Saturday December 9, 1978
St. Timothy’s Funeral Parlor- Reception room
Belfast, Northern Ireland
4:03 PM Local Time
Augustus Briese struggled to keep the bored expression from his face as he poured himself another glass of Glenfiddich. One more hour, he kept reminding himself. One more hour, and this would all be over, and he and Gayle could go back to their flat, and continue their private rehearsals. Surely he could feign interest in this whole rigamarole for that long. After all... one’s Father’s funeral hardly happened every day.
Still, Gus found funerals drab, soulless, boring rites in the best of times, and it didn’t help that during today’s event he had been forced to deal with throngs of mourners, each offering their rehearsed condolences, and repeatedly asking him how he was holding up in this time of great loss. The constant repetition was both aggrivating and tiring, but Gus had gamely flashed a smile, and assured the asker that he was doing just fine.
It was a lie of course. He wasn’t just fine. He was bloody fucking fantastic. The hard part had been three months ago, when Mother had died in her sleep. She and Gus had been close. Not so much with his father, the overbearing English-loving traitor. Gus had spent half the service entertaining himself with thoughts of which infernal torments were due up for the old bastard in the afterlife, and outside of that one small amusement, Seamus Briese’s death held no more of an emotional effect on him than would the death of a random butcher in Ballycastle.
The pragmatic effect, however, was tremendous. And most welcome.
Despite his constant assertation that Augustus was a miserable failure and disgrace to the family, everything had been left to him in his father’s will. The shipping company. The house. The Rolls Royce. The jewelry. And, most importantly, the money. More money than even Gus had imagined his family had held. And every cent of it was now his.
There would be even more after he sold the shipping company. And possibly the house as well. Even in this somber environment, Gus had to smile at that. It was about time that he and Gayle pushed themselves above the rest of the rabble in this city. No more living in a dingy flat just outside of downtown. No more going to his parents to beg for money whenever he needed something. Now he, Augustus Briese was in control, the world at his feet.
He almost laughed when he imagined the expression on Delaney’s face after finding out that, thanks to him, the CLF would never want for any funding for any operation ever again. Heck, with this kind of money, he could depose Derrick, and take over things for himself- but he found himself not wanting to. Derrick was a more than competent leader, and Gus would be more than happy to let him handle the day to day stresses of running a liberation army. He’d simply provide the financial backing, and continue to focus on his acting career.
And even that was going so much better than it had been several months ago. Finally- FINALLY- someone at the Lyric Theatre had realized just how amazing a thespian he was. After several years of ignominy in dinner theaters and vaudeville, he was finally getting his shot at the limelight. In just three weeks, the curtain would rise on the production of W.B. Yeats’ play Diarmuid and Grania, and he was set to play the male lead, opposite his girlfriend. It was a challenging, yet rewarding role, one that required endless hours of rehearsal.
Augustus especially loved the private rehearsals that he and Gayle were conducting in their own apartment- and the inevitable surrendering to passion that came with rehearsing such love scenes. In fact, one of those ‘sessions’ awaited him tonight, just as soon as he could shake these buffoons and leave this funeral.
He saw Gayle across the room, discussing something with a middle-aged gentleman that Gus didn’t recognize. Gayle’s popularity had soared these last few months, as she had delivered sublime performance after sublime performance. Within a week of ‘My Fair Lady’resuming, the Telegraph had taken to calling her the ‘Angel of the Lyric,’ fully laying the credit of the theater’s salvation in the wake of the Margaret Blaine tragedy on her shoulders. Gayle had responded to the accolades- and the accompanying additional pressure well. Even tonight, her ability to act like someone who actually gave a damn about Seamus Briese’s death was a phenomenal performance. She had been the soul of charm tonight, every bit as outgoing as Gus had been reserved.
Gus took another sip of his Scotch, and set the empty glass down. Everything was going better than he had possibly ever imagined. Even the Margaret Blaine case had died out completely, just as Vassily had promised. He had followed the story in the Telegraph, as the newspaper printed more and more discouraged reports on how the police were struggling for any evidence. It wasn’t long before the media had moved on to other stories, the articles about Blaine becoming scarcer and scarcer, and relegated further and further back in the paper.
