The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

So Night Follows Day part 1

By T. MaskedWriter

“She’s a killer queen,
gunpowder, gelatine.
Dynamite with a laser beam.
Guaranteed to blow your mind.
ANYTIME!
Recommended at the price,
insatiable in appetites.
WANNA TRY?”
—Queen, “Killer Queen

Lords of Acid’s “Lover Boy/Lover Girl” blasted from inside the club. Julie Andrews, no relation to the actress of the same name, stood outside; watching everyone get turned away while smoking and tapping her foot. She snorted as she inhaled, contemplating taking another hit from the coke bullet in her pocket, but decided against it. She’d promised herself that she’d save the rest to do with Helena. If the fucking cunt ever got here.

A cab pulled up at that moment, and a purple-haired Helena Parker stepped out.

“Keep the change.” Helena told the cabbie in French, tossing a $500 chip from the Casino Monte Carlo over her shoulder at him as she stepped out, meeting Julie’s eyes with a predator’s glare.

Julie opened her mouth to ask her girlfriend where the fuck she’d been when the could’ve-been track star quickly closed the distance between them and was upon her, placing her own mouth over Julie’s and pinning the slightly-taller girl to the wall; her tongue playfully darting at Julie’s still-miffed tongue until it relented and accepted Helena’s invitation to dance.

“Hey, Girl.” Helena said to Julie. She gave the kind of short, quick snort that Julie had been doing herself while waiting. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey, Also Girl.” Julie responded, licking her lips, and noticing with the predatory look in Helena’s eyes replaced by happiness, that they were a bit glassy; making her realize her own probably were as well. “I was gonna ask what kept you, but I can still taste him.” She smiled and reached into her purse. “If my eyes look like yours, it’s shades time.”

“This one deserved it.” Helena responded, her own purse rattling as she searched it. “We had a great run at the tables on his dime, and he was good boy about being generous with the split, after.” She winked at that. “Sent a quarter back home for Troy to invest and a quarter for any medical bills Propappou’s got; or if I’ve taken care of those, something nice for himself. Cashed the third quarter.”

They produced purple-tinted sunglasses, each held by one stem, flicked their wrists to extend the other, and put them on with one hand simultaneously, snickering as the cocaine made it extra funny, and she continued.

“I had twenty of these things left after that.” She rattled her purse for emphasis. “So, I went ’Eh, what the fuck? This weekend, I’ll be the biggest tipper Monte Carlo’s seen until the next one!’”

She took Julie’s cigarette while Julie fished the coke bullet out of her purse. Julie slipped it into Helena’s hand when she took the cigarette back. Helena took an unsubtle snort and passed it back to Julie. Julie took a more ladylike hit and put it back in her purse.

“Ok.” Helena said. “What’re we after?”

“Before we begin, I should remind you of the rule: No breaking people up.”

“Once!” Helen said with a playful shove, causing Julie to drop the cigarette. She crushed it out under the sole of her heel. “That happened once, and we made them forget and get back together!”

“Do you want to have that talk with Troy again?” Julie asked. “No, me either. So it’s worth repeating.”

“Ok, ok. Everyone gets to live happily ever after; got it, Princess Mesmera. Now, what’s your flavor tonight?”

Julie thought for a moment. Like Helen didn’t know what the answer would be, now that Troy Medina’s name had been said twice.

“Greek.” Julie said, almost without thinking. The shades concealed Helen’s eye-roll. “Or Italian. You know, something Eastern Mediterranean for the guy. Surprise me on the girl. And Mistress’ choice of fucktoys for the evening?”

“Oh, you need a special challenge, I think.”

Helena put an arm around her girlfriend’s waist and they started walking toward the door. Julie did the same with her own arm as they approached; watching the doorman make an English brunette their age work at flirting with him and to get in with her friends.

“I find myself in the giving vein, Princess Mesmera. That one there? He’s not letting her in because she’s ‘cute and sweet,’ but not what the Eurotrash inside would call ‘hot.’ Little Tin God, that one. But he’ll keep letting her try. Because he knows that she just might get desperate enough to blow him, and he still won’t let her in afterwards. Another story for the boys for him, a shameful memory to come back to for the rest of her life for her. Let’s fix that.

“Bring her in and go find her friends. If that one’s ‘the cutie,’ there’s a wolf pack of richboys circling ‘the hottie’ and the others already. Pair them up or don’t as you see fit. But that one and the hottest guy come back to the suite with us, Mistress. And, well, anyone else you see fit. Let’s make this A Holiday to Remember for her.”

