Doppelgangster

by Laura Resnick

  “I see that Nathan’s still by the door now,” I said. “But where’s Bobby?”

  “With the body,” Vinny said. “It didn’t seem fitting to, um, leave it lying alone before the priest gets here.”

  “You called a priest?” I said.

  “It’s what you do when a guy dies.” Vinny glanced at Lucky. “Even a guy like Danny, I guess.”

  Max said, “So the two young men guarded the door and searched everyone who came in?”

  “Actually, no one came in. Middle of the week, slow day. Nothing happened,” Vinny said.

  I nodded, recalling that the street outside was almost empty when we got here.

  “So about an hour passes,” Vinny continued. “I’m stocking the shelves, and then… BOOM!“

  I jumped a little.

  “Shotgun blast,” Lucky said. “Always loud.”

  “I didn’t know what it was at the time,” Vinny said. “I just knew it sounded like a cannon and had come from the cellar. So I told Nathan and Bobby to stay by the door and, if asked, say that a wine casket had exploded in the cellar. It’s stupid, but it would get rid of people. And I went downstairs. There’s only one way in or out of that cellar, and no one had gone past us. So I figured that one of Danny’s Glocks had gone off.”

  “Semiautomatics can be a little jumpy,” Lucky said with a nod.

  Vinny continued, “I wanted to make sure Danny hadn’t shot himself by accident—or, you know, shot a twelve hundred dollar bottle of wine. I called to him through the door a few times. He didn’t answer, but that door is pretty thick.”

  “It’s why Danny chose the place,” Lucky said.

  “I was getting really worried,” Vinny said. “I mean, why didn’t Danny open the door and tell me that everything was okay, that he’d just misfired by accident? I suddenly thought maybe he did shoot himself. Maybe he needed help! So I keyed in the combination to unlock the door, and I opened it.” He added, “And the whole time, I was saying, in a loud voice, ‘Don’t shoot, Danny. It’s me. It’s Vinny.’ Because he’d been, you know, so jumpy. I was pretty nervous, to be honest.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said.

  “And when I opened the door…” Vinny crossed himself. “As God is my witness, this is the truth. There was no one else in the vault. No one else downstairs…” His voice started quavering. “And what was left of Danny was lying there in a pool of blood. His face was all gone, his chest was blown to bits, his brains were splattered all over the bottles and—”

  “The lady don’t need so many details,” Lucky said.

  “Oh. No. Sorry, miss. I’m just so shaken up, you know?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “And his Glocks…” Vinny shook his head. “Danny’s guns were still in their holsters, fully loaded. Untouched.”

  I looked at Lucky for confirmation.

  “They ain’t been fired,” Lucky said. “Danny didn’t get a shot off.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “How did the killer get past Vinny, Nathan, and Bobby without being seen and then get through a locked steel door? And then how did he vanish so quickly? With a shotgun?“

  Shaking like a leaf in high wind, Vinny started weeping. “Sorry. It’s nerves. Just nerves.” He wiped his streaming eyes. “Danny was my cousin, but to be honest, I didn’t like him. Not enough to cry over his body, anyhow. But what the hell is going on here?”

  Lucky looked at me. “This doppelgangster business is getting to be a real pain in the ass.”

  16

  I didn’t want to cause Lopez any more embarrassment, not after he’d gone out on a limb to get Napoli off my back. This meant I didn’t want to get my name on any police reports related to Danny Dapezzo’s death, since it might be difficult for Lopez to explain to the Organized Crime Control Bureau what his girlfriend was doing at the scene of yet another mob hit.

  Lucky was also in favor of avoiding contact with the cops. In fact, he, Bobby, and Nathan were all opposed to reporting Danny’s death to the police. However, Vinny was a respectable businessman who had just, through no fault of his own, discovered a violently murdered man in his cellar. Due to his family connections, he was used to looking the other way, he said, but there were limits, and we had just reached them. So he rejected (somewhat hysterically) the three gangsters’ plan to cover up the crime, remove Danny’s body by stealth, and dump the corpse somewhere in New Jersey.

