A Little Night Music Ch 17

"I saw the news today, oh boy! (Hang your head.)

A thousand pictures of the lies we live. (Hang your head.)

Small minds play at some big-time games,

and everybody else pays. (Hang your head.)

They're on the take, and they don't give breaks.

They like to take it away. (Hang your head.)"

-Devo, "

Some Things Never Change

"

Detective Inspector Luc Allaine of Interpol did not have many friends in the Munich office. Waking them up at 10 PM to go obtain warrants and search Schön

Klink's records did nothing to increase the number.

The labels on the pill bottles had identified the patient prescribed them as Gareth Finnegan. A few hours' digging through Schön Klink's records said that he had visited several of their facilities eighteen times in the past three years for a malignant and slowly-growing brain tumor. No known aliases had returned from Interpol's records under that name. However, the fingerprints on the bottles came back with the name Francis Morgan, an American contract killer who'd dropped off the radar fifteen years previously.

"There was a rash of high-profile knife murders at that time," he relayed to Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez over the telephone. "Businessmen, the leaders of a couple of political movements who'd been making too much progress for the liking of some, the odd organized crime figure. Morgan's name came up as a suspect in a number of them, but he was never caught. Then he dropped off radar."

Ramirez sat up in bed with a notepad, his wife in bed next to him with her back turned to his bedside reading lamp. He took in Luc's words, ignoring her grumbling about how it was now 3 AM; and the Generalissimo had finally gotten home, had a sandwich, and gone straight to bed less than an hour before.

There had been nothing left for him to do at the scene. Everyone had been safely evacuated from the Ministry of Science before the explosion destroyed the first three floors. Unfortunately, the fragments of the vial that Morgan dropped before the attack appeared to have gone up in the explosion. If there was anything left to analyze, it would be weeks before it would be found. Since they could learn nothing more from it, the two had written it off as "probably poison" and moved on.

"If he was coming to Munich for regular treatments," Ramirez said, trying to keep his voice low. "They would need to be able to contact him. The Finnegan address in his file would have to be genuine, or at least someone who would relay the information."

"Oui," Allaine replied, lighting a cigarette. "Gareth Finnegan has an address in Kerry County, a poultry farm about 10km along the coast from Tralee. Sending the information to you now. His file says that he's married and has twin teenage children; a boy and a girl. The love of a woman, children, and a place to call his own. This sounds like perfectly good motive for a smart young man to get out of the game."

"Not for you, of course, Old Man," Ramirez joked.

"Not when I have a good man who permits me to stay IN the game, non."

"How is Sam?"

"Bien. And I hear Violeta in the background. Sorry for waking you, Violeta."

Ramirez turned to his wife.

"Luc is sorry to wake you," he told her. She grumbled a reply about having "those old queens" come to dinner sometime to make up for it.

"So," Luc said, getting back on topic. "You'll be sending your people to kick in some Irish doors?"

"I think not. The wife and children are likely not part of this. La Contessa may want to talk to them personally."

"So, things are looking better for her?"

"Her condition has improved, and she is being moved to a regular recovery room. Some old friends have come to sit by her side; I think they may be helping."

"Ah," Luc exclaimed. "A woman who has everything, including real friends? Rare as Monsieur Morgan's dream. But something went wrong with his dream. After buying a farm and settling down, raising two children; simply that much travel back and forth to Munich would put a dent in any retirement fund he had remaining."

Hernando thought on that before replying.

"Si. Like the American television show. He has nothing left for her and the niños, he already has lost his hearing, and his body is betraying him."

"Then, perhaps, a man comes to him with an offer too good to pass up: one last job. One that he won't walk away from. 'Die a manly death in a hail of bullets, and they will be taken care of; or waste away in a hospital bed, watching helpless, as they cry themselves into the poorhouse over you.'"

"No choice at all. I would still want proof," Ramirez offered. "With so much at stake; even if you were the one offering, I would need assurances. A token of good faith."

"Oui, a down payment of some kind. So, now, we are looking for money." Luc took a deep drag of his cigarette. "Jerking Munich around is, as the English say, 'jolly good sport.' We are treading dangerously close to the waters of 'Official Channels.'"

"If it comes to that, I shall ask that you be given the case." Ramirez thought for a moment more. "One of La Contessa's friends is supposed to be very skilled in matters involving money. He may be of some assistance."

