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Whatever Gets You Through The NightChapter 17 free porn video
“My jacket’s gonna be cut slim and checked.
Maybe a touch of seersucker with an open neck.
I ride a GS Scooter with my hair cut neat.
Wear my war-time coat in the wind and sleet.”
-The Who, “I’ve Had Enough“
“Marco Santori!” Contessa Helena de San Finzione’s shadow called from the doorway of the Taverna. The bartender turned off the music and everyone faced her. “Your Contessa summons you.”
At the bar, a man dropped his beer and ran for the side exit. He opened the door and ran straight into a wall of Englishman that knocked him to the floor.
“You must be Marco.” The wall said as he bent down and picked Marco up by the collar. “I’m Mander. Some say I’m a likable guy. YOU won’t.”
Helen walked toward the bar. Mander took the man’s wallet and keys. He tossed the wallet to Helen and the keys onto the bar. She walked up to the bar, took all the money out of his wallet, and set it on top of Marco’s keys. She slid the pile over to the bartender, indicating for him to take all the money.
“He’s had enough for today.” She said to the barman. “He can come back for his car when he’s better. Whenever that’ll be.”
“What are you talking about?” Marco yelled as he tried to escape Mander’s grip. “It’s not even noon!”
“Yeah, but I still expect you to be in no condition to drive after this. Now, let’s allow these people to enjoy their drinks and take it outside.”
Mander maintained his grip on Marco and shook him until he walked through the doorway, then held it for Helen.
“That’s ‘Er Countessness there, that is.” Mander told him. “Stand up straight an’ show respect proper!”
Helen graciously nodded to Mander as she stepped through the door, into the alley where they’d parked the Aston-Martin.
“You were absolutely right, Countessness.” Mander said as he shoved Marco toward the front of the car. “You come in the front, this tosser runs fer the side exit.”
“Hey, if there’s one thing I know, it’s thinking like other criminals. I have tracked down Carmen Sandiego’s ass SO many times!”
Marco began to reach into his inside jacket pocket when Mander slammed him onto the hood of the vehicle. He drew the Desert Eagle and shoved it under Marco’s chin to minimize damage to the lovely car.
“If that ‘and enters that jacket, it ain’t comin’ out.” Mander told him. That was enough to stop him from going for whatever he had planned to pull.
“My Englishman’s a bit on edge today.” Helen explained to Marco as she lit a cigarette. “You might’ve heard Word on the Street that San Finzione is having a tiny Nazi problem right now. Some of them even tried to kill YOUR Princess with a tank yesterday!” Helen turned around, appearing to calm herself. “And my Englishman likes three things: money, the soulful yet aggressively rebellious rhythms of Misters Roger Daltrey, Peter Townshend, John Entwistle, and Keith Moon; and Lady Maria.”
“That girl’s a dear, sweet angel, she is!” Mander added, then let Helen continue.
“Everybody loves Maria, Mander. So does a friend we were talking to at the castle earlier. REALLY good at thinking of stuff others wouldn’t. HE pointed out that we know where they got their guns and such from, but finding belts of machine gun ammo and shells for a Panzer? That’s something special. You have to go to a guy who knows how to GET that kind of thing. You need someone who’s maybe got some old family military connections and knows where they can be acquired in a hurry. Maybe he knows some old Supply Sargeant with whom daddy’s name still carries weight who just might have some of that old surplus ammo forgotten in a dusty back corner that could safely go missing. Interpol and La Policia are the at the base assisting the MPs in tracking him down now. Shouldn’t take them long; they found their last guy pretty quick. He’s dead, by the way. So, I decided we should come talk to a turd and son of a turd I know who could arrange that deal with a couple phone calls, let Mander try a pint of one of our fine local brews and get some information.”
“An’ I suspect I’m about to work up a thirst. So I want ‘Er Countessness to have that information quick-like so’s we can go back inside and I can ‘ave that pint an’ tell the pigs to get fucked when they show up! Her Countessness lets me do that. She lets me do a LOT of things.”
“Yes I do. For example, I COULD just use that ‘magic’ everyone says I’ve got and make you talk. But until this man can get hold of some more Nazis to kill? A fuck who’d do business with them? Yeah, I’d let him do a lot of things to that guy.”
Helen turned to Mander.
“Before I let you do a lot of things to this guy, can I tell him about your jacket? It’s really cool! I’m gonna.”
She turned back to Marco.
“This is Mander’s jacket from his Nazi-Stomping youth back in London. He’s handy with a needle and thread, so it’s still in great condition and it still fits! What makes it so cool is that it’s a loving re-creation of Vyvyan Bastard’s jacket from ‘The Young Ones‘. Even has ‘Very Metal’ written on the back. But there’s a very special difference, you see. It’s these.”
Helen gestured to what looked to be a string of many red tassels hanging from Mander’s left shoulder. Because of the height difference between them and the way they were leaning over Marco, they were at Helen’s eye level. She played with them a little like a kitten.
“You know what these are? Tell him, Mander.”
“Laces. Taken off Nazis I fucked up or worse.”
“You see,” Helen explained with a long drag, “A Nazi can be a Skinhead, but a Skinhead is not always a Nazi. Mander was one of the non-Nazi kind, shaving his head back before Nature took care of it for him. He’s got ... what, fifty of these?”
