Chapter 26

“Leroy says there’s something you should know:
Not everybody has a place to go.
And home is just a place to hang your head.
And dream of things to do in Denver when you’re dead.”
-Warren Zevon, “Things to do in Denver When You’re Dead“
Morning, Susan here. Well, afternoon. We all stayed up late, and Helen didn’t get in until 7 AM-ish. We settled for a late bacon, eggs, & what was going to be toast before an Ultimado ran a plate of croissants out of the oven across the street to us for breakfast. Helen settled for two of the croissants. She also sent Velasquez to bring her some clean clothes and take care of the outfit she’d been wearing when she came home. (I didn’t notice it in the dark, but apparently, “Why did you come home with blood that’s almost certainly Leonard Whyte’s on your clothes” is another “Question We Don’t Ask Helen.”)

“Sorry,” She told us, accepting the coffee with hazelnut creamer to go with them. “I ordered room service after you guys left. Sorta did breakfast early this morning.” I didn’t have much either, leaving the two of us alone at the table, looking through the breakfast nook with the television off to one side, while Julie and Troy took care of dishes.

Julie started handing the breakfast dishes to Troy after passing them under the sink, and he’d check them to see if they needed extra work to get stuff off, or if they were dishwasher-ready. Rejects would be set on the prep table for further scrubbing afterward, and the others got efficiently loaded into the dishwasher. Troy extended his left hand, reaching past his field of vision to grab the dish that Julie had been holding just outside her own. It reminded me of the dishwashers at the diner, when we got some who’d stick around long enough to build up any kind of rapport, doing moves like that.

I think that’s why I like watching Troy and Julie do kitchen stuff together. (Apart from the fact that it means that it’s not my day to do it.) Because watching them set the table for dinner was the first thing I ever saw the two of them do as a couple. After the thought “robots” left my head, the one after it was “This is what two people who know and trust each other completely look like when they’re working on a problem together.”

Helen was still sipping her coffee, too. She’d also been watching them. And from the look on her face, thinking about them; like I’d just been, and imagine the same look was on my face. It seemed like she wanted to share her thought, so I let her.

“Do you know how I know that ‘evil mind controller’ Troy’s always worrying about isn’t out there, Susan?”

I did not. And if she had an answer, I certainly wanted to hear it.

“No, I don’t. How?”

We sipped our coffee together. Helen took a drag of her cigarette. By now, it was just something that’s a part of Helen. She used it to gesture subtly into the kitchen.

“Look at who found it. An artist and a mathematician; emotion and reason working in perfect harmony, love, and trust. No egos, no ulterior motives; no agenda other than ‘I really wanna learn how to do this cool thing with my best friend and fellow oblivious soulmate.’”

Julie gave no response to that. She was at the sink, and it was running.

“Fucker like Whyte couldn’t have found it.” I agreed.

“No, or he would have. So would a couple dozen pricks who thought ‘those other guys who’ve tried to take La Contessa down just weren’t man enough, unlike me.’ But nope, two kids, obsessively reading library books, comics, and books they ordered from ads inside those comics, figured it out.”

Troy closed the dishwasher. He spun around to kiss Julie. She turned and kissed him, then grabbed the “need a little more” stack off the table while he started the washer. She then stepped to the left sink, and Troy slid into her former position on the right side to help with those.

“And that,” Helen said, pointing with the cigarette again. “Is how I know that ‘evil mind controller who might be out there’ isn’t. As for Troy’s Men in Black/Area 51 thing, I know that’s bullshit, because I’ve asked the right people, and I’ve been there.”

My eyes widened. I’m sure all the ladies in my head’s eyes widened too.

“What’s in Area 51?” I asked. I was, after all, cleared to know this stuff now. At least in San Finzione. “I’ll go live in San Finzione to know this!”

Helen leaned in closer.

“Nothing. It’s a diversion. The good stuff’s all hidden around Areas 1-50. But nobody even asks about them, because they’re all too busy staring at 51 and waiting for the next laser show.”

I smiled. She gave me one of those “Am I joking? Best answer you’re getting, anyway.” looks. I accepted it.

“All right, then. Well, when’s the Auction?”

“Midnight.” She replied. “We got the time and town to be in, We’ll get the actual location two hours prior. Enough time for everyone to make sure we’re not being followed and get there. There’s usually a little cocktail thing before we get down to business; let the ones who ‘need to’ be fashionably late.”

“Ok.” I took a drink before my next question. “So, how’re you taking THEM down?”

