So Night Follows Day Pt. 25

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Leonard Whyte lands in San Finzione.
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Part 25 of the 30 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 09/06/2017
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"Did you light the candles? Did you put on 'Kind of Blue?'
Did you use that Ivy League voodoo on him, too?
He thinks he'll be all right, but he doesn't know for sure.
Just like every other unindicted co-conspirator.
Mata Hari had a house in France,
where she worked on all her secret plans.
Men were falling for her, sight unseen.
She was a genius."
-Warren Zevon, "Genius"

"There's another question for you, Contessa." Leonard Whyte CBE said as he composed his suicide note. "Back at the meeting, you mentioned... well, not a name, but a person. Lee knew who it was, and it had the right effect on him. Since I'm about to die, you can tell me now. Who was it? Whose name besides Contessa Helena de San Finzione's own puts the Fear of You into the Crime Lords of Asia?"

"You wouldn't believe it." Helen said, lying on her back on the couch, and smoking while he wrote. "And he's seen as a racist stereotype these days; his name's considered offensive now."

"Oh, come now. You've compelled me to cooperate and answer all your questions, and you seem to have answered most of mine truthfully. Like the interpreter chap who ran out of here, I know too much for you to let me live. You could make me forget it all; but after everything that's happened, I certainly know the choice that I'd make if our situations were reversed. You're killing me before this night is through, we both know that. So, it's definitely not going anywhere. Might as well tell me."

Helen thought for a drag, then decided "All right" and got up, walking over to the table. She bent down and whispered five syllables into Whyte's ear.

Whyte's eyes widened.

"Bullshit!" He said. "He's a fictional character, doesn't exist!"

"And that's what he wants everyone to go right on thinking, Leonard." Helen replied. "He's retired now. Though, from what I'm hearing out of Hong Kong, he's making a brief little comeback to get his house back in order, then he's back to his retreat in the Himalayas. Says the air's cleaner up there, and damn if he isn't right."

"But if he were real, he'd have to be..."

"I DID say I was into older guys. And they don't get much older than him."

"Well, you control minds, so do The Equals and this Bailey woman; why can't he be real, too, I suppose?"

"Reports are already coming in about a wave of 'mysterious deaths amongst rich, powerful, elderly men in Hong Kong.' Lots of exotic insect and animal bites; couple bizarre accidents. I think HE wants to save me a visit, too. Just for different reasons. We..." Helen searched for words. "Go a while in-between seeing each other, Leonard. He's sorta my idea of 'a bad boy.' But when we DO, Leonard..."

"So, that special name he gave you?"

Helen was still lost in the thought she'd trailed away from, realized what Whyte had asked, and sighed dreamily.

"I'm his little Cursed Lotus, yes."

Whyte laughed, then finished his note. Helen took it back to the couch to smoke and read. After a while, she set it down.

"Leonard." Contessa Helena de San Finzione said, reading over Whyte's work. "I must say that this is absolutely fucking beautiful."

"I can't take credit for the whole thing." He replied. "That 'third-rate Steve Jobs' line and some of the other things you kept making me call myself were all you."

"I hope you don't mind; well, actually, I don't care if you mind, but if my Ministry of Science ever develops time travel, I'm going back and giving this to Warren Zevon for lyric ideas. Also telling him not to be afraid of doctors. Definitely fucking him. Do you like Warren Zevon, Leonard? He's sort of a hero of mine. 'Genius' is, like, the best make-out song ever. Hell, if you'd played that song at any point during all of this, my pants might've made their way back to the table."

"I liked Werewolves of London." Whyte replied, a grimace on his face after writing out the five-page note. "Don't know anything else."

The grimace on Helen's face looked even more pained than the one on the face of the man who would die as soon as she got around to it. She fought the urge to slap him, as she wasn't sure if she'd want marks on him yet.

"And there went my last shred of sympathy for you. My Athiesmo, Leonard! The man came and went WITHIN your lifetime! You could have seen him play live! I don't know that he ever toured Yorkshire, but he HAD to have made it to London, at least. Definitely worth a fuckin' train ticket! Here." She grabbed the remote and turned the tv to the music channels. "Just because I'm about to end you, doesn't mean you can't get some fucking culture beforehand." She switched to the La Contessa's Favorites menu. "The hotel's music channels have two entire pages of Warren Zevon stations, each playing one of his albums on a loop, staggered every 15 minutes, so you can always find just the right Warren Zevon album or song to suit your current mood. Guess whose idea that was."

