Dopplegangster (21 page)

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Authors: Laura Resnick

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“Ah.” Max nodded. “Of course.”
“Of course,
what
?” I said.
“Don’t you see, kid?” said Lucky. “A doppelgangster is created, given the contract, and then vanishes when the hit is completed. The perfect assassin!”
“No, I don’t see. Johnny was already dead when we met with his ‘bilocate,’ ” I pointed out.
“Hmph.” Lucky frowned in thought.
“Why,” Max wondered, “would the entity creating these doppelgangsters want at least one of them to continue masquerading as the victim after he’s deceased?”
“Of course!” Lucky jumped up. “I got it!”
Startled, Nelli jumped up, too, tail wagging, tongue lolling as she panted and gazed expectantly at Lucky. Max and I gazed at him expectantly, too.
“Okay, Charlie’s death occurred in front of witnesses, no way to hide that,” Lucky said. “But Johnny . . . He was found in the river. If you want to get rid of a body quick, that’s a good place to put it.”
I cleared my throat.
“Apart from getting a corpse out of your car trunk real fast, if you’re worried about getting caught with it—er, speaking theoretically, that is,” Lucky said.
“Of course,” Max said.
“Apart from that, any forensic evidence that was carelessly left on the body deteriorates a lot faster in the water than on land. Plus, you can always hope that something living in the water eats the corpse.”
“Do we
have
to go into this much detail?” I asked.
“My point—”
“And you do have one?”
“—is that dumping a body in the river is one way to confuse the trail for the cops. And however the hell Charlie’s shooting happened, that’s obviously confused the cops, too.”
“That’s for sure,” I said, thinking of Lopez and Napoli.
“And what’s gonna confuse ’em even more?” Lucky prodded.
Max and I gazed at Lucky in bewildered silence. His expression suggested that we were disappointing students at a seminar on the Way of the Wiseguy.
“We ain’t the only people,” Lucky continued, enunciating carefully out of consideration for our slow wits, “who saw that doppelgangster walking around and living Johnny’s normal life, even after Johnny was floating face down in the East River.”
“Oh.” I rubbed my hands over my face as I realized what he was saying.
“Oh.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Max said. “That explains it.”
“There will be contradictory witness statements about when Johnny was last seen or could have died,” I said.
“Exactly!” Lucky was pleased we had finally caught the train.
“But ever since Johnny’s body was found, no one has seen or spoken to his double. Including us.” I shuddered when I realized, “That . . . that
thing
suddenly decided to leave our meeting in the crypt. Somehow it knew! Knew that its original had just been found dead and its lifespan was over.”
Lucky nodded. “It sensed that its job was done. That it was time to sink back into whatever eph . . . ephemeral substances it came from.”
“But
how
did it know?” I asked. “And how did something that seemed as stupid as Johnny’s doppelgangster—”
“A
perfec
t replica of Johnny,” Lucky muttered.
“—manage to conceal the sudden awareness of Johnny’s death from us?”
“I hypothesize,” Max said, “that it was created that way. I suspect the creature may not have known that Johnny Be Good’s body had been found. It may not even have killed Johnny. We must keep in mind that poor Chubby Charlie saw his perfect double, but
no one
saw who killed Charlie, even though many people were present and the doppelgangster, based on what we know so far, is a visible, tangible phenomenon.”
“So if we’re not sure the double killed Johnny Be Good, and we’re not sure it even knew he was dead . . .” I spread my hands in a helpless gesture.
“Keep in mind the short lifespan that Lucky has mentioned. I suspect the creature was created to last only until the death of the original was discovered,” Max said. “At that moment in time, and quite possibly without knowing why, the doppelgangster felt a sudden compulsion to depart. Shortly thereafter, I suspect, it ceased to exist.”
“So . . .” Lucky thought it over. “The reason we ain’t seen Charlie’s doppelgangster since before he got whacked is because there were witnesses to his death.”
Max nodded. “There was no interval between Charlie’s death and the discovery of his demise. I postulate that his double ceased to exist almost immediately thereafter. But in Johnny Be Good’s case . . .”
I said, “The river has damaged the evidence, and there are witnesses who’ll confuse the trail considerably because they saw or spoke to ‘Johnny’ hours after the forensic estimate suggests that he was already dead.”
“The police will be forced to conclude,” Max said, “that a serious mistake was made in the collection or interpretation of the physical evidence. And they’ll never be able to pinpoint what it was.”
“So the killer doesn’t even need an alibi for the time of the murder,” I said. “Because the cops will never be sure when it happened.”
“Meanwhile, in between when Johnny’s wife last saw him and when he turned up dead, no one was lookin’ for him because no one knew he was missing.” Lucky said with reluctant admiration, “This is one slippery hitter. The cops’ll never figure out who whacked Johnny. Or Charlie.”
I looked at Lucky. “And you know who else might never figure this out?”
Lucky let out his breath and nodded. “The Gambello family. The Corvinos found a hitter that can pick us off like wooden ducks at a carnival shooting gallery. And we might never figure out who it is or how he’s doing it.”
“You’ve got two deaths in the family, and you’re just guessing it’s the Corvinos,” I said. Lopez was just guessing, too. “But I don’t see how that makes sense. Not with a killer as smart as you say this one is. Surely the Corvinos must know you’ll suspect them and hit back. So why isn’t the killer trying to make these deaths look like an accident?”
Lucky shrugged. “Because in our line of work, one death might be an accident, but two is always a business problem. No matter what it looked like, we’d suspect the Corvinos by the time the second guy bought the farm. So why bother to disguise it? For the Corvinos, the main thing is to keep the cops from nailing them for these hits.” As his phone rang, he added, “Betcha they’re enjoying this.” He glanced at the readout. “It’s Danny.”
