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Authors: Laura Resnick

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“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.”
10
 
“W
haddya mean, an ‘operation’?” Lucky demanded.
“Apparition,” I corrected, waving my research book at him. “According to this, an apparition can be corporeal even if the person it’s replicating is already dead.”
“Huh?”
“While I would much rather not hear myself say something like this aloud,” I told Lucky, “apparently it’s possible for an
apparition
of Johnny to look and sound real while he’s already sleeping with the fishes.”
“So now we got operations
and
doppelgangsters?”
“Actually, a doppelgangster is a
type
of operation. So, even though he was dead at the time, I think we saw Johnny’s perfect double yesterday.” I repressed a shudder of revulsion and tried not to think about the way the doppelgangster had eyed me in my little black dress.
“A
type
of operation? How many types do they got?” Lucky demanded.
I consulted the book again, one from a large pile that Max had suggested I peruse when I arrived at his bookstore this morning. He was currently down in the laboratory in search of a rare scroll or something.
After the initial shock of hearing that they had just been talking to a dead man, Max and Lucky both came to the obvious conclusion as we stood on the sidewalk outside of St. Monica’s yesterday evening: The body pulled from the East River had been incorrectly identified.
They were right, I realized when I calmed down, it couldn’t be Johnny Gambello. It must be some other Elvis impersonator. An understandable mistake. Lopez would discover the error once he arrived at the scene. And apart from the fact that the discovery of the corpse had ruined my plans for the evening, it had nothing to do with us or our strange problem.
Naturally, we called Johnny’s cell phone, just to assure ourselves that he was alive and kicking. He didn’t answer. This made us uneasy, but Lucky insisted it didn’t mean anything. After all, Johnny was a mook who lost one cell phone after another. Or maybe he had turned it off because he’d gone straight from the church to a poker game. In any case, we had just
seen
Johnny, so we knew the day-old body in the river was someone else.
Soothed by this sturdy logic, I went home to eat Chinese food alone in my pajamas and fantasize about what might have been. Lopez spent the night working, as I later learned from a text message he sent me (not wanting to wake me). Max went home to commune with his familiar. And Lucky, who never seemed to sleep, woke me bright and early the following morning to break the news that the corpse from the East River was indeed Johnny Be Good Gambello.
Johnny’s wife, who hadn’t seen him in several days (which wasn’t unusual, I gathered), had identified the body. The Gambellos were going into mourning. And the Shy Don was pressuring Lucky to find out who’d killed the mook.
“So how many types of operations do we need to be worrying about?” Lucky prodded now, as I continued peering at the text in my hands with tired eyes.
I said, “An apparition can be a doppelgänger, an alter ego, a ghost or spirit, a poltergeist, a remnant or revenant, the result of an out-of-body experience, an astral projection, an etheric body, or a . . .” I took a wild guess at the pronunciation. “A
fylgia
—but this last one seems to have more to do with shapeshifting than with what we’re seeing.”
Lucky let out a low whistle “It’s a whole
salumeria
of supernatural soldiers.”
“That sounds like an
Exposé
headline.” I added, “The Tibetans believe a double can separate from the original physical body either voluntarily or involuntarily. But considering who’s been replicated so far, I think we can rule out their theories in this case.”
“Why? Max ain’t ruling out
German
theories, after all.”
“Because in Tibetan tradition,” I said, glancing at the text again, “such separation normally occurs as a result of prolonged prayer and meditation.”
“Well, Johnny only went to church when he bet big on a longshot,” Lucky admitted. “But Charlie went to Mass and Confession every week.”
“Among the Tibetans,” I added, “a double or apparition is almost always associated with saints, hermits, and holy persons.”
“Oh. In that case, yeah,” Lucky agreed. “We can rule that out.”
Lucky, alas, was not amenable to wading through a stack of books. He mostly paced around the shop and made phone calls while Max and I tried to figure out what was going on.

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