So Night Follows Day Pt. 01

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

Troy smiled back. He led her to their bedroom.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Beatles, Who, and Stones?"

"TOO fuckin' right!"

They clinked glasses without looking and took a drink together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She cut him off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Helen backed up a bit, frowning.

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

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

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

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

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

Mander smiled back.