9
St. Monica’s was more than one hundred years old, but
the crypt was less intimidating than I had imagined. Possibly
because there were about one hundred folding chairs stored there,
along with a piano and a rack of costumes from the Easter play that
the parish children had performed last month. No room looks very
murky and mysterious with a dozen pink bunny costumes in
it.
The strangest thing
in the room, however, was . . .
“An Elvis
impersonator?” I said blankly.
“What’s an Elvis
impersonator?” Max asked.
“I’m not an impersonator,” said the man seated at the
piano. “I can’t help the resemblance.”
“You could try
dressing a bit less like The King in his declining years,” I
suggested.
The man was
overweight and wearing a white leisure suit with silver trim. His
red shirt was open halfway down his chest, revealing thick gold
chains nestled in black chest hair. The hair on his head was coal
black and thick, with long sideburns; I thought it looked like a
wig. He wore a pair of rose-tinted glasses over his puffy, lined
face.
“Show some respect,”
Lucky said to me. “This is the boss’ nephew.”
“Which one?” I asked.
The Shy Don had a big family.
“They call me Johnny
Be Good,” the man said.
I blinked. “You’re
Johnny Be Good Gambello?”
“You heard of me,
huh?” he sounded pleased.
I had never seen him
at the restaurant, because Stella had banned him from there years
ago. She said Johnny Be Good was a very bad boy. He had notorious
problems with drugs, alcohol, and gambling. Wiseguys disapproved of
divorce, and he was on his third marriage. He’d even been caught
embezzling from the Gambellos. The only reason he was still alive
was that he was a nephew of the don himself, so only Victor
Gambello could order his death. And the Shy Don, Stella said, had a
soft spot for his blood relatives.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of
you,” I said.
“But I’m afraid
I have not had the pleasure of hearing
about you,” said Max.
“Who’s this jerk?”
Johnny asked Lucky.
“This is Doc Zadok,”
said Lucky, “who’s got specialized knowledge that might be useful
to our situation.”
“And the girl? She’s
the one who saw Charlie go down for the dirt nap?”
“Yep.”
“The one who saw his
double, along with you?”
“That’s right,” Lucky
said.
Johnny regarded me.
“She’s a looker. You didn’t mention that.”
“Did he mention that
my boyfriend is a cop?” I said, not liking the oily way Johnny was
assessing me.
He flinched. “You
date a cop?”
“Why are we here?” I
asked Lucky wearily.
“Johnny, tell these
two people what you told me,” Lucky instructed, setting out a
couple of the folding chairs for me and Max.
Johnny nodded and
cracked his knuckles. As he began his tale, I draped my wrap over
the back of a folding chair and sat down. Max sat next to
me.
Johnny Be Good began
his tale. “I was in a friendly little establishment uptown last
night—neutral turf, you understand—enjoying a social game of
cards.” He eyed us, as if daring us to mention his famously bad
luck at all forms of gambling, including poker. “One of the other
guys at the table was Danny the Doctor.”
“Who’s that?” I
asked.
“Danny ‘the Doctor’
Dapezzo,” said Lucky. “He’s a capo in the Corvino family. Mean son
of a bitch.”
“And he’s a doctor?”
Max asked. “Medicine or philosophy?”
“They call him the
Doctor,” Johnny Be Good said,
“because of the
surgical way he cuts up bodies into nice, neat little parts. I’m
telling you, Danny can get fifty pieces out of one skinny
corpse.”
I said to Max, “You
had to ask.”
Lucky said with
reluctant admiration, “Yeah, it’s very hard for the cops to
identify a corpse after Danny gets done with it. They can’t find
enough parts.”
“So you’re playing
cards with Danny,” I said loudly to Johnny. “And . . .”
“And Mickey
Rosenblum, from Las Vegas, is at the same table, and he’s having as
great a night as Danny’s having a bad one.” He paused and added,
“You oughta know Mickey. He’s Jewish. Same as you.” When I didn’t
say anything, Johnny prodded, “You know him?”
“No.”
He looked at Lucky.
“Didn’t you say she was Jewish? How come she don’t know
Mickey?”
“So Mickey cleaned
out Danny the Doctor?” I prodded.
