by E. J. Simon
“Frank, when you say, ‘Mrs. Nicholas here,’ what exactly do you mean? Are you with her?”
“Yes, precisely. Steele left Mrs. Nicholas passed out in the bar at this hotel. I could not leave her and walk out myself. I took a special room here and helped her up. I have carefully placed her in the bed and called for the hotel doctor. He says she is good, she will recover, she needs rest. So, now she is resting. All is well.”
“Frank, am I missing something? What are you doing there, with her? Why did you get involved with this?”
“She would have been harmed. The authorities would have been called. It would have brought attention to all of these people. It would then have complicated our own plans. Do you understand?” Cortese knew this was only his own rationalization, but he also knew it actually made sense.
“Yes, Frank. I think I understand but, you know what you have to do this weekend, don’t you? Your assignment has nothing to do with her—“
Cortese grimaced as he looked at Samantha Nicholas. He whispered into the phone, “Yes, Dominick. I know. Of course. There is no problem. I have watched her. She is a good woman.”
“Frank, think about this before you answer, but are you possibly attracted to this woman?”
He looked again at her as she slept. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But he knew Petrucceli was now nervous, waiting for his answer.
“Tonight I save her life so that on Sunday she can be a widow. She is too good for this Michael Nicholas. But, a woman such as this, they are not drawn to men who live the life I do. I understand I cannot afford the luxury of such attractions except, of course, from a distance. I love many such things, my friend, but always from a distance. It is where I am, unfortunately, most comfortable.”
“Frank, it is late and you are lonely. This is the time to listen to the voice in your head, not the one speaking to you from your heart.” Cortese could hear Petrucceli’s deep sigh, “Frank, you must leave. The morning light will bring clarity to what the night conceals.”
Cortese closed his eyes. “Very well, life is complicated and delicate.”
Chapter 65
New York City
Samantha Nicholas woke up to a splitting headache and the persistent ring of the telephone near her bed. She was still half-asleep but as she listened, the words gave her a fright.
“A visitor is on his way up, Mrs. Nicholas.”
Before she could ask who it was, they had hung up. Who is coming? How do they know my name? She recognized the room; she and Michael had stayed at the Surrey many times over the years. But how did she wind up here? She remembered sitting in the bar with Sindy Steele, the terrible conversation, and then … the drowsiness. Yes, she remembered feeling drugged. The rest was a blur.
She heard the click of the electronic lock on her door. She recognized his voice immediately, “Samantha, it’s me. Are you OK?”
She picked up the first object she could get her hands on. The heavy Baccarat crystal vase flew by, narrowly missing Michael’s head, and smashed into the wall behind him, shattering the formerly fine French crystal into a hundred pieces.
Her thick blonde hair matted, still in her clothes from last evening, she knew she looked crazed but with the effects of the drugs wearing off and seeing Michael in front of her, she felt energized with adrenalin—and anger.
“How could you let that nutcase woman come near me? How could you?” she screamed.
“I had no idea you were seeing her. I’ve been crazy since last night when I couldn’t reach you. I’ve been searching and calling all over. Fletcher had the NYPD helping. Finally, Sindy told me she had met you for a drink last night.”
“Met me for a drink? Is cyanide a drink? Leaving aside everything else that we have discussed—and I don’t mean to minimize your relationship with her, I’ll deal with that again later—even you must realize this woman is dangerous. Do you understand this? She drugged me, Michael. She called my cell and said we had to meet, so I met her downstairs, we had a drink and then, all of a sudden, I was passing out. The next thing I know, I’m waking up alone in this hotel room. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know where to begin, Samantha. Everything’s just gotten crazy, it’s all out of control. I know that. I had no idea she’d contacted you or I would have stopped you.”
“You haven’t slept with her again have you?”
Michael didn’t answer.
“Oh my God. I must be crazy. You had sex with her after our discussion, our agreement, just a few days ago?”
“Samantha, I’m so sorry. I know it was ridiculously wrong but—”
Samantha stopped him. “But what? But what, Michael? What could you possibly say after ‘but’?”
“She’s a cold-blooded killer. I’m afraid of what she might have done if I broke everything off with her.” He watched for her reaction, “Samantha, she could kill either one—or both of us.”
Samantha put her face in her hands, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Was she trying to kill me?”
“I don’t know. I’m honestly not sure what she was up to. She said she was sitting with you—and someone came in and then she had to leave. She said you were upset and drunk—and maybe on drugs—and so she was going to leave anyway but then someone entered the bar. This guy she said had been following us—her—and she had to take off.”
“Is that how you found out where I was?”
“Actually, no. I called her after I found out, to see what she knew. Until then, I had no idea you’d met with her.”
“How did you find out then?”
Michael hesitated. She had a feeling he was going to say something crazy—and he did.
“Alex—”
“Oh, no. No. You can’t be serious. No, Michael, Alex is dead. You’ve been talking to a computer. Don’t you understand that? Please, tell me that you do.”
“I asked Alex to help me find you.”
