by E. J. Simon
Mr. Nicholas, sixty, was a popular figure in the neighborhood and often dined at Grimaldi’s, a local restaurant and bar he once owned. Despite his reputation as the head of one of the largest illegal gambling operations in the city, he was beloved by locals and respected by the many police officers who frequented the restaurant. “He was a tough guy with a big heart,” one officer at the scene said. He was known to often help people who had fallen on hard times or were going through crises such as drugs.
According to a police spokesman, the murder appeared to have the earmarks of a professional “hit,” although the motive remains unknown.
Nicholas is survived by his third wife, Donna, his son George, and his brother Michael Nicholas, the chief executive officer of Gibraltar Financial, a Fortune 500 corporation based in New York City.
It was three years ago, but it may as well have been last night. The loss seared his insides like a hot knife going through him…despite what he knew he’d see on his computer in the next few minutes.
He had known Alex longer than any other person in his life. They were quite different personalities and, due to Alex’s quite illegal activities, Michael had kept a certain distance from his brother. Although the words were never uttered during their forty years together, they loved each other. It didn’t need to be said.
He tucked the article back into his briefcase, turned around in his sleek white leather Eames desk chair, and gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his fortieth-floor corner office. He watched the ribbon of rush hour traffic, a line of taillights stretching up Madison Avenue as far as he could see. Soon it would be time to go.
Interrupting his thoughts, Karen DiNardo, his devoted, long-time assistant appeared by his desk holding out an envelope and a manila file folder with an inch-thick stack of neatly fastened pages inside.
“Here are your airline tickets, I printed them out, and the latest research I put together for you on artificial intelligence. Your car to JFK is waiting downstairs and your bags have already arrived at the King George Hotel. Don’t forget your passport and remember, Athens is seven hours ahead of New York time.” She eyed Michael suspiciously as she checked her watch, “Don’t you think you need to get going?”
“Yes, I’ll be on my way in five minutes. Is there anything big that’s new in the AI file?”
“You’ll have to decide for yourself when you read it. It looks like pretty soon there won’t be anything that artificial intelligence won’t be able to do better than humans, except maybe sex. And, now that I think of it, maybe not even that.”
“That’s good to know, thanks for sharing,” Michael said, sarcastically, as he loosened his tie.
“Seriously though, the big question appears to be whether artificial intelligence will ever be able to create or duplicate consciousness, your inner life, your awareness, in short, a person’s mind. But I don’t want to take all the fun out of your reading material.”
Yet Michael already knew the answer.
“I’m sure one day, when you’re ready, you’ll tell me what this obsession with AI is all about. I know it must have something to do with your late brother since it was right after he…passed…that you began asking me to do this research for you.”
Michael nodded and smiled before his thoughts returned to the trip ahead. “There’s one more thing I need to do.”
“Okay, but don’t push it. Traffic to JFK is never good this time of day.”
As DiNardo retreated to her own office, closing the thick glass door behind her, Michael pulled out his laptop and, as he done so many times over the past three years, clicked onto the gold Byzantine Orthodox icon of the ancient cross and typed in the secret password. Almost instantly, the image appeared, a face looking remarkably like his own but ten years older looked back at him.
The voice, too, was harsher, rougher, gravelly, with a more pronounced Queens accent than his own. But the similarity was unmistakable.
“Don’t get on that plane.”