by E. J. Simon
“Well, I don’t think he really meant to tell Lester, but I think they were sitting around Alex’s house one night, and Alex had too much to drink and showed it off. But Lester didn’t really know what to make of it. By the way, the police found nothing unusual, other than some porn, on Alex’s computer.”
Jennifer looked puzzled. “Which computer did they check?”
“Donna told me the police downloaded everything from Alex’s office hard drives and his home computer that sits in his den,” Michael said.
“Was it a regular big computer with a separate monitor and all that?”
“Yes. It’s got a pretty large screen or monitor attached. Alex’s was larger than most people’s television screens.” Michael was laughing.
“A lot of Alex’s things were bigger than other people’s.” Jennifer leaned into the table, slightly invading Michael’s private space, making him feel just a bit uneasy. “That’s not the computer he used for real personal things—or for his artificial intelligence stuff.”
“Oh my God, that’s it.” Michael brightened up with the revelation. Now he knew what Alex had wanted to show him. “I never thought of that. There’s another computer?”
Jennifer appeared to relax, ordered her fourth glass of champagne, and continued enthusiastically. “Alex never wanted to leave real personal things on his home computer. He also even set up a separate e-mail account just so we could e-mail and message each other. He was always nervous that someone would get on his home computer and see stuff.”
“Who was he worried about?” Michael could see several more layers of Alex’s life and personality being unraveled.
“Well, he was worried about everyone. Alex always worried about everything, you know. He was obsessed that someone might go on his computer—even innocently—while he was at work or out at night. He certainly didn’t want Donna getting into it—especially if anything about me was in there. But he was also very concerned that this artificial intelligence stuff stayed a secret.”
“So he had another computer …” Michael was now the one leaning into the table.
“Well, Alex was also absolutely in love with Apple computers. He had an iPod, you know, for years. He had twenty thousand songs on it. Then, when he saw this Apple laptop—I think it was called a MacBook—he fell in love with it. After he got it home, he had these really smart people customize it or something. Alex said he owned the most powerful Mac in the world. He called it his ‘Big Mac.’
“But here’s where it got real interesting. He then had Russell do all this research and contact companies that specialized in artificial intelligence. One of them was in Europe, I think, some others in San Francisco or Silicon Valley. Alex spent a shitload of money on all this. Then Russell loaded all this new experimental artificial intelligence, and voice and imaging software onto the laptop.
“Alex brought the Apple over to my apartment one night. I swear he was obsessed with it. He said that, in the process of working with all that expensive software, Russell had made some big breakthrough, something that had never been done before. This laptop was unbelievable though. It weighed a ton, too. I told him, I thought those things were supposed to be light, but this was some special machine. I called it his ‘mini Alex,’ you know, like ‘mini me.’ He thought that was funny.”
“Jennifer, where is this laptop now?”
“Michael, you have to promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You know that porn you mentioned? On Alex’s other computer?”
Michael’s imagination began to soar, despite his best efforts to stay focused. “Yes. I never saw it though. Donna just mentioned that the cops had found it.”
“Oh, I don’t care about that. It’s the porn on his Apple laptop that I need your help with.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s pretty kinky. I’d hate for it to get out.”
“What difference does it make? Why do you care?” Michael had already guessed the answer.
“I’m the star. It was meant to be private, just for Alex.”
“I’ll take care of it. I promise. But, Jennifer, where is the laptop?”
“It’s where no one would ever find it.” Jennifer’s electric-blue eyes lit up. “Shall we order lunch?”
Chapter 27
Whitestone, Queens, New York
November 23, 2009
Michael let himself in through the front door using the key Donna had given him after Alex’s murder. He entered the security code, disabled the alarm system, and then walked through the entry hall and up the stairs into the master bedroom.
Alex’s house was dark. Michael knew that Donna was out to dinner at a nearby Queens restaurant. He walked across the room, switched on the lamp by the bed, and then turned and walked several steps over to Alex’s personal closet, opening the double doors and walking into the huge wardrobe.