“Mister Briese?” A voice off to the side startled Gus, and the young man turned, frowning as he saw one of the servants working the wake standing next to him.
“What is it?” Gus demanded, resisting the urge to punch the man in the jaw, and have him thrown out on his ear for this breach of propiety.
“I...” the servant stepped back, nervously tugging at his collar as Gus stared him down. “I have a note for you, sir.”
“A note?” Curiosity quickly overcame his indignation, and Gus frowned, wondering who here would have to resort to writing a note, instead of simply coming up and talking to him. “Who gave it to you?”
“Some woman, sir,” the servant replied. “I didn’t really get a good look at her, she was wearing a coat and hat.. but she looked kind of upset. She simply appeared at the service entrance, knocked on the door, and insisted I give this to you.”
“Well, give it here,” Gus said, holding out his hand to receive the note. The servant passed it to him, then patiently waited, obviously expecting some sort of tip for his sevice. Gus pointedly ignored him, focusing instead on opening the note, and reading its contents. Realizing that no such gratuity was forthcoming, the servant quickly turned on his heel, and briskly walked away.
“Ungrateful bastard,” Gus muttered as the man left. He then opened the note, quickly glancing at the contents. There wasn’t much, just three short sentences scrawled onto the paper.
Please meet me tomorrow at the Jurys Inn next to the opera house. My room is 318. It is extremely important.- Ivana
That only served to further Gus’ curiosity. What did Vassily’s sister want to talk to him for? He had only seen Ivana a couple more times since their meeting in Eoghan’s eight months ago. Heck, he hadn’t even seen her brother for nearly two months now, either. It wasn’t something that worried him- Vassily was a busy man after all.
“Very curious,” Gus muttered to himself as he folded up the paper and placed it into his pocket. He turned back to the table, picked up the empty glass, and poured himself another helping of Glenfiddich. ‘
Very curious, indeed.
===========================
Friday December 2, 2011
J.A.G. Gymnasium & Fitness Center- Hallway to Locker Rooms
Pensacola, Florida
11:37 AM Local Time
“Oh, GodDAMMIT!” Daniel Pollaski barked as the Caramello bar became lodged in the bars of the snack machine. It was criminal enough that the damned machine was charging a buck twenty-five for a candy bar, but to not even deliver the goods...
“Come on...” the portly manager pleaded with the machine, banging his fist on the side in a vain attempt to dislodge the candy. Failing that, he kicked the side, wincing as his attempt caught the corner of the machine, sending a sharp pain searing up his right leg. “Motherf-”
“What’s all the racket?” A female voice demanded behind him, and Pollaski turned, still hopping on one leg as his client walked up to him. Wendy was zipping up her jacket as she walked through the hallway, a task made slightly more difficult thanks to the gym bag slung over her shoulder. Her flame-colored hair was wet, having just finished showering up after her morning workout session. Her emerald eyes were fixated solely on Pollaski, the expression on her face both one of irritation and condemnation.
“Stupid machine ate my money!” Pollaski protested, pointing at the dangling Caramello. “I’ve been trying to get it to cough it up.”
Wendy sighed, knowing full well what her manager was hinting at, and she shot Pollaski a severe look. “You paid for this? Seriously?”
Dan nodded vigorously, managing to keep his expression solemn, and held his hand up as if he were swearing an oath. “Honest to God, Wendy. I put five quarters in, and got no candy out.”
Wendy sighed again, resigning herself to her manager’s silent plea. She took one look at the Caramello bar, noting it’s location in the machine, then curled her hand into a fist, cocking it back and quickly banging it on the side of the machine.
The Caramello came free, and fell to the bottom.
“Thanks!” Pollaski exclaimed, bending over and helping himself to the prize. “I don’t know how you can do that every time.”
“It’s a gift,” Wendy replied flatly, before reaching into her coat pocket, searching for some change of her own. “Hang on, I’m going to get a Snickers,” she said, inserting the quarters into the slot.”
“Why not just get it for free?” Pollaski inquired, mimicing Wendy’s quick hammerfist to the machine, and grinning.
“Because that would be stealing,” Wendy replied in exasperation, having grown tired of this argument with both her husband and her manager ages ago. She smiled grimly. “And like any good hero, one should only use their powers for good, not evil.”