“We need to meet him.” Max added firmly, “Without bloodshed.”
Lucky answered his phone by saying, “I been tryin’ to reach you since last night, you putz.”
Max looked at me anxiously.
“Danny won’t hang up,” I assured him in a low voice. “This is how people in Lucky’s profession talk to each other.”
“Ah! Another interesting example of their dialect. I see.”
Lucky said, “What? Huh? Why should I believe you? Who? When? Get real.” After another minute or two of this, he covered the receiver with his hand and said to us, “Danny says the Corvinos been watching the news and are feeling very concerned. They claim they didn’t do these two hits on our family, and they want a sit-down to make sure we ain’t gonna hit them back, because that would be a terrible injustice.”
“Do you think that’s Danny talking? Or is it his double?” I asked.
“Don’t really matter,” Lucky said. “Whichever one it is, Max wants to talk to him. Er, it. Whatever. Right, Doc?”
“Indeed,” said Max.
Lucky nodded and said into the receiver, “I’d rather kiss Osama Bin Laden than have a sit-down with you, you jerk.”
Max gasped and reached for the phone. I stopped him, figuring Lucky knew what he was doing. While I struggled with Max, my own phone rang.
Lucky covered his phone while I checked the LCD panel on mine. “Relax, Doc,” he said. “Reverse psychology. Let’s let Danny think this sit-down was strictly his idea, that we don’t even want to come. It’ll make our hand stronger when we’re face-to-face.”
“Oh!” Max relaxed. “I see.” He smiled. “My dear fellow, clearly I should leave this in your hands. I apologize!”
My caller was Lopez. I flipped open my phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. I’m sorry about last night.”
Lucky whispered to me, “Should I suggest the bookstore?”
“For what?” I said.
Lopez said, “Uh, for canceling our date.”
I covered the phone for a moment so he wouldn’t hear me speaking to Lucky again.
Lucky said, “For the sit-down. Do we want to meet here?”
I shook my head. I was disinclined to hold a Mafia sit-down in the place where Max lived and worked.
“Esther?” Lopez said, sounding puzzled. “Are you okay?”
I removed my hand from the receiver and assured Lopez, “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. You really don’t need to worry so much about me.” Then I said to Lucky, “How about Bella Stella? It’s closed and empty.”
“Oh, please, don’t you start on me, too,” said Lopez. “Stella Butera is bad enough.”
“What?” I said absently into the phone.
Lucky shook his head. “No way will the Corvinos come to Stella’s. It’s Gambello turf.”
Lopez said, “Stella’s lawyer is claiming restraint of trade and . . . oh, a bunch of other stuff. I can’t keep his jabbering straight after two minutes. And it turns out Stella’s got friends in high places. So it looks like we’re going to have to let her reopen the restaurant soon.”
Lucky said, “Danny’s suggesting St. Monica’s.”
“That’s good,” I said with a nod to Lucky.
“Not it’s not good.” Lopez sounded irritable. “Look, I know you like Stella, and I know you want to start earning again—even though I
really
want you to find a safer job—but it’s a crime scene, Esther. A crime where we can’t even figure out how the crime was committed! So we might need to go over the scene again. But it looks like that’s just too damn bad, and Stella will get her way.”
Lucky said to me and Max, “Okay, we’re on. The sit-down is set for St. Monica’s. Tonight at eight o’clock.”
“Meanwhile,” Lopez continued wearily, “the Shy Don’s lawyer—who, by remarkable coincidence, is the same lawyer representing Stella—is pressuring us to release the bodies of Chubby Charlie and Johnny Be Good, so that the family can hold their funerals.”
“So release the bodies,” I said absently.
Lucky and Max looked at me. I waved a dismissive hand at them.
“It’s a
murder
investigation, Esther,” Lopez said. “And we’re not scheduling our work around the Gambellos’ social calendar!”
“Sore subject?” I guessed.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Lopez sighed. “Anyhow, until we sort out the discrepancies between the physical evidence and various witness statements, releasing the bodies to be embalmed isn’t our favorite choice.”
“I know there are discrepancies,” I said. “But I told you exactly what I saw. I told Napoli. I told you
both
. Over and over.”
“I didn’t mean you,” Lopez said soothingly. “Well, not
just
you.”
“Oh?”
Nearby, I heard Lucky making the exchange of insults with Danny that signaled they were preparing to say good-bye and get off the phone.
Lopez said to me, “We’ve got witnesses who say they talked to Johnny Gambello hours after the medical examiner says he was already dead.”
“So there’s confusion about when Johnny Be Good died?” I asked, a little loudly. When Lucky and Max looked at me again, I nodded.
“We’re going to have to reinterview everyone we’ve talked to,” Lopez said, sounding tired.
I prudently decided not to mention that I was one of the people who’d spoken with Johnny after he was dead.
Deciding it was time to change the subject, I said to him, “Never mind dead wiseguys. How are
you?
You’ve been working ridiculous hours. You haven’t even had a day off since coming back from Long Island!”
“Oh, I’m fine. Actually, that’s why I called,” he said in a lighter tone. “They finally noticed my overtime and ordered me to take a couple of days off. Are you free tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
No, no, no . . .
I wanted to drum my heels and cry.
“I
wish
I was free,” I said sincerely. “But I have plans I can’t change. Uh, too many people involved.”
“If it’s an orgy, I could come along and be your partner,” he suggested.
“I can’t bring a date to this,” I said truthfully.
“Oh, well. Okay.” The fact that he never sulked was fast becoming one of my favorite things about him. He asked, “What about tomorrow? I could come over.”
“Yes,” I agreed readily. “Absolutely. Let’s do something together tomorrow.”

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