Ignoring her, he said, “He told me where you were and to get to Sindy and so I called her right away. She then told me what had happened and where she left you. I then called the hotel, and some of our friends at the front desk here told me that they knew you were here. They were very nervous about disclosing it. They probably thought you were having an affair with this guy or something.”
“What guy? If I knew who it was, I would.”
“They finally said that a stranger, a man, checked you in, paid cash for the room and left shortly after he brought you up. They said you were passed out.”
“Oh my God. Some guy we don’t know got me the room and put me to bed? Who could it have been?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was the guy Sindy saw at the bar and was worried about enough to cause her to leave.”
“Michael, what do you mean, you don’t know? How can you not know? How can you know part of the story but not the rest of it? Didn’t you ask her?”
“She’s not a normal person, Samantha. She doesn’t explain things. There’s always a lot of mystery surrounding her.”
“Michael, I thought we had already talked this through. I believed you when you said you were going to end this with her. Not having sex would have been a goddamned logical place to start, don’t you think?”
Chapter 66
New York City
Michael watched as both Lesters eagerly indulged in I Sodi’s thinly layered cheese-and-meat lasagna while he savored the homemade linguine prepared with butter, grated pecorino cheese and pepper. The intimate, dark and cozy West Village restaurant was one of his favorites.
He marveled how, roughly a year since Alex’s death, the conversation amongst the three of them seemed to flow so easily. And he wondered if Skinny and Fat Lester were now as much at ease with him as they had been for so many years with Alex.
“Did Alex ever involve Donna in the business?” Michael already knew the answer but his plan was to lay the groundwork for Samantha’s involvement in the business.
“No, Donna was Alex’s wife.”
; “Lester,” Skinny Lester interjected, “I think Michael’s aware of that.” Then, turning to Michael, he said, “You’ve got to remember, Michael, Alex never married the types of women you’d bring into a business, unless it was a strip club. All three of them, they were great-looking, and if there was anything missing, he had that plastic surgeon on Park Avenue take care of it.”
“The reason I’m asking is that I might have Samantha get more involved with us. You know, to help entertain some of our clients, maybe hang around the offices sometimes during the day when I’m not around. She’s a good business person and she’s smart.”
Fat and Skinny Lester exchanged a quick glance. Skinny Lester, raising one eyebrow slightly, leaned in closer to Michael. “Michael,” he was nearly whispering, “How’s this going to work with The Terminator?”
Michael couldn’t help but smile at the endearment, “You mean Sindy?”
“Yeah, we mean it as a compliment. You know, for pushing the French guy out the window.” Fat Lester offered. “Guys she doesn’t like seem to die.”
“We’ve known you almost since the day you were born, so I’m going to tell it to you the way I see it,” Skinny Lester said.
“I wouldn’t want to cross her, I’ll tell you that.” Fat Lester added, looking at his cousin to be sure everything was OK.
“Well, listen guys. I trust you, and I trust your judgment on people. There’s going to be a lot happening over the next few weeks. I need for you to keep an eye out for Samantha for me. I want you guys to stay as close to her as you can when I’m not around. At some point—probably right after Labor Day—I’ll be out of the country.”
“Going to our Paris office or with your suits?” which was how Fat Lester referred to Michael’s corporate world.
“A little of everything, including vacation. Samantha will join me in the South of France. But first, I may do some Sharkey fishing …”
Despite the personal turmoil, Michael felt good about Tartarus and now had no doubts about his ability to take his brother’s business to new heights.
“Well, it looks like we’re all making some money. I think we just had a great quarter,” Michael said, adding for Fat Lester’s benefit, “A great three months.”
“Yeah, man,” Skinny Lester said. “I’ve never seen anything like the last several months. And the receipts coming in from Paris are damned good, too. Even with Rosen not paying,”
Fat Lester finally put his fork down and said, “I’ve gotta tell you, I never thought we could make money off the Frenchies. I thought they just read books, drank wine and chased women. The last part’s OK.”
“They’re all so serious.” Skinny Lester added. “I mean they’re snobs. They go to the opera and the theater. That’s all good but they take everything so seriously. I don’t think they have a sense of humor. They don’t ever laugh.”
“I hear they read a lot of those foreign-language books,” Fat Lester chimed in before wiping his dish clean with a piece of bread. “They also watch those foreign films with the subtitles.”
With a perfectly straight face, Skinny Lester said, “Lester, the films with the subtitles are probably American films in English, they’re not really foreign.”
“Yeah, I know. They don’t understand English, other than croissant, which is really just a roll; French fries, which was invented by McDonald’s; and déjà vu, which Yogi Berra made famous.”
Michael and Skinny Lester exchanged a quick, knowing glance. Michael hoped that Fat Lester was indeed smarter than he appeared but feared he wasn’t.
“I saw that look,” Fat Lester said, laughing. It gave Michael hope.
Chapter 67
New York City
Michael heard the all-too-familiar ring of his cell phone. As he reached into his sport coat, he thought of all the life-altering phone calls over the past year that he received while he was dining out, beginning with the one he had with Alex at the exact moment he was shot.
