Doppelgangster

by Laura Resnick

  “If I knew more about their creation or how their power functions,” Max said, “then I might feasibly be able to develop a potion or spell to help protect the victim—even if only temporarily—from their influence.”

  “Well, Charlie and Johnny would’ve gobbled up any drink we put in front of them,” Lucky said. “But Danny was real careful about his diet. So whether or not that’ll work will probably depend on the target.”

  “It will also depend on learning more,” Max said. “Without sufficient information, such intervention could easily endanger the next victim more than help him.”

  “Yeah, my grandma—the strega—once accidentally gave someone a hernia when trying to get him to fall in love with her client.” Lucky shook his head. “Potions and spells can be tricky.”

  “Indeed,” Max said.

  “Whether or not you can protect the next victim also depends on our knowing who it is,” I said. “Which we don’t. Maybe there’s another doppelgangster wandering around out there right now, and we just haven’t heard about it yet—or heard about the resultant death.”

  “I got my ear to the ground,” Lucky said, tapping his cell phone. “I’ll know if any more Gambello duplicates turn up at least.”

  “And our ultimate objective, of course,” Max said, “is to unmask and stop our adversary. If the deadly effect of the curse can be eliminated or reduced, the sorcerer creating these entities would have to regroup and adapt. And that might give us time to find and expose him.”

  Looking at the problem from another angle, I said to Lucky, “So with Danny dead, too, do you see any link among the victims yet? Something they all had in common?”

  “The only thing I can think of is that plenty of guys would’ve lined up around the block to whack any one of them.” Lucky added, “If you think about it, it’s amazing that Johnny lived this long.”

  “So we have no way of determining who the next victim might be,” Max concluded.

  “Each of these deaths has brought the city one step closer to a Corvino-Gambello war,” I said. “Who would want that? Who would be crazy enough to engineer something that’s so destructive and so potentially dangerous for innocent bystanders?”

  Lucky shook his head, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling as he thought about it.

  Max said to me, “While our friend ponders how and why the victims are being chosen, you and I should return to researching how they might be created or disempowered.”

  With a weary nod of agreement, I opened another book and said, “I’ll leave the Middle High German tomes to you, Max.”

  We continued reading while Lucky continued talking a lot on his cell phone, trying to ward off a mob war. By that night, I knew more about doubles, apparitions, and bilocates than I had ever dreamed of learning or had any desire to know. And, as fatigue eventually made the small print of old books blur before my eyes, I didn’t feel my newfound knowledge had accomplished anything more than giving me a splitting headache.

  At a certain point, Max suddenly said, “Good heavens! How careless of me.”

  I was too punchy by then to take any interest as he rose from his seat and walked quickly to the back of the shop. I heard the cellar door open, and I assumed he was going down to his laboratory.

  My eyes drifted shut, my head drooped, and I dozed for a few minutes while Lucky sat nearby talking on his cell phone. After a while, something cold and wet poked my cheek. Startled, I opened my eyes. Nelli’s immense face was close to mine. She panted and stared at me meaningfully.

  “Huh?” I pushed her away, wondering why Max couldn’t have conjured a familiar with better breath.

  I glanced at my watch and was surprised to see that it was only ten o’clock. It felt later. Much later. Time drags when you’re reading about fetches and Bardo-bodies.

  Nelli trotted to the front of the shop. I heard her whining faintly by the door.

  “I think she wants her walk,” I said wearily.

  “I’ll do it,” Lucky said as he pocketed his cell phone. “You look beat. Maybe you should go home and get some shut-eye.”

  “Maybe you should, too.”

  “Nah, I’m waitin’ for another call from the boss.” The old hit man shrugged. “Might as well keep Max company while I wait.”

  “What news have you got so far?”

  “It sounds like Vinny, Bobby, and Nathan came through and told the Corvinos what really happened. But, of course, it’s such a crazy story, they’re juggling theories now and arguing over what to do. We don’t know exactly what they’re saying within their family, of course, but it’s easy to guess. And I can’t repeat to a lady what they’re saying to us tonight.”

