Alex looked around the restaurant, silently counting the number of police officers. “They’re all big shots now—detectives, narcs, captains. I knew them when they were on the beat, in their uniforms. I treat people well. I play by certain rules. No drugs, no dealing. And I’ve never hurt anyone—not seriously anyway.”
“You just scare the shit out of them.” Maria giggled.
“Sometimes that’s the only way I can get paid, you know?”
“What I know, Alex, is that underneath this tough guy is the nicest person I have ever known.” Maria reached over the table and caressed his cheek.
He turned away, gave a sideways smirk, and with his best touch of sarcasm said, “Well, you don’t know that many people.”
Maria rolled her eyes.
“You know what? Maybe I’m feeling pretty good tonight.” He was finally smiling.
Alex turned back to his dinner, and Maria signaled the server for another round of drinks. He felt a chill run through him as a cold draft swept through the restaurant. He looked up in time to see the front door closing and a young man wearing a bright blue Mets cap moving, hesitantly, toward the bar.
Chapter 3
Whitestone, Queens, New York
6:10 p.m.
L
uke Burnett knew he was a long way from his home in Greenville, South Carolina. Although Grimaldi’s was just a local Queens neighborhood bar and restaurant, Luke didn’t fit in. His blue jeans were too baggy for his tall but skinny frame. The Mets cap was too new. He felt like a redneck or, worse, a hillbilly. Luke looked around the bar. He was surrounded by tough-looking hefty guys, all seemingly in black leather jackets, talking, shouting, or arguing. They spoke English, yet their New York accents were foreign to Luke. No one was as thin or as slight as he was. Even the women looked tougher. This gritty, blue-collar section of Queens was nothing like Greenville.
Luke’s mind was spinning in all directions. He was nervous and insecure, yet excited about the people he had met in New York and the turn his life had taken.
He thought about his last meeting yesterday with the mysterious man who had now become his employer. He recalled that when he asked this strange, dark man whom he had come to trust for the reason behind his assignment, he was told, “When you find the right woman, Luke, you’ll do things, things you might not have done before. Someday, you’ll understand what
obsession
means.”
As he scanned the dining area, Luke recognized Alex Nicholas seated at a table twenty feet away, and a woman was sitting opposite him. Luke could only see her from the back, but his eyes caught a glimpse of her long black hair and well-formed bare shoulders. She worked out, he thought. Any other time, he would have just stared at those shoulders until someone gave him a dirty look or the guy with her hit him hard in the face.
He felt sick. Everything was moving too fast. His heart was racing, and he needed to sit down quickly to steady his shaking legs.
“What’ll ya have, buddy?” asked the bartender. It sounded like an echo to Luke. He was facing away from the bar, taking in the room, stealing a quick glance at Alex’s table in the process.
Luke checked his back right pants pocket and could feel the reassuring bulge of his wallet.
For the first time I have real money,
he thought.
I’ve got a fucking job
. He felt a rush of excitement, of energy, like a drug racing through his entire body.
He heard the bartender saying, “Hey, fella,” then felt the room closing in on him and sensed faces turning his way. He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want anyone to hear his voice, his slow southern drawl. Luke looked around. In the periphery of his vision, he could see patrons going about their business, apparently oblivious to his presence. Maybe everyone wasn’t watching him after all.
His cell phone was ringing. He opened it and placed it to his ear. The waiting bartender turned away, rolling his eyes. Luke whispered into the phone, “I’m here, at the bar.”
“Is he there?” said the voice on the other end of the line.
“Yes, sir. He’s having his supper,” Luke said, glancing again at Alex and then quickly gazing off in the other direction.
“Luke, we call it dinner here but don’t worry about that now. Just do your job. Then, you’ll be able to take care of your obligations, and you won’t have to worry anymore. Everyone will be proud of you. You’ll have work, and you’ll have money. Hey, then maybe we’ll even find you a girl. I got one in mind for you; she’ll even let you use her service elevator. Ha. You understand what I’m saying, Luke?”
