded, she looked up Heinrich Dietz while bringing up the local news on the television. The local newscaster was parroting back the cover story she'd given the Prefect; that a young American, in San Finzione on business, was killed in a mugging gone wrong and that La Policia were taking every possible action to catch the murderer.

She switched to CNN to see if the American news had anything to say yet; thankful that, being the weekend, she wouldn't have to get her information from Sally & Cara. She calculated the time difference to Washington D.C., it was 9 AM Sunday there. The President wouldn't be up for another three hours, at least. It was too early for him to make an official statement to Twitter, but given Vincenzo's banning him and his "businesses" from San Finzione decades earlier, and her own encounters with the President, come Monday 3 AM, he'd have something to tweet about it. So far, American news had nothing on the incident. Helen considered that Eliot might not be "important" enough to warrant a news mention until things get political.

Helen tabbed between her email and reading what Google could give her on Dietz. The Ministry of Intelligence was putting together a dossier on him to send her, but she decided to see what the internet knew about him while waiting. She read about some of the higher-profile murders he'd committed or been connected to. Helen couldn't imagine a racist choosing to hole up in Little Uongo, but she'd overestimated her enemies in the past and sent a couple officers to look around anyway.

A killer on the loose in San Finzione meant that Helen's mind couldn't help going back to Frank Morgan, the man who'd stabbed her a year and a half ago. Morgan had been a professional hit man twenty years previously who'd gotten out of the business young and successful enough to retire and start a family under an assumed name. A terminal brain tumor had cost him his nest egg and his hearing and made Morgan desperate enough to accept an offer to make a suicide run at her. Helen unconsciously reached up and touched the tiny scar on the left side of her throat; the only external scar left from the attack that had been too close to vital arteries to risk removing entirely.

Morgan was well past his prime; weak and in the final stages of his illness, and he still overpowered her. She looked at the photo of Dietz on her screen, an Aryan poster boy about her own age. She was debating whether to take her traveling purse, a black Prada Arcade bag containing 25000 euros, her diplomatic credentials, a selection of black and platinum credit cards, and a Ruger LC9 with two extra magazines; out of the safe to check the gun when a loud knock came at the door to the study.