  Max and I sided with Vinny. As I explained quite firmly to Lucky and the Corvino soldiers, I had no intention of becoming an accomplice in concealing a homicide and destroying evidence.

  So Lucky, Max, and I left the scene while Vinny was calling 911 to report the shooting.

  The three of us were silent all the way back to Manhattan, not wanting to discuss the case within earshot of our cab driver, but too absorbed by the subject to talk about anything else.

  When we got to the bookstore, Nelli greeted us with enthusiasm, then stared intently at Max as he related the details of Danny’s death to her. While he talked, she drooled a little.

  I walked through the bookshop, followed by Lucky, and sank into a cushioned chair near the fireplace. “You really think they won’t slip up and mention to the cops that we were there?” I asked Lucky.

  “Vinny, Bobby, and Nathan? No, they’ll be fine. And even if they do say something—which they won’t, so stop worrying—they don’t even know your names, after all.”

  I doubted the absence of my name would keep Napoli off my trail if he got a description of me, and I knew Lopez would quickly realize who “the Doc” was. So I decided to hope the subject just never came up.

  “Well,” I said, “at least Vinny’s story about Danny’s death will sound so crazy, the cops will probably be fully occupied with trying to figure out how he died.”

  Lucky shook his head. “Nah, it’s going to sound like what the cops hear all the time when they’re poking their noses into mob hits.” In response to my puzzled frown, he said, “Nobody saw nothin’.”

  “Oh,” I said as I realized what he meant. “Oh.”

  “They’ll think Vinny’s just covering up when he claims that a killer with a shotgun got past him and the Corvino soldiers unseen, blew Danny away, and disappeared without a trace.” He shrugged. “Business as usual. And you can bet he won’t tell them the vault was closed and locked when Danny died. Anyone raised by the Corvinos will know better than to confuse the cops with unnecessary details.”

  “Hmm.” I saw Lucky’s point. The story the cops heard at Vino Vincenzo would sound much more mundane than one we had heard. “Poor Vinny. Either way, I think he’s in for a very long interview with Detective Napoli.”

  “Probably. But even though he’s pretty shaken up, he knows the score. He won’t mention us to the cops.” Lucky sat down by the fireplace, too. “And when I called Father Gabriel, I told him to say that Vinny is the one who asked him to come. So he won’t drag me into it, either.”

  “You called Father Gabriel?” I said. “For a death all the way out in Brooklyn?”

  “It’s one of the five boroughs,” Lucky said. “Not exactly a distant region. Anyhow, he was Danny’s priest. That’s who you call when a guy kicks the bucket—his own priest.”

  “Oh, really? When you murdered Elena’s second husband, did you call his priest?”

  “No. You don’t call for the priest when you’re the one who whacked the deceased,” Lucky snapped. “When are you going to get off my back about Sally Fatico?”

  “Who?” I said blankly.

  “Elena’s second husband!”

  I frowned. “She married a man named Sally?”

  “Salvatore.”

  “Oh.”

  Max and Nelli came over to the alcove to join us. Nelli had a large rawhide bone in her mouth. Max was carrying a tray with some cookies and coffee cups on it. “I’ve just started a pot brewing.”

  “I’m so confused,” I said wearily.

  “That’s understandable,”
Max said. “The situation is most perplexing.”

  Nelli lay down and started chewing on her bone.

  “I gather that activity helps her think.” Max added with a touch of resentment, “In any case, at least it keeps her from chewing on my belongings.”

  “Something’s bugging me.” Lucky rubbed his forehead. “The way these guys are dying… in a sense, they’re very ordinary hits. Shot through the heart in a restaurant. Hit on the head and dumped in the river. A shotgun in the face. It’s work-a-day stuff.”

  “Oh, good grief,” I said in disgust.

  “No, let him continue, Esther,” Max said.

  “What I mean is,” Lucky said, with an irritated glance at me, “the killer is either an ordinary wiseguy, or someone who wants us to think he’s an ordinary wiseguy.”