“Not exactly. She lives in a high-class building, I guess.”
“Oh, Christ. No, it’s a type of sex. Never mind, kid. Just get your work done and call me when you’re on your way home. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”
Luke turned back to face the bar as he imagined having sex in an elevator. Then he caught the attention of the bartender and ordered a Budweiser.
The bartender took a long look at Luke and said, “I gotta see some ID.”
Chapter 4
Whitestone, Queens, New York
6:15 p.m.
A
lex always enjoyed getting his brother on the phone, finding him wherever he was in the world and, however briefly, connecting with him. But tonight he had even more reason to find him.
Alex looked at his watch and then to Maria. “Speaking of Michael, I need to call him tonight before it gets too late. I think he’s in Paris.”
Alex followed Michael’s pursuits and was proud of his brother’s achievements. He admired his ability to navigate a world that Alex had only ever seen from the outside. At times, Alex even yearned to live Michael’s life. He was certain the feeling wasn’t mutual.
Alex was anxious to share his discovery with his brother, but he knew it couldn’t be tonight, in front of Maria. In fact, he thought, it was something he had to do face-to-face so Michael could see it with his own eyes. But he could drop a hint, and tonight he would do just that. He had already set in motion a series of other messages to Michael; he knew he was teasing him, but he also needed to ensure that Michael would find Alex’s secret should something occur before he had a chance to show it to him.
Almost as an aside, Alex continued speaking while turning on his cell phone and waiting for the indication that he could begin dialing. “We’re different. Same fuckin’ parents and all, but he’s more of a loner, more introverted. He loves books … He’s strange that way. Our whole family would be playing poker or whatever, and Michael would be in his room, reading.”
Maria gave a sympathetic smile. “You know, Alex, that’s not so odd. He’s just different than you that way.”
“It’s not just that. Listen, I love him, but he’s always stayed away from a lot of our family and even some of the friends we both grew up with. These people all ask me about him. ‘
How’s
Michael?
Where’s
Michael?’ I think some of them follow him through me. I tell them, ‘Listen, I don’t see him that often myself.’ He’s a good guy, but I’ve never been able to really figure him out.”
Maria appeared puzzled. “But anytime I’ve been around him here, he’s always very nice, very sociable. He couldn’t be that introverted or a loner if he runs a major corporation.”
Alex shrugged. He knew Maria was right, but for him, it didn’t change the mystery of his brother’s personality, a mystery that only those closest to Michael could see.
As Alex looked around the room, that uneasy feeling that someone was watching him returned, despite the otherwise secure sensation he had from being in the familiar confines of his regular hangout.
With his cell phone pressed tightly against his ear, he waited anxiously for Michael to answer. He wondered what the time difference was between Queens and Paris and then felt a flush of relief when he heard his brother’s voice.
“Hi, Alex,” Michael answered. “For you to be calling at this hour, either the Yankees signed a big free agent or some old ballplayer died.” Alex chuckled, remembering that Michael was critical of his habit of forwarding the e-mail link to the obituary as soon as any celebrity or sports figure died.
“Michael, first of all, I’m surprised you’re awake. It’s good to hear your voice. Maria here wants to know where the fuck you are now. I think she likes you.” Alex laughed and looked at Maria. “Are you in France again? What the hell do you do there all the time? Your wife must do all the talking; you can’t speak French. Of course, she does all the talking anyway.”
“Never mind
my
wife, I’m trying to figure out why you never marry the women you seem to enjoy being out with.” From the noise in the background and the tone of his brother’s voice, Alex could tell that Michael was enjoying himself.
Alex’s voice shifted to a near whisper. “Listen, Michael, when the hell are you coming home? There’s something I have to show you. I can’t talk about it on this fuckin’ phone. You won’t believe it though.”
As he waited to hear Michael’s reaction, Alex’s gaze shifted from the outline of Maria’s breast, visible through her sweater, to what was at first just a blur of movement coming from over Maria’s left shoulder in the bar, maybe fifty feet away. He saw the skinny young man with the Mets cap who seemed to be staring, eyes unnaturally wide, right at him.
