The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

So Night Follows Day part 14

By T. MaskedWriter

“I’m very well-acquainted with the seven deadly sins.
I keep a busy schedule trying to fit them in.
I’m proud to be a glutton, and I don’t have time for sloth.
I’m greedy, and I’m angry, and I don’t care who I cross.
I’m Mr. Bad Example, intruder in the dirt.
I like to have a good time and I don’t care who gets hurt.
I’m Mr. Bad Example, take a look at me.
I’ll live to be one hundred and go down in infamy.”
—Warren Zevon, “Mr. Bad Example

Detective Inspector Luc Tomas Allaine left his office and hopped on his bicycle. He pointed it toward Bertholdi Fountain and turned the headlamp on, despite the well-lit streets around Interpol HQ at this hour of the morning, and the reflective orange bicycle helmet that Sam insisted he wear when riding. It was that golden hour before the Sun began to make its appearance, when there were more “people” on the streets than there were “motorists,” and not many at that. A time to clear one’s head with a ride, stare at the fountain, and have a think.

His train of thought on his old friend’s matter had been derailed when the second attack took place, the one at La Contessa’s Seattle hotel. A call back to Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez confirmed that it had been a Triad attack, and that La Contessa and her guards were unharmed. The Seattle Consulate was still fighting with the local police over releasing the security camera footage to them; overtly because the attack had taken place on a property owned by La Familia Royale de San Finzione, which made the hotel’s status as “San Finzione territory” open to debate. If it were the case, by San Finzione law, “a direct crime against La Contessa herself” fell under La Squadra de Ultimados’ jurisdiction until representatives from La Policia could be flown to Seattle to take charge of the scene. The Consul seemed willing to fight to the death over this technicality.

Luc figured out the real reason on his own, after Ramirez had sent him the footage: Because the woman in the video who had no combat training, but also displayed the instincts of someone who was no stranger to violence, and was not Rita Delvecchio, of “È Solo Divertente Se Conosci L’italiano” fame in her Contessa Helena de San Finzione makeup; was someone whose face the Government of San Finzione did not wish displayed on the news. And with the sensational nature of the attack, handing the video over to the local police would be practically the same thing as handing it to the media. Ramirez pointedly failed to inform him that it was a direct order from La Contessa in such a way that Luc was able to determine that himself. Luc found nothing in the video that could help his end of the investigation, so he gave Ramirez his observations and assured his friend that his copy had been as “accidentally erased” as all others were likely about to be.

And there was still that matter of how the universe works to consider. Another thing which Luc’s old friend deliberately did not tell him was that the myths about his boss were true: That the enchantingly beautiful woman who ruled San Finzione, Contessa Helena de San Finzione, truly was some kind of witch, or faerie, or genetically-engineered CIA sex-assassin; with a strange ability to beguile the mind. Although Luc suspected that if sex-assassins were a real thing, she would have to be a very bad one to have taken over two years to get the job done.

Luc parked his bicycle and walked over to a bench in front of a small bush. He sat and alternated between looking at the fountain and the people out walking at this hour. He thought about who they all might be. All of the drunks had either made it home from the bars, or had been picked up by the police and were sleeping it off in a cell. Everyone out at this hour had a purpose for doing so. He wondered how many were bakers. This seemed the time of morning that bakers started work, and he didn’t imagine many wore their uniforms while walking to and from work. A few, certainly.

“Detective Inspector Allaine?” A woman’s voice whispered from the shadows.

Luc jumped in his seat. His hand went for his service revolver.

“There’s no need for the gun, M’sieur.” She said. “But keep your hand on it, if it makes you feel safer. An old friend has sent me with a message.”

Luc swallowed before answering.

“You got here too quickly to have come from the embassy in Paris, so I would imagine that you came from the local consulate. And you approached me undetected, which speaks of Ultimados training; so, I am thinking ‘Cultural Attaché.’ I have a good idea whom this friend might be, and I have a message for him, as well. Your chosen methods of delivering messages are the only reason I have a box on you, Hernando.”

Luc could hear the woman behind him tapping on her phone from her concealed position.

“You were correct, Luc.” She read off a note on the screen. “There were things that I could not tell you over the telephone, although La Contessa has cleared you to know them. I cannot take time away to come to Lyon, and you need this information sooner than whenever you and Sam visit, which this does not get you out of doing. Allow me to plainly state the facts, so that they are in front of you to work with, old friend.”

Luc took his hand off his pistol.

“I am listening.” He told the woman whose face he still hadn’t seen.