“I stopped counting round thirty, so maybe.”
“So, Marco, NAZI Skinheads wear red laces on their boots. That’s a good first thing to look for. REAL Skinheads like Mander here, enjoy beating the shit out of Nazi ones for appropriating their culture and getting them lumped in with fucking Nazis. So, if you send a Nazi to the hospital or the morgue, you take his laces and hang one from your jacket as a trophy. He’s got the others in a shoebox at home in case one breaks.” Helen looked down at Marco’s feet. “You’d have to ask him the policy on piss-covered loafers; but that’s for after. Who’d you sell the ammo to, Marco? Let’s go ahead and skip the part where you say ‘I dunno, some guy!’ like I’ll accept that and go straight to Mander roughing you up a bit for giving me that shit.”
Mander took his cue, hoisted Marco off the hood of the car, and body-slammed him into the wall before slamming him into Questioning Position on his knees, pressing the side of Marco’s face against the not-burning-but-still-uncomfortably-hot metal bonnet of a car in the San Finzione sun.
“Now that the ‘try and play me for a fool’ part is out of the way,” Helen replied, blowing smoke into Marco’s face. “Let’s get to it. Tell me everything about the man you sold them to.”
Marco told her everything he remembered about the racist gun nut he sold the odd old piece to and the blond man he vouched for who wanted the merchandise overnight and gave him enough money to make it happen. He didn’t know anything about any explosives. NOBODY would traffic in bombs in San Finzione! It’d be like trafficking in women; even San Finzione’s creeps worse than him knew better than to try that in La Contessa’s country!
When he was finished, Helen lit another cigarette and leaned in closely.
“You know what, Marco? I believe you.” She said as she keened in closer and blew another stream of smoke in Marco’s face.
“I want to really, REALLY believe you.”
She stepped back and let Mander do a lot of things to Marco.
The two of them sat at a table in the Taverna afterwards. Mander got his pint and to tell La Policia to go fuck themselves. Helen didn’t come here often, so she didn’t expect the bartender to keep cocoa on hand just for her. She settled for “Screwdriver, hold the vodka.”
“Well,” Mander said now that the cops had gone about fucking off and joining the paramedics in hauling Marco away. “We now know that Dietz bought his ammo from Marco and that he’s spending the bankroll like water, so either it’s massive or nearly gone. In short, everything we knew back when Marco still had teeth.”
“Oh, we accomplished something.” Helen said with a drink of her own. The rest of the Taverna gave them their privacy. “Marco Santori will be Word on the Street by the time we finish our drinks. And that word is ‘La Contessa is looking for a Nazi named Heinrich Dietz. And if you know something and don’t come to her with it right away, she’ll make you into even BIGGER Word on the Street than Marco!’ Our Universal Health Care will replace Marco’s teeth. Getting that message out there and seeing you doing a bit of the old ultraviolence? Priceless! Do you channel Michael Caine in those moments?”
“Maybe a little. ‘Get Carter, at least. Your Countessness absolutely knows more about mass communication than me. So, why not go to the top and shake down Don Nessuno?”
“I kinda OWED Marco’s dad that one. I wish I’d thought to put ‘The Thieving Magpie‘ on my phone before we set out this morning. The Don wouldn’t deal with fascists. Ramirez is right on that one. He plays by my rules, shows me respect, and gets that if he doesn’t, I’ll make him eat Spaghetti and His-Balls. With store-bought sauce and no garlic bread. White wine only; no red.”
Mander agreed, not thinking she was getting mean about it until she got to the no garlic bread and wine-pairing part. He contributed his own thoughts to the de-beating; a word La Contessa made up earlier in the conversation to describe “this little post-beating de-briefing. Hey,’ de-beating!’”
“Guess we learned how Scott got some of his hardware and knew who to send ‘em to. With everything he was doing for Dietz, he wouldn’t have time to make a proper intro; just ‘Go to the Taverna, ask for Marco, tell him I sent ya.’”
Helen lit a cigarette. It was allowed in the Taverna, but if it hadn’t been, that wasn’t going to affect her decision just now.
“Dietz wouldn’t have met Marco himself. His face had just been seen and he’s still worried about that; he would’ve sent a flunky. Probably Bad Red Rug but he didn’t bother wearing the rug that time. They might only have brought the one wig and they’re passing it around. We’re still a step behind him, but we’re catching up.”
Mander finished his pint.
“So, where to next? Got someone else ya want me to do that to?”
“Not just yet. And by the way, thanks for bringing the Cockney, that was some Guy Ritchie stuff out there.” Mander accepted the compliment. “Next, we take the Aston-Martin back up to the castle; probably get Bessie while someone washes the blood off and beats Marco’s face-dents out of the hood before Troy sees it. The President should’ve had a reaction by now, so I should go see what it is and ... probably, knowing me, start a flame war with the President to keep him too distracted to do any real damage on top of everything else right now. After that, we should go check out the set. LeGrasse has some people on the director, but I can’t help thinking that there’s something there that we’re not seeing and want to take another look with you because you give me good ideas. THEN, if no one’s tried to get word to me; I know a couple other small fry like Marco who could ALSO use a reputation upgrade!”
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