“Women always want the guy they can’t have. I can play really hard to get from here. I can’t decide whether I’m going to join Christian Singles or Jewish Mingle.com.”
“Are you crazy? First of all, you’re supposed to use the one that reflects your religion.” As he said this, he recognized the even greater absurdity of the entire conversation. “You don’t play all sides.”
“You can when you’re dead.” Alex was laughing. “Anyway, you want to talk about religion,
now
?” Michael sensed his brother was trying to provoke him. “Internet dating was made for me. I just need to figure out how to have sex.”
But Michael was anxious to get to the discussion he really needed. “Alex, let’s talk about all the shit that’s gone on, starting with your murder.” Michael then walked Alex through again all the events that had occurred.
“We know Sharkey was behind my kidnapping, but the rest of all this stuff is still a mystery. You must have some ideas as to who wanted you dead and who would have broken into my house. And who the hell took my car and put that idiot Merlin in it? None of this makes any sense.”
“What do you care?” Alex asked in his typically flippant way.
“Until I know, I can’t be safe. I’ve already got Sharkey out there after me until they catch him. But I don’t know what else could be lurking. If someone else wanted you dead, maybe they’ll want me out of the way too. It certainly could have been caused by your business.”
Alex was silent for a few moments, appearing to think through his response. “Michael, I haven’t told you everything.”
Chapter 55
“D
o you know who’s behind all this?” Michael stared intently at his brother on the screen.
“Yes, I think I know now.”
Michael thought he heard a noise coming from outside his office. He was anxious to continue with Alex, but he was just as fearful of even more urgent dangers. He got up to open his office door to see if anyone had possibly entered the main bullpen office outside his door. As he approached the door, he remembered Alex’s gun, which he hoped was still in the desk drawer. Before opening his door, he slid open the drawer and saw the handgun sitting just where he had left it weeks ago on his first visit to Alex’s office. He realized that he had no real idea how to use it but gripped it firmly in his hand. It was surprisingly heavy. Keeping the gun slightly hidden behind his back, he carefully opened the door leading out to his larger room.
Michael looked into the screen and said, “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
The main room was dark except for the small blinking lights on several of the telephone consoles and the glow of the streetlights outside coming through the wooden blinds on the windows facing the street. Michael flipped the light switches on the wall right outside his office and the entire room was bathed in a fluorescent wash of bright white light. The room was still. Michael could see virtually every square inch. No one was there. He went to the main door to ensure that it was still locked. It was and everything seemed to be in order.
Michael turned the main room’s lights off and returned to his office, once again closing the door behind him. He pushed in the button lock on the inside door handle, knowing it would certainly be useless should anyone really want to enter his office. The gun in his right hand was another matter, despite the fact that he wasn’t sure whether it was loaded and exactly how to discharge it if it was. Like a lot of other things, he reasoned that he’d figure it out when it came to the point that he needed it.
With the doors locked and Alex’s gun in hand, Michael turned back to Alex, who was still staring straight ahead. Michael looked at the gun again and tried to figure out how to open it to see if it was loaded. Frustrated, he placed the gun on the desk.
Michael stared in again at Alex. “Alex, you know who may be behind all this? You said you haven’t told me everything. Tell me now.”
“Michael, when you told me about Mermelstein, or Merlin, whatever the fuck his name is, winding up in your car, I realized that there was one person who both hated me and needed a way to get money.” Alex paused.
Despite being anxious for Alex to continue, Michael couldn’t resist a touch of brotherly sarcasm. “All three of your wives would qualify, Alex.”
Alex almost seemed offended. “Donna didn’t hate me.”
“Okay, that’s one,” Michael responded.
Michael was beginning to regret having distracted Alex away from the main point when he heard another sound coming from the outside room. He picked up the gun again and placed his right forefinger on the trigger. He held the gun at his side, but was determined to now get Alex’s answer without any further delay or distractions.
“Alex, who wanted you dead?” Michael said, his tone more insistent.