  “What do you guess they’re saying within their family?”

  “Well, probably their least favorite theory is that we was tellin’ the truth last night and Danny was cursed with death by a doppelgangster.”

  “Go figure.” I rose to get Nelli’s leash from the back of the shop, near the cellar door. Her whining was getting louder.

  Lucky raised his voice so I could hear him. “They’re probably saying maybe I had Angelo Falcone whack Danny for laughing at me last night. Or, alternate theory, maybe Angelo’s a loose cannon who’s bumping off made guys without permission, and we—the Gambellos I mean—are his victims just as much as they are.”

  As I removed Nelli’s brand new pink leather leash from the wall hook where I’d seen it hanging earlier, I heard clanging and banging in the cellar. I opened the door and called down the stairs, “Max? Are you all right?”

  “Ouch! What? Oh! Yes, Esther, everything’s fine. I’m just…” I heard the clattering crash of metal objects hitting the cellar floor.

  “Max?”

  “I’ll be up in a moment!” he called back.

  I shrugged and closed the cellar door.

  “The Corvinos are probably also wondering,” Lucky said, as I returned to where he was sitting and handed him the leash, “whether our family’s using Angelo to do some fumigating and just making it look like he’s a loose cannon, so we can whack one of their guys without retribution.” He rose to his feet.

  Thinking over what he’d said, I asked, “Do you suppose it’s possible Angelo actually is mixed up in these murders?”

  Lucky shrugged. “After the last few days, I think anything’s possible. But I gotta say, Angelo sure don’t strike me as the genius sorcerer Max is describing. If Angelo ain’t really just a dumb punk trying too hard to get connected, then he’s been doin’ the best imitation I ever seen.”

  I nodded. It was hard to disagree with that impression. “But if the Corvinos think Angelo may be a loose cannon who’s killing wiseguys from both families, then at least they won’t start a war over Danny’s death.”

  “Sure they will.”

  “What?” I blinked. “Why?”

  “ ‘Cuz men in this line of work are cautious, kid. Short of seeing indisbootable evidence that the Gambello family had nothing to do with killing Danny—”

  “Indisputable,” I said automatically.

  “—they gotta make the conservative judgment call and assume we knew exactly what was going on. And then whack as many Gambellos as they can.” He shrugged philosophically. “This is business, after all.”

  “Business,” I repeated, feeling dread settle into my stomach.

  All things considered, I began to realize that Max and I had made a terrible mistake by attending the sit-down last night. Now that Danny Dapezzo was dead, the Corvinos might well decide to include us in their retribution. We had used our real names at the meeting, so it would be easy for a criminal organization to track us down now. Whatever their intellectual or educational shortcomings, wiseguys were notoriously good at finding and killing their enemies.

  I felt sick as I sank into a chair at the table.

  Lopez was right. I had been naive.

  Having summed up the situation, Lucky said cheerfully to Nelli, “Come on. Let’s take a walk.”


  He rounded the tall bookcase that stood between us and the door. I heard the soft clinking of metal as Lucky clipped Nelli’s leash to her collar, then the door chimes rang merrily as they left the shop together.

  I began rethinking my position on protective custody again. And now Max, I realized, would have to go into hiding with me.

  I pressed my fingers against my pounding temples as I acknowledged that I was going to have to tell Lopez what we had done. And he’d be so angry once he found out that I’d attended a Corvino-Gambello sit-down with Max, he might not even want to put me in protective custody anymore. He might decide to let the Corvinos have me, and good riddance.

  “This is a nightmare,” I muttered.

  There might be a Mafia contract on my head now! And all because Chubby Charlie Chiccante had died right in front of me. I was suddenly incensed at the fat, vulgar, rude, overdressed mobster. Why did he come to Bella Stella’s that day if he knew he was marked for death? And why sit in my section?

  I was so angry now, if Charlie weren’t already dead, I would kill him myself for getting me involved in this madness.