“Yeah. And Danny,
well, he goes away in a real bad mood, pockets empty, bitching
about how he don’t even have cab fare left to go visit his
girlfriend before he goes home to the missus.”
“Uh-huh.” Who
married these men, I
wondered?
“And two minutes
later . . . Guess who enters the club and sits down at our table,
fresh as a daisy? You got it! Danny the Doctor. And his pockets are
full of dough! What’s even stranger is, he don’t remember a thing.
He thinks we’re nuts when we talk about
what just happened with him, right at this very table. And us,
well, we figure he’s nuts, going senile
or something. But his cash is real.” Johnny smirked and added, “And
you know what? Mickey Rosenblum cleaned him out all over again!”
Johnny guffawed long and loudly, occasionally pausing to repeat
this last bit. Several times. “Cleaned him out all over
again!”
Max and I looked at
each other. Then we both looked at Lucky.
He nodded. “What did
I tell you? We got us another doppelgangster somewhere out there.
Only this one’s a Corvino.”
It proved to be
impossible to have an intelligent conversation with Johnny Be Good
Gambello in the room, so it was a relief when he suddenly asked
Lucky to loan him some cash so he could go enjoy himself elsewhere
while the night was still young.
After Johnny left,
Lucky said to Max, “I put the word out after talkin’ with you and
Esther yesterday morning. I know you thought Charlie’s
doppelgangster was a one-time thing, Doc, but my gut told me
otherwise.”
“And your gut seems
to be very wise,” Max said respectfully.
“So by this morning,
the whole famiglia knew to report
anything unusual to me. And since Johnny ain’t never been able to
keep his yap shut,” Lucky said, “it didn’t take long for me to hear
about him seeing two Danny Dapezzos last night. That’s when I
figured I better get you two together with him in someplace
discreet.”
“Like the crypt of a
church?” I muttered.
“Well done!” Max
beamed at Lucky.
“I don’t see what’s
wrong with meeting in an ordinary coffee shop,” I
said.
“You are so naive,” Lucky said dismissively.
I decided to shelve
that argument and move on to an obvious question, one that I felt
sure Lopez would bring up if he were here. “Look, it’s no secret
that Johnny Be Good has killed a few billion brain cells with booze
and narcotics. So why shouldn’t we assume that Danny Dapezzo simply
went to an ATM and returned to the poker game, and Johnny has
fantasized the rest of the incident?”
“Wiseguys don’t use
ATMs!” Lucky said, looking shocked. “Not for our own money, anyhow.”
“Okay, so maybe Danny
had a stash nearby. Or mugged someone outside the club. Whatever,”
I said. “And then maybe he pulled Johnny’s leg a little when he saw
he could get away with it. My point is, how do we know that
Johnny’s story is accurate?”
“Because after I
talked with Johnny, I talked to Mickey Rosenblum,” Lucky said. “We
grew up in the same neighborhood, I known him all my life. His
family is where I learned some Yiddish words.”
“Ah,” I
said.
“Mickey’s sharp as a
knife,” Lucky said. “And his story is exactly the same as
Johnny’s.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
I asked.
“It’s a parole
violation for him to be out of Nevada, so he’s on his way back to
Vegas right now. Before some nosy cop finds out he’s been here.”
Lucky gave me a warning look. “Which I’m sure we can assume won’t
happen.”
“You need to stop
telling me things you don’t want my boyfriend to know,” I said
firmly. “I don’t like being put in the middle.”
“So I gather Mickey
Rosenblum is a reliable witness,” Max said, “and we can rule out
the possibility that Mr. Be Good is speaking out of
delusion?”
“That’s right,” said
Lucky.
I said, “So if they
both saw Danny the Doctor’s doppelgangster . . .” Then Lopez was
wrong, I realized. Chubby Charlie had not been having a manic
episode. He had really seen own his perfect double. And I had seen
it, too.
“This Danny the
Doctor,” I said to Lucky. “He’s an enemy of yours? An enemy of the
Gambello family?”
“Yeah. Like all the
Corvinos.”
“But Chubby Charlie
was one of your own,” Max mused.
“Which means,” said
Lucky, “that someone’s hiring these doppelgangsters to whack made
guys on both sides of the
street.”
“If you’re right, if
that is what’s going on here . . . Then why is someone doing this?”
I wondered.
Lucky shook his head.
“It don’t make no sense.”
