Chapter 13

Mikel had been too squeamish to search Han’s body for his cellphone, but Nicola performed the search as if she put her hands in blood and gore every day. If his cheapo phone could pick up a signal, they would have just walked away. She held up Han’s mobile after wiping the gore on the back of his jacket.

“How could you do that?” he asked.

Nicola shrugged. “The psych meds deaden all your reactions. I may vomit on myself when the meds wear off later today, but nothing touches me now. You could shove an ice pick into my beating heart, and I would yawn with boredom. I feel nothing.”

Mikel hit the emergency key on the mobile’s screen. “What is your emergency?”

“Yeah, I want to report a three-vehicle accident on the road from Tannersville to the river,” Mikel said. “Nicola, what’s that sign say? Ah, Route 52 somewhere on the side of the frickin’ mountain.”

“Do you need an ambulance?” the operator asked.

“Only a coroner, I’m afraid. Send lots of tow trucks though; it’s ugly with two SUV’s and a tractor trailer.” He hung up before the operator could ask more questions.

“Do you want to wait around for the cops?” Mikel asked Nicola.

“With my record, they would only arrest me and charge me with causing the accident,” she said. “Do you think my phone works?”

“You had a phone?” Mikel asked with disbelief.

“Yeah, I guess so.” She fumbled through her little rolling suitcase until she found something. She held up her phone in victory. After Mikel ordered her to turn it on, she unlocked the access and handed it to him.

“Aria,” he texted. “Aria is not available at this time. Subroutines are available.”

“Bass Clef,” he texted, holding his breath.

“Choo-choo muthafucka.”

“Assassination attempt and an accident destroyed our vehicle. We need transport for two.” Mikel tapped his foot as he waited for a reply.

“Working. Continue 1.2 miles eastward. Take the vehicle track on the right to Marchand estate. Garage door combination is 656586.”

“We have directions and a walk ahead of us,” Mikel said to newest companion. “Let’s roll.” After wiping Han’s phone clean of his prints, he threw it back in the car.

Thirty minutes later, they spotted the track. As they climbed the dirt and gravel path to the locked cattle gate, they heard the first siren. After throwing their bags over, Nicola scaled the gate easily while Mikel squeezed between the horizontal rails. As they reached the crest of the road, they heard more sirens below. Walking a few steps from the gate, they spotted from where they were standing the modern-style house with the glass back on both floors.

“They must have one helluva view,” Mikel said. “A multi-million dollar view.”

“Please, it’s only one of their summer homes and this one is for slumming on the west side of the pond,” Nicola said, rolling her eyes.

“Pond?”

“It is called The Atlantic Ocean by you downtrodden and impoverished riffraff of the world,” Nicola said. “When an entire place reeks of pretension from this far away, you know it’s a .01 or a .02 percenter. They probably come here once or twice a year, only when they don’t feel like traveling far and they’ve seen everything in the theater district twice.”

“Acquaintances of yours, perhaps,” Mikel said as they continued to walk.

“You never know,” she said. “We are a small incestuous crowd. You could probably fit all of us into one hotel on the beach in Cannes if you purged all the pretenders and coat hangers. I hate them all.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” Mikel said as he pointed toward the separate building off to the side. “Do you know Solanio Bartolucci by chance?”

“He has a small dick,” Nicola said. “He has a big wallet though. No one is going to mention his lack in the sack as long as he’s paying for the ride though.” She cocked her head in thought. “He’s smart and he’s slick; he has that going for him. Sal is as ruthless and doesn’t give a damn about anyone, probably not even his mother. I fucked him. Meh.”

“He wants to talk to me,” Mikel said as they approached the three-bay garage. They found the door and its punch code lock. He typed in the code and the door opened silently. “After you,” he said.

“I expected better cars,” Mikel said as he examined the plain sedan, the jeep, and the old SUV with rust stains. “I guess they keep things simple here. Do you see keys in the cars or a lock box?”

“The doors are locked,” Nicola said. “Yeech. The caretaker hasn’t been doing a good job of keeping the cars clean. Everything has a layer of dust on it. I’d fire his ass.”

“Apparently, the Marchand clan has not visited their estate on the mountain in quite some time. How much do you want to bet the house is still locked up tight and alarmed?” Mikel looked around the room with regret.

“Sounds like the expected protocol,” she said. “If we have no car, we’re stuck here for a while. You wanna fuck?”

Mikel looked at her with askance. “Did you not say that with the meds you’re on, you cannot feel anything? How would you feel a fuck?”

“I wouldn’t,” she said. “I’m bored and I haven’t had a fuck in months. I’m young, I’m alive, and I’m supposed to spend my free time fucking guys.”

“How old are you?”

Nicola tilted her head as she contemplated the question. “I think I turned eighteen while I was in rehab. They had me so loaded to the gills that they could have shoved a birthday cake up my ass and I would’ve looked at them and smiled.”

“Sorry to hear,” Mikel said, striving to appear empathetic when he was not feeling it. “How old were you when you fucked Sal?”

“Fifteen, I guess,” she said. “Daddy dragged us over to Italy while he negotiated some big financial doohickey with the Italian government. It was such a big deal that we all had to go and then all we did was sit around this marble house with a porch overlooking a valley full of vineyards. Boring then, too. At least Sal added some excitement when he was around.”

“Wait. Your dad was an architect of the Italian bailout three years ago that basically forced them to cede Sicily to the Zandt Consortium? Your dad is Zandt?”

“Mom is actually; it’s grandad’s company but my dad now runs it mostly,” Nicola said. “He likes to joke how he bangs the boss’s daughter. He’s just gross.”

“Did he send you to rehab?” Mikel asked.

She shook her head. “Mother finally got fed up with my shit. I got kicked out of boarding school and then I got arrested for shoplifting. At least I had the wrong purse on me at the time. I didn’t have any stash on my person to add a second charge. Mom’s lawyer made a deal with the juvie judge to lock me away in la-la land. Psych meds are no joke though: I can’t put two and two together and come up with an answer, but I’m clean. Fuck them all,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Impressive,” Mikel said as he walked towards the other side of the garage. “You’ve already done the drugs, the sex, and the law; what’s left for you that’s new?”

“I was a pretty good artist before, you know, I fucked up,” she said, twirling her wrist. “I wanted to be a traditional artist; I’ve got the eye and the feel for oils. I’m not bad with watercolors either, but I get frustrated too easily with watercolors. What the fuck? It’s not like I have to work for a living. I’ve got my own goddamn trust that pays the bills and shit.”

She slammed the hood of the jeep. “I don’t even like fucking. Fucking is something to do while you’re waiting for something to do.”

“Hey, they’ve got a handful of bikes hanging on the wall over here,” Mikel said. “If we can’t drive a car, at least we can pedal.”

“You aren’t one of those health freaks, are you?”

Mikel was trying to decide which bike to try. “No, but I am concerned about doing exercise outside without a mask. Ripping my lungs to shreds on particulate matter would be a huge setback after getting released from the hospital.”