Death Logs In

by E. J. Simon

  “Michael, I can’t even keep straight what you’ve already told me and what you haven’t. I can’t believe you’re serious. What difference does this make? So what, you’ve got Alex’s old password.”

  “It was the last thing I needed in order to find him.”

  “In order to find him? Michael, you haven’t found Alex. He’s dead.”

  He knew it was time to show her.

  “Samantha, Alex is in our wine cellar.”

  Chapter 4

  Rome, Italy

  “I am a guest of Monsignor Petrucceli.”

  As he observed the reaction on the face of the maître d’, Joseph Sharkey knew that he was still an important man.

  He hoped that he was again being mistaken for the actor Christopher Walken; he knew that, behind his back, people had whispered about his uncanny resemblance to Walken, particularly in one of the actor’s more demonic roles. Sharkey cultivated the attention—and the comparison. His pasty, pale skin tone and thick mane of white hair contrasted with his all-black attire.

  Dal Bolognese’s rich wood-paneled walls and gold-framed, illuminated paintings reminded Sharkey of the luxurious restaurants he would frequent in New York, when he was in his prime, a “made man.”

  While the maître d’ grabbed a menu, Sharkey looked around hoping to catch a glimpse of his imaginary flame, Sophia Loren, whom the hotel concierge had assured him dined there often.

  Dal Bolognese was filled with the elite of Rome on this Friday evening. From the deepest depths of his dark soul, Joseph Sharkey believed that he was one of them.

  He immediately recognized the tall, young, dark-haired gentleman sitting quietly at his table. Dressed in a black suit and white Roman clerical collar, sipping a glass of Chianti. Monsignor Dominick Petrucceli was the special aide and confidant of the esteemed Holy Cardinal Lovallo.

  “Good evening, Joseph.” The monsignor’s English was perfect.

  “Yes, Monsignor. It’s good to see you. I was hoping to see the cardinal too.” As he sat down, Sharkey looked around, distracted by the voluptuous women at neighboring tables.

  The Monsignor’s face tightened, his voice lower, just above a whisper.

  “You’ll meet the cardinal in good time, but surely you understand that, under the circumstances, he cannot be here in such a public setting.”

  Petrucceli hesitated, seemingly uneasy, and began again, “For now, I’d like to be sure that we understand your situation so that we can best assist you. The cardinal has instructed me to provide you with all the assistance possible from His Eminency’s offices.”

  Sharkey had met periodically with the monsignor as part of his protective arrangement, or, as he thought of it, payback; however, he’d yet to meet the cardinal. His contact with him had been over the phone or through the intercession of the monsignor. He understood now that this was by design.

  “I appreciate the cardinal’s consideration, Monsignor.”

  Dishes of crumbly Parmesan cheese and rich, marbled red slices of Italian salami were placed on the table. Sharkey’s glass was filled with the deep red Chianti from the monsignor’s bottle. The waiter, an older professional, was deferential to the monsignor but had a more condescending approach toward Sharkey as his eyebrows seemed to arch with disapproval whenever he looked his way.

  “Joseph, let’s look at the menu and order. Then we can discuss our business.” Sharkey realized the monsignor wanted to get this over as soon as possible. He took a deep breath and concealed his annoyance. After all, Petrucceli and his cardinal were his only protection from arrest, extradition and an eternity in a high-security prison in Colorado.

  The waiter reappeared, smiling and speaking to Petrucceli in Italian.

  Once they finished ordering, Petrucceli got back to business.

  “Joseph, all of your problems stem from the murder of this Greek-American, Alex Nicholas, and the subsequent kidnapping of his younger brother, Michael, by your associates, who, if my memory serves me correctly, are named Morty, Nicky Bats and Lump. You know, you don’t make Italian-Americans look good with all of this difficulty and with these characters. And may I ask again why you found it necessary to have Alex Nicholas murdered?”

  “It was to settle an old score. He screwed his first wife, Greta, out of money in his divorce.”