But the noise outside his office caught Michael’s attention again. This time there was no question someone was in the main room. He looked at his door and saw a ray of light coming under the bottom of the door near the floor. Someone had turned on the lights in the next room. He wasn’t alone. He hoped that it might simply be one of the Lesters coming back after their evening out, but his instinct told him otherwise.
Alex seemed unaware of Michael’s distraction.
“Greta is the only one who really hated me, and she was desperate for money as you found out yourself when you met with her. But she’s too fuckin’ stupid to be able to pull any of this stuff off by herself. Mermelstein was even dumber, especially for a Jewish guy. But when you told me that Mermelstein’s body …”
Michael was watching his office door, unsure whether to stay inside and hope the intruder would leave after seeing nothing of value in the main room or to open the door or at least holler out, hoping to chase that person away. He now wished he had taken the time to check out the gun.
“Hold on one second, Alex. I’ve got a little problem here,” Michael said, interrupting Alex.
He saw the door handle turning. Someone was trying to open the door from the other room.
Michael gripped the gun more firmly now, and still unsure whether it was loaded, pulled the hammer back, hoping he had properly cocked it. But he was determined to get Alex’s answer before anything else got in the way. “Alex, someone’s outside your office here. I don’t know what’s going on. But finish what you were saying.”
“The gun in my desk drawer is loaded. Don’t be afraid to use it, Michael.”
“Okay, I’ve got it. Just finish about Greta as fast as you can before something happens here.” The door handle was now turning rapidly back and forth. Someone was clearly trying to get in. Michael couldn’t stall any longer; he had to deal with it. “Who’s there?” he hollered out. “Lester, is that you?”
There was no response. The doorknob stopped turning.
Alex began to speak again. “Greta would have a lot to gain if I was dead. She knew George would get some inheritance, and she probably knew I had a lot of cash all over the place that he would also get a share of. She couldn’t live on a portion of what I was giving George each month. She needed a lot of cash quickly to get her out of debt and live the fuckin’ fake life she wanted.
“But she couldn’t have done it alone or with Mermelstein’s help. She had to have hooked up with someone else. Mermelstein was no longer any help to her. He was fuckin’ useless. He had no balls and no money—not a good combination if you’re hanging out with Greta. He probably wouldn’t leave on his own, so she got rid of him.”
The noises from outside the door and the turning of the door handle had stopped. Michael thought perhaps he had frightened away the intruder. Maybe it was just a small-time burglar who didn’t expect anyone to be in the office.
“So you think Greta is behind all this?” asked Michael.
“Yeah, but it’s not that simple. She can’t do anything alone—let alone stuff like all this that’s happened. Also, she doesn’t get rid of any guy until she’s got another one lined up.”
“So, who would this other guy be?”
Before Alex could answer, everything went pitch-dark. The desk lamp and the lights from the outside office shining under the door all disappeared. Michael checked the telephone; it too was dead. Someone had probably tripped the circuit breakers, which were located in the other room. Alex and his laptop, which always seemed to need AC power, also went dark. Michael was trapped in a room with no windows, and someone was outside his door.
“Who’s out there?” Michael shouted again. He decided not to mention he had a gun, at least until he could locate if not see his intruder. He waited in silence for a few seconds, which seemed to go on forever.
Finally, a voice from just outside his door broke the silence. “Michael, open the door. It’s Greta.”
Chapter 56
Rome, Italy
December 17, 2009
12:00 a.m.
S
harkey sat alone in the far corner of the front room of Al Moro Restaurant, a place reserved strictly for local Romans or others who were well connected to them, Vatican insiders, or powerful Italians.
The room was still half-f and discreetly quiet. Tourists and other diners were relegated to the back room. Sharkey sat and admired the scene, from the aging but well-put-together group of good-looking Italian men and women to the still life of the perfect Italian meal on his table: veal Milanese, spaghetti carbonara, and a bottle of Italian Barolo. He put down his knife and fork, savored a long swallow of the wine, and discreetly pulled out his cell phone. He needed to speak with Greta.
“Greta, it’s me.”
“Oh thank God. Where did they put you up?” Greta answered.
