by E. J. Simon
“Well, I am Jewish, Lester—and so are you. Maybe you should see Connor also.”
“I don’t need a fuckin’ shrink, Lester. And by the way, I’ve never even heard of an Irish shrink—with that name, he sounds like a comedian. The Irish are already so screwed up themselves. They’re dark—I think it comes from all that dark beer they drink. First they sit at the bar laughing and everything and then, when they’re good and drunk, they go and sulk in the back room or they just go and blow their brains out. You don’t see Italians or Greeks becoming shrinks or going to them.”
“And why is that, Lester? Not that it has to do with anything.” Skinny Lester knew that his cousin had lost him in the dust in the conversation.
“That’s because they drink grappa and ouzo, stuff that’s healthier for you,” Fat Lester answered. It appeared, however, that a light now went on in his head as though he realized he’d gone off on one of his semisensical tangents. More calmly now, he continued, “But what the hell does that expression mean anyway? You think there’s a woman behind Alex’s murder?”
“Listen, Lester. There’s a lot of shit that’s gone on in just a few weeks. Alex and Russell murdered, Michael kidnapped, that Merlin guy showing up dead in Michael’s car in the river. There’s also money flying around all over. Some money from Alex’s will, then the safety deposit box and money in the dining room, lots of money. Anyway, Dr. Connor was actually quoting Freud—”
Fat Lester, obviously bewildered again, interrupted. “Are you going fucking nuts now? You’re giving me this Freud shit?”
Unfazed, Skinny Lester continued, “What he meant was that most crimes like this are committed either because of money or a woman. Probably both, many times.”
Fat Lester, looking serious now that he had absorbed the thought, said, “So, who are you thinking? What woman? How about that hairdresser Alex was seeing? Or maybe Donna found out about her and wanted to get back at Alex? What about fuckin’ Greta? She hated Alex.”
“I don’t know. But Alex had a lot of women all around him, and he had a lot of money. I think the two are connected. Now we know Sharkey went after Michael, but that was separate from Alex’s murder. So, we probably have more than one killer out there. And the cops haven’t brought in anyone. They can’t even find Sharkey now; he’s disappeared.”
“He probably just finished his spaghetti at Al Moro in Rome,” Fat Lester said. “He used to tell me that when I went to Rome, that’s where you and I had to eat. Like we were ever going to go to Rome. Even Alex never went to Rome. He was always either in Queens or maybe Miami. He never wanted to leave the country. I’d love to get to Italy.”
“Maybe one day we can, Les,” Skinny Lester said.
Fat Lester’s eyes widened. “I’ll bet the Italian food is good there.”
Chapter 54
Flushing, Queens, New York
December 18, 2009
Michael was alone in Alex’s office.
He closed the door separating Alex’s office from the larger, open space containing the bank of phones and the other employees’ desks. At this late hour, it was almost certain that the entire two-story building was empty. The Mediterranean deli on the ground floor had closed hours ago. It was another bitter cold and windy night. The only sounds were an occasional car horn and the wind howling down Northern Boulevard.
Both Lesters were out making their nightly rounds throughout the city, delivering the winnings to their customers, picking up what was owed, or simply going to their regular bars and hangouts and buying an existing or prospective client a drink.
Michael turned off all the lights in the outer office as he switched on his brother’s old, simple desk lamp and watched as Alex reemerged from his deep, dark sleep onto the Apple laptop screen.
Michael thought that tonight he would try to get Alex to talk about the stream of criminal events that had occurred in just a matter of weeks—the murders, Merlin the Magician’s body in his BMW, and the intrusion into his own home. It was possible, he thought, that once Sharkey was captured, Michael would be safe—except for the fact that someone was still out there who had wanted Alex dead. Until that crime was solved, Michael could never be sure who was still in danger.
So far, Alex’s conversations with Michael had certainly been thought provoking and, at times, helpful. But Michael was unsure whether he could achieve a true breakthrough of insight from Alex. It appeared that despite the surreal reality of Alex’s image, facial expressions, and voice, most of what Alex provided was an output of various facts and his own life’s experiences that had, at some point, been loaded into the artificial intelligence software. But Alex was asking questions and apparently beginning to figure out how to use what he was discovering on the Internet.
At times, Michael felt that Alex may have been learning more from Michael than the other way around. Maybe Alex needed to digest and calibrate that new information. Perhaps, as Alex said, he was learning—and faster and better than the real or original model. The question was whether Alex would be able to assimilate new information such as the events leading up to and after his death, filter that new input through the personality model based upon the real-life Alex, and then make informed deductions from that information that would be revealing in solving crimes that appeared to be connected.
“Good evening, Alex, it’s Michael.”
“I know.”
“Alex, I need your help.”
“I’m no good when it comes to marriages.”
Alex was apparently regaining his sense of humor, Michael thought. “No, it’s not about that. I’d never ask your advice about marriages.”
“You never really liked my wives, did you?”
Michael was impressed. Alex normally would never have made such a revealing or emotionally provocative statement to Michael unless he had already had several drinks.