“Or A Holiday to Forget.” Julie replied with the overly-loud laugh of someone clearly high. They separated when they reached the door. Julie went for the girl, and Helena went for the doorman.

“She’s with us,” Helena commanded the doorman in French. “And every time you try to make a woman debase herself for you to get into this shithole, you’re going to have a very embarrassing premature ejaculation on the spot; and let her in, apologizing. Forget that I made you do this. Work out the association on your own. Now let us in, we’re obviously VIPs.”

“Of course, Mademoiselle.” he said, holding the door open as Julie let their new friend past the velvet rope. “Welcome.”

“Hi,” Julie said with the sweetest of smiles. “I’m your new friend, Julie. That’s your other new friend, Helena. What’s our new friend’s name?”

“Me… Melanie.” She stammered. The look on her face turned from stunned surprise to happy recognition as her smile began to match that of her new friend, Julie. “Oh, Hi, Julie. Hey, Helena.”

Julie took Melanie by the hand and led her in as the doorman held the door for the three of them. She took Helena’s hand in her other while they walked.

“Helena’s going to go do her own thing once we get inside, Melanie.” Julie began raising her voice as they approached the inner door and the music got louder. “Why don’t we find your friends, and then you can introduce them to their new friend, too?”

Melanie nodded happily. She couldn’t wait to introduce Julie to the other girls.

The three of them entered the darkened dance club. Julie Andrews and Helena Parker kissed deeply before parting to find each other’s targets. Helena headed for the dance floor, and Julie took Melanie’s hand and led her toward the bar.

“Let’s stop here, Melanie!” Julie shouted over the music. She led her to a pair of stools that freed up on Julie’s request. She and Melanie sat down and flagged the bartender over. Julie saw someone drinking something blue and pointed at them.

“Two of whatever that is!” Julie said in French. He went to mix them and she turned back to Melanie.

“So, Melanie, my new friend.” Julie said with the same smile, a bit further away from the speakers here, so she didn’t have to shout. “Are you with anybody? Besides your friends, I mean. Like a guy. Or a girl? We’re the kind of friends that you feel like you’ve known us forever. The kind that you know you can share anything with.”

Melanie beamed at how well she was clicking with her new friends. Julie cared so much, and wanted to know about her. Of course they should know everything.

“No, and, er, he’d be a he. I mean, there’s a guy back at uni, but I don’t think he’s interested.”

“Well, he’s a dumbass. You’re beautiful, Melanie. And so damn lucky, because your new friends are… well, we like to play…” She looked Melanie up and down, appraisingly. Melanie noticed how expressive her new friend’s face was, and found the look of approval on Julie’s pleasing. “Ok, you don’t need a fairy godmother, so let’s call us ‘genies.’ And we want to help you, Melanie, have the best night ever! Helena and I know about a better party than this one, and I just KNOW you and all your friends will want to go when I tell you all about it. How many are you?”

“Five including me.” Melanie replied, pointing to the table.

Julie signaled to the bartender that they’d want four more for the table. The look on her face conveyed the message “when you can get around to it.” She then looked at the table and saw Melanie’s friends who were able to get past the creep at the door without their aid. They looked like they could be persuaded to be a fun bunch.

“Whichever guy you’re most attracted to tonight, he’s yours. Don’t care who he is, it’s happening. So, you be really choosy here. But you, lady, are getting laid by the man… or men if you want, of your pick. Helena and I will be happy to help there.”

“Wow!” Melanie said, amazed by how great Julie’s offer was.

Julie pulled closer to her, bending down to accent her cleavage, and spoke in her ear at as close to a whisper as the techno would allow.

“You see, Melanie, Helena and I are THAT kind of friends. That sounds like something you’d want to try too, doesn’t it? I mean, nothing counts on holiday, right?”

Melanie’s smile took on a lustful tone, as she realized that yes, the thought of Julie and Helena being such good friends, and wanting so nicely to be hers too, sounded really hot. She was right. Nothing counted on holiday. And she could have any guy, too?

“That sounds amazing!” Melanie breathed back into Julie’s ear, trembling now.

“I’m glad you think so.” Julie said as the bartender brought the tray. She set 200 euros on the bar and grabbed the tray, having a little difficulty with it, until Melanie helped. “Now let’s go make your friends think so, too.”

* * *

“We’re here, Contessa.” Ernst, the pilot, said into the headset.