She selected through them.

"Now, which one's about to cycle around to track one? Ah, perfect!" She went down to one of the "Life'll Kill Ya," stations and selected it. The opening guitar and harmonica of "I Was in the House When the House Burned Down" came out of the TV.

"Two's the title track." Helen explained, getting up and circling Leonard and the table, appraising him the way she did the reporters she'd been dressing at the mall earlier. "We don't have time to enroll you in a proper instructional course on Warren, but this album marks the beginning of the end for him; a year before the cancer diagnosis, he'd live less than three years more after this album. But he's getting sicker, feeling the darkness creeping in. I think it fits here. We won't listen to the whole album. I'm making the call now that I'll have finished orchestrating and carrying out your execution before, or possibly during, 'My Shit's Fucked Up.' That's track nine; little time, but not much. So, let's get started.

* * *

Leonard Whyte CBE lay on the bed, his gun in his mouth, his finger on the trigger, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he awaited the command to pull it, which he knew he would instantly obey. Contessa Helena de San Finzione looked over the scene.

His eyes followed her around the room. Begging and tears were never going to be on the agenda when this time came, for either of them. Looking one another in the eye at the end had never been in question, either.

She stood back from the bed a bit, raising her forefingers, and bridging her thumbs; looking at Whyte on the bed like she was trying to picture it on a screen.

"Over too quick." She said at last. "Let's try something else.

* * *

Leonard Whyte CBE was in the kitchen of his suite, kneeling on the linoleum. His head was inside the oven. Contessa Helena de San Finzione sang along with track two of the album as she looked over the scene.

"Nah," She said, after a little thinking. "Too old-fashioned. You're a more modern guy than that, Leonard."

"Plus. I'm pretty sure this stove's electric." Whyte said from inside. Helen had ordered him to cooperate fully with her on this project, so he was unable to stop her or attempt to escape in any way. What he'd done to the interpreter all week with a gun, she accomplished in seconds with a few words.

"Is it?" Helen said with a delighted giggle. "You're not going to believe this, Leonard, but I don't know a single fucking thing about cooking, and I have tried to learn. It's normally a little bit of a sore point with me, but right here and now, with you and me? Well, if you can't laugh at yourself. Ok, let's try something else."

* * *

Leonard Whyte CBE lay in a hot bath, still in his business suit, though his jacket had been removed. Steam filled the room, temporarily obscuring the face of Contessa Helena de San Finzione, who watched as he held the razor blade over his wrists.

"Too Godfather 2." Helen concluded.

* * *

Leonard Whyte CBE stood on a chair. A noose hung from the ceiling fan was around his neck. He was now in a dripping undershirt, soaked boxers around his ankles. He held his erection in his hand. Helen circled him, smoking.

"Too funny! I want people to FORGET you, Leonard. Nobody'll forget this! Also, since I know this is one of those things guys need to know?" She looked his semi-naked old body up and down with a long drag of her cigarette. "Yeah, OK, but I'd go in knowing you're no Troilus Equals and not expecting a lot."

"Well, you've already fucked one old man to death, Helena." Whyte said with a smile. "Think you can pull it off a second time? Know what you're doing now?"

An angry look came across her face.

"That's a very mean, hurtful thing to say, Leonard! Why I oughta just kick this chair right out from..." She paused and started laughing, as if she'd just understood a joke that took her a few moments. "Oh... that's what you WANT me to do! To put an end to the terror and humiliation, right? I get it. Ok, let's get you down from there and let you dry off and change. Don't want fuckin' pneumonia getting ya while I'm deciding."

* * *

Leonard Whyte CBE leaned against the railing of the balcony of his suite, dried off and wearing a new, black suit. Yesterday's rains were gone, and the sun was about to rise in the distance off the balcony. Zevon's cover of "Back in the High Life Again" came from the TV inside the suite.

"You know something, Leonard? The last time I stayed up all night with a man your age, I ended up marrying him." Contessa Helena de San Finzione said, pacing back and forth in front of him. "It's almost been as much fun as that night, but I'm running out of ideas. I guess we don't really NEED the note. Even if I didn't have diplomatic immunity, the consul successfully argued that the hotel is San Finzione territory. I COULD just fucking flay you alive in the middle of the hotel ballroom and hire Morgan Freeman to narrate the whole thing as I go, while a full orchestra plays 'I've Got You Under My Skin.' I could put ads for it on TV, for every sick motherfucker who'd get off on watching me do it to come this Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY! And nobody'd be able to do a fucking thing to stop me, but that note's so damn good! It seems a shame not to use it."