"Involving a civilian? It feels unwise. There is serious planning here. Someone had to know who Finnegan used to be, and be aware of his medical condition to approach him with such an offer. And if this bombing was part of it... Morgan's file makes no mention of bomb-making skills. You found no such tools in his room?"

"Nothing," Ramirez said, sensing the call might go on and leaving the bedroom. "As was noted, he 'set up his shrine, took his pills, had a siesta, and left.'"

"There is organization behind this, my friend. And it seems they extend an olive branch. Whoever pulled Morgan's strings also gave you a perfect cover-up.

The shrine alone would convince the media that this Carlos Jimenez was a lone stalker, and they will eat it up. They'll trace the address in Spain, where no one will even know him; so, they'll tell the cameras what a quiet man he was, just to be on the television, and that will be it. 'Up next is Henri with the Football.'"

"And any questions left would be the speculations of conspiracy nuts, I see.

So, if we SAID we found bomb tools, maybe some kind of anti-science literature..."

"

C'est la vie

."

"Not an olive branch, but a patsy. This, too, sounds like a matter for La Contessa, when she is able to tend to it." Ramirez glanced back towards his bedroom. "I have another woman who may kill me if I do not get sleep soon.

You can sit on what you have until then?"

"Oui. Nobody above me has seen this. If I stop now, I have just shown an interest in a cold case. And if I leave Munich alone, they'll be too happy to see the back of '

The Cocksucker of Lyon

' to cause a stir. There is nothing to connect the two. Though I suspect I will update some of my boxes anyway."

Ramirez was one of the few who knew about the string of safe deposit boxes that Luc maintained, containing everything he had on the people most likely to kill him. Sometimes, he and Sam's weekend trips to San Finzione were a cover to update the boxes there.

"Maybe you should come for a weekend soon, just to update Munich's box."

The two of them laughed. They ended the call, and Ramirez went back to bed.

* * *

Susan Bailey had thought that the best bed in the world was the one that she often shared with Troy and Julie Equals. Her own was nice, a closer fit for three, with no real room for more, unlike theirs. The ones in the Contessa Class suites on Air Finzione were a pretty even match with the Equals' bed.

She hadn't tested La Contessa's bed when she'd been in Helen's room. A part of her had suspected that Helen might secretly keep recording equipment running in her bedroom at all times, so she'd been wary of snooping too much.

Then there'd been that explosion, and she'd panicked and gone back down to the Study to wait for Jeanne to come show her to her room.

She had a feeling that Helen's bed was probably better than this one, but Susan couldn't see how it was possible. Thus, until she received further information, she declared the one she was in to be the best bed in the world.

Susan felt for the first time that she was in a

palace

, rather than a

castle

. Castle Finzione was technically "Finzione Palace," because

La Familia Royale

were in residence. Count Vincenzo's father, Count Ernesto, had changed the name at the start of World War II, because, as he'd stated, "It was always meant to be a stronghold of hope for The People in a time of war."

After the War, the name had been made permanent; to show that although it now also housed Società Finzione, La Familia's corporation, the castle's purpose would always be "To Protect, Defend, and Serve the People."

Wiklpedia had prepared Susan a little for her visit, but if it had known about the guest beds in the Palace Wing, it had said nothing.

And she wore nothing, Jeanne having said what she interpreted as having her clothes laundered. Since everything she'd brought needed washing now anyway, Susan didn't protest, and all of the other women in her head were now relaxed, too, and too grateful for the silks and satins brushing against her entire body to complain. She hadn't had much experience with the idea of "luxuriating," but imagined that was the word for what she was doing now in the bed; spreading out, rolling around, feeling it everywhere.

Either or both of two things would have made it perfect. The male one carefully opened the door.

"Susan?" Troy whispered.

"Mmm... in here," she replied, looking over at him. "I thought you'd have it.

Where's Julie?"

"Staying at the hospital. They've moved Helen to a room now, so they brought in a recliner and blankets for Julie. I left it with her.

"And how's Helen doing?"

"Sleeping off a different sedative now. Hopefully, she comes out of this one better."

Susan nodded.

"So, coming to join me, Good Sir Knight?"

"Merely awaiting milady's invitation."