I thought about
Lopez’s primary theory. “So you think that whatever is going on,
it’s not another Gambello-Corvino war?”
Lucky shook his head.
“I don’t know who killed Charlie, but I do know that we haven’t put out a contract on Danny
Dapezzo. So if his doppelgangster’s walking around now cursing him
with death, well, it ain’t us that ordered the hit. That’s a
guarantee. So this ain’t no Gambello-Corvino thing. We ain’t going
to the mattresses with them. Not yet, anyhow.”
Max frowned. “Going
to the mattresses?”
“Going to war with
another famiglia,” I translated. “It
involves sleeping in hideouts where your enemies can’t find you. So
that you won’t wake up dead.” I’d learned a lot working at
Stella’s. “Going to sleep on different mattresses, in other words.”
Often rather unsanitary ones, I gathered, in a grimy flop shared by
several soldiers from the same family.
“Fascinating!” Max
murmured.
Returning to the
point, I said, “So if it’s not an inter-family war, could the
Corvinos just be doing some housecleaning, so to
speak?”
“That’s out. They’d
know they couldn’t whack Charlie without starting a new war with
us,” Lucky said, shaking his head again. “And Danny’s one of their
top guys, so he’d have to screw up big to get himself whacked by
his own family. I ain’t saying it can’t happen. I just think it’s
too big a coincidence that, like Charlie, he’s suddenly got a
perfect double.”
“Coincidence does
seem too improbable to consider seriously,” Max
agreed.
“So could this be
personal?” I asked. “Do Charlie and Danny have something in
common?”
Lucky shrugged.
“Well, they’re both assholes.”
“Something more
specific,” I said.
“Like
what?”
“I don’t know. Max?”
I prodded. “What should we be looking for? What does this
mean?”
“And what should we
do now?” Lucky added.
“Well, first of all,”
Max said, “I think we should warn Doctor Dapezzo. We must assume
that he’s been marked for death by whatever entity marked Chubby
Charlie for death.”
Lucky nodded. “I
can’t say I’d be sorry to see Danny take the big sleep, but I
suppose we gotta warn him. Anybody could be next, after all. Even
me.”
Which was why I
wasn’t in a cab on my way home right now, wisely washing my hands
of this whole business. Without more facts, as Lopez would say, I
couldn’t assume that these mysterious doppelgangsters would only
portend the deaths of violent felons whom I either didn’t know or
wished I didn’t know. What if Lucky or
Stella got duplicated next?
I was fond of Stella,
a nice lady who employed hungry actors. I was even fond of Lucky,
though he was a killer and not very wise about women. If Lopez got
evidence on Lucky and arrested him, I wouldn’t interfere; but I
certainly wouldn’t just stand by idly while some supernatural
thing cursed Lucky with
death.
If there’s one thing
I had learned from Max, it’s that once Evil comes to the party,
everything goes haywire. So you’ve got to kick its butt out the
door and down the street as soon as you encounter it or you’ll
regret it later.
“In addition to
warning Doctor Dapezzo,” Max said, “I need to interview him.
Actually, what would be most helpful would be if I could interview
his doppelgangster. Er, gänger.”
“You want to
talk to the doppelgangster?” Lucky
sounded appalled. “Speak with that thing?”
“Well, obviously it
does talk,” Max said reasonably. “And in a sentient, naturalistic
fashion. Mr. Be Good does not seem to be the most lucid and
insightful of men—”
“Now there’s an
understatement,” I said.
“—but it does seem
likely that he’d have noticed if the doppelgangster was puppetlike
or transparent.”
“And you and I,” I
said to Lucky, “couldn’t tell Charlie apart from his double. So
obviously these doppelgangsters are as lifelike as the real thing.
At least when seen in limited doses.”
“But since they
aren’t the real thing,” Max mused,
“it’s possible that interviewing one of them will help me
understand their purpose. Are they self-aware? Or do they actually
believe they are the individuals whom
they’re merely mirroring? Are they appearing in an attempt to warn
the doomed individuals? Or are they, in fact, assassins?” He tugged
on his beard as he added, “Based on what little material I’ve
currently got access to, I do know one thing.”
“Which
is?”
“The fact that others
can see and interact with these entities . . . that is most unusual. Traditionally, the person destined to
die by nightfall is the only one who sees the perfect double.