“First, Si, Contessa Helena de San Finzione knows the secret of mind control. It is not believed to be supernatural in nature, but we do not understand how she does it. We know that it cannot be transmitted via video or telephone, and that it doesn’t seem to work if the speaker cannot convey their thoughts correctly; if they do not share a common language, for example.”

“I thank him for putting it into words. This has already been a day like the day that it occurred to me that Captain Stottlemeyer from ‘Monk’ and Buffalo Bill from ‘Silence of the Lambs’ were the same man.”

The Ultimado paused.

“I had never thought of this. I now know this feeling. His message continues: There are four people in the world, of whom we are aware, with this ability. The other three who know it are friends of hers: the two who taught it to her as a child, and a more recent member of their group; the woman on the video, whom I’ve told you about. Luckily for all of us, they seem content to use this ability simply to live a comfortable life, help others, and pursue their passions. They are her family, and this power is some kind of family secret. I have met these people; and do not believe that I am being influenced when I say that the secret in safe hands.”

Luc lit a cigarette, sensing that he might be a while, before sharing his thoughts with the unseen Ultimado.

“Which would make them important enough to her to risk an international incident over one of them being caught on video. You may tell our friend that my copy has already been accidentally erased. And that I think he is correct about not being influenced. La Contessa does not seem to be the kind of ruler who would put a puppet in charge of her country’s military. His rise from Capitano to Generalissimo would happen only through well-earned trust and respect. I am guessing that another member of the family is ‘skilled in matters of money?’”

“Oui.” The Ultimado answered. “I have met him. He shared some stock tips that have worked out very well. But back to the message: Whyte arranged an incident where La Contessa was certain to use this ability so that he could see how it worked. He concluded that being unable to hear her command would make Morgan immune to it. This is why everyone but him froze when she commanded him not to move. If she had not said that we could move again before falling unconscious, I may have been stuck there until her friends arrived from America to release me. Oh, si, I am aware that at least one of them is able to override her commands.”

“Then it is some kind of skill, with varying degrees of talent; possibly multiple approaches.” Luc replied.

The Ultimado took in his words before continuing the message. Part of her orders were to report back “even the slightest idle musings” Luc may have.

“La Contessa’s friends are safe, under constant guard by Ultimados. At present, she and Señor Mander are en route to a meeting with a representative of The Elders, to give them the recording of Whyte’s admission to orchestrating the limousine ambush.”

Luc replayed the recording of that conversation in his head.

“With everything else happening in Seattle, I had suspected an Auction was afoot. Add all of those players, and that is the only thing that it can be. If there is an item that Contessa Helena de San Finzione wants to possess up for bid, the only way anyone else could possibly walk out of there with it is if she were already dead.”

Luc thought some more.

“I do not think that Whyte would reveal La Contessa’s friends to the Elders. I am certain that my old friend has them well-guarded. Whyte needs any leverage he can get, and an attempt on Contessa-In-Reggenza Maria would be impossible now, so that leaves only them to dangle over La Contessa’s head. They are too valuable to him to risk losing to a Triad bullet.”

“He would want me to thank you for this. He concludes. The dossier that the Ultimado is giving you now contains everything we have that I have not already shared on Whyte and the item that he wants. I hope this helps you to see the full picture. I know I do not have to advise you about discretion, Luc; however, people have already died over this thing. I would suggest destroying it when you are done. Vaya Con Dios, my friend.”

Luc looked down at the thick, sealed envelope that had been placed on the bench.

“When I turn around, you will have disappeared like Batman, correct?”

“Oui.” The Ultimado responded, her voice already distant.

“Then, allow me to say merci before you depart.”

There was no answer.

Luc picked up the folder and hurried toward his bicycle.

* * *

Contessa Helena de San Finzione sat in the passenger seat of a 1984 Ford Mustang. She stared, as she had for the past five minutes, at the car in front of her with the bumper sticker that read “Your Honor Student Blows My Kid for Meth,” which she and Mander had stopped laughing at three minutes ago.

“Fuck, I have not missed traffic.” She said, lighting a cigarette. “Is this really how I got around before police sirens and flashing lights became a GOOD thing for me?”

“Prob’ly because of the protests.” Mander replied from the driver’s seat. “Susan said that Seattle traffic’s bad enough when it ain’t even thinking about it. With this shit goin’ on, they’re taking it seriously now.”

“You know,” Helen said, taking a frustrated drag. “I HAVE diplomatic immunity. You wanna trade seats, I can ram us through this shit in minutes. I’m thinking the Grand Theft Auto approach: Plow through the other cars until this one catches fire, then get out and jack another one and get away before the old car explodes, repeat until we’re there.”

