Chapter 25

“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.