Death Never Sleeps (14 page)

“Jesus, Fletcher. My car turns up at the bottom of the Hudson, someone breaks into our house and terrorizes us and then calls your cops on a scanner, my brother and Russell are both murdered, I’ve got a Mafia psycho pointing a gun at my balls and demanding eight hundred thousand dollars by Wednesday, and I’m dealing with my sister-in-law who’s either a nut job or scary, most likely both.”

“Imagine what next week could bring,” Fletcher said while sipping his cocktail.

Michael let the remark sink in. “The thought of next week gives me a strange mix of fear—and a rush of adrenalin.”

“I hope it’s more fear. Listen, Westport isn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, but between my time here as chief and my days with the NYPD, I’ve seen a lot of shit. This isn’t good, Michael. You’re getting caught up in something neither of us understand at this point. Something dangerous and violent. The city cops told me they think the dead guy in your car was some thug the mob must have knocked off for some reason they don’t yet know. You didn’t recognize him though, right?”

“No, I never saw the guy before.” Michael couldn’t get the images the police showed him last night of the dead body out of his mind. “The cops said they were pretty sure he was shot and killed somewhere else and then placed in the car before they rolled it off the pier. But the other crazy thing is that my car broke down at the cemetery on Monday. Some guy who I first thought was chasing me winds up approaching Skinny Lester and me in the car and offers to have it towed to a nearby garage in Astoria. Five minutes later, the tow truck shows up. I thought,
Wow, that was fucking fast
.”

“The police checked with the garage—they claim they never towed your car in and didn’t know a thing about it,” Fletcher said.

“Why would they bother to dump the car in the river anyway?” Michael asked, his mind replaying the day in the cemetery.

“Who knows? Could be they thought it would make it harder for the cops to get any fingerprints or evidence. Or maybe they wanted to send you a message. Sometimes these guys don’t act logically or have reasons we’d understand. They may have had a few to drink or were a little nuts, and they felt like doing it.”

A smiling Tiger appeared at the table, jolting Michael’s attention back to the world in front of him. “Drinks are on me, guys. Michael, I hear you had a rough week. You better get Samantha back home. You’re dangerous home alone. Remember that movie?” Tiger was laughing.

“Tiger,” Michael protested, “that was about a little kid left home alone at Christmas.”

“Well, it’s just about December, and you’re like a little kid.” Fletcher and even Michael had to laugh.

The evening progressed over Michael’s martinis and Fletcher’s manhattans. Michael recounted in great detail the amazing events of the past week, including Skinny Lester’s revelation at the cemetery.

“He said he saw Alex having a conversation with himself on his own computer. He said Alex had Russell do some computer stuff for him. I’m thinking it might have to do with artificial intelligence. But I doubt Alex even knew what that was, and when the police scoured his computers, they didn’t find anything unusual.”

“Your brother was definitely a character. It was probably just one of those new apps or games.”

“Most likely, but there’s more. At Alex’s funeral, I received an e-mail with his picture and some saying about death—which then disappeared. It just dissolved. I couldn’t find it again in my e-mails. Then at the wake, I got one of my brother’s famous e-mails announcing the death of some celebrity, like he used to send me when he was alive—and it came from his own e-mail address. Also, at the cemetery, I received a partial instant message that also appeared to be from Alex. Plus, my e-mail account at Gibraltar has been under an unusual but sophisticated attack. Then, listen to this: I’m having dinner here at Mario’s the other night, and I receive a notification on my BlackBerry that some lost Apple device has been located.”

Fletcher scratched his chin. “Okay, that’s a lot of weird stuff. I don’t know—”

Michael interrupted, “It gets weirder. The message about the lost device gave its location; it was at Saint Michael’s cemetery.”

“Maybe they buried your brother with his iPhone?”

“He didn’t have an iPhone. He just used some basic cell phone that Donna’s now using. I know because Donna called me on his phone recently—long after Alex was buried.”

“Okay, I admit all this computer stuff is definitely unusual, but from my experience, there’s a lot of odd things that go on. Sometimes you get hacked, and then all of a sudden shit happens. But, you’re lucky, no one’s gotten hold of your credit card or bank information.”