  And why had I involved Max? What was I thinking? After surviving for some three hundred fifty years, which couldn’t have been easy even with the help of a mysterious elixir, he might soon be sleeping with the fishes because of me!

  Wait a minute. I remembered why I had dragged Max into this. Because Lucky had convinced me I might be in danger from the killer, since Detective Napoli’s interest in me was making it look like I knew something. And because Lucky had taken Charlie’s talk of a “double” and the evil eye so seriously.

  So this was all Lucky’s fault! And Napoli’s. Ah-hah!

  It was good to have someone to blame.

  I heard the cellar door open and close. Max’s footsteps, accompanied by some metallic scraping and rattling, crossed the floor of the bookshop, moving toward me. As he came around a row of bookcases and I saw what was causing the noise, I rose to my feet and stared in surprise.

  “Here we are!” he said a little breathlessly.

  He was carrying two swords and a large, ornate ax.

  He said, “Er, can you help me with…”

  “Huh? Oh! Sure.” I gingerly reached for the ax—which was even heavier than it looked and fell to the floor with a thud. I jumped in time to prevent it from taking off half my foot.

  “Max! What are you doing with these things?” I demanded.

  “As per our earlier discussion,” he said, depositing the swords on the table, “we need to keep tools handy for the decapitation of doppelgangsters.”

  “My God.” I looked at the items on the table while Max stooped down to pick up the ax. He gave a little grunt as he heaved it up, then set it on the table with a heavy thud, alongside the other menacing objects.

  I tried to picture decapitating Johnny Be Good in the crypt of St. Monica’s with one of these bladed weapons. I had found him repulsive even before knowing he was a doppelgangster. Knowing what I knew now, could I behead him?

  After a long moment, I let out my breath in a rush. “I can’t cut off their heads. They’re too lifelike. I just can’t do it, Max.”

  He patted my hand. “That’s quite all right, my dear. Lucky is no doubt correct when he says it’s not a proper task for a young lady.”

  I lifted my gaze from the weapons on the table and said, “Max, I think you and I may be in danger.”

  “While Evil is afoot in New York,” he said with heroic serenity, “we’re always in danger, Esther.”

  “No, I mean a more, um, mundane kind of danger. Lucky says that the Corvino crime family—”

  The chiming of the doorbells interrupted me as someone entered the shop. It was after ten o’clock now—too late, surely, for the newcomer to be a book shopper. I froze, caught in a moment of debilitating terror. I recalled the brief, anonymous phone call a few hours ago. Had that been the Corvinos, hunting us down?

  As footsteps approached us, a hot rush of survival instinct flooded every capillary in my body. I snatched a sword from the table and turned to face the mortal danger bearing down on me.

  Lopez came around the corner of the bookcase.

  My jaw dropped as I gaped at him.

  “Detective Lopez?” Max said. “What a pleasant surprise! How nice to see you again.”

  Lopez and I stared at each other. He didn’t look at all surprised to see me here. In fact, he looked as if my presence confirmed his worst expectations, and his expression was grim and resigned.

  Max looked at the weapon in my hand, then leaned closer to me to whisper, “Er, are you angry at him?”

  “What? Oh.” I put the sword back down on the table, uncomfortably aware that I must look crazy and dangerous.

  Lopez was dressed in the same clothes he had worn this afternoon, jeans and a pale shirt. Since then, he had added a denim jacket to his ensemble.

  “Hi,” I said. “Why are you here?”

  “Because of the note you gave him.” Lopez’s voice was tired, flat, and a little cold.

  “The note?”

  “I found it at the scene.”

  I just stared blankly for a few moments. Then my brain woke up, and I realized what he was talking about.

  “That phone call a few hours ago!” I blurted. “The hang-up. That was you?”

  Lopez nodded.

  “I don’t understand,” Max said. “Why did you hang up?”

  “Because I didn’t call to talk,” Lopez replied tersely.

  Max asked, “What note have you found? What is its significance?”

  “It was on Danny when he died?” I guessed.

  “Danny,” Lopez repeated. His voice got chillier. “You were on first-name terms?”