“I’m safe, but let’s not get into details here on the phone. My good friends have taken excellent care of me.” Sharkey was whispering so he wouldn’t upset the decorum of the restaurant. He also wanted to avoid bringing unwanted attention from speaking English in a room usually forbidden to Americans.
“Sharkey, I have to get out of here. I have to join you. I’m too close to all of this shit. The cops won’t take long to put us two together.” Greta’s voice held more than a hint of desperation.
“Greta, my love, I have left you plenty of money. Please stay calm. You will be all right.”
“No, you don’t understand, Sharkey. Money isn’t going to help me with this. It’s not about the fuckin’ bills. It’s about the cops. Michael will lead them to me; he’s not stupid.”
“Please, dear …” Sharkey was trying to calm her, but he could see Greta could not be assuaged.
“No, Sharkey. I’m going to book a flight to Rome. I’m going to join you. I just have to find my fuckin’ passport and get a flight. You’ve got to protect me. I’m fuckin’ all alone here now.”
Sharkey tried to control himself. He didn’t like being cornered. He could feel his temper flaring, like a sudden shot of electricity coursing through his veins. He had felt this before many times, and he knew it wasn’t a good thing. He wanted to raise his voice but couldn’t here in Al Moro.
Getting himself in check, he whispered back to Greta, knowing that this would likely fan the flames even more. “Greta, this isn’t the time to run. I can’t get you out of the US; they will be watching the airports. You would need another name, another passport, or they’ll find you.”
“Can’t your fuckin’ pope friends help?”
“No. It was not easy for them to even help me, but to go beyond that is impossible. They won’t even be seen with me in public here. I’m eating alone.” Sharkey felt calmer, but his hands were starting to tremble.
“Shit. Sharkey, you’re eating fuckin’ spaghetti? You’ve got to fuckin’ help me get out of here.”
“No, Greta. Now is not the time to flee. Now is the time to fix our problem.”
“What do you mean, fix our problem? What the fuck does that mean, Sharkey?”
“It means to take care of Michael. Quickly. Find him and kill him.”
“Are you fuckin’ nuts? I’ve never killed anyone. Your fuckin’ Morty and his fuckin’ friends took care of that. Now you think I can just go do it?” Sharkey could tell Greta was on the verge of hysteria.
“Now stay calm, Greta. You’ve already killed—Alex; that guy Russell, the handyman, or whatever he was; your dear Merlin. Maybe you didn’t murder them with your own hands, but there is no difference. It’s not a sin; it’s part of life. The State does it, and the Church does it, dear.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Yes, you did them for me, but we were in this thing together. You know I can’t do this myself. You know how to do this shit.”
“Greta. I didn’t do it with my own hands, but it doesn’t make any difference. You have my gun. You just find out where Michael is and shoot him until he’s dead. Empty the gun into him and then walk away.”
Without waiting for an answer, Sharkey clicked off the phone. Greta was beyond reason, he thought. She would have time to think about what he had suggested and would either come out even angrier at him—or be ready to kill Michael. It was time to calm himself down, enjoy the remainder of his meal, finish his Barolo, and then leave in time for his meeting at the hotel.
It was thirty minutes past midnight when Sharkey paid his bill with newly minted euros and walked out of Al Moro. As he walked by the Trevi Fountain on his way back to his hotel, he gazed at the young crowd, tourists from all over the world, gathered around the fountain, partying and throwing their coins into the water. He laughed at the innocence of the young, thinking their wishes would come true in such a way. He relied, he thought to himself, on higher connections.
Chapter 57
J
ust before one in the morning, Sharkey walked up the Spanish Steps. The Hassler Hotel, one of the finest in Rome, was at the very top. He would be right on time for his meeting in the quiet and virtually hidden hotel bar. Out of breath from the 138-step climb, Sharkey walked slowly through the hotel’s lobby and turned to the right, where the simple but plush bar was located.
As he approached, he saw only two people: Nicoli the bartender, and sipping a grappa at a small table to the right, Monsignor Dominick Petrucceli, a close aide to Cardinal Angelo Lovallo, the right hand of the pope.