  “Oh, well, that narrows it down.”

  “I really wish your cop boyfriend would do something to put you in a better mood,” Lucky grumbled at me.

  Before I could reply, Max said, “Let’s not quarrel. What are you getting at, Lucky?”

  “These hits are exactly how these things are done in our business. Except for…”

  “The mystical elements,” Max said.

  “Right,” Lucky said. “And it’s finally occurred to me to wonder why.”

  “Hmm.” Max stroked his beard. “Interesting.”

  “A person or a thing that can make doppelgangsters and commit impossible murders without even being seen…” Lucky frowned. “Why aren’t the hits… I dunno. More creative? More original? If you can spook Danny Dapezzo with a doppelgangster and slip unseen through a locked steel door, then why just blow him away with a shotgun, like any dim-witted foot soldier can do?”

  “You mean,” I said slowly, “why not make his death dramatic enough to match the mystical power behind it? Sort of an Edgar Allan Poe death?”

  “A what kind of death?”

  “The writer, Edgar All—”

  “Yeah, I know who he is, I just don’t know what you mean.”

  “He killed off his characters in bizarre, chilling ways,” I said, remembering the times I’d left the light on all night after reading Poe. “So, for example, what if we had found Danny’s corpse standing upright and staring in horror at the door, with no apparent cause of death? Or what if Charlie had suffocated after being buried alive, instead of getting shot over a plate of pasta?”

  “Yeah, that would be scary,” Lucky agreed. “That would be like nothing I ever seen before.”

  “Hmm. So in one sense,” Max mused, “these murders are ordinary, mundane. Which is in direct contrast to the rare phenomenon of doppelgangerism—and to the unique way it’s being employed here. In my reading so far, I have found nothing similar to our problem.”

  “Nothing at all?” I asked in despair.

  He shook his head. “Even where doppelgangers invariably portend death, the demise which follows is relatively normal. There does not seem to be a known form of doppelgangerism whereby murder through seemingly impossible means is the cause of death.” He stroked his beard again and nodded. “So while the murders are uncreative and unoriginal, the magic being employed here is highly creative and quite original. The contrast is striking, now that Lucky has brought it to my attention.”

  “Which brings us back to the question,” I said, “of how someone actually committed Charlie’s and Danny’s murders. A bullet that went around a corner and hit Charlie right in the heart. There were lots of people present, but no one saw the killer. And then Danny…” I shook my head. “How?”

  “I have a theory,” Max said.

  “Thank God,” I said. “I’m wide open to anything at this point. What’s your theory, Max?”

  “Let’s look at the problem from this perspective for a moment: Why was Danny killed today?” Max said. “Why not yesterday?”

  Lucky shrugged. “ ‘Cuz the killer chose today.”

  “No, I mean to say, what was different about today? Last night, after all, Danny found the idea of a doppelgangster absurdly comical.”

  “Today,” I said, “he saw the thing. And he was terrified.”

  “He was only terrified, I think,” said Max, “because he knew what it meant. He knew because we had told him. Johnny saw his own doppelgangster, but he felt no fear, because he did not know what it meant.”

  “So, whether or not he knows what it means, the victim dies after seeing the doppelgangster. We’d already figured that out,” Lucky said.

  “But because of the way both Charlie and Danny died,” Max said, “I now think there’s more to it than that. When we said that upon seeing the doppelgangster, the victim is cursed with death, I think we failed to realize just how thorough the curse is.”

  “Oh.” Lucky’s eyes widened. “I think I see where you’re goin’ with this. These were guys who walked around with the threat of death all the time. An ordinary curse wouldn’t really be a change of pace for them.”

  “Indeed,” said Max. “As I understand it, a peaceful retirement is not the norm in your business. It’s more common for a member of your profession to die violently and perhaps in his prime.”

  “Yeah.” Lucky grinned. “But me, I been lucky.”

  “So these were men accustomed to taking precautions to safeguard their lives,” Max said. “It was habitual for them. I’ll wager that even Johnny Be Good, though he was careless in many ways, carried a firearm for self-protection.”

