Death Never Sleeps (16 page)

“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?”

“I understand that—but why didn’t you call and say you were going to come over?” Donna’s facial expression tightened; Michael could see a fire in her eyes.

He was battling to keep his credibility and relationship with his sister-in-law. “I’m worried. Somehow, I’ve taken on this responsibility. This isn’t my world. You know that. What the hell do you expect me to do on Wednesday? The Lesters are trying, but they can only go so far. They’re role players here, not principals. I’m the one hanging out to dry. When I got here tonight, you were gone. I couldn’t wait. I was going to call you on your cell, but to be honest, I just got sidetracked once I got into Alex’s den, looking at all his stuff.”

“Okay, Michael. Fine. I guess I understand. But you know, this is my house. You’re always welcome, but somehow I feel like you intruded by not at least calling. Just call next time.”

“You’re right. I will. I didn’t mean this the way it looks.” Michael wanted to shift the conversation to the money and the laptop sitting almost in front of them. Pointing to the Apple, Michael asked, “Was this Alex’s?”

Donna seemed defensive. “It must have been. I had never seen it before, but when I took Alex’s closet apart, we found it. Alex had obviously hidden it inside a compartment in the woodwork for some reason I can only imagine. The cops haven’t seen it. George offered to help with the carpentry work in Alex’s closet, and after we found it, he tried to figure out the password and user name. So far, no luck. I was hoping to find money, but this is really all we found.”

“I didn’t know you and George got on all that well.” There had always been a lot of tension between Donna and Alex’s son from his marriage to Greta.

“Well,” said Donna, “I guess everyone got shook up when Alex was shot. Evidently, after Russell was murdered, Greta told George to come over and offer his help. She figured I’d need to find out where Alex hid the money. I guess all of his wives knew Alex hid money all over the house. We just never knew exactly where. Only Alex and Russell knew—and neither one of them are talking now. Greta, whom I despise, obviously wanted to make sure she’d know about it when we find any money. But I’ll take any help I can get.”

Michael needed to get the laptop out of the house. “Listen, Donna. Let me take the laptop. I’ve got some real pros back in my office. They can crack anything. Maybe this can tell us where Alex hid the money.”

“Okay, Michael. I have to trust you. I have to trust someone. I’m not as tough as you think, and I feel lost. Go ahead and take it. I didn’t mean to give you a hard time. I just don’t know where to turn or who to turn to. I appreciate all you’ve done. I know this has turned your life upside down.” As she spoke, Donna’s face became flush and her eyes filled with tears—tears Michael had always assumed she was incapable of shedding. It caught him by surprise.

Donna reached out to embrace him in what Michael hoped was a hug based on need and not lust. Donna’s breasts pressed hard against his chest. He wondered if it was intentional. She appeared distraught, yet the press of her breasts implied a different script. His thoughts returned to the delicate lingerie he had handled only minutes ago. Her scent was the same as he had inhaled when touching her lace bra. Michael pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to interrupt the warmth pressing through her fine cashmere sweater. Donna certainly was alluring, but this was not a path he had any intention of pursuing. Worse, Michael thought that he might, on some level, fear her.

“Donna,” Michael said, “everything will be okay. I’m going to help you. I’ve been here so far for you. I’m in too deep now, even if I didn’t want to continue. I’ll get this thing cleaned up, get your money out for you, and get these people off our back so we can move on with our lives.”

As she put her head on his shoulder, Michael was again unsure of the meaning of her gesture. She didn’t speak.

“Donna, by the way, has this laptop been anywhere near Alex’s grave recently?”

She pulled her head back, a look of confusion or surprise on her face. “At Saint Michael’s? What an odd question. No, it hasn’t left the house since we found it in Alex’s closet.”

Chapter 28

Westport, Connecticut

November 24, 2009

“W
here am I?” Alex asked as he stared out, his voice sounding weaker, not as confident as Michael was accustomed to hearing from his brother. For once, Michael thought, Alex sounded tentative, unsure of himself.

“I was going to ask
you
that question, but right now I’m—we’re—sitting in my library at home, in Westport,” Michael said, his voice subdued. “It’s three in the morning. I had to charge the computer; it took a while. Samantha’s upstairs asleep. I haven’t said anything to her about this yet.”

It appeared as though Alex was actually looking around, trying to scan the surroundings from inside the computer screen. “You have a lot of fuckin’ books. Anyway, it’s probably a good idea not to let her know about this too quickly.” Alex seemed to be regaining his footing, Michael thought.

“More important—did you meet with Sharkey yet?”

“No, it’s tomorrow—actually, tonight at eight, at Luger’s, just like you said. I couldn’t wait though; I had to contact you again to be sure I didn’t just dream this whole thing.”

“You mean like I said in that e-mail at my funeral: ‘Life is a dream, death is waking up’? You liked that shit? You didn’t think I could come up with this, did you?”

“Listen, who would believe anyone could come up with this? But what is this? I mean, Alex, is this really you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? What the hell do you think I mean? Are you just a bunch of computer software that was made up of who you were, or is this the same Alex who used to coach my baseball teams—the one who died? Are you two separate things, or are you the same person, or what?”

“What do you think, Michael? Do I look and sound like I’m a piece of software?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that, I don’t know. I guess my question is, are the two of you connected?”

“Michael, everything is connected. You’ll learn that … someday. It’s complicated. Too complicated to explain to you now. You’ll see. I promise you—one day, you’ll see.”

Michael noticed the red low-power warning light had reappeared and was blinking. “It looks like this laptop is running out of juice again. It took hours to charge it even enough to just turn it on. I couldn’t wait for it to get to a decent power level.”

“Michael, as you know now, this is no ordinary laptop. It’s got so much stuff loaded into it that uses a lot of fuckin’ power. That’s also why it weighs so much. Since it was so drained, you’ll need to charge it for a full day.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Alex. I’m really happy about all this. It just takes a while to understand what’s happened.”

“You better shut it off now. Do exactly what I told you tomorrow night.”

“Okay—” Michael said as reached for the “power-off” button. But he could see Alex begin to speak again.

“I know this is hard to understand, especially for someone as smart as you are, Michael. But what you see is real. And, before you go, there’s one more thing I want you to know.”

“What’s that?” Michael answered.

Alex looked straight ahead, his face expressionless, yet Michael felt as though their eyes had locked together. “Your life will never be the same again.”

Chapter 29

Brooklyn, New York

November 25, 2009

A
t eight at night, Michael and Fat Lester pulled up in Michael’s new black BMW 740i to the front of the Peter Luger’s Steakhouse on Broadway in an old, dilapidated section of Brooklyn. Michael immediately caught the eye of John, the valet, an older man who had worked there forever. Although the valet charge was five dollars, Michael handed him a twenty, which ensured that his car would stay right in front of the restaurant.