Before Michael’s cynical, doubting side could answer, Alex appeared on the laptop screen.
“Merry Christmas, Alex.”
“Thanks, Michael, but we don’t celebrate that here.”
“What a couple of months this has all been,” Michael said.
“Yeah, well, it’s been pretty fuckin’ big for me too.”
“I guess you’re right, Alex.” Michael continued, detailing for his brother the most recent events.
Alex looked directly into Michael’s eyes. “Michael, you know, my life was a lot easier than what you’ve gone through the last several weeks. I had a few problems with some small-time thugs over the years, but it wasn’t much more than being robbed and handcuffed to my elevator, maybe some punches and an occasional police raid. Nothing like this shit. This stuff was all caused by Greta and her fuckin’ greed. I never had a problem with Sharkey until Greta got her claws in him.”
“What the hell did Sharkey see in Greta?” Michael asked.
“Greta probably looked real good to Sharkey. He didn’t have a whole lot of good-looking women around him that I ever saw. She’s a bitch, but she was great in bed. Greta wanted to be a film star. She could have been a great porno actress, but she’d get pissed every time I told her that. I even offered to bankroll a porno film for her, but she thought that was below her. Anyway, that’s all she needed to hook Sharkey. He was a desperate man, trying not to be old. She was young.”
“Samantha is very nervous.” Michael turned more serious. “She went along with this whole thing initially because I told her it was just temporary. She loves the money, and I think she actually enjoys some of the excitement and characters, but this other violent and threatening stuff is too much for her. It may be too much for me too. I need things to calm down. Plus, I can’t afford any more of this type of publicity, even if I’m made to appear to be an innocent victim. Eventually, Gibraltar will get concerned that it’s all a distraction.”
“First, I told you this before, you’ve got to shield Samantha from—”
Michael interrupted. “I know, Alex, but I can’t exactly shield her from my being kidnapped and nearly thrown off a pier.”
“I didn’t mean that. Listen, once they capture Sharkey, all that stuff should be over. None of that ever happened to me, not even close. Probably, with Greta out of the way, he won’t care about you anymore. Also, he’s gotta have his hands full himself in hiding wherever he is. I haven’t been able to locate him, but we know he’s not in Flushing anymore.”
“Maybe I need to tell Samantha about … you.” He was unsure how, but Michael knew this would stir a reaction in Alex.
“That will be a mistake. She’s not ready.”
Michael feared he was right. “You and I run our marriages differently. Samantha has been my partner.”
“If I wanted a partner for a wife, I’d have married one of the Lesters.”
Michael knew it was time to change the subject. Telling Samantha the complete story about the virtual Alex was more than just a passing thought though. It was becoming the elephant in the room, the one that only he could see. It was the source of a lot of his deception with Samantha. Maybe he needed to show Alex to someone else, to be sure he was real.
Michael continued, “I do have to say, though, your business is like a money machine. We’ve made a small fortune in the last month. And I’m amazed at some of your clientele. It’s funny how some people that you’d never expect are big bettors; you’ve got a few pretty prominent customers.”
“Speaking of people you wouldn’t expect using bookmakers—in your case
being
a bookmaker—what about your corporate job? Are you going to hold on to that too?” Alex asked.
“I think I want to keep both things going now. Gibraltar is a good way for me to show plenty of legitimate income. You know, I think the two Lesters can run your business for a lot of what has to be done. I’m going to let them hire one or two more guys—and maybe a woman—so that we can expand a little more, and so Skinny Lester can do some of what you or I would do if we were there.”
“Just be sure,” Alex added, “that you remember to use Skinny Lester for his brains and Fat Lester for his muscle—or whatever that three hundred pounds is. Don’t confuse the two. Don’t put Skinny Lester in a physical situation, and don’t make Fat Lester have to think.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Fat Lester doing too much thinking,” Michael said.
“By the way, Michael, if you want to keep your little wife happy with all this, you should just take some of the extra fuckin’ money you’re now making and go to Tiffany’s or that Cartier place on Fifth Avenue and buy her something fuckin’ drop dead. You think you knew my wives—well, let me tell you, I know your wife. Get her something big. That’ll shut her up.”