"Would it help at this point, Helen," Whyte asked. "If I said that I was sorry?"

Helen stopped and thought about it for a moment. Then she smiled.

"You know, Leonard? It just might. I mean, that IS one of the big problems with the world: nobody apologizes for anything anymore. They excuse, they justify, but nobody ever just admits a mistake and says they're sorry. And what kind of bitch would I be to turn my nose up at it? Forgiveness is such a rare commodity these days. Hell, I had a conversation with someone about it last night after the warehouse. And Troy has a saying about not punishing efforts to be nice, you know." She looked him up and down in his suit. "And I can think of a few ways you could still show ME how sorry you are, Leonard. Of course, I'm not the only one you'd need to apologize to."

"Ah, yes. Mr. & Mrs. Equals too, of course. Certainly."

"Them, for one." She told him, walking up to the man. "A nice card and a half-dozen donuts would go over well there. They like blueberry cake and the chocolate-covered old-fashioned. You're forgetting Susan again, though. For Susan, I'd say 'just the card.'"

"Untouchable, like Mr. Equals, huh? 'Thought that counts' and all that? Ok. And I'm sure your..." Whyte had to stop himself from making it an insult. "...Eastender would appreciate something for all his trouble, too."

"Five-thousand-dollar gift card for a home improvement store should cover him. Or just five-thousand dollars; whichever's easier. But again, there's still other people you need to apologize to first, Leonard."

Whyte nodded. She leaned in close.

"Of course, Contessa. Who else?"

Contessa Helena de San Finzione reached into the pocket of her jacket and grabbed the balisong knife she'd taken from one of the thugs back in San Finzione. She let out a soft, hot breath on Leonard Whyte's neck before thrusting it up between his ribs and into his heart.

"You need to go apologize..." She whispered to him. "To Raymond Chen."

Whyte let out a noise that was too high-pitched and weak to be called a squeal. Helena stabbed him again.

"And Helmet Guy!"

She pulled out the knife and thrust it into him repeatedly, shouting each word and punctuating them with another thrust, another twist, and another withdrawal.

"AND MORGAN! AND ALL! THE OTHER! PEOPLE! I KNOW! I'M MISSING!!"

With his life flowing down his legs and into his shoes, Leonard Whyte CBE stood helpless as Contessa Helena de San Finzione took a step back, dropped the knife, flattened her right palm, and bent her fingers. She took a step forward and put all her weight behind it as she rammed her palm into Leonard Whyte's chin. The force carried him over the railing, and he managed to let out a scream on the 50-story fall that took him through Seattle airspace and onto the pavement that was technically San Finzione territory below.

Helen picked up the knife and pocketed it as her phone indicated an incoming email.

She opened it and looked. She looked over the railing at the pool of Leonard fifty stories below.

"Hey, Leonard. They're announcing the Auction now! You got your..." She looked over and saw his phone back on the dining room table inside. She went and grabbed it, came back to the railing, and dropped it down to him on the pavement below. "Wouldn't want ya missing it on my account." She checked her own, got the time and location for the next evening, RSVPed, and put her phone away.

As the track changed in the suite, Helen lit another cigarette, reflecting that there was probably a lot of useful shit that could have been gotten off that phone. Then she remembered that it was still on San Finzione soil; and stuff like putting it back together was the sort of thing she had a Ministry of Science for. She walked out of the suite, past the bathwater from the bath they'd never turned off now flowing out into the hall, singing along with the song playing.

"Well, I went to the doctor. I said 'I'm feelin' kinda rough.' 'Lemme break it to ya, son: Your shit's fucked up."

She then remembered that she owned the hotel and would ultimately be the one paying for the water damage, went back, and turned off the bathtub. She picked up the tune from there and walked out again.

* * *

Helen learned from Whyte's interpreter that he really had been a prisoner and told her everything he knew. She replaced his memories, so that Whyte had just turned out to be a huge jerk who'd had him doing boring STRANGERS work and had paid him in full. He wouldn't remember why he'd be so pleased, but when he heard the dirt bag had offed himself the next day, he may have made a tiny fist-pump.