“I suppose so.” Michael wasn’t convinced, although Fletcher’s explanation sounded plausible.

“Listen, Michael, let’s get back to your involvement in your brother’s business. You’re in deep here. You’ve jumped into a world that you know little about. This isn’t a Fortune 500 boardroom. These guys play in a different sandbox. You can get hurt, physically. Can’t you get yourself out of this whole thing? I mean, what do you want to do?” Michael could see the expression of deep concern on Fletcher’s face.

“I can’t abandon my brother’s wife. How’s she going to work out of this mess? And I’ve known Fat and Skinny Lester since I was a little kid. They can’t deal with this on their own. They’ll wind up dead or broke,” Michael said. “And I’m already on someone’s radar due to this whole thing.”

“Okay, for now at least, let’s take it one step at a time. You’ve got to get a few big things done. First, help these two Lesters collect the remaining money that’s due your brother, then find a way to either pay off or deal with Sharkey—by Wednesday—and finally, figure out who’s messing with you now. And that may or may not be the same people who had your brother murdered. Right?”

“I think you’ve summarized the situation perfectly,” Michael said. “Here’s what I’ve been thinking. I could just ‘loan’ Alex’s business enough money—it’d be three or four hundred grand—out of my own savings to pay off Sharkey on Wednesday and then get it back when Lester collects the rest of the money owed.”

“What if they don’t collect the balance?” Fletcher said, adding, “Samantha will have your head.”

“There’s more, Fletcher. We believe Alex stashed a couple of million dollars somewhere in his house. Russell built secret hiding places for him. Of course, now they’re both dead. Donna’s been trying to find out where these secret compartments might be, but she hasn’t found anything yet. She’s even ripped up some of the construction or improvements that she knows Russell made in the house. Nothing has turned up.”

“Are you sure Donna hasn’t found any of Alex’s money in the house?” Fletcher was skeptical.

“I can’t know for sure, but I highly doubt it. One of the reasons she’s moved back to the house is to stay close to it and try to figure out where the cash is hidden. I think Donna’s a manipulator, and I’m sure she’s a good liar, but I don’t think she’d deceive me. At least not right now. She needs me.”

“I have to tell you, Michael, I’m almost in shock here. This just isn’t like you. I mean, you’re almost like a Boy Scout. Most normal people, just seeing this guy Russell
literally
nailed dead, would be running the other way. What’s going on with you?”

“Fletcher, I’m not exactly sure myself. I know that I’m doing this for all the things I’ve said already, for my brother and Donna and all that. But there’s more. I can’t exactly understand it myself. As crazy as it sounds, I feel like this is something that I
want
to do. This business, I mean. And it’s more than just the business; it’s also something about the life or some of the people. There’s an odd attraction here, but I’ll be honest, I’m not sure exactly what it is. But for now at least, I’ve got to at least keep my commitment to Donna.”

“You realize that, at some point, you cross over the line legally.” Michael could see that Fletcher was putting on his law enforcement hat.

“At what point is that exactly, Fletcher?”

“Certainly when you either take money out for yourself or put your own money in, it’s a problem. Also, anytime you engage in bookmaking or loan-sharking, you’ve crossed over the line.”

“What about if I’m simply collecting money owed to my brother or paying off his debts?” Michael asked.

“Jesus, Michael. When did you become a criminal attorney? You probably are in trouble if you pay or collect and you had—or should have had—knowledge that they represented illegal activities. I think any reasonable person who knows about your meeting with Sharkey with a goddamned gun pointed at your balls under the table is going to assume that you know you’re in the middle of illegal activities. Not to mention a few murders happening all around you.”

“Is there any other risk?” Michael continued to try to evaluate where the week had taken his formerly respectable, traditional life.

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“That you wind up like your brother.”

Chapter 26

New York City

November 23, 2009

“Y
ou’re probably wondering why I called you. Your brother was more than a client to me. I don’t want to hurt his wife or family in any way, but Alex told me some things I think you’ll want to know. I didn’t know who else to tell.”