"You e'er have it, good sir," Susan giggled. They'd done this bit before, but now they were doing it in an actual castle. "Did you get to see Maria?"

"Just for a bit," Troy said, closing the door, and walking to the bed. He undressed as he spoke. "She and Stavro were turning in as well when I got here. Got a few minutes with them. I'd only met Stavro briefly the last time we were here, good guy."

"Yeah," Susan said, rolling onto her side, and watching Troy get naked.

"Doesn't talk a lot."

"He does in Greek," Troy replied, crawling into bed, and wrapping his arms around her. "If we're here in three nights, we're invited to his parents' house for dinner."

"Will we be? Claire told me to take as long as I needed, but it would be nice to give her an estimate."

"If Helen's going to be all right, it'll probably be a week before she and Julie get on each other's nerves." He turned to look her in the eye. "If you'd rather not stay that long, Susan; if you think you'd be uncomfortable, we can put you on plane home any time sooner."

Her answer followed a long kiss.

"I came here with my family. I'll stay by them."

Troy returned the previous kiss before replying.

"Even if that means welcoming Helen into it?"

Susan's next kiss was briefer than the first.

"I suppose I'd get Maria and Stavro in that deal. Let me meet her first before committing to a statement."

They looked down at each other's bodies. Both liked what they saw; however, both had also done quite a lot about it on the way there, and were too tired to do anything further about it now.

Troy had taught Susan how lovers who Do What They Do; and trusted each other completely, like he and Julie, and now Susan did; could always "command" one another to have "one more in them." It was how, no matter how many friends they'd brought to the bedroom, Troy and Julie always had their "last dance" together at the end of the night; Julie riding Troy to their simultaneous, earth- shattering orgasm.

But even that had a limit. One three-day weekend before they'd met Susan, he and Julie decided to order two large pizzas and put them, two gallons of Gatorade, and a case of bottled water next to the bed, and see how long they could safely push each other. With pizza and bathroom breaks, they'd made it 31 hours. The remaining 41 hours of the weekend had consisted of sleeping, ice packs, giggling followed by groaning, lotions, massages, and old cartoons; along with a unanimous decision to never try that again.

"Better in the morning?" Troy asked her.

"Better in the morning." Susan agreed, reaching over him to turn the nightstand lamp off.

They snuggled in silence a moment.

"Just thinking," Susan said after a while. "About the last time you promised a woman morning sex. You don't have any other super-rich friends with their own countries that someone might try to kill, do you?"

Troy cocked his head for a moment, acting like he was thinking about it.

"Nah, I don't talk to that guy anymore, he's more an acquaintance."

She smiled. They closed their eyes.

* * *

Although the blinds had been closed on all the windows at Byroni Medina Memorial Emergency Medical Center, a sliver of light from the outside made it onto a mirror as a door swung open, and into the room containing Contessa Helena de San Finzione. It lit onto the sleeping face of Julie Equals, who pressed her foot against the wall and nudged the recliner a couple of inches over to escape it.

The noise caused Helen to open her eyes. She was on a morphine drip now, so she was no longer restrained in her bed. The brace still held her left arm and shoulder, and she could see fresh gauze wrapped around her abdomen when she peeked beneath her gown. A smaller patch of it covered part of her right breast. She touched that one, and although the morphine kept it from hurting, the sensation told her that it should have.

Looking up from the gown, the blurriness of trying to see any distance eventually came into focus, and she made out Julie's sleeping face at the right side of the foot of the bed. She'd positioned the recliner to be facing Helen.

Helen could have swung her foot out and kicked Julie before she remembered why she was in the hospital and decided not to risk it.

"Hey," she weakly called out through parched and drugged lips. "Hey, wake up, you skanky cow."

Julie's response was to murmur "'kin cnt," and turn to the other side, pulling the blanket up over her shoulder. A couple of seconds later, she registered whose voice she'd heard and turned back to open her eyes.

"Hey, Girl!" Julie said to her, the happiness on her face coming through in her voice, as well.

"Hey, Also Girl!" Helen thirstily, but just as happily responded. Julie hit the call button and scooped a paper cup of ice chips from half-melted pitcher of them on a table next to the bed. She'd canceled her command to the doctors and nurses to ignore Helena, so the nurse responded as Julie was putting a couple of chips in Helen's mouth.

