Chapter 16

Intent on dipping his fried chicken fingers into the glistening aioli, Mikel did not hear the question Aubrey asked. “Sorry?” he said, holding up the chicken with the green and gold sauce balanced on the tip like a glacier about to collapse.

“I said, what is your business with Sal?”

Mikel bit into the crispy gloop with unrestrained glee. They were eating real chicken, stripped from the bone, rolled in egg, and seasoned flour, and fried in a skillet. He had been blasé about chicken for at least a decade after ‘processed chicken paste’ became the norm at grocery stores, along with pressed chicken blocks. He had nearly forgotten what real chicken flesh tasted like and he missed it.

He sat back. “Somehow or other, Mr. Bartolucci is seeking contact with the A.I.’s as part of their project. I’ve had contact with an A.I. myself. He wishes to connect with me. I’m not sure of his agenda or his motives, though.”

“Money,” Aubrey said. “Nicola, try chewing your food before swallowing. Choking is one of those sure signs that you’re not doing it right.”

Mikel carefully speared some macaroni and cheese with his fork, hoping he did not drip between his plate and his mouth. “He could be interested in money, power, or position. We are talking about active A.I.’s.”

“Money,” Aubrey said, dismissing his comment with a wave of her empty fork. “He is a pig. He fucks vulnerable young women and roots through the debris for money.”

Nicola choked on her broccoli this time, spitting it across the table. After she finished coughing into the dishrag the cook gave her, she glared at her mother. “You knew? You knew and you didn’t say something? You didn’t do something?”

“You were headstrong, and you were intent on doing what you wanted to do,” Aubrey said. “You were not going to listen to your mother because I’m always wrong and your father was in Rome. In the end, you had to learn the consequences.”

“These are the consequences,” Nicola yelled. “A doped-up princess with a trail of destruction behind her, and you did nothing. No wonder I’m fucked in the head.”

“Language, dear,” Aubrey said, spearing a chicken finger with her fork. “I had your favorite dinner made for your homecoming. Now that you’ve hit rock bottom, maybe you are ready to try something different. Come on, Nicola, if it had not been Sal, it would have been some other Italian bull. At least we knew he was clean. You were a prima donna, resentful for being chained to your brain damaged sister, which is all you saw at the time. She cut into your fun time.”

“Unng,” was all Nicola could utter as she looked at her mother in disbelief.

“Why do you think we sent you to boarding school, Nicola? You could not accept that our lives had to change dramatically to accommodate your sister’s new life. We could not be there for you like we were before the accident.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Nicola said, rubbing tears off her face.

“Yes, we did many times, and you did not want to hear it.”

Mikel took the opportunity to spear another chicken finger from the serving dish. The mother-daughter bonding was like a made-for-cable movie, only these actors were more believable. Privilege, pandering and bad parenting all in one evening. If this was the prelude to NEXUS, this moment could not come soon enough. He hoped he still had room for another helping of mac ‘n cheese, although his body was screaming for a real vegetable.

“God, I hate my family,” Nicola spat.

“Yes, that is the crux of the problem, now isn’t it,” Aubrey said. “The circumstances cannot change. These days I wish that Poppy had died when she broke her neck; it would have been merciful for her and for us. She cannot change and we will not abandon her to an institution. The only one who can change is you, Nicola. I am not going to say anything more on the subject.”

They continued to eat in silence, only the scraping of silverware on the plates filled the void. Unable to lift his arm again, Mikel looked at his cleared plate with lament. He was full to bursting. There was no more room and he wanted to cry.

“Mr. Barajas, back to the person of Sal Bartolucci, before I sidetracked. Sal is not ambitious for power because the man is imminently lazy. A position of power puts him in the spotlight, which means he would have to work or at least work at the appearance of working. Again, he would not be interested. Keeping himself in the money without popping up on any social media lists is his preferred method.”

“Too late on the social media front,” Mikel said. “Europe’s most eligible bachelor.”

“He manages quite well despite the circumstances,” Aubrey said. “No one in his position gets to be incognito anymore, and his P.R. staff does a remarkable job considering what they have to work with. He is a predator. In his twisted little mind, Nicola is too old for him now. I mean, she would call him out, question his behavior and demand answers now, and he cannot tolerate that. He likes them young enough not to know or too stupid to ask, and truthfully, I’m not sure which one he prefers more.”

“Do you know how Sal practices foreplay, mother? He kisses you twice, m’uh-m’uh, and asks if you’re ready yet. He has a small dick, too.”

“You expected Sal to be a decent human being, Nicola,” Aubrey spat. “He’s fourth generation old European money. His family has been fucking over people for generations, literally fucking. Really, we taught you better.”

“I’m sure it was a difficult lesson and if I may, I can confirm that Nicola is well aware of the qualities of the people in your economic circles,” Mikel said, hoping to terminate this line of conversation. “We had a similar conversation earlier today.”

“I will assume you are attempting to be reassuring,” Aubrey said, reaching for her lowball and downing its contents in one large gulp.

“If I am reassuring, that is a bonus. However, what I am trying to draw out in the conversation is Solanio Bartolucci and his probable motives. Perhaps you know of his venture capital firm, Wyoming Bison?”

“WB is not Sal’s,” Aubrey said with a low rumble of laughter. “He is the front man collecting a percentage off every client they send him to collect. WB is a shell company for Crusado Corp. Do you have any idea what a crusado is?” Mikel shook his head. “Portuguese gold, Mr. Barajas, stamped with a cross on the back to make it appear as if it was sanctioned by God. The Crusado founders were big into munitions throughout the twentieth century, and they did not care who their clients were, as long as they paid. This century, they eased out of munitions and invested in basic components for electronic and digital warfare. Just think about it: they may have military drones on every continent with their components in them; they may even be destroying their own components with competing weapons. They have a never-ending cycle of requested inventory.”