“Heh,” Mander responded. “In Africa, we’d just fire a few rounds into the air, that’d give the wanker at the front of all this some incentive. But nah, might be quicker if Your Countessness just rolled down the window, stuck your head out, an’ did your Thing an’ shouted at everyone in front of us to make ’em let us through.”

Helen gave some semi-serious thought to the idea before deciding against it. A few moments later, vehicles began slowly rolling forward again.

“Odd that Whyte ain’t called back to gloat or taunt or something. You tried him?”

“Nah, no point. He knew it wasn’t me at the hotel, and the losses were all on the Triads’ side. What’s he gonna taunt? ‘Ha ha, I failed again?’”

“Well,” Mander said as he found a way into the next lane. They wouldn’t get off for another few exits, but it seemed the time to start planning now. “He hasn’t done much to ya directly since Morgan, yeah. But he has kept you on the defensive. Your Countessness is the clever one, so I know you’ve already considered that this might be what he’s after: You an’ them in the same place.”

“I’ve considered it.” Helen answered with a drag. She tossed the lit cigarette out the window and took another from her pack, blowing loose tobacco dust off of it. “He’d know that The Elders would insist that no Ultimados come along. Hell, bringing you was a negotiation all by itself. And we don’t know how many mercs answered his ad.”

“Yeah. You see ’em, you know. In this game. Guys comin’ round the same old shady hangouts, hopin’ maybe today, someone’ll be hard up enough to give ’em a shot. Ya buy ’em a pint, cause you know you’re one bad day away from bein’ right there with ’em.”

Mander thought for a moment.

“How do you suppose he’s giving ’em orders? Whyte doesn’t strike me as the type who’d bother taking up sign language.”

Helen thought on that, then took out her phone and started a text.

“Good call, Mander. Passing that along to Ortega. He’d have to hire an interpreter. Probably a few of them in Seattle, but it’s something.

Traffic began to crawl again. Helen lit her cigarette and again contemplated Mander’s idea of just getting out and commanding people to get out of their way.

“Text sent, at least.” Helen told him. “Whyte’s not jamming the phone signals right now. Of course, he can’t leave the entire city without cell service all week, just to fuck with me.”

“Hmm.” Helen hmmed, as the thought begat another. She sent a second, longer text.

* * *

Julie Equals sat at the canvas once again. She tilted her head and stared at it.

She’d put Susan to bed and helped her down into a light trance, to see if she and the other women in her head could learn more about her odd connection with Helen. Troy was still talking to the hackers, and Helen and Mander had left for their meeting. Which meant that, at nearly midnight, for the first time all day, she had time to herself to at least make that first brushstroke, so she could say “Ok, you’ve put something on the canvas; you have officially began painting. Now, keep going.”

The word “time” looked for something to connect with in Julie’s head. Well, it was almost tomorrow before she’d been free of distractions to come in here and try to get some work done.

“Distractions” played across her mind as well. Well, it’d been a day of distractions. First the Ultimados, then Helena showing up, all this Springheel stuff, Whyte calling, the Triad hit, Susan insisting on going downtown and into the midst of an attack on the hotel, discovering that Susan might be psychic. It was a damn busy day, with lots of problems, but it seemed they were, if not yet resolved, getting better. Which meant she was free to try to stop worrying about everyone and think about the crowd scene that had been trying to get out of her head and onto the canvas.

“Time” went through her head again as she stared. She’d been listening to the Beatles, Who, and Stones blaring from across the street until it got too late for loud music. Mander had almost certainly played Time is on My Side at some point during the day. Julie began humming the song. It was then that “distraction” played across her mind again. Everyone had been so busy today…

“We missed something.” Julie said, just as her brush was about to touch the canvas. She stopped and thought. Whyte had done a good job of keeping everyone on their toes. Who knew how Helen’s meeting would go? When the hackers would have something for Troy? What Susan would be able to find. He didn’t even know Susan, but he was keeping her busy, too. Everyone had bigger things to think about than she did.

Julie dropped her brush. Everyone DID have bigger things to think about than she did, and now that she wasn’t worried to death for Troy, Susan, and Helen; her head was clear. She’d remembered it as Whyte calling, then the limo hit; but realizing now, that wasn’t how things happened. It connected in her head, and she ran out of her studio and down the hall into the library, where Troy was working.

“Twenty-six minutes, Troy!”

Troy stood up from the computer and listened to her.