Michael was getting tired. Although Alex had a good point about buying Samantha a large piece of jewelry, he wasn’t looking to Alex, of all people, for marital advice. But it was interesting, he thought, that Alex came back to the subject of Samantha.
Was he worried I was going to reveal our secret to her?
“We’ll miss you for Christmas Day tomorrow,” Michael said.
“You never came to my house for my Christmas parties anyway, you know,” Alex said, mildly chastising.
“I know. You always had too many old relatives—and unsavory characters—for me.” Michael realized the irony now in his remark.
“Well, you’ll have plenty of those unsavory characters around you now.” Alex laughed. “You’ll make my Christmas crowd look like the Nativity scene.”
“Alex, what do you miss? Anything?”
“I miss the big roast beef at Mario’s when I’d come up to visit you. That’s what I miss. Next time you’re there, tell Tiger hello for me.”
Michael thought for a moment and said, “That’ll be a little hard to do. Merry Christmas, Alex.”
Chapter 60
Paris, France
January 15, 2010
“T
here’s something I haven’t told you, Samantha. It’s about Alex,” Michael said.
It was nearly eight o’clock when they walked into the Hemingway Bar at the Ritz Hotel, an intimate, luxurious, dark wood�paneled room. The lighting was subtle and cast a soft, warm glow over the room. The mahogany bar and the small surrounding tables were filled with handsome men in their subtly colorful Hermes ties and powder-blue shirts. They were accompanied by impossibly beautiful women in their white Dior gowns with red Louboutin high heels, Cartier rocks on their slender fingers, and Bulgari jewels glittering on the gentle slope of their winter-bronzed breasts. There was a sea breeze of Caron perfume in the air.
“May I help you, monsieur? Madame?” asked Pierre, the always polite and almost friendly waiter. Michael and Samantha had been here many times before, so it was no surprise that they were addressed in English. Samantha was fluent in French; Michael still butchered the language after too many years of lessons.
“A glass of rosé champagne for madame, and a dry gin martini, straight up with two olives,
pour moi. Merci
.”
Five minutes later, Michael watched intently as Pierre expertly poured from the familiar yellow-labeled bottle of Veuve Clicquot into Samantha’s flute glass, a slight head forming and the thousands of tiny bubbles finding their way to the top of the glass.
Michael’s anxiety calmed as he observed the polished silver tray carrying a chilled martini glass and a side dish of olives. More importantly, it held a tall blue bottle of Plymouth English Gin, another bottle of Martini & Rossi Extra Dry vermouth, and a clear, tall mixing glass with several ice cubes. Pierre performed his magic and again meticulously mixed, poured, and served Michael the perfect martini.
Michael and Samantha clicked their glasses together. “Here’s to Paris, again,” Michael toasted. He reached over and placed his hand on Samantha’s.
“What is it that you were saying about Alex, darling?”
Michael took a deep breath. “He’s still alive.”
Samantha’s facial expression reminded Michael of Alex’s warning not to disclose the miracle he was about to reveal. Maybe it
was
premature. As he began to tell Samantha about his lunch with Jennifer Walsh and his discovery of Alex’s laptop, it was obvious that Samantha was no longer even listening, let alone believing. His words sounded off-key, and the story seemed unrealistic and unimaginable, even to himself. He stopped in midsentence and let Samantha speak.
“Michael, you just need to try to relax,” Samantha replied. “Between Alex’s death and then running his business and Gibraltar, you’ve been under a lot of pressure.”
“I’m fine, Samantha, really, I am.”
“I think your feelings about Alex go much deeper than you will admit, even to yourself. You know, Michael, you’re not as tough as you’d like people to believe—and that’s a good thing.”
“Samantha, I know this all sounds implausible—if not crazy—but I am as practical and critical as I have ever been.”
“I’m sure you are, Michael. But how could anyone possibly believe this?”
“Samantha. I know this all sounds crazy, but you have to hear me out. You know how you’re always telling me about psychics and things and that—”
“Yes I do, Michael, and that’s when you talk to me about coincidences and how the psychics have great street smarts and manipulative skills.”
“Samantha, I don’t blame you. Who would believe that someone who is dead could be alive?”
