Chapter 10

“He took little Suzy to the Junior Prom.
‘Excitable boy,’ they all said. (Excitable Boy!)
And he raped her, and killed her, then he took her home.
‘Excitable boy,’ they all said. (Excitable Boy!)
Well, he’s just an excitable boy.

After ten long years, they let him out of the home.
‘Excitable boy,’ they all said. (Excitable Boy!)
And he dug up her grave, and built a cage with her bones.
‘Excitable boy,’ they all said. (Excitable Boy!)
Well, he’s just an excitable boy.”
-Warren Zevon, “Excitable Boy“

Marisol Velasquez stepped up to the express elevator to the penthouse of the Seattle Hotel de San Finzione. She placed her hand on a palmprint scanner and spoke loudly into a speaker.

“Velasquez!” She barked at the speaker. “Marisol, Primo Tenente, Squadra de Ultimados! Quattro-Dos-Tres-Seis-Uno-Cero-Cinco!” A green light blinked, and the elevator started rapidly descending to the ground floor from the hotel’s La Contessa suite. It, like the penthouse of all Società Finzione hotels, was secured to Contessa Helena’s specifications. This included access for members of La Squadra de Ultimados, San Finzione’s elite Special Forces unit, and La Contessa’s personal guard.

“So, you can just walk into any room?” Susan Bailey asked as they waited, trying to reach Helen on her phone, but going to voicemail.

“Si. It is in the fine print when a room is rented.” She replied.

Mander shifted the large pistol he had tucked into his belt in a position better for drawing than securing in a crowd. From a pocket of his cargo shorts, he pulled a pair of dark sunglasses with John Lennon frames and put them on.

“I’d feel better if either of ya was armed.” He said as the doors opened.

“No need.” Velasquez replied, entering.

Susan dug in her purse and pulled out a spray bottle as she got in the elevator.

“Pepper spray?” He asked.

“Claire and I work in Tacoma. Julie bought us some bear spray when we went to Alaska for the wedding. We found out the mix for bears is actually weaker than the one for humans and that led to Troy looking up brands and models until he found us the strongest, best one.”

“All right, then maybe, yeah. They let ya on a plane wit’ ‘at stuff?” Mander asked.

“They let Julie on planes with it. Probably me by now, too.”

“Right,” he replied, pushing the Close Doors button. “You got ‘at thing ‘Er Countessness’ got. too. Ok, then, jes’ ... try to stay in the middle of us, right?”

“Always one of us in front of you.” Susan said in an attempt at Generalissimo Ramirez’s voice. “Always one of us behind.”

The doors closed.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione ended her call with Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez.

“Looks like Whyte’s been busy looking for mercenaries who’ve lost their hearing.” She said to Julie Equals as they stood in the Equals-Bailey household’s kitchen.

“There can’t be too many of them, can there?” Julie asked. She was preparing a tray from the barbecue across the street for her husband, Troy Equals, who was still at his library computer.

“Guys like Mander can be found in the classifieds of Soldier of Fortune.” Helen said, staring at the jars in their refrigerator, trying to figure which was the relish jar that Julie wanted. “Mander’s just smarter than most, and that’s why I like him. Guys who USED to be like him until they got too close to a grenade or something? Then they couldn’t hear orders anymore; so those ‘rotten tossers’ he told us about had no further use for them? Who were kicked to the curb without any OTHER skills than ‘doin’ ‘orrible things’ because rotten tossers pay them? And who’d jump at the chance to make that kind of money again? Harder to find, maybe, but certainly out there.”

Julie thought for a moment. Then reached over into the refrigerator and grabbed the jar of relish that Helen had been staring at.

“I can’t decide if that’s cruel or enlightened?” She said as she opened it. “I’ll get the mustard.”

Helen went back to puzzling over the contents of the refrigerator and held her hand up.

“No, no, I’ll get it. Mustard, right? Well, we’re talking about Whyte here, so probably cruel. He wanted Springheel because the world is just the right level of fucked for his liking and his profit margin. Now, I believe him when he says he needs it because it’s the only thing that will protect him from me.”

“That’s probably why he’s staying in the shadows.” Julie said, getting frustrated with Helen’s determination to find the right bottle, and reaching past her to grab it.

“I wanted to do that!” Helen said, spinning around.

Julie squeezed some mustard onto a hot dog. It made a messy blob at the beginning.

“Well, get me a butter knife, then.” Julie said, putting them back as Helen walked over to the silverware drawer. “But yeah, he knows he’s got to stay on the move, keep rerouting his phone calls and everything; because the moment you find out where he is, an Ultimado puts a round through his head or you walk up and say ‘don’t move,’ and he’s finished. And Goddammit, Helen, that’s a carving knife! You dine with Presidents and Kings, you know the difference between a shrimp fork, a salad fork, and a dessert fork! How do you not know what a butter knife is?”