Whereas in the two cases we’re dealing with, other people not only
see and interact with the ‘double walker,’ they even do so before
the mirrored individual is aware of the double’s
existence.”
I blinked. “That’s
right! Whichever Charlie Chiccante was the real one the night I
first saw his doppelgangster, he didn’t seem to be aware of its
existence. Both versions of Charlie were in a normal mood that
evening. It was only on the night he died that he was scared,
anxious, and talking about his perfect double.”
“So Esther and I saw
Charlie’s double before he did,” Lucky said pensively.
“And now we may know
about Doctor Dapezzo’s double before he does,” Max
added.
I checked my watch
and gasped when I saw the time. “I have to go! I’m going to be late
for my date.”
“How can you think
about your love life at a time like this?” Lucky
demanded.
“How can you pursue a
woman whose husband you whacked?” I retorted.
“We can’t accomplish
anything more until we can meet with Doctor Dapezzo,” Max said.
“And I gather that, based on the enmity between your famiglie, that can’t be accomplished this very
moment?”
“No,” Lucky admitted.
“It’ll take a little time and finesse to arrange a
sit-down.”
“So Esther might as
well go enjoy the evening she has planned with her young man,” Max
said, rising to his feet and gesturing for us all to leave the
crypt.
“The way she’s
dressed,” Lucky muttered as I started up the stairs, “I can
guess what she has
planned.”
“He’s taking me to an
expensive restaurant,” I said primly, speaking over my
shoulder.
Lucky snorted. “In
that case, there ain’t no question what he has planned.”
“As long as it
doesn’t involve murder or perfect doubles,” I said sincerely, “I’m
all in favor of it.”
At the top of the
stairs, I could hear that Father Gabriel had started the evening
service, so I shushed my two companions. The church smelled of
incense as we entered it and quietly turned down the side aisle to
make our exit.
The priest and
congregation were chanting liturgical prayers together. I was
surprised by how many people were attending a regular Monday
twilight service. Then I noticed they were mostly women, and they
were almost as dressed up for vespers as I was for a date. They
were also gazing at Father Gabriel with expressions of devotion
that did not strike me as entirely spiritual.
I glanced at Lucky
and couldn’t repress an amused smile. Whether or not he knew what I
was thinking, he scowled at me and nudged me toward the
exit.
Outside on the
street, I said, “Rabbis can get married, you know. In fact, they’re
expected to. But I don’t remember ever seeing one as dishy as
Father Gabriel.”
“You shouldn’t talk
that way about a priest,” Lucky said. “They’re above matters of the
flesh.”
Given what the news
headlines and law courts had revealed about priests in recent
years, I rolled my eyes. But I wanted to stop short of really
offending Lucky, so I dropped the subject and checked my cell
phone. I hadn’t been able to get a signal in the crypt, and now I
saw that I had missed a call from my agent, as well as one from
Lopez.
Since I was going to
be a few minutes late for our dinner reservation, I decided to call
back my date first.
Lopez answered on the
second ring. “Esther! Are you okay? Where are you?”
I blinked, realizing
that when he’d called without getting an answer, it had made him
worry about my safety again. “I’m fine,” I assured him. “Are you at
the restaurant already?”
“No. Look, I tried to
call you a little while ago—”
“I know. I was out of
range. I’ll be a few minutes late,” I said, “but I’m looking for a
cab right now.”
Actually, Lucky was
trying to get me a cab, but I decided that fell under the heading
of Too Much Information.
“That’s why I
called,” Lopez said. “I’m really sorry about this . .
.”
“What?”
“I have to
cancel.”
“Oh.” I looked down
at my sexy dress as my heart sank. “You do?”
“I just got called in
to work,” he said.
“I could wait for
you.” A cool evening breeze drifted across my bare shoulders, and I
realized I’d left my wrap down in the crypt. “Or meet you somewhere
later?”
“I don’t want you to
do that,” he said with obvious regret. “I think this is going to
take most of the night.”
“What
happened?”
“Johnny Be Good
Gambello was just found dead.”
“What?”
Lucky and Max looked
at me.
“Yeah, they just
fished him out of the East River,” Lopez said. “The initial
estimate is that he’s been dead for twenty-four
hours.”