“I’m not, Susan.” Came the last reply I was expecting. She saw the expression on my face and continued. “The Auctioneers have been around for quite a while, Susan. Where do you think the movies got the ‘I’ll sell it on the black market, to the highest bidder’ idea from in the first place? They’re not something you ‘shut down.’ This isn’t even the fifth or sixth group to call themselves The Auctioneers. There’s too much money to be made for someone not to keep it going. If this group goes down, a new group of Auctioneers forms the next day. It might take them a while to build up the old group’s contacts and connections; and who knows if they’ll be better or worse than the last one? If they’ll start inviting people who absolutely shouldn’t get hold of this shit or who were taken off the last group’s list for a good reason. The current group are good about not letting their items fall into STUPID hands, who’ll use it without a single fucking thought in their heads; then blab about them when they get caught. That’s why none of the ‘superpowers’ are on the mailing list. What if the fuckhead you’ve got in there right now got hold of Springheel? Do you think he’d use it wisely, or would anyone who calls him a not-nice name in the press start meeting with strange accidents until he can’t resist tweeting the whole world about it? No, the best thing I can do, Susan, is keep myself on the list; in case something like Springheel comes up, so I can make sure nobody else gets it.”

I gave her a smirk on that one.

“Channeling evil into good DOES appear to be the San Finzione Way, but I’ve been in your head, Helen.” I told her. “Well, Suzy-Q has, and she can’t lie or help telling me everything. She briefed me when she got back last night; you’ve seen how that works now.”

Helen nodded. It seems she didn’t get the full experience that I get from what I’m calling ‘Suzy-Q’s little memory upload kisses.’ (I may come up with a shorter name later.) Suzy-Q IS me experiencing those things, and that would explain why it takes me a while to sort things out after she shares them with me; like whether I had sex with Helen or Suzy-Q did. I mean, it was her idea, and technically, she WOULD make the same choices that I would in any given situation. It was more than I wanted to consider right after breakfast, when I still had a point to make to Helen.

“The point, Helen, is that I know why you really want Springheel. Because the first time you watched the video, you thought ‘This is the instrument of my death. This is how someone finally gets to me,’ And it’s haunted you ever since. So, as soon as you’ve gotten hold of this thing and destroyed it, that’s when you’ll be able to relax. Like Julie’s said she wish you would and all of us are thinking.”

We looked over at the TV, which was on mute. By afternoon, the news was growing tired of showing us digitized-out pictures of Helen’s pussy and had moved on to other stories, like the suicide of tech mogul Leonard Whyte CBE early this morning after losing everything in the stock market yesterday. I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV and the black & white photo of Leonard Whyte’s face on a black background, with his birth and death dates in big red numbers.

I patted Helen’s hand and left mine there. She didn’t stop me.

“And speaking of things everyone’s thinking, Helen? I learned about the other thing too. Suzy-Q didn’t tell me; we stayed up late waiting to hear if you’d be ok, holding each other, and talking. It wasn’t until Ortega told us that everything was under control that we were all able to relax and get some sleep. So, of course, you were the main subject of conversation, Helen; you wanting Troy’s baby and him wanting my thoughts on the matter before making a decision came up eventually.”

Helen’s eyes widened as she sipped her coffee and barely managed to avoid a spit-take or choking on it. It must be that “never let them see you sweat” thing that people like her have to develop.

“You guys have made this weirdly easy for me.” Helen replied, once she’d fully recovered.

“You’ve got enough problems.” I told her. “None of us want to add to them. So, I’ll tell you what I told them: That I don’t know if I’ll want kids or not. Up until a year ago, I figured that it was something I wouldn’t even have a say in; having all of it is still sort of new to me. However, if I ever do, there’s no one I’d rather have them call Daddy than Troy. We seem to go back and forth on things we can’t blame each other for. And there are no other kids besides his and Julie’s whom I’d want more for them to call brother or sister. Thinking about it, though, his and yours would be just as cool.”

She was overjoyed. It turned into a kiss. Her joy fueled mine, until the kiss became a real one. The one she knew exactly how to kiss, either from Suzy-Q, or the man I’d learned it from. It didn’t matter. It was too fucking hot. It made Suzy-Ho beg me to invite her up to see my room. I ended it moments before I would have agreed and relaxed back in my head and let Suzy-Ho make the offer.

Both of our first reaction was to look over at Troy and Julie at the sink. If they’d noticed us, then their not noticing us now was deliberate. It seemed genuine enough.

I looked back at Helen. Her eyes seemed like they didn’t know whether she should apologize or not. People live or die based upon this woman’s decision-making skills, and she was using all of them to determine whether or not she’d “gone too far, just like Helen Parker always does.”

I took the hand I’d been patting, picked it up, and held it in my other hand, so it was gently pressed between both.

“Not just yet, Helen.” I whispered to her. “Those odds of ‘love’ becoming an acceptable word between us aren’t as long as they were when you made that video; and I can feel them decreasing all the time; I’m just not there yet. There are things to consider like, do I want it to be just us that first time, or...” I nudged my head toward Troy & Julie, wrapping up in the kitchen. “As a family, since that’s bound to happen eventually, too; or how? I know I’ll be cool with the idea soon, let’s at least get this Springheel thing off your head first.” I thought a moment. “Plus, Denise wanted to know if she could come meet you yet, and she’s still in high school, so there’s a ‘none of that when Denise is around’ rule. That thing OR That Thing.”