In an odd flashback, he remembered, as a teenager, searching his brother’s closet, looking for Alex’s collection of Playboy magazines. Tonight, as he turned on the closet’s many recessed lights, Michael was astonished by what he saw.
The closet was empty; not a trace of Alex was visible in the dark-red mahogany shelves. Not a pair of trousers or a shirt. In fact, the cabinetry looked brand-new, as though it had been built, or rebuilt, quite recently. The walls had been freshly painted and the carpeting, although the same design as the rest of the master suite, was clearly new, its color tones slightly brighter than the surrounding areas.
Michael pulled out his cell phone and dialed Jennifer’s number. She answered on the first ring. “Michael, is everything okay? Did you find it?”
“Everything is fine, I guess. I’m in Alex’s closet. I think we’re too late though. Everything’s gone. All his stuff is gone. In fact, it looks like the whole closet’s been redone. It’s all new, the shelving, everything. The paint’s all fresh.
“I didn’t think Donna knew about the laptop, but if it was here as you said, she must have found it. Everything’s been ripped up.”
Michael left Alex’s closet and stood, gazing at Donna’s bedroom in the soft light. Unlike when Alex was alive, the bedroom was a mess, with Donna’s nightgowns, lingerie, and several pairs of shoes on the floor. The bed was unmade. Used bath towels rested on one of the chairs. A half-empty bottle of chardonnay and a single dirty wineglass stood on the table beside Donna’s side of the bed. Michael checked the glass carefully. There was lipstick on the rim. It appeared that Donna was drinking alone.
“She may not have known about the laptop,” Michael whispered to Jennifer as he continued to walk around the room. “I think Donna was just looking for some cash we think Alex hid somewhere in the house. If she found the laptop instead, she may not know what’s in it unless she was able to figure out his password.”
“Wow,” Jennifer exclaimed, “how much did Alex hide?”
Michael felt a twinge of concern over the question. He wasn’t about to tell Jennifer that the amount Alex stashed away could be millions. After all, he thought, how well did he know Jennifer? For that matter, how well did he really even know Donna?
“I don’t know,” Michael answered, doubting Jennifer believed him.
“It doesn’t matter to me, Michael. I was just curious.” Her tone turned curt. “Maybe the laptop is somewhere else in the house, particularly if Donna doesn’t know about the AI stuff. Maybe it’s just lying around there somewhere.”
“It’s possible. I’ll take a quick look, but I need to get out of here before Donna gets back and finds me in her bedroom.”
Michael was becoming more unsure about whom he could trust. Donna had, after all, mentioned to him that she had looked through the house for Alex’s hiding places. Michael was still surprised, however, that she had completely ripped up Alex’s massive closet and already had it totally rebuilt. It all seemed a bit too much and too soon.
He continued to look through the mess in the bedroom, carefully replacing each bla
ck lace bra, pairs of black stockings, purple thongs, garter belts, Spanx, and other lingerie to where he found them, but there was no trace of the laptop. He could smell Donna’s Chanel perfume as his fingers touched each intimate item. Feeling like a voyeur, Michael rifled through her drawers and armoire. It’s like Frederick’s of Hollywood in here. Lots of panties but no computer, he thought as he left the bedroom.
The light reflecting from the outside street lamps illuminated enough of the hallway so that Michael could see where he was going. He wasn’t sure why he was so concerned about the lights since his car was parked right outside anyway. If Donna did arrive back home while he was still in the house, she would recognize his car and know he was there. He would have to explain that he dropped over for some reason. He knew that he could never acknowledge that he had been in her bedroom.
He entered Alex’s den, turning on the overhead recessed lights. The room looked much as it had when he met there a few days earlier with Donna and the two Lesters. His eyes immediately focused, however, on Alex’s desk. There was something new: the brushed silver laptop with the Apple emblem sat on the top of the desk, next to Alex’s other desktop unit.