Jennifer Walsh was beautiful. In her early thirties, with high cheekbones, a permanent tan, and blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, she wore tight-fitting designer jeans that accentuated her long legs. Jennifer’s turquoise-blue eyes competed for attention with her perfectly aligned breasts that jutted out beneath her thin red sweater, the point of her nipples visible through the fabric.

Michael had seen those breasts before. They were the same ones proudly displayed by each of Alex’s three wives. Dr. Simonetti’s handiwork was hard to miss, particularly on Jennifer.

“Michael, thank you so much for meeting me here. It was nice of you to suggest lunch.” He caught the familiar scent of Chanel No. 5 as it wafted in the air around Jennifer.

Michael had no idea when Jennifer called him earlier in the day that she was someone who would turn every male—and female—head in the restaurant as she strolled by the bar and approached his table. He was curious as to why Jennifer wanted to meet with him. She was Alex’s hairdresser, or “barber” as Alex preferred to call her. But Jennifer was anything but just a barber. She worked for one of the highest profile hairdressing salons in downtown Manhattan. Her clientele included some of the hottest, most glamorous starlets. Alex was her only male client.

“It’s great to meet you. I hope this place was convenient for you. It’s one of my favorites.”

Mia Dona was a good-looking restaurant, highly stylized yet comfortable, on Manhattan’s East Fifty-Eighth Street. Jennifer ordered a glass of champagne. Michael followed with a glass of Riesling, partly so Jennifer wouldn’t feel awkward drinking alone—not that it appeared she would.

Jennifer proposed a brief toast. “Here’s to Alex, a good guy who didn’t want anyone to know it.” They clicked their glasses and both took a good swig.

Jennifer looked directly and intensely into Michael’s eyes as if to emphasize her point. “Alex and I were lovers. We have—had—been lovers for over three years. Your brother could be a tough son of a bitch. But I never met a man with a bigger heart. He concealed it well. He was complicated, but I loved him and I know he loved me.”

Although Jennifer also had a hardened exterior that she showed to the world, she appeared to Michael to be vulnerable underneath. Maybe, Michael thought, it was that vulnerability that appealed to Alex, in addition to Jennifer’s stunning looks. But knowing Alex and now watching Jennifer, inhaling her scent and feeling the gaze of her powerful blue eyes, Michael concluded that her personality may have only played a secondary role in his brother’s attachment to her.

Michael was unsure where this was going. Was she looking for money? Or were there more problems or unpleasant surprises coming? He continued to sip his wine and noticed Jennifer had already finished her glass of champagne. He ordered another round, figuring they both could benefit by breaking the ice a little quicker.

“Michael, first, I want you to know there is nothing that I want from you. I loved your brother. He had actually taken very good care of me already. There’s nothing that I need. I’m successful on my own. I make unbelievable money doing hair. I just want to do the right thing by Alex. I know he trusted you.”

“Thanks.” Michael could feel himself begin to relax, a result, he figured, of her words and his second glass of wine. “I really didn’t know what to expect, but I can see you’re a good person.” Michael realized that he had never thought about whether his brother trusted him. He wasn’t yet sure about Jennifer Walsh, but she had just made him feel pretty good.

“Michael, I was more than just your brother’s girlfriend or something. I mean he would come to my apartment just about every night, for hours. Most of the time, he’d stay until around three or four in the morning and then go home. Some nights he just stayed. I don’t know how Donna never figured it out. I’ve never met her, but she must have been blind.”

“Alex and his wives always seemed to have a combative type of relationship,” Michael said.

She smiled; her perfect bright-white teeth and blue eyes reminded Michael of a cheerleader he managed to date once. “Alex loved women, especially beautiful ones. He collected wives, but they were like a separate species to him.”

Michael sat, trying to absorb Jennifer’s stream of perceptions, surprised by her insights and the apparent complexity of her personality.

Jennifer broke out into a laugh. “I’ll never forget one night, he was half in the bag, and he looked at me, kind of staring into my eyes, and then he called me his ‘muse.’ I said to him, ‘
Muse
, where did you get that word? It wasn’t an Alex word, if you know what I mean. He said he’d just seen a Woody Allen movie. That wasn’t Alex either. Donna must have made him go. Alex was a riot; sometimes, at least.”