“Suit yourself,” Pollaski shrugged, leaning against the wall, and unwrapping his own candy bar. “By the way,” he continued, suddenly serious. “Great job out there, today. You were really focused.”
“Thanks,” Wendy replied, bending over to retrieve her Snickers. “That Shawna was a good sparring partner, especially considering my next match. She really knew her submissions. I don’t know how you get me such good partners whenever I go on the road.”
“It’s a gift,” Pollaski replied, taking a whole segment of the Caramello, and popping it in his mouth. “I’ve just met more than my fair share of local promoters over the years. One of them’s the president of Florida Panhandle Wrestling, and he recommended her. If you’re that happy with her, I’ll see if I can get her for tomorrow, too.”
“Go ahead,” Wendy agreed. She looked over at her manager. “Thanks Dan. I almost stayed home to focus on training instead of coming down here to Florida, and you’re making me feel easier about my decision.”
“Yeah, well, Terrence would have been pretty bummed had you not come,” Pollaski replied, shrugging. “He’s pretty excited about this Snowball Derby, you know. At least four guys from the Sprint Cup series are entered in this, and Terrence has been itching all month to see if he can hang with them in the track. He really wants you and Theresa here to cheer him on.”
“I know,” Wendy nodded, somehow forgetting her manners and talking with her mouth full. “And I’m glad I’m here now. I just..” she paused to swallow the Snickers. “I just REALLY want to win this match.”
“You want to win every match, I hope,” Pollaski teased, although he turned serious quickly. “Feeling a bit of the pressure now that the No Surrender qualifiers are upon you?”
“A bit,” Wendy admitted. She finished the last of her candy bar, and crinkled the wrapper in her hand. “I really want this title, Dan.”
“I can imagine, especially considering the disappointment you had with the Evolution Championship. Don’t worry, Wendy, we’ll get you there.” Pollaski chuckled. “I was doing some reading on this Ring of Beauty Stephanie used to come from. Did you know that... at least according to this article I read, Stephanie Sullivan had the WORST win/loss record of anyone in that company? She was the Charity Deas of this RoB.”
Wendy snorted, shrugging. “That was then, this is now. She could have- no, she’s probably gotten better. But thanks for the added pressure to beat her.”
Pollaski grinned that insufferable grin of his. “Oh well, just so long as you don’t launch another tweet saying you should be beaten with a sock full of quarters if you lose to her, we’re good.”
Wendy was surprised to find herself laughing. “Don’t worry,” she promised, tossing her wrapper into a garbage can. “I learned a very valuable lesson about letting my ego tweet for me.” She checked her watch, and grimaced. “We better get going. Derby qualifying starts at one, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but there’s a picture taking session for kids with Snowball at twelve-thirty,” Pollaski replied, referring to the costumed snowman mechanic who served as the event’s mascot. “You should take Theresa to that.”
Wendy grimaced. “I don’t know. I think Snowball gives Theresa the creeps. Come to think of it, I think Snowball gives ME the creeps. We’ll probably pass. Anyways, if you’ve paid up already, we should go.” Wendy turned, and began walking up the hallway, Pollaski turning to follow her, but abruptly stopping after only a couple of steps.
“Yeah, I paid.. what’s this?” Wendy turned around at her manager’s query, and stopped as she saw him bending over to pick a folded sheet of paper off the ground. Pollaski unfolded the paper, blinking slightly as he looked it over. “It’s a map or something.”
Wendy suddenly realized what it was, and she quickly moved foward. She had forgotten that stupid thing was in her pocket. “That’s mine. I must have dropped it.” She reached her hand out, and tugged at the map, but Pollaski didn’t reqlinquish it.
“Isn’t this your parent’s old house?” Pollaski asked, still staring at the map. “And what does CLF stand fo-”
Pollaski obviously remembered his history better than Terrence had, because Wendy didn’t even need to reply. Her manager’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Dude. There’s some super secret terrorist shit buried in your old back yard!”
“Shh!” Wendy hissed, looking around the hallway frantically. “Not so loud.”
“Sorry,” Pollaski said, lowering his voice. “But this is AWESOME! Do you know what it is?”