Beside the laptop was a yellow legal pad filled with numbers and letters. Michael studied the notations. The page was divided into two sections, one titled “UN” and the other “PW.” Underneath each column were hundreds of various potential user names and password combinations of names, numbers, and letters. The handwriting was not Donna’s. It was clear that someone was trying to figure out Alex’s user name and password in order to gain access to whatever was on Alex’s laptop. Michael noticed that many of the combinations were well-educated guesses, including numerous variations of “121354,” “117247524,” and “5149149,” which represented Alex’s birthday, social security number, and street address.
Michael sat at his brother’s desk and opened the laptop, waiting for the home screen to appear. He understood Alex’s fascination with the Apple. It was a sleek, finely crafted machine. Suddenly a bright blue screen appeared with the logo of the New York Yankees off to the right, alongside a photograph of Alex, George, and Pete, three generations, on the beach in Miami. Finally, a series of icons appeared.
Michael’s eyes passed over the twenty icons neatly displayed in four symmetrical rows of five. The first one to catch his attention was a miniscule image of a pretty blonde face. As Michael brought his face closer to the screen he recognized the blinking blue eyes. They were the eyes of Jennifer Walsh. This was likely the “private porn” he had promised to erase. I’ll keep that promise, eventually, he thought to himself, aware that he was now sidetracked.
But as he moved the cursor to her image, another icon caught his eye. It was a small gold cross, antique or Eastern Orthodox looking. This had to be what he was looking for. He clicked on it and typed in the user name, “57chevy,” and password, “triplecrown7,” Jennifer had given him at lunch.
Slowly a new scene unfolded on the laptop screen. It was Alex, seemingly alive, smiling broadly, sitting behind the very desk Michael sat at right at that moment. The camera zoomed in. Alex’s eyes stared right back at Michael as though they were speaking to each other across the dinner table. It was a miracle and bizarre—but real.
“My God, it’s you,” Michael said.
It was as though Moses had parted the Red Sea. The camera zoomed in even closer, and Alex’s voice answered back, “No shit. I must be dead.”
“You are dead.”
If Jennifer was correct, Alex had totally integrated an intuitive system of artificial intelligence, computer imaging, and voice duplication and recognition programs. Michael thought too about Karen DiNardo’s research. It was likely that the state-of-the-art technology had been supplemented with personalized input that allowed the software to replicate Alex’s thinking, emotions, and logic patterns, and even duplicate his voice. Visually, it perfectly re-created his physical image, attributes, facial expressions, and other mannerisms.
When there was no dialogue, Alex just stared back. It was a cold, blank stare—so far, the only uncharacteristic attribute.
Michael continued, “So, how does this work? What can I ask you?”
Alex’s eyes came alive. He definitely recognized Michael’s voice. Jennifer said that Russell even had Alex record phone conversations with people that Alex wanted his system to recognize. Russell then programmed the system to acknowledge when a familiar voice spoke.
“Michael, you can ask me anything. Make believe we’re at Peter Luger’s having lunch—except there’s no steak. Your old friend Russell loaded hundreds of thousands of different types of data and had me answer thousands of questions. This computer is me now—actually even smarter than me. Russell added a lot of ‘intelligence’ features—stuff I never had before.” Alex laughed.
“Has anyone been able to open this program up since you died?” Michael wondered whether Donna and whoever was helping her with the user names and passwords had been successful.
“No. You’re the first,” Alex answered. “Michael, what happened to me?”
“This kid Luke shot you, but we still have no idea who hired him. Do you know who would have hired him to shoot you?”
“No. I don’t have enough information. You can help me, but you will have to input more data. How did you get my password, Michael?”
“From Jennifer,” Michael answered.
“Oh. You’ve met her then.”
“Yes, she’s beautiful and seems like a good woman.” Michael was also testing Alex’s reaction to Jennifer.