In the back of the helicopter, Contessa Helena de San Finzione awoke with a start. She looked down at the lush, tropical jungle of the island below against the blue backdrop of the Bahamas.

A Fincantieri cigarette boat and an old motorboat were moored at the single dock on the beach. From the beach, a trail led to a well-kept lawn in front of a large house with a satellite dish. Riding a mower around the lawn was a tall, bald man with an AK-47 strapped to his back, looking up with a smile on his face. La Contessa pointed to a spot on the lawn big enough to land. They descended and cut the engines as the man drove across the lawn to meet them.

“Oi! You’re trespassin’ on my lawn, Your Countessness!” Nigel Mander yelled in an East London accent over the helicopter engines powering down.

She started to speak, realized it was still pretty loud, and waited for the engine noise to die down before replying.

“To keep The Law and The Taxman off your back; Mander Island is, on paper anyway, a territory of San Finzione. Technically, this rather nice lawn is on San Finzione soil. La Contessa is welcome everywhere in San Finzione; so, legally, I’m actually incapable of trespassing here.”

“So, what’s ’at mean really?”

“In reality,” Helena replied, lighting a cigarette and smiling. “Don’t kill anybody who doesn’t deserve it and don’t hurt women or kids and do whatever the fuck else you want. It’s some kind of conservatorship deal, that’s why San Finzione sends you a little check every month.”

“And ’ere I thought ya just kep’ me on ’cause ya picked up some weird fantasy about Uongo, and some day, ya’d call, wanting blindfolded, gagged, and driven to the middle of nowhere by me again.”

Helena gave her sweetest smile.

“Well, dammit, now that you’ve put it in my head, the possibility can never again be ignored. I don’t know all the details. It helps that I have an ex who doesn’t ask questions when I call him with stuff like,” She mimed a telephone and raised the pitch of her voice. “’Hey, Boy. How do I launder an island?’”

Mander grinned at that. Helena waved for her pilot to feel free to get out and stretch his legs.

“Well, then,” Mander said, nodding his agreement that yes, he’d been joking, and it was ok for the pilot to get out of the helicopter. “Wish ya’d given me time to run to the big island; buy a red carpet to lay out for ya.”

Helena looked down at the grass.

“I’m used to seeing green everywhere I go, anyway. This is nice. Weren’t there palm trees here before?”

“Yeah. But I figured I’ve got plenty of ’em. Never ’ad a lawn, though. It’s nice. Saw ya on the tele, a bit back. You’ve ’ealed well. ’ow’s Lady Maria doin’?”

The ash of her cigarette fell onto Mander’s lawn. Helen gave him a slightly sheepish look. Mander smiled it away, and she replied.

“Thanks. Good. She’s still Contessa-In-Reggenza until I come back from some personal business, following my injury, and resume power. I think this little taste of what she’s got to look forward to, down the road, is turning out well for her. I may leave her in charge again once in a while, especially if I get…” Helena thought for a second. “…now and then.” She changed the subject. “Hey, and I thought Limeys were supposed to be all about gardens, not lawns.”

“Nah, bit sissy for me.” He patted the mower. “’Sides, tried it. Only get to use one o’ these babies once wit’ flowers, then you’ve gotta wait three months to do it again. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of ’er Countessness’ visit?”

“Some personal business.” Helena responded looking up to the house. “And to make sure you’re keeping your word about not stocking Budweiser.”

“If I thought I could get somethin’ past ya, I sure as fuck wouldn’t risk it on that one. All right, let’s take this in the bar.”

As they walked, Helena noticed three red dots roaming Mander’s back. She stopped and turned around and shook her head, mouthing “no,” while making an odd motion with her arms meant to convey both “don’t shoot” and “stand down” at the same time. The dots disappeared before Mander stopped and turned around.

“Sorry,” Helen smiled sheepishly. “The Ultimados got here three hours before me. They’ve been on edge since the incident. They’re not happy about the AK. I told them you’re a geezer, but you know.” She yelled to the trees. “We talked about this! He’s OK! This is not the first time this man has been armed in my presence, remember? Some of you guys met him in Africa.”

He stood up on the mower and waved to the trees as well.

“Oi! You remember me, right? All right if I hang it up inside?”

They gave no response.

“Callin’ that a yes! C’mon in fer a pint if ya want. Bar’s open. Nice to not see you gents again!”

* * *

At his home in Federal Way, Washington, Troy Equals walked into the house, carrying his phone, a bag of donuts, and two coffees in a cardboard holder. He walked through the living room and into the room that had once served as their library, but was now Julie Equal, his wife’s, home art studio.