“You know,” he said to the Lesters, “I’m beginning to think I should let some of these calls go. It’s never good news.”
“Michael, some strange things have happened.” Donna hadn’t called Michael in weeks but he could tell by the halting tone, that it was unlikely he would be finishing his linguine.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“I can’t go into it over the phone. It’s has to do with Alex.”
“Donna, what do you mean with Alex? Alex’s gone.” He recognized the irony of that remark coming from him and wondered whether it was the most sensitive thing to say, but Donna wasn’t exactly the most sensitive woman in the world, either. She and Alex actually were a good fit for each other.
“That’s just it. This thing with Alex, you know, we’ve talked about it before, it just doesn’t seem to go away. Father Papadopoulos called. He said he had to tell me something before it was too late.”
“Before it was too late? What does that mean?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know what he meant by that. I wish I did.” Donna said. “You know these priests, they talk in riddles. Everything’s a goddamned mystery.”
“Well, what did he have to say?” Michael said softly, trying to keep Donna from getting too excited.
She continued, “Remember at the cemetery the other day, you must have said to him that, of course, Alex was dead because he, Father Papadopoulos, had seen Alex’s body in the casket before he closed it? And he told you that yes he did?”
“Yes, of course I remember. I was mostly just being sarcastic although I don’t think he realized that. So?” Michael was rolling his eyes.
“So, I’ll tell you so. So, now he tells me that he lied to you.”
“What do you mean, he lied to me?” Michael wondered whether Donna had been drinking.
“Michael, I mean he never saw Alex’s body in the casket. The casket was closed and sealed from the moment it reached the funeral parlor. For all he knew, Jimmy Hoffa was in there. It was highly unusual. He never even saw Alex’s body at the funeral home when he did the blessing those nights. The casket was always closed—and locked.”
“But, wasn’t it your decision that Alex’s casket be closed?” Michael asked while quickly trying to think through the situation.
“Yes, I did request a closed casket. I think that’s what Alex would have wanted, not to have all those people staring at him while he was dead, you know? Your brother was vain—I think he was worried that if some of those young girls he was always chasing after saw him dead, they wouldn’t go out with him anymore. But anyway, Father Papadopoulos told me that he’d been told that even he wasn’t allowed to bless the body with the casket open, you know, in private like they do before the public is allowed in. That they were instructed to not only keep it closed for public viewing but that it was to be permanently sealed once Alex was laid out in it. That, Papadopoulos said, he had never heard of before.”
“And who is they, the ones who ordered this? Whose instructions were they?”
“I don’t know and Father Papadopoulos didn’t seem to know. It must have been someone at the funeral home.”
“And he just called you up out of the blue to tell you this?”
“Yes, that’s when he said he had more to tell me before it was too late.” Donna was now screaming into the phone. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. He said one of us needed to come to the cathedral right away. Michael, this is all too much for me. I hate those churches. I was Jewish until I married your brother. You’ve got to call him and go see him. Right away … please.”
Not wanting to alarm the Lesters, Michael kept his voice low and measured. “OK, don’t worry. I’ll get to him. But did you ask him what he meant by ‘before it’s too late’?”
“No, Michael. I missed that particular point. I don’t really give a shit about the priest or what he meant by that. I’m still trying to figure out where your son-of-a-bitch brother really is these days.”
“I know, I understand, Donna. I was j
ust asking in case he happened to mention it. … Donna, listen to me. Alex is dead.”
As he said it, Michael wondered exactly why he was so sure that his brother was dead. As real as Alex appeared on the laptop, Michael realized that he was no longer the Alex Michael had known, he’d grown, he was more aware of others, more sensitive, his memory was nearly photographic. And wasn’t that the way the artificial intelligence software was designed to work?—or was it simply Alex without booze—an Alex on detox and plenty of sleep. Either way, it was a healthy Alex.
After a silence, Donna, repeated her point, “He never saw Alex’s body. He never saw him dead at all. And, by the way, I keep getting these obscene emails …”
Chapter 68
Rikers Island, New York
As he stood at the prison’s bank of telephones, Hightower was nervous; he had never felt so vulnerable, nor had he ever dressed in orange. Always cocky and sure of himself, he now silently prayed that Richard Perkins would answer the phone. When he heard his boss’ voice, he hoped that his fortunes would soon change.
“Richard, thank you so much for taking my call. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”
“Well, John, I must be honest with you. I just picked up the phone. I didn’t know it was you. In view of the situation, it’s not appropriate that we be speaking to each other.”
Perkins’ smooth Southern baritone voice was always so soothing, so comforting to Hightower. Now, however, it had an unfamiliar, stern, disconcerting edge. “I can’t condone what you’ve done and I’m deeply disappointed.”
“Richard, there’s more to this than it appears. It’s not what you think. You have to hear me out. Please, give me a chance to explain.”
“John, I really don’t want to know any more. I shouldn’t even be speaking with you, under the circumstances.”
“Richard, they’ve frozen all my assets, I can’t even write a check to get out of here.”
“You have an attorney, don’t you?” Perkins was speaking to him as though he was an errant schoolboy.