  I said to Max, “He’s talking about the piece of paper I gave Danny last night.”

  “It was near the body,” Lopez said. “Probably fell out of the victim’s hand—or maybe a pocket—when he died.”

  “Oh, dear,” Max said.

  Lopez said, “It’s easy to see how it got missed. The scene was such a mess. And your note was stuck by dried blood to a broken bottle so that it almost looked like part of the torn wine label. It’s just luck that I’m the one who noticed it.” His expression didn’t suggest that the luck was necessarily good. “No names. Just two phone numbers. I recognized one of them right away.” He looked at me again. “Yours.” His voice was still flat. “I had a bad feeling that I knew who the other number belonged to, but I was hoping I was wrong.” He shifted his gaze to Max. “Until I dialed it and found out I was right.”

  This comment was followed by an awkward silence. My heart sank. I recalled thinking this afternoon, just before I left Lopez so I could try to help Danny, that I would tell him the truth tonight about where I’d gone today. But this wasn’t how I had intended to break the news.

  I asked, “Has this made things very bad with Detective Napoli?”

  “Napoli doesn’t know,” he said.

  My shoulders sagged with relief. “Oh, that’s good.”

  “No, it’s not good,” Lopez snapped. “Today I concealed evidence in a murder investigation, Esther!”

  “Oh!” I realized what he was saying. “Oh. You found that note with our numbers on it, and you… pocketed it? To protect me?”

  “Yes.” His voice was clipped, his expression dark.

  “That was very thoughtful,” Max said, beaming at Lopez.

  Lopez gave him a look that scared me.

  “Max,” I said, “try not to talk.”

  “Hmm?”

  “If they find out,” I said anxiously to Lopez, “would you be suspended? Or…”

  “Or charged?” He unleashed his anger now. “For stealing a note that connects my ‘fiancee’ to a brutal murder? Yes, Esther, I could be charged with obstructing justice. Probably, though, the department would rather keep it quiet and just kick me off the force. No one wants a scandal in the Organized Crime Control Bureau, after all, so the NYPD probably would
n’t like to advertise, by charging me, that one of their detectives concealed evidence in a murder to protect the mob girl he’s been dating. The possibilities for tabloid headlines alone would be bloodcurdling, from my captain’s point of view.”

  Feeling terrible about this, I said, “I never—”

  “Merely suspending me, of course, is a possibility. That’s the kind of pass that a superior officer gives to a detective he likes and who has a track record in his department. But guess what?”

  “I know,” I said, my heart pounding as I saw just how furious he was. “Napoli doesn’t like you, and you’ve only been in OCCB a few days. But—”

  “And that’s not the point!”

  Max said, “Perhaps we should all calm—”

  “If you don’t shut him up,” Lopez said to me, “I swear to God I’m going to do something that they’ll have to charge me for.”

  “Max,” I said sharply, “don’t talk.”

  “The point,” Lopez said, “is that there’s been a murder, and I concealed evidence and removed it from the scene, and I’m a cop, and that’s not what I do.”

  And that was the bottom line, I realized. He was more appalled by what he had done to protect me than he would be by anything that could happen to his career because of me.

  “Then we have to face the music,” I said.

  “What?” he snapped.

  A sudden sense of fatalistic calm washed over me. “You’ve got to enter that evidence into the investigation. You didn’t destroy it, did you? So take it to work and say that you found it at the scene and something happened that distracted you, so you pocketed it without realizing it, and now you’re—”

  “And as soon as Napoli finds out whose phone number is written on this note, he’ll know I’m lying,” Lopez said dismissively.

  “Of course he will. But he’ll also know that, after you took the note, you came to your senses and brought it right back.” When Lopez didn’t respond, I said, “Or if you don’t like that plan, then go back to Vinny’s wine vault and leave the note there for someone else to find. You’re a cop, you must know how to plant evidence.” After a moment, I said, “That came out wrong.”

  But his attention was suddenly on a different matter. “How do you know the hit happened in the vault? We haven’t released that information.”