I grit. “The company had behaviorists and anthropologists assist with that part of the algorithm.”
“On the outside looking in, Leith, everything’s great.”
“Nae, it’s not bloody great!”
“I’m getting there.” She grabs a small plastic container of salsa and pours. “The AI data you encoded was updated to target wealthy users.”
“I know that.”
“Instead of real, live love connections, an AI is responding to them. Whether this millionaire is lonely or that billionaire wants a sugar baby to spoil, the program is saying all the pretty words rich people want to hear.”
“And stealing their banking info. Robbing people blind.” In retrospect, it’s the kind of shite that’ll appeal to the gangsters affiliated with my clan. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “How deep am I? Seeing how my feckin’ name is pretty much on the entire function!”
“Deeper than you think. Unless you can break the firewalls—”
“I’ve tried, Wendy.” I fork a hand through my hair. “The hacker from the fiery pits of feckin’ hell is blocking my every bloody attempt.”
“Yeah, about that. I have a friend—”
“Who?”
“An associate who assists me with a select, few cases. I can’t divulge his identity. He refuses to act in an expert witness capacity in most instances. But he’s good.”
“So, ye know who's blackmailing me.” The speaker of a tiny Honda in front of the taco stand stops blaring. Everything goes quiet as I wait for Wendy’s response. All I need is a name.
She gives a faint shake of her head. “Sorry. This person who is helping has been able to pinpoint everything you’re saying. Not a name.”
“How deep is this?”
“It’s extortion, racketeering/bribery, bank fraud . . . All the infractions will add up.”
“Sounds like twenty-five to feckin’ life.”
She grimaces.
“Wit about a deid lad?” I gesture, chewing my thumbnail. “That another twenty-five, or can it be completed in tandem with the bullshite I didna do?”
With the second taco paused at her lips, she gasps. “Someone killed someone else and is pinning it on you too?”
“Nae. I’m a man, Wendy. I admit my shite . . . when necessary.” A daftie cackle escapes me, and she stares. It’s times like this, I wish I could hypnotize Chevelle into believing what is bad is good and what is good is for other people, not us.
“Are you serious?”
“Lass, look at my face. This is my serious face.”
“What happened, point-by-point?”
“I’d been giving it my all at work this past week. Left earlier than usual, and I was exhausted. Wanted so badly to rest my heid, but I missed my wee wean and my hen. I was minding something Mia had done while walking through the parking structure when a Chinese guy, I knew ‘em in passing from work, came at me.”
“Who?” She stops and shakes her head. We both know that the less she’s aware of, the better.
I continue my story about Jiang. “He was shouting. I’m like, shut yer geggie, then pressed the unlock button to my ride. But he didna shut his feckin’ geggie—”
“Ge—?”
“It’s mouth. That’s what it means, sorry.” I chew on my thumbnail. “I’m feckin’ irritated. Chevelle has to remind me to speak plainly sometimes too. Anyway, the lad had an accent. I’m told I’ve a bloody accent,” I add with a shrug. “But I paid him nae mind. Only the Chinese lad didna stop.”
“What happened next?”
“Roughed him up a bit. The one-two punch, followed by a forearm to his throat, with a quick skalp to his face to top ‘em off. So, he starts walking away, but then he pulls out a gun.”
With her taco discarded, Wendy nods thoughtfully.
“I took his gun before the lad could disengage the safety. Again, one shot. When I trained and was called a nugget by my da, he says, ye have a gun in yer hand for a reason. If ye’re not intending to use it, dinna use it!” I drop my head in contemplation of how I’m a contradiction to my clan. How I failed my da’s teachings.
“I let out a warning shot.” At his knee, but I don’t include that bit. “That didna penetrate through the lad’s heid.” The next one did the trick.
I let Wendy infer the rest, growing callus at the thought of how Jiang came at me again. The second shot, the one between his eyes, shut his feckin’ geggie. Before I tell Chevelle this story, I’ll need to dig deep and feel remorse.
The truth is—I feel nothing.
Wendy cuts in. “Do you know if there’s surveillance in the parking structure at your job?”