“You’re right. I disliked all three.”
“Some of them weren’t crazy about you, either,” Alex said, with a smirk.
“I’m sure they weren’t,” Michael said. “Anyway, I kept my distance.”
“You’ve got to remember, I wasn’t a great husband either. I ran around on all of them. I was probably more faithful to my wives after they became ex-wives—well, except for Greta. I couldn’t stand her any better after we divorced than when we were married.”
“So that just left Pam. Did you see her while you were married to Greta and Donna?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I saw Pam more after we were divorced than I did before.” Alex laughed. “She was more fun then. It was easier. I should have only divorced her and never married her, if that’s possible. We had a great relationship once we divorced and were married to other people.”
Michael had to think about that for a minute.
“Listen,” Alex continued, “I should never have gotten married—to anyone. Marriage changes everything. I don’t like feeling like I can’t do what I want to do. And once you’re married, people think you’ve got to do certain things—you know, you can’t see other women, you can’t see your friends or go out to the bars or do whatever shit you want to do.”
That was certainly an interesting statement, Michael thought, one that Alex had made even while alive and married to Donna. I couldn’t live like that, Michael thought. How could two brothers from the same parents have such different concepts of women and marriage?
“Alex, I think you’d have missed being married. After all, you did it three times. There had to be something there that made you want to do it.”
“I like the sex the first few months. After that, it gets complicated. But now maybe I’ll try one of those computer dating sites. I should have an inside track, if you know what I mean.”
“That’ll really work well, Alex. Particularly once the poor woman googles you and finds out you have already been murdered.”
“Women always want the guy they can’t have. I can play really hard to get from here. I can’t decide whether I’m going to join Christian Si
ngles or Jewish Mingle.com.”
“Are you crazy? First of all, you’re supposed to use the one that reflects your religion.” As he said this, he recognized the even greater absurdity of the entire conversation. “You don’t play all sides.”
“You can when you’re dead.” Alex was laughing. “Anyway, you want to talk about religion, now?” Michael sensed his brother was trying to provoke him. “Internet dating was made for me. I just need to figure out how to have sex.”
But Michael was anxious to get to the discussion he really needed. “Alex, let’s talk about all the shit that’s gone on, starting with your murder.” Michael then walked Alex through again all the events that had occurred.
“We know Sharkey was behind my kidnapping, but the rest of all this stuff is still a mystery. You must have some ideas as to who wanted you dead and who would have broken into my house. And who the hell took my car and put that idiot Merlin in it? None of this makes any sense.”
“What do you care?” Alex asked in his typically flippant way.
“Until I know, I can’t be safe. I’ve already got Sharkey out there after me until they catch him. But I don’t know what else could be lurking. If someone else wanted you dead, maybe they’ll want me out of the way too. It certainly could have been caused by your business.”
Alex was silent for a few moments, appearing to think through his response. “Michael, I haven’t told you everything.”
Chapter 55
“Do you know who’s behind all this?” Michael stared intently at his brother on the screen.
“Yes, I think I know now.”
Michael thought he heard a noise coming from outside his office. He was anxious to continue with Alex, but he was just as fearful of even more urgent dangers. He got up to open his office door to see if anyone had possibly entered the main bullpen office outside his door. As he approached the door, he remembered Alex’s gun, which he hoped was still in the desk drawer. Before opening his door, he slid open the drawer and saw the handgun sitting just where he had left it weeks ago on his first visit to Alex’s office. He realized that he had no real idea how to use it but gripped it firmly in his hand. It was surprisingly heavy. Keeping the gun slightly hidden behind his back, he carefully opened the door leading out to his larger room.
Michael looked into the screen and said, “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
The main room was dark except for the small blinking lights on several of the telephone consoles and the glow of the streetlights outside coming through the wooden blinds on the windows facing the street. Michael flipped the light switches on the wall right outside his office and the entire room was bathed in a fluorescent wash of bright white light. The room was still. Michael could see virtually every square inch. No one was there. He went to the main door to ensure that it was still locked. It was and everything seemed to be in order.
Michael turned the main room’s lights off and returned to his office, once again closing the door behind him. He pushed in the button lock on the inside door handle, knowing it would certainly be useless should anyone really want to enter his office. The gun in his right hand was another matter, despite the fact that he wasn’t sure whether it was loaded and exactly how to discharge it if it was. Like a lot of other things, he reasoned that he’d figure it out when it came to the point that he needed it.
With the doors locked and Alex’s gun in hand, Michael turned back to Alex, who was still staring straight ahead. Michael looked at the gun again and tried to figure out how to open it to see if it was loaded. Frustrated, he placed the gun on the desk.
Michael stared in again at Alex. “Alex, you know who may be behind all this? You said you haven’t told me everything. Tell me now.”
“Michael, when you told me about Mermelstein, or Merlin, whatever the fuck his name is, winding up in your car, I realized that there was one person who both hated me and needed a way to get money.” Alex paused.
Despite being anxious for Alex to continue, Michael couldn’t resist a touch of brotherly sarcasm. “All three of your wives would qualify, Alex.”