Wendy shook her head, grimacing. “Of course I don’t.”
“Bummer,” Pollaski said, frowning for just a second. He then broke into a grin. “Let’s go dig it up!”
“No!” Wendy hissed. “Dan, I don’t even OWN that land anymore! I sold it, and there’s a new house and another family living there now! You just can’t walk into someone’s back yard and dig it up, even you used to live there!”
“Oh come on. I’d be all super-secret ninja like. Scope the house, sneak under the cover of the night, and then I’d get me some pirate booty!” Pollaski grinned, although it faded quickly as he realized that Wendy was still glaring at him. “Or we could just ring the doorbell and ask really nicely. Or bribe them.”
“Or neither,” Wendy replied, wheeling away.
“But dude! There could be like jewels! Or gold!”
Wendy rolled her eyes. “It was Irish terrorists, Dan. Not pirates.”
“Or like some secret awesome weapon thingie. A neutron bomb!”
“Neutron bombs don’t exist.”
“As far as YOU know,” Pollaski declared, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. “This could be the prototype.”
“Why would they bury...no, never mind.” Wendy sighed dramatically, and turned away. “Drop it, okay? Whatever’s under there, I don’t care. We’re NOT digging it up.”
“Okay, fine,” Pollaski said, crinkling the map up, and lobbing it in the trash. “Suit yourself.”
“I will,” Wendy replied, dispassionately looking at the garbage can. “Now can we go?”
“Fine by me,” Pollaski replied mildly, turning and walking away down the hall.
Wendy watched him for a few paces, then shook her head and followed after him. As she passed the garbage can, she picked up the now-crumpled map, slipping it back into her coat pocket.
“HA”!
Wendy jumped, and looked up. With the timing of a master, Pollaski had spun around just in time to catch her in the act, and he stood in the middle of the hallway, an accusatory finger pointed directly at her.
“If you don’t care what’s the map leads to, why even hang onto it? Admit it. You’re curious!”
“Of course I’m curious!” Wendy snapped back. “But I’m...” she took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “I’m afraid, okay.”
“Afraid of a neutron bomb?”
“Shut up about the neutron bomb, okay? There’s no neutron bomb.” Wendy sighed wearily. “But yeah. I’m afraid. I’m afraid because I have a bad feeling that whatever is there, it’s something I’m better off not seeing.”
“Well, I could look at it first,” Pollaski offered helpfully. “Tell you if it’s kosher or not.”
“Dan, I’m serious.” Wendy’s voice had gone quiet. “This whole business with my father nine years ago... you saw what it did to me. My mom’s dead because of it. My father’s in jail, and my family was ruined. My LIFE was ruined, and it took every ounce of willpower I had to get it behind me. I burned down that house, for God’s sakes, because I felt the only way I could move on was to kill everything that had happened.”
She could feel the hot tears trickling down her cheek, and she sighed. “I have a new life now, and a new family, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose this one too, or even jeopardizing it. Whatever it is is probably harmless... but I’m not taking any chances. So Dan, if you value me, if you value our friendship, please, just let this one go.”
It wasn’t often that Pollaski mustered up the decency to look chagrined, but he was doing so now. “I understand,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to upset you...”
Wendy scoffed, and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her coat. “You ALWAYS mean to upset me, Dan. Just never that much.”
“Eh, fair enough...” Pollaski acknowledged, apparently taking a sign that his apology was accepted. He suddenly smiled. Not the smirk or grin he was so famous for flashing, but a rare, genuine, friendly smile directed at his client. “Now come on. We can still catch that picture session with Snowball...”
“I already told you, Dan. I don’t think-”
“Who said anything about you?” Pollaski interrupted. “I happen to look damn photogenic when I’m standing next to anthropomorphic snowmen dressed as mechanics.”
Wendy couldn’t help but chuckle. “If you really want a picture, Dan, I’ll take one. We can make it your twitter profile. Show everyone how cute you are.”
Pollaski grimaced. “Yeah... on second thought...”
Wendy laughed, and together, the two headed down the hallway together, heading towards the exit to the building. As she walked, Wendy quickly patted the pocket of her coat, feeling the crumpled paper still tucked inside.
Even if she never used it, the thought of her still having it was somehow reassuring.
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