“Helena called Whyte, remember? It took the Ministry of Intelligence twenty-six minutes to get his personal number once we knew his name. He CONGRATULATED her for calling him back in LESS than half-an-hour!”

Troy took in Julie’s words, trying to see the connection herself. He’d been too busy going over the hackers’ findings to consider whatever Julie had thought of. Julie saw the look of contemplation on his face and continued.

“Whyte called her. She told him she’d call him back in half-an-hour, and did it with time to spare. And then his people attacked the limo. And Whyte let her record his confession. So, why can’t she just email it to the Elders or whoever? Maybe they’re Elders, but they probably have people to work their computers for them! Why isn’t sending it good enough? Why couldn’t she just play it over the phone for them? Or send an Ultimado to drop off a flash drive?”

Troy gave a nod, working the ideas she gave him while Julie continued.

“That hit happened WHILE Helena was on the phone with him. He obviously planned it that way! But he’d called her twenty-six minutes before, and she hung up and called him back. So, did the limo and the ambushers just circle the block for half an hour? Was Whyte planning to keep her talking that long, while they set everything up?”

“You’re thinking he’s made a deal with the Elders, aren’t you, Julie?” Troy asked, taking her hand, and leading her out of the library to go across the street and speak to Ortega about this. “She scared them enough to murder Raymond Chen just because he had the name of someone who pissed her off.”

“That was a month ago. Whyte knew about The Elders long before then. He would have had to in order to set up the Raymond Chen thing in the first place! Last month, Helena had them scared enough to send her a severed hand. Today, they’re brave enough to hit her hotel? And now they INSIST Helena come to a face-to-face meeting. Why? To listen to the recording? They need HER to work an MP3 player? Whyte had a whole month to operate while nobody knew his name; when he was just Yorkshire. Who knows what he was doing besides putting out ads for deaf mercenaries? Maybe he didn’t have a deal with The Elders back when all this started, but he could’ve made one since.”

Julie grabbed Troy by the upper arms and looked him in the eye.

“He knows he can’t outbid her by himself, Master. What if he and the Elders went in on it together?”

Troy stopped and took a couple more seconds to examine the thoughts.

“The Elders needed the justification of the limo hit to attack the hotel. Helen has just as many friends as she does enemies in organized crime; friends whom she permits to operate in San Finzione, as long as they play by her rules. A straight-up hit would piss off some other old, well-established organizations with good relationships with Helen. However, a retaliation; a ‘matter of honor,’ would be a different story.” Julie raised an eyebrow at that. “San Finzione was founded by Italians, Mistress. Helen owns casinos and resorts. You don’t need your Math Boy for this one.”

“Yeah, I get it, Master. We watch The Godfather movies every Thanksgiving, you know.”

“Well, it IS time to be spent with The Family.” Troy replied. They both gave a tiny smile at the joke that was now automatic for Troy whenever the subject of their marathon came up, before Julie continued.

“So,” She remarked as they looked both ways and joined hands again before crossing the street. “Whyte sends Morgan after Helena. Morgan gets to her, but he fails to kill her. So, then he goes to the Elders and says ‘Raymond Who? I’m the one who almost took down ‘The Viper That Whatevers’ for you. Got closer than you ever have, anyway. With your help, I can finish the job.’”

“’And all I ask in return is one thing.” Troy whispered. “You guys want Springheel too, but wouldn’t getting rid of Helen be its own reward?’ Certainly, worth the sacrifice of a couple dozen pawns. He gets Springheel, and they get what? San Finzione? They’ve still got Helen’s friends to deal with.”

“That’s true.” Julie added. “Maria’s doing a good job, but she doesn’t have Helena’s connections, her influence; she hasn’t taught her to Do What We Do yet. By the time Maria figures out how to stop a mob war like Helena could, it’d be too late. Whyte’s ‘keep the world teetering on the brink’ philosophy probably appeals to the Elders, too. They’re also making money from it.”

Julie got Troy’s wheels turning as he approached one of the Ultimados setting up tents and canopies on the lawn and asked for Ortega. She pointed them to the house, and they continued, Troy responding to her.

“The limo hit was meant to happen within earshot of the call. It was late for lunchtime, but not too late. A couple of blocks from the Space Needle, not near the convention center, anyway. There are enough restaurants nearby that the lawyers and accountants could have been at one. Whyte needed someone to relay his message to frame Helen, so he required at least one witness, preferably more. Hitting them there might’ve been Plan A, and the limo ambush could have been Plan B.”

Troy rang the bell and squeezed her hand, worrying about Helen, as Ortega opened the door.