  “You bet he did,” said Lucky.

  “And Danny and Charlie had each reached an age and a rank that suggests they were good at staying alive.”

  “They were.” Lucky nodded.

  “This is why I believe the curse placed upon them was a powerful one,” said Max. “Extraordinarily powerful. It didn’t just sentence them to death. It ensured that nothing could prevent their deaths from that point onward. Not witnesses, not being hidden from view at a restaurant, not being in a locked cellar and well-armed. Once the victim was cursed, the killer could strike when and where he pleased.”

  “So you’re saying the killer could stand at the window of Bella Stella’s and fire his gun around a corner to kill Charlie, as long as he knew Charlie was in there?” I said. “He could walk right past witnesses like Bobby and Nathan at Vino Vincenzo, and just will them not to see him? Then simply open a locked vault to kill Danny, even though he didn’t have the combination? And then leave again, still without Vinny and the others seeing him?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly how I believe this is being achieved,” Max said. “The fatal curse imbued in the doppelgangsters made the victims utterly vulnerable to the murderer’s deadly intent, no matter what precautions they took.”

  “Whoa,” said Lucky, clearly impressed.

  “But the killer is not normally invincible,” Max said. “These doppelgangsters are quite sophisticated, so making them must cost him enormous energy. Therefore, I postulate that they are essential to his plan. Not to confuse the evidence trail, as we previously discussed. That’s obviously useful, since the killer doesn’t need an alibi for a murder if the time of death can’t be established, but that’s a… a bonus, you might say. An example of how comprehensive our adversary’s strategy is.”

  Max paused in thought for a moment, then continued, “Yes, I now believe each doppelgangster’s primary function is to curse the victim by making him utterly defenseless against the intended murder. After that, whatever time, place, and method the killer chooses to employ, it is invariably successful. So successful that no obstacle can thwart him and no witness can identify him.” Max concluded, “Therefore, once Doctor Dapezzo saw his own doppelgangster today, his death was virtually certain no matter what precautions he took.”

  “But if the killer is that powerful,” I argued, “why go through this elaborate charade with the doppelgangsters? Why not just walk up to the victims, curse them to their faces, and kill them?”

  “Well, there’s one obvious reason,” said Lucky. “He’s already killed three people
and no one’s caught him, and no one can figure out who he is.”

  “And,” I recalled, realizing the full significance of it now, “we got laughed off the stage last night when we tried to explain the danger to his next victim.”

  “Yes,” Max agreed. “These are both excellent points. This method masks his identity, his activities, even his very existence. He calculated that no one would suspect doppelgangerism. And even if they did, he felt confident no one would listen to such a theory.”

  “He got that right,” Lucky said morosely.

  “Also,” I said, thinking about it, “the whole idea of a doppelganger is spooky. It creeps me out, it scared Charlie witless, and it terrified Danny. That fear gives the killer psychological power over his intended victims. Maybe inspiring such visceral fear even gives the killer a kick, some sadistic satisfaction.”

  “Hmm. Interesting point.” Max frowned thoughtfully. “This is a subtle plan using innovative tactics, so we should not underestimate our adversary. I doubt that either his motives or his intentions are simplistic. There is something exceptionally… devious occurring here.” Max sniffed the air. “I forgot about the coffee!” He rose to go get it.

  When he came back with the pot, I said, “I just thought of something else, Max. We know now that Johnny’s doppelgangster was telling us the truth about seeing Danny’s doppelgangster.”

  “Ah, yes! Hmm. So they’re not self-aware,” Max mused as he poured the coffee. “That is to say, a doppelgangster evidently has no idea it isn’t the real individual. Otherwise, why would Johnny’s duplicate have told us about seeing another such creature?”

  “It acted just like Johnny because it really believed it was Johnny,” Lucky said.

  “Exactly. Moreover,” Max said, “there’s an obvious corollary. The doppelgangsters cannot recognize each other.”