Helen got a hurt look on her face, and Julie immediately knew why: Because Helen knew what they looked like on a place-setting, but not in a drawer, mixed in with other utensils. And condiments were applied by someone else, or in little silver dishes off to the side, not in bottles in the fridge. Contessa Helena de San Finzione was a citizen of the world; and The Kitchen was the only real mysterious foreign country left for her.

Marion Parker had been too busy drinking away the pain her husband inflicted on her each day, and trying to pretend everything was normal, to teach her younger daughter anything about cooking. Persephone Parker, her older daughter, had run away from home when Helen was three; if she’d had any knowledge to impart, Helen never received it. Julie’s mother had, after a few tries, taught Helen how to make fried chicken, and if someone else got the ingredients and utensils out, she could do it, but that was the extent of her knowledge of The Ways of The Kitchen. After Helen’s father had beaten his wife to death, Helen spent most of her time at the Medina house, where Propappou did most of the cooking and tried to teach her some things, but they didn’t stick. By then, she knew The Thing, and could dine at any restaurant she chose, where her meal was always on the house. After that, she’d married Count Vincenzo and had servants to do the cooking for her.

As a result, food preparation was an elusive mystery to Helen; something that every girl seemed to learn growing up, and she’d never gotten the memo. All she’d been able to retain of her knowledge over the years was how to make Vanessa Andrews’ fried chicken and that cookies are born via a process called “baking.” Julie knew all that, but despite Troy’s “primal scream” therapy earlier, was still frustrated at how much painting she wasn’t getting done today, and likely wouldn’t for the rest of the week. She walked over to Helen and hugged her closely.

“I’m sorry, hon. It’s no big deal. Stuff’s just weird at the moment.”

Helen hugged her back, noticing that it was their first proper hug since she’d shown up. There was the first, surprised squeeze after she showed up on the doorstep, and the make-up hug after their fight, but this was the first “goes on as long as it needs to” hug they’d had time for. She decided that now was as good a time as any to bring up the other subject on her mind.

“Julie? Can we sit down for a minute?”

Julie saw in Her First Girlfriend’s eyes that she had something to say that had been meant for her, and this was their first moment alone that didn’t involve breaking things and insulting each other. She nodded, and they walked into the living room and sat on the couch together. Helen clasped Julie’s right hand in both of her own, took a deep breath, looked down at the floor, then back into Julie’s eyes.

“Julie, my love. Whyte’s been trying to ‘get to me,’ and so far, he hasn’t succeeded much, but we both know I’d be lying if I said that getting stabbed hadn’t had some kind of effect; didn’t make me think about things I hadn’t given much thought before.”

She returned Helen’s gaze with a loving one of her own. She didn’t say anything. She’d known Helen’s body language as long and as well as she knew Troy’s and both of them knew her own; and saw that this was something difficult but important for her. She nodded for Helen to continue.

“If I had died, Julie, Maria would be alone. Not in the same way I thought I was when Vincenzo died. I mean, she’s got Stavro, Jeanne, Ramirez, and you guys; she’s absolutely taken care of. I mean, in the sense that she’s the last of Vincenzo’s line. For All-Powerful Athiesmo’s sake, she’s twenty-two, and she’s leading her country in my absence. The rest of La Familia ... well, someone had to let Whyte know about the Springheel meeting, and I’m pretty sure one of them probably snuck a look at my computer while I was in the bathroom or something. We keep them mostly under control, but a good number of them would sell me out for fifty Euros and a decent meal. I’ll be talking to all of them when I return, but the point is...”

Julie felt like Helen was losing track and tried to help. She took a cigarette out and was about to light it for Helen, when Helen took it from her and lit it herself.

“Ultimately, it’s just you and her.” Julie replied. “And if one of them took power, they’d probably sell the country to ... well, these Auctioneer guys, I guess.” Julie looked her second-oldest friend up and down.

“Helena, hon?” Julie whispered. “Are you building up to telling me that you want a baby and you want Troy to be the father?”

Helen felt a burning sensation on her leg, then realized she’d dropped her cigarette in surprise. She jumped up and back from the couch in both amazement and an effort to pick up the cigarette before it burned anything else.

“Ok, Julie, this is really you, right?” Helen asked accusingly. “Did I get hurt in the fight I think we just had? I’m really here in your house? That’s Susan we were fighting about? Susan Bailey, not someone else?”

Now it was Julie’s turn to jump back in surprise. And a little heat from one of the embers falling on her. She patted it out and made sure there weren’t any others.

“Ok, Helena, what the fuck are you talking about, and why the fuck would you even think to ASK those last two questions?”

“I asked you first, Julie!”

“I asked you second!”

“Therefore, I shall ANSWER second!”

“You’re letting your hair grow long, Helena! Yeah, you and Troy do most of that right-brain volleying ideas back and forth. But This Thing We Do requires reading people, noticing shit; and I learned how to do that right alongside him! You’ve always kept your hair short, because long hair was just one more thing for Wade to grab onto. You found out you were coming to Seattle a month ago, and based on your typical length, you haven’t cut it since the attack. Doesn’t Roger Somebody do your hair?”