  “And what has that got to do with you?”

  “She was a good woman. We became close. She’s gone now, but that’s a long story.”

  “I see. And now the brother, Michael? What is your issue with him”?”

  “He’s his brother.”

  “I understand that but why the need to try and eliminate him too?”

  “He screwed Greta out of her rightful share of Alex’s estate.”

  Petrucceli sat back in his chair. “And so, here we are.”

  “Monsignor, I don’t like this situation myself. I’d like to be home in Brooklyn. But I didn’t lecture the Church when you came to me twenty years ago when your high and holy Bishop McCarthy raped those two kids in his parish. I fixed that problem for you. I put myself at risk. Do you think ‘accidents’ like that are created by the good Lord?”

  Petrucceli placed his right hand gently over Sharkey’s arm. “We do not forget our friends. We will fix this problem and have already taken steps in that direction. I have just arranged for the release on bail of your friends with the odd names. They are under our protection at a Bronx parish. They will not represent a threat to you.”

  Sharkey tried to relax, closing his eyes.

  “They’re gonna testify against me.”

  “No, they won’t. Not on this earth, anyway. I promise you.”

  But Sharkey never trusted a promise from a man in a collar.

  “Allora, here are the three problems which we must solve. First, we have to ensure your three little friends do not testify. Second, you have mentioned this cassette tape that was captured with them and is now in the hands of the New York City Police Department. What exactly is on this cassette, Joseph?”

  “Yeah, uh, it alludes to the Michael Nicholas kidnapping.” He cleared his throat and this time looked anywhere in the dining room but at the monsignor. “It may also contain references to some prior, unrelated problems.”

  “Joseph, if I’m going to help you, you have to be truthful with me. What ‘problems’ are on the tape?”

  “I’ve had to help others—just like I helped your bishop—with their … difficulties. There were some other disappearances, you might say, which I arranged. In those cases, I had my men play a tape to the unfortunate soul, wishing him the best in his new life—a personal ‘going away’ card or message.”

  The monsignor rolled his eyes, seemingly to the heavens. “So you recorded such a message for Michael Nicholas, too?”

  “Yes.” He paused, put his lips together, rolling them over. “We have to get that cassette tape or I’m screwed.”

  “I cannot begin to tell you how ridiculous all this sounds. Nevertheless, we will handle this problem. I am sure we can find friends within that police station who have access to the evidence room.”

  “I’m grateful to you and the cardinal. You mentioned three problems. What is the third?”

  “The third is that we must eliminate Alex’s brother, Michael.”

  For the first time since he entered Dal Bolognese, Joseph Sharkey was a happy man.

  “I’m glad to see you finally got religion, Monsignor.”

  “Brace yourself, Mr. Sharkey—we are in for a bloody few weeks.”

  Chapter 5

  Westport, Connecticut

  Michael opened the heavy oak door to his wine cellar. The customized oak shelves containing hundreds of bottles filled the walls from the floor to the ceiling, casting a soft greenish glow throughout the room. A big, rectangular, black mahogany table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by eight red leather upholstered chairs. It was a beautiful and cozy space.

  Soon, Michael thought, Samantha would understand his recent obse
ssion with this room. Yet, despite his excitement, he felt an odd sensation, more like he was entering a tomb.

  Samantha was the only person he told about what he’d discovered on Alex’s hidden laptop nine months ago. And tonight, he would finally reveal to her the miracle that he still didn’t fully understand; a miracle that sometimes made him wonder if his life was a dream from which he would awaken.

  He sat down and reached under the dining table, pressing a switch hidden on the underside. The recessed ceiling lights slowly dimmed, and a large projection screen began to lower itself from the ceiling simultaneously, unfurling and covering a full wall of wine shelves.

  Michael swung open a series of wine shelves, disclosing a sleek, aluminum Apple computer connected to a series of black boxes taking up nearly a third of the wall hidden behind the shelves. Small blue indicator lights were blinking like Christmas lights on the boxes.