She sat in an office chair, with her back to the door; wearing a painter’s smock and nothing else, expecting to have the house to herself for the day. She’d been looking at a blank canvas.

That wasn’t true. The canvas already had the crowd scene at Pike Place Market the last time she’d been there on it, she was just figuring out where to make the first mark, so that she could start bringing it out. She jumped a little when the donut bag crinkled as Troy set it on a table. She then turned and smiled in relief at the sight of her life-long best friend bearing life essentials.

“Thought you’d left for class, Master.” She said, rolling the chair over to the desk and grabbing her coffee.

“Almost got to the freeway, Mistress, before I got the message that classes have been cancelled for the week because of Helen’s thing.”

“Hmm,” Julie hummed, taking a sip of her coffee. It was just what she would have ordered. She expected no less of the man who knew her better than anyone. Just like the chocolate-covered old-fashioned donut she knew would be in the bag when she reached inside. “Helena’s coming to Seattle some time today, and all of a sudden, you get the week off school. Why do I get the feeling that these two things are connected?”

“Well, the text said nothing about UW being bought out by Società Finzione; it feels more like a consequence of Helen, rather than something she orchestrated.”

“Probably the same reason I’m working from home this week.”

She opened the lid of her coffee cup, dunked the donut, and took a bite. Troy did the same with his coffee and a blueberry cake donut. They then traded and did it again before Troy answered.

“They’ve got an over-protective husband who knows full well that their Army badass dads taught them how to kick any man’s ass, but still thinks we should avoid going into Seattle if at all possible this week, too?”

Julie spun around in the chair to give her typical response to such remarks from Troy, a playful punch to the arm, when she remembered that she was also holding coffee and concentrating on keeping it steady rather than how she was moving. Troy tried to step back, but Julie’s arm was still outstretched in a fist, causing her fist to impact with Troy’s coffee cup, rather than his upper arm and splattering the liquid flying all over both of them and the room around them.

Julie’s smock took all of the coffee that splashed her, and she set down her own, undamaged coffee cup before looking over at Troy.

Troy’s school clothes clung to him, coffee all over his shirt and pants. It hadn’t been hot enough to burn after the drive home, but it soaked him completely. After the initial shock, the pair analyzed the sequence of events in their heads, looked at each other, and began laughing. Julie stood up and wrapped her arms around him, coffee now soaking from his shirt and pants onto her smock. Troy tossed the ruined cup in the trash and completed the other half of the hug equation. The laughs started to become punctuated with tiny kisses, becoming bigger as the laughs died down, until the kiss was all that was left.

“You know,” Julie said when the kiss ended, sniffing him. “That was a mocha, right?” Troy nodded. “You probably taste really good right now. Like, unusually so.”

“Was this some happy accident, Mrs. Equals; or a ploy to get me out of my clothes?”

Julie’s answer was to pull the smock over her head and drop it to the floor.

“It can be two things, Master. I prefer not to question how we so often get into situations where one of us is naked and the other should be, too. I’m just grateful for their frequency.” Julie’s hands went to unbuckle his belt. “Looks like all your plans for the day have been changed.”

“Yeah, I know.” Troy said with mock exasperation, taking off his shirt as his wife slid his pants and underwear away. “Here, I thought I was gonna bring my Mistress a nice little treeee…”

Julie decided not to let him finish the word, taking the tip of his cock into her mouth, and swirling her tongue around it immediately. She sucked on it a moment while gazing up at The Boy Next Door’s eyes.

“Looks like you did, Master. And I was right about the mocha, too.” She gave him a little lick. “But I’m sorry, hon. I interrupted you.” Another lick. “You were telling me about your plans for the day?”

Her lips wrapped around him again, and Troy answered with a sigh and a grin.

“Well, I figured my best friend would be busy painting this morning, so I thought I might take Susan to lunch. Didn’t have anything firm until then.”

Julie smiled and rose to her feet. She looked over at the canvas. It had survived the incident undamaged. She turned back to Troy and looked into his eyes.

“I was going to, but it looks like something’s come up, and I’ve got to put my plans on hold for a little bit.” Julie took hold of her new plans. “So, I’ve got a little time to squeeze my best friend in.”

She picked up her own coffee cup and took a drink. She looked down at his shaft, then back to the coffee cup. With a smile, she stuck her little finger into the cup to see how hot it was. Not overly anymore. She looked down at his cock again, an idea on her face.

“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.