Alex almost seemed offended. “Donna didn’t hate me.”
“Okay, that’s one,” Michael responded.
Michael was beginning to regret having distracted Alex away from the main point when he heard another sound coming from the outside room. He picked up the gun again and placed his right forefinger on the trigger. He held the gun at his side, but was determined to now get Alex’s answer without any further delay or distractions.
“Alex, who wanted you dead?” Michael said, his tone more insistent.
But the noise outside his office caught Michael’s attention again. This time there was no question someone was in the main room. He looked at his door and saw a ray of light coming under the bottom of the door near the floor. Someone had turned on the lights in the next room. He wasn’t alone. He hoped that it might simply be one of the Lesters coming back after their evening out, but his instinct told him otherwise.
Alex seemed unaware of Michael’s distraction.
“Greta is the only one who really hated me, and she was desperate for money as you found out yourself when you met with her. But she’s too fuckin’ stupid to be able to pull any of this stuff off by herself. Mermelstein was even dumber, especially for a Jewish guy. But when you told me that Mermelstein’s body …”
Michael was watching his office door, unsure whether to stay inside and hope the intruder would leave after seeing nothing of value in the main room or to open the door or at least holler out, hoping to chase that person away. He now wished he had taken the time to check out the gun.
“Hold on one second, Alex. I’ve got a little problem here,” Michael said, interrupting Alex.
He saw the door handle turning. Someone was trying to open the door from the other room.
Michael gripped the gun more firmly now, and still unsure whether it was loaded, pulled the hammer back, hoping he had properly cocked it. But he was determined to get Alex’s answer before anything else got in the way. “Alex, someone’s outside your office here. I don’t know what’s going on. But finish what you were saying.”
“The gun in my desk drawer is loaded. Don’t be afraid to use it, Michael.”
“Okay, I’ve got it. Just finish about Greta as fast as you can before something happens here.” The door handle was now turning rapidly back and forth. Someone was clearly trying to get in. Michael couldn’t stall any longer; he had to deal with it. “Who’s there?” he hollered out. “Lester, is that you?”
There was no response. The doorknob stopped turning.
Alex began to speak again. “Greta would have a lot to gain if I was dead. She knew George would get some inheritance, and she probably knew I had a lot of cash all over the place that he would also get a share of. She couldn’t live on a portion of what I was giving George each month. She needed a lot of cash quickly to get her out of debt and live the fuckin’ fake life she wanted.
“But she couldn’t have done it alone or with Mermelstein’s help. She had to have hooked up with someone else. Mermelstein was no longer any help to her. He was fuckin’ useless. He had no balls and no money—not a good combination if you’re hanging out with Greta. He probably wouldn’t leave on his own, so she got rid of him.”
The noises from outside the door and the turning of the door handle had stopped. Michael thought perhaps he had frightened away the intruder. Maybe it was just a small-time burglar who didn’t expect anyone to be in the office.
“So you think Greta is behind all this?” asked Michael.
“Yeah, but it’s not that simple. She can’t do anything alone—let alone stuff like all this that’s happened. Also, she doesn’t get rid of any guy until she’s got another one lined up.”
“So, who would this other guy be?”
Before Alex could answer, everything went pitch-dark. The desk lamp and the lights from the outside office shining under the door all disappeared. Michael checked the tele
phone; it too was dead. Someone had probably tripped the circuit breakers, which were located in the other room. Alex and his laptop, which always seemed to need AC power, also went dark. Michael was trapped in a room with no windows, and someone was outside his door.
“Who’s out there?” Michael shouted again. He decided not to mention he had a gun, at least until he could locate if not see his intruder. He waited in silence for a few seconds, which seemed to go on forever.
Finally, a voice from just outside his door broke the silence. “Michael, open the door. It’s Greta.”
Chapter 56
Rome, Italy
December 17, 2009
12:00 a.m.
Sharkey sat alone in the far corner of the front room of Al Moro Restaurant, a place reserved strictly for local Romans or others who were well connected to them, Vatican insiders, or powerful Italians.
The room was still half-full and discreetly quiet. Tourists and other diners were relegated to the back room. Sharkey sat and admired the scene, from the aging but well-put-together group of good-looking Italian men and women to the still life of the perfect Italian meal on his table: veal Milanese, spaghetti carbonara, and a bottle of Italian Barolo. He put down his knife and fork, savored a long swallow of the wine, and discreetly pulled out his cell phone. He needed to speak with Greta.
“Greta, it’s me.”
“Oh thank God. Where did they put you up?” Greta answered.
“I’m safe, but let’s not get into details here on the phone. My good friends have taken excellent care of me.” Sharkey was whispering so he wouldn’t upset the decorum of the restaurant. He also wanted to avoid bringing unwanted attention from speaking English in a room usually forbidden to Americans.
“Sharkey, I have to get out of here. I have to join you. I’m too close to all of this shit. The cops won’t take long to put us two together.” Greta’s voice held more than a hint of desperation.