  Michael began typing on the Mac’s silver and white keyboard. He clicked on the icon, a tiny, gold, ancient Greek cross. As he did, he thought of Bob Dylan’s song, “Knocking on Heaven’s Door.”

  As Samantha entered the cellar, Michael watched her eyes widen, scanning the room.

  “Oh my God, Michael, what is this? I know you had all this work done down here—but why do I get the feeling that this is more than just converting our wine cellar into a home theater or whatever I’m looking at?”

  “Just keep watching,” Michael said as the lights dimmed and a blue color filled the giant screen. Michael had plugged his laptop cable into an outlet under the table and was typing in a password.

  Suddenly, the blue screen changed. A series of broken images, faces, flashed across the screen; some looked familiar to Samantha.

  “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

  He said nothing, his attention focused on the laptop keyboard as he continued to type.

  Samantha stared at the screen as her former brother-in-law, Alex Nicholas, appeared, larger than life, on the screen.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “Alex is dead. What is this?”

  Alex, looking tan and healthy, if not fully alive, stared back at them both, smiling, his face lifelike and animated as though this were simply a video conference coming from another location, not the afterlife.

  Michael wondered how Alex could possibly have gotten a tan, a thought so bizarre he decided to just let it go.

  Samantha looked at the screen and called out, “Alex? Alex?” She turned away from the screen and looked directly at Michael, “Who—what—is this?”

  Alex looked out from the screen, his expressions just as they had been in life. He appeared to be amused, as he so often used to be while watching Samantha. His eyes followed her. “Why’s she talking about me as though I’m not here? Is this your worst nightmare, Samantha? By the way, when are you finally going to invite me to dinner, especially since I’m right downstairs now? Where the hell am I? Is this your wine cellar? You know I don’t like wine. I hope you’ve got some Dewar’s in here somewhere—”

  Samantha turned away from the screen, her face appeared stricken, she spoke right over Alex, as though he wasn’t present. Michael could no longer hear him as he turned his attention to her.

  “I don’t understand this. It’s unbelievable, and not in a good way. Something’s wrong here; this isn’t right. I just can’t believe what I’m seeing. Actually, I don’t know what I’m seeing.”

  “It’s no trick. Those guys that looked like they were teenagers who were working down here last month were actually big-deal tech consultants. They improved what Alex’s tech guys had set up before he was murdered; it’s a breakthrough combination of artificial intelligence, computer imaging, and voice replication and recognition technology. Samantha, you and I are the only ones who really know about this. I only let the guys who worked on it see the parts they needed to deal with.”

  Alex began to laugh, his image filling the screen with a wry smile. “I may be dead, but I can hear everything you’re saying. I hate it when you talk as though I’m not in the room.”

  Samantha looked back at Alex, then back at Michael. “I’m sorry, Michael. But I’m not about to talk to this … whatever it is,” she said as she pointed to the screen.

  Alex grinned, his eyes following Samantha. “You know, this isn’t that much different from real life, Samantha. You barely talked to me anyway.”

  Michael, addressing both Samantha and Alex, said, “Listen, this is a lot—for both of you.”

  Samantha looked at Michael, her voice now rising to nearly a scream. “For both of us? Michael, are you crazy? There’s only you and me in this room. You, me, and a pile of computer equipment.”

  Michael put his hands out, both palms up, as though to say, stay calm. “OK, just hear me out, let me finish. This technology is moving so fast.” He turned to face Alex. “You’ve been enhanced with new vision and facial expression analysis software, more powerful than what you originally had installed—before, you know, you died. This will—supposedly—allow you to read other people’s faces and then, to some degree at least, understand more than just the words that they speak. And, we’ve added emotion-sensing software.”

  Alex looked lost. “I wish I had that when I was alive,” he said.

  “Yeah, it’ll be good for you. Maybe with that, your next marriage will last a little longer. We’ve also installed Bluetooth wireless capability. The consultants aren’t even sure what it’ll do here, but they said it’s worth experimenting with. We haven’t had a chance to play with that yet.”

