“Excuse me?” she asked, confused. “Mr. Reyes will see you now.”
Reyes now, Prieto thought to himself. She led him into Reggie’s office and shut the door behind her. Reggie was on a call. Of course.
“All right, son. It all sounds good, but I gotta bounce, some bitch just walked into my office that I’ve got to deal with.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Prieto muttered under his breath.
Reggie hung up the call.
“You’ve got to admit, calling the fucking Feds is a pretty bitch move, even for you.”
“You left me no choice. What the fuck did you say to my sister?”
“Me?” Reggie leaned back in his chair. Prieto realized it was made out of ostrich skin. What a prick. “I’ve said a lot of things to your sister. But I feel like you’ve got something specific you want to know.”
“She’s not talking to me, and I need to speak to her, so I want to know what the fuck you and my mother said to her about me.”
“Look, I don’t like to get into the family business—because that’s what this is—but I will tell you this: she spoke to your mother, and from what I understand, so have you. So, connect the dots.”
Fuck, he thought to himself. He needed to get to her. He needed to explain himself. He needed to tell her about their mother. Tell her to let it go; that they would never be or do enough. Tell her that she had to listen to him, and she had to try and understand why he did what he did. Because in the end, they were all each other had. Their mother was a figment of their imagination.
“When was the last time you spoke to Olga?” he asked Reggie.
Reggie leaned forward now. “Two weeks ago. She was given a mission and she failed.”
“What kind of ‘mission’？ I swear to God if you asked Olga to do anything illegal—”
“Man, I didn’t ask her for shit; I was just a middleman. The request came directly from Leadership and, as missions go, this was tame.”
“Do you fucking hear yourself? You sound as batshit as my mother—”
“Your mother is a revolutionary. If her plans sound crazy to you, it’s only because—”
“My mind is still colonized?” Prieto offered. He noted the surprise Reggie registered upon him saying this. “Yeah, son, I don’t know how long my mom’s been whispering in your ear, but I’ve been hearing this shit my whole life, so … I don’t think you’re about to ‘drop any knowledge’ on me, you know?”
Reggie cleared his throat. “I need to know that you’re gonna call your friend at the FBI off. Please tell me you aren’t such a sellout you’d sacrifice the good work that we’re doing for our people just because you don’t feel loved by your mommy.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Prieto sighed. “My mommy is a fugitive who attempted to assassinate an elected official. And she said herself to me that she’d think nothing of trying again. She’s a fugitive who has somehow amassed a giant cache of weapons on a compound littered with evidence of your entanglements in her efforts.”
Reggie raised his eyebrows. Clearly something Prieto said caught him by surprise.
“Man,” Prieto continued, “I’ve got to ask, what are you doing here? You have so much going on. Legit shit. Have you really thought this through? What happens on the day revolution actually comes? Because my mom is out for blood and I’m not sure you’re that kind of dude. Not really. You just play him on TV. You’re hitching your wagon to my mother, and my mother does not give a fuck about you or all you stand to lose.”
Reggie started to say something, but Prieto cut him off.
“Save it for a friend. All I’m saying is, you say you’re all about making an impact. Ask yourself what you’ll be able to do if you end up dead or in jail.”
He stood up and started to walk out the door.
“I’ll tell Bonilla to back off, but you better stay the fuck away from my sister.”
“NECESITAS UNA LIMPIA”
Olga wasn’t sure why it surprised her when Matteo came by her place. Did she really think she could just disappear and he wouldn’t notice? She wasn’t really thinking, she supposed. She was drinking to stop from thinking. Not just a little, not just at night. As soon she opened her eyes, she poured vodka into her coffee cup—the big one with the mascot that now, she decided, served only as a reminder of her deficiencies—without even the premise of orange juice. She would drink until she could sleep and then wake up and drink until she slept again. The liquor store delivered. She rarely ate, and if she did, she got that delivered, too.