"You shouldn't try to move, Contessa," the nurse told her. "I'll inform the doctor that you're awake. He'll be able to tell you more about your injuries."

"How long have..." Helen was starting to remember things through the drugs. "Was there a bomb?"

Julie carefully placed her right hand on Helena's.

"The Generalissimo got everyone out in time. It went off, but nobody was hurt. The bomb squad was still on the way when it happened; the building was empty."

"That's nice." Helena sighed. When the nurse left the room, Julie bent down and kissed her on the lips.

"Thanks for waking up." Julie said with another smile.

Helena weakly raised her right arm and pulled Julie back down to her lips for a deeper kiss before responding.

"I had to," Helena replied, groggily. "Someone told me there was a skanky cow hovering outside the room."

Julie's smile got bigger.

"I'd punch you, bitch, but I wouldn't want you to pull anything and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't feel it anyway."

Helen's eyes found a clock and noticed it was 6:32.

"How long have I been out?"

"You came out of the anesthetic around eleven last night," Julie said, pulling a blanket over her. "You freaked out a bit, I had to Do What We Do to stop you from doing something dangerous." Julie paused for a moment. "We won't go into everything. They say it happens to everybody."

Julie was tired too, and it took her a moment to remember that she hadn't fully answered the question.

"My head's still on Seattle time, and Math Boy's back at castle with Susan and Maria, but my admittedly exhausted math says it's been eighteen hours."

Julie's phone had died in the night, and she went back to her chair to take it off the charge cord. "Yeah, that sounds right. I guess I should let people know you're awake, but Ramirez just went home a couple hours ago."

Helena got to use another of her favorite smiles: The Julie Smile. Helena regretted that although Troy was the first boy she'd ever loved, he had certainly not been her first. Julie, on the other hand, was both the first girl that Helena loved, and the first she'd been with. They'd shared their love with others, like Troy and Julie now did in their marriage; but from their earliest "girls' only" slumber parties, to sleepovers involving screaming into pillows, to no longer being able to tell themselves that what they were doing was "experimenting with someone who, OK, IS my friend; and yes, also happens to be a GIRL; and of course, I love her with all my heart and soul, but that doesn't make us...," until Madrid, it was always Julie. The smile reserved for that beautiful Sunflower hair and that oh-so expressive face.

"Is Maria all right?" Helena asked.

"Good, I hear. Really good. She gave a speech, I've been too preoccupied to turn on a TV, but I hear the hospital staff saying it was great. Like she was all 'Grr,'" Julie mimed a tiger's claw. "'I'm the Contessa now! You got a problem with that? Get fucked! I'm off to go Contessa the shit outta this little tourist trap!'"

Helena laughed, past experience telling her that Julie's account may not have been 100% accurate.

"I always knew she would." She thought through the drugs for a moment.

"Damn, the emergency protocols. Maria can't come see me now. Not until I can go home." Another moment's thought. "Hey, I don't know Susan well enough to ask, but you think she'd mind hanging out with Maria until I can come home? I'd love to really meet her." Helena gestured down the length of her body. "But, you know, not like this. Maria's got Stavro, and I hope they get married someday, because we need another heir, and I can't just..." Helena realized her thoughts were drifting and got back on topic. "But I've been where she is, and she also needs real friends, like you guys, and I'd just be more comfortable meeting her at the castle than in a hospital bed, you know?"

Julie nodded.

"I'm sure she'd agree to that. She likes Maria."

"Then I think we can let them all get some sleep. You certainly look like you could use it too."

Julie was too tired to give a comeback. She moved the recliner closer to the bed so that she could reach Helena's hand. Then she took it away and picked up the bag Troy had left.

"Oh, yeah, we brought this. Now, Troy told me to make this absolutely clear: He wants it back."

Julie produced a red velvet smoking jacket from the bag and carefully draped it over Helen. Helen took hold of it and tried to pull the garment up to her nose with her left arm, when her shoulder reminded her through the morphine that it was a bad idea, and used her right instead. She took a deep sniff of the fabric.

It smelled a bit like Troy. But more importantly, it still smelled like HIM! Like old tobacco, and olive oil, and Ice Blue Aqua Velva, and Metaxa, and...