Talking to the Seattle PD after someone had jumped out of her hotel was unavoidable. And preferable to another war between San Finzione and the City of Seattle over whether or not enough bits of Leonard Whyte CBE had landed outside San Finzione territory to warrant a murder investigation on various patches of the street and sidewalk. Alternately, La Contessa could answer a couple of questions, they could tick the "suicide" boxes on the forms and everyone could go home. Helen agreed to that one.

No, she didn't know this man, or even that he'd been staying at her hotel. Just ignore the blood on her clothes, that time of the month, you know. Best to leave it out of the reports and forget about it. Lenny Something? She'd been relaxing with some friends after a long day out on the town, up in her own suite; and no, the police couldn't go up there and speak to any of her guests, they all have diplomatic immunity as well and won't talk to them; but this man certainly wasn't there. Wait, Leonard Whyte? The phone guy? She'd heard something bad happened to him earlier, but she'd been out shopping with her girlfriends all day, and then gone out to the clubs. Really? His phone landed ON TOP of his body, so it must have gone over the side AFTER? Huh! Well, it was one of his models, right? She wouldn't know anything about that; La Contessa was an admitted "Apple Whore." Oh yeah, I DO remember you from outside the phone store, Lieutenant. How's your new iPhone working out? And yes, if anyone needed to verify her whereabouts for the day, they could just turn on the news and get the story from any of the thirty reporters who'd been covering her every move. They'd said they were ok with that and left.

Bluey and Mander were continuing to talk and drink. Helen silently chided herself for never even thinking to ask if Mander knew sign language. The Ultimados were taking care of the bodies, they'd have them disposed of before the repair crews arrived in a few hours.

With everything taken care of here, Contessa Helena de San Finzione told Mander where she'd be, called for the elevator, and went to the parking garage. Scappa pulled up in a beat-up 1978 station wagon. She opened the door and got into the middle of the back seat.

"Take me home." She told him, lighting a cigarette. He looked confused. "The local one."

The driver nodded and left the hotel. He got on I-5, and headed south, toward the SeaTac Mall Exit, to Federal Way.

He pulled onto the street where the Equals House and the Green House were located, and pulled into the Equals' driveway, knowing that theirs would be the one that La Contessa would call "home."

* * *

Troy and Julie Equals and Susan Bailey were asleep on the Equals' bed. They'd waited up as long as they could for Helen before retreating to the bedroom and calling it a night. The three of them were naked, in the position which they often tended to fall asleep together: Julie in Troy's arms, and Susan spooning up to him with her arm draped over him, so she and Julie could touch and hold hands as easily as she and Troy could.

A little green light flashed on Troy's nightstand. It wasn't bright enough to wake any of them, it just indicated that the front door had been opened. Since whomever had opened the door then closed and locked it, another indicated that the correct alarm code was entered, the lights changed to let the three unconscious people on the bed know that there was no further disturbance, and then turned off. The fact that none of the three people had stirred to acknowledge the messages was of no consequence to the lights; they'd held up their end of the agreement.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione quietly stepped into the bedroom. A life of crime had taught her how to move silently through a house with sleeping occupants and potential valuables in multiple locations. She'd been putting those skills to good use entering the house thus far, but there was one of the sleeping people whom she'd never been able to really sneak up on, and he sensed her presence and opened his eyes slightly to see her standing at the foot of the bed, looking at the three of them.

Troy gave her a smile that said, without speaking to wake the others up, "Hey, Girl." She gave him a "Hey, Boy" smile back and began undressing. Troy realized that although he, Julie, and Helen had been naked together a good portion of their lives, that Susan wasn't really "that good" with Helen yet, and reached for a blanket to cover her. His movement caused the other two to stir.

Julie saw Helen undressing. She gave her a "Hey. Girl" smile. Helen returned it with a "Hey, Also Girl" one as she began to remove her bra. Julie gave her another that seemed to ask "You get your thing taken care of, and now you need some Troy?" Helen nodded, and Julie broke contact with Troy, making room for her between them.

Susan saw Helen naked. She hadn't bothered replacing the panties she gave to the bartender earlier in the night. She had a moment of concern and started to reach for a blanket as well, but remembered that Helen and Suzy-Q had already seen each other naked. So, between Susan having all of Suzy-Q's memories and experiences and all of the Suzy Crew's exact resemblance to Susan, they'd already seen everything. So, she relaxed and changed it to a "Hey, Girl" look like the others. Helen met it with a "Hey, Other Girl" look, and crawled in-between Troy and Julie.

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