  “Christ, I’m worn out already. Next thing you’ll be sending me to some fucking gym to work out.”

  Michael looked straight into Alex’s eyes. “To be honest, we don’t know exactly what you’re capable of at this point. It’s a little frightening. With all the data you had loaded in while you were alive, and the new programs we’ve added—along with all this powerful new equipment—we’re in unchartered waters.”

  Samantha stood still, looking paralyzed as she watched Michael and Alex parrying back and forth. She shook her head and turned to leave the room. “I’m sorry. This is too much for me.”

  “I’ll be up in just a minute,” Michael said as Samantha disappeared out of the cellar and up the stairs. “Let me finish up with Alex,” he said now to the empty room and to his virtual brother on the screen. Michael understood the near-comedy of his words.

  Alex looked at Michael. “She’s not my wife, but you’ve got to loosen her up.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Michael said. “You’ve got two—three now—ex-wives and you want to be my new marriage counselor?”

  “I only have two ex-wives.”

  “Oh, you’re right, just two divorces—and now you have a widow.”

  “A widow doesn’t count as an ex-wife.” Alex looked serious.

  “For most guys that die, it does.”

  “Well then, maybe I don’t have a widow. How many widows’ husbands do you talk to?”

  “Donna thinks she’s a widow.”

  “She wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box.”

  “That’s true. Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have married her.” As he said it, Michael wondered whether he’d gone too far. Nevertheless, Alex seemed to be comfortable with the give and take. Michael decided to leave his brother’s choice of wives alone for now.

  For a moment, everything seemed to stand still. Alex’s facial expression changed; he looked serious, if not strained. “Michael, I’m worried about you.”

  “About me? What do you mean?”

  “Well, we know that Sharkey was behind my murder. He’s the one that hired that kid to shoot me, and he had those three idiots try and make you a concrete anchor at the bottom of Flushing Bay. He still needs to get rid of you. I told you, this guy Frank is on his way to kill you. I’m trying but I can’t get anything more on him. How’s your security?”

  “Not good, not yet anyway. Don’t forget, I have a ‘day job’ too. How do I explain to the
Gibraltar corporate people that I need bodyguards without bringing more attention to this side of my life?”

  “They already know about the attempts on your life, and they assume it’s because you’re my brother. They don’t know you’re running my business now. Have the cops said anything about capturing Sharkey?”

  “Not really; there’s all kinds of warrants out for his arrest, but they’re not sure where in the world he is now. I can’t exactly tell them that you’re sure he’s somewhere in Rome.”

  “Well, he is and well-protected and hidden by the Vatican. I can’t get his exact location. He’s been silent lately. “

  “We’ve got to find him. As long as he’s alive, Samantha and I will never be safe.”

  “And what do we do when we find him?”

  “We turn him over to the authorities.”

  “What greater authority is there—especially in Rome—than the Church?”

  “I thought you were an atheist.”

  “Yeah, atheism is easy when you’re young. Not so much when you’re dead though.”

  “You’ve got a point there.” But Michael was just beginning to digest Alex’s comment.

  “I wish I was still in Queens. But this isn’t bad …” Michael noticed that Alex’s eyes looked away, “…although I’m not crazy about being in the basement or whatever you call this.”

  “It’s a wine cellar.” Michael said.

  “Yeah, but it’s still underground. I went to a lot of trouble not to be in the ground.”

  ___________

  As he came up the stairs from the basement, Michael wondered what would await him. He knew Samantha was upset. He could see the bedroom door was open—which was, perhaps, a good sign. But before he reached the door, he could hear her voice; she was on the phone. He paused several feet away but out of sight, and listened.

  “Angie, I am so scared. You won’t believe what I just saw in our basement.”

  Angie Fanelli was Samantha’s best friend.

  “No, Ang, I didn’t finally check the freezer and find the body of that nanny I fired several years ago. This is serious.”