Something was wrong, very wrong. His mind raced, trying to locate or identify the tormented face he realized was focused on him. He flipped through a virtual filing cabinet of acquaintances, enemies, people he might have crossed, guys who owed him money—but nothing registered. He quickly looked behind him to see if maybe this kid was focused on someone else, but no one was back there. No, this crazed kid was coming at
him
.
Alex had been in many fights over the years, although not in the last ten or even twenty. Still, he felt he could hold the kid off until the crowd at Grimaldi’s, many of whom knew Alex, could overtake him.
He heard Michael’s voice on the phone, his mind now relegating the conversation to the background. “Alex, I can’t really hear you.”
Alex saw the stranger pull the gun from his coat pocket. Well, this would be different from any fight he’d ever had.
Clear and defined as if a spotlight had been shining on it, Alex saw the bright silver barrel and the opening from which would come the bullets he knew would end his life. His mind went into slow motion.
In a succession of helter-skelter images, Alex watched the highlights of his life flash before him: his parents; the Dodgers baseball camp in Vero Beach; his first car, the blue Buick convertible; the Tudor-style home he grew up in; his first, second, and third wives; a well-worn Rawlings infielder’s glove; his laptop computer; flashing images of the day’s pending bets; his son, George, and grandson, Pete. He wondered what would become of them. He saw his current wife, Donna, and a series of his friends and wondered if she would wind up marrying one of them when he was gone.
It was strange, he thought, there was still so much time left. He remembered hearing about how time stood still in a dying person’s final moments. And so it seemed now. He looked into the young stranger’s eyes. “What the fuck do you want?”
But the kid said nothing. He was closing the gap between them rapidly. Now, Alex knew, there was little time.
“Shit.”
He thought of trying to lift the table over him for protection, but he knew it was too late, and even as he calculated his chances, he worried about injuring Maria if he threw over the heavy table toward her. He knew that was an odd concern, considering the circumstances. Maybe he was a nice guy, as she said. His eyes darted toward Maria who had only just sensed his distraction. She turned around, seeing the stranger close in. She screamed.
Alex could still hear the tinny voice of Michael on his cell but dropped the phone as he saw the skinny young man approach.
Why? What did I do? Who did I piss off?
He was trapped, wedged in between the table and the wall behind him. There was no room. There was no time.
In those final seconds, he thought of the secret he had not had a chance to tell Michael. It was too late now, he realized, but Michael would find it. Michael was smart; he would figure it out. Michael would find him.
Chapter 5
Whitestone, Queens, New York
November 4, 2009
G
reek churches are designed to make you feel like you’re in God’s waiting room.
It begins as soon as you enter, with the musky smell of incense; the feel of the red velvet cushions on the hard, varnished dark wood pews; and the larger-than-life ancient icons of Jesus and all the saints gazing out at the mortal world. With its Byzantine architecture, monumental stained-glass windows, and ever-present gold religious statues, the Greek Orthodox church on a quiet Queens street provided an unlikely backdrop for Alex’s polished mahogany casket, the center of everyone’s attention.
“Alex is on his way to heaven,” proclaimed the large, bearded, and gloriously robed Father Papadopoulos near the end of his eulogy. Many of Alex’s friends and loved ones sitting in the pews were not so sure.
“Did we walk in on the right funeral?” asked Lester Fink, also known as Skinny Lester.
“Alex’s having a fuckin’ shit right now listening to this crap,” said his cousin, Fat Lester, also known as Lester Fink (but only on his driver’s license). Skinny Lester and Fat Lester had known Alex since they were all kids growing up in Queens and were loyal employees of his betting and loan-sharking business. Despite his tough-guy demeanor, Alex had always taken care of his friends and employees.
In his midfifties like his cousin, Skinny Lester was tall and lean, with a former college basketball player’s frame and the look of someone who struggled to fill out his clothes. He wore a dark brown suit under his tan overcoat, both of which seemed to hang loosely on him.