“Michael, Alex was shot dead in front of Maria and a bar full of cops who, as you remember, shot and killed his murderer. There was a funeral, a casket, a burial.”
Michael was realizing how absurd he sounded, and Samantha was even making
him
question everything.
“Michael, for the sake of argument, I will suspend judgment on all this and let you just show me.”
“That’s all I ask,” Michael answered.
“So, where is my illustrious brother-in-law?” Michael detected more than a subtle hint of sarcasm in Samantha’s voice, but he felt like he was on the brink of some great passage. Being able to bring Samantha into his secret miracle would make it
real.
Not that there was any question.
“Alex is on the laptop in our hotel room.”
Michael was filled with anticipation as they entered their cozy suite at the Luxembourg-Parc Hotel on the rue Vaugirard on Paris’s Left Bank. Samantha changed into her black silk nightgown and the hotel’s cotton robe as Michael opened up the Apple laptop and placed it on the coffee table between them. He carefully typed in the user name and password and waited as the home screen with its icons appeared.
In order to ensure that Samantha didn’t have time to notice the flashing Jennifer, he immediately double-clicked on the familiar ancient gold cross icon and waited for the late Alex Nicholas to appear.
But something was wrong. Alex had always appeared within seconds. Michael was nervous. He could feel Samantha’s eyes watching over him, and with each passing second, Michael knew Samantha was sure he had lost his way. Just when Michael was convinced that he had made a terrible mistake, the screen began to come alive. He felt a wave of relief as it lit up.
But instead of Alex, an unfamiliar visual appeared. Its hues were the same as the icon he had just clicked onto: antique gold, red, and blue. A large cross came into view, and then the robed figure of Christ, appearing like a saint, his arms outstretched as though welcoming new visitors. Along the left side was a listing of upcoming religious feasts. It was the official website of the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America.
“I don’t understand …” Michael was confused.
“Michael, what is this? Is this what—or who—you’ve been communicating with on the computer?”
“No, this has never happened before. Samantha, you have to believe me, I’m not imagining things. I’m fine.” But Michael recognized the sympathetic look he saw on Samantha’s face. He knew what was coming next.
“I’m sure you are, Michael. As soon as we get home, I will book you an appointment with the finest psychiatrist in New York.”
Chapter 61
F
or the first time since Alex was murdered, Michael was angry with his brother. “Was this some kind of joke?”
“I warned you, Michael; she wasn’t ready.”
“Well, we’ll never know, will we, since you didn’t show up, so to speak? She thinks I’m crazy now.”
Alex appeared unfazed. “That’s not a bad thing; I always wanted my wives to think I was a little fuckin’ crazy. That way, they were never sure how far to push me.”
“That may have worked well in your relationships—God knows, you’ve had enough of them. But it doesn’t work that well for me. Samantha’s going to try to send me to a psychiatrist when we get home.”
“Samantha will be okay, and a few sessions with a good shrink probably wouldn’t hurt you. You’ve got some problems, you know.”
“
I’ve
got problems?” Michael sensed he was being provoked. Or was Alex trying to dodge the issue? “Okay, whatever, but why were you so set against my telling Samantha about you? Why are you so sure it would be a mistake?”
“Michael, I can only tell you what I know now. There could be more than this, but in any case, think about it. Once word gets out about everything, it will be chaos. Your life will be even more fuckin’ nuts.”
Alex had a point, Michael thought, but he suspected that Alex was holding back. “You know more than you’re telling me.”
Alex appeared to be struggling now, his cockiness gone. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I know intuitively that telling anyone else yet will be a mistake. What exactly is behind that, I don’t know. I can’t always tell where my feelings come from. This is some of what I still don’t understand. Maybe it’s just like how
you
don’t understand when you get a feeling about something. But, Michael—”
Michael could see that Alex was struggling with something. “What, what is it?”
“You have to understand,
I’m not a computer
. I’m just communicating with you through one.”
“Alex, this is all mind-boggling. I don’t know what to believe sometimes. It’s all so crazy. I mean, I’m happy—I’m overjoyed—that you’re here. It’s all so hard to understand, to believe.”