“She is. We had a good time together. She’s full of surprises.” Alex’s facial expression loosened up; he appeared to relax.
Michael wanted to follow up on Alex’s comments about Jennifer when he saw a low-battery warning appear in the lower right-hand corner of the screen. He noticed that the laptop was not plugged in and obviously was no longer fully charged. The power adapter cord wasn’t attached or visible in the room. Michael also became concerned about the time he had now been in the house. Donna could return at any moment. Yet, he had so much to ask.
“Alex, you have to help me with this guy Sharkey. I’m supposed to meet with him on Wednesday. He wants his seven hundred thousand and another hundred grand for interest.” Michael gave Alex more detail about the Sharkey situation, including their meeting last week at Pete’s Tavern.
The camera zoomed in on Alex’s face. There was intense anger in his eyes, a look Michael rarely saw in his brother.
“Michael, Sharkey is scum. He’s the dregs. He’s also chickenshit. He hides it by walking around in all that black leather shit. If he’s by himself, he won’t do anything. He did all the bad stuff when he was young, and he had a lot of goons hanging around with him. He’s a has-been now. He’s not connected the way he used to be. I’m not saying he’s not dangerous on some level, but you can’t be afraid of him or he’ll walk all over you.”
The low-battery warning light was now flashing rapidly. Michael knew he didn’t have much time. “Alex, what do I do about Wednesday?”
“Go to Peter Luger’s in Brooklyn. Get a private room. Invite Sharkey, but have Fat Lester nearby in case you need him. Have Fat Lester frisk him and take the fucking gun if he’s carrying. Then he should stand outside the room when Sharkey walks in. Have him leave and close the door so it’s just the two of you. The moment the door closes and it’s just the two of you, when Sharkey sits down, you quickly get up—like a madman, like you’re nuts, out of control—you jump over the table at him. Throw him down in his chair and grab his neck. Choke him enough to scare the shit out of him. It won’t take long—he’s old, Michael. He weighs a hundred fucking pounds. Tell him he’s misjudged you and that you’ll kill him if he messes with you again.
“When you’ve got him totally scared—let him go. Pick him up, straighten him up, help him. Like you just turned Jekyll and Hyde. Go back to your seat. Give him a briefcase with five hundred thousand. Tell him that’s what’s left of
my ‘estate’—otherwise, if he’s not satisfied, to let you know and you’ll have someone finish what you started. He’ll piss in his pants.”
“Do you think I can do it?” Michael wasn’t sure what was taking his breath away, seeing his brother or the plan of attack with Sharkey. Both seemed unbelieveable.
“I know you can, Michael. He has to think that you’re crazy, that you’re capable of anything. He’ll believe it because you’re my brother. He’ll know there’s got to be something more than that corporate shit in you.”
The low-battery warning flashed more rapidly now. Michael still had not asked Alex where his money was hidden; he wanted to know more about Jennifer—and Donna. He wanted to know … about life and death.
But Michael heard a noise downstairs. Was Donna back, opening the front door?
“Alex, I’ve got to run. The battery is almost gone, and Donna may already be downstairs.”
As Michael mentioned Donna’s name, the camera again zoomed in to a close-up of Alex. “Michael, about Donna …” But before he could finish his sentence, the screen went blank.
“Michael, is that you? Are you upstairs?” Donna was downstairs.
Michael shut down and gently closed the laptop. “I’m up here, Donna, in Alex’s den.” He could hear Donna’s six-inch spiked high heels rapidly climbing up the hardwood steps. Michael had no idea what to expect as she reached the top of the steps and walked into the room.
“Michael?” Donna looked at him with a look of confusion that appeared to be turning to anger. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were coming.”
Michael had to think quickly. “I’m sorry, Donna. I just wanted to look myself for signs of where Alex may have hidden his money. If I’m going to meet with Sharkey on Wednesday, I’ve somehow got to come up with seven or eight hundred thousand dollars. Unless we find it, what are we going to do?”