Dopplegangster (24 page)

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Authors: Laura Resnick

BOOK: Dopplegangster
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“Whatever,” I said. “The point is, there’s something Evil going on here, and we need to put a stop to it before anyone else winds up dead.”
“The men who have been killed,” the widow said, her voice bitter, “men like Johnny and Charlie. Why do you care? Do you know how much misery they caused in their time? Why should you want to prevent the deaths of more men like that?”
“I witnessed one of these deaths, so the cops think the killer may target
me
,” I said. “And there’s too much about these killings that we don’t understand, such as how they were accomplished—”
“The papers say Johnny was hit over the head and dumped in the river,” Elena said. “No mystery there.”
“—and what the role of these doppelgangsters is.”
“Doppelgangsters?” the priest and the widow said together.
“Um, it’s complicated,” I said. “Anyhow, my point is, these aren’t typical mob hits; there’s something very strange occurring, and since we don’t know why Charlie and Johnny were chosen for these murders, we can’t say for sure that the next victim won’t be an innocent bystander—like me or Lucky.”
“There is nothing
innocent
about Lucky Battistuzzi,” the Widow Giacalona spat.
Since she had every reason to feel that way, I didn’t argue. Instead, I asked the priest to escort me into the crypt.
“Now?” he said. “You don’t want to wait for the others?”
I explained that I had come early in search of my wrap. Seeing his blank expression, I asked, “Didn’t the administrator I spoke to on the phone today give you the message?”
He shook his head. “At least, I don’t think so. I admit, I can be a bit absentminded. But I was in the crypt earlier, Esther, to set it up for your meeting, and I don’t remember seeing an evening wrap there. Of course, I’m not very knowledgeable about ladies’ accessories, and I wasn’t looking for it. Shall we go and have a look now?”
I nodded and thanked him. He gestured for me to precede him, then encouraged the widow to find solace in her prayers. With Father Gabriel’s sturdy footsteps echoing behind me, I went toward the stairs that led down into the crypt.
13
 
O
nce Father Gabriel and I were out of earshot of the widow, I said, “I think I made her angry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Well, it must be admitted that she’s prone to anger,” Father Gabriel said gently, as we descended the stairs to the crypt. “Especially when the subject of, er, certain families comes up. The Gambellos and Corvinos have given her much to grieve over.”
“
Both
families?” I asked curiously.
“Oh, yes. Both families. It’s terribly sad. The trials she has been through, the sorrows and injustices . . .”
The lights were already on at the bottom of the brick-lined staircase, as well as inside the crypt. Within the underground chamber, I found no memories of Johnny, thank goodness. Just bunny costumes, chairs, tables, and food. A
lot
of food.
I said, “Wow! When you said refreshments, I thought you meant a pot of coffee and a box of doughnuts.”
There was a folding table set up near the far wall, and it was practically groaning beneath the weight of deli foods from, I assumed, one of Little Italy’s mouth-watering
salumerie
. Paper-thin slices of prosciutto were delicately rolled and arranged on the same platter with shining slices of fresh mozzarella, creamy-colored provo-lone, plump purple figs, well-marbled salami, crisp-looking slices of red and green bell pepper, and pale green melon balls. Another tray contained slices of lightly seasoned roasted eggplant and grilled zucchini, four kinds of olives, and marinated mushrooms. There was a basket of Italian bread, and a generous supply of miniature cannoli—crispy tubes of dessert pastry stuffed with sweetened ricotta cheese and tiny bits of dark chocolate, then dusted with powdered sugar. A selection of sodas, fruit juices, and bottled water was chilling on ice, and there was an electric cappuccino maker with a pitcher of milk beside it.
“There’s no wine,” Father Gabriel said apologetically. “I just thought, you know, a tense meeting about a deadly matter among bitter enemies . . .”
“Ah,” I said. “Yes. Alcohol might not be a good idea. They could get tipsy and shoot up the church.”
“Or one of us,” he said with feeling.
“Good point,” I said.
“I hope they won’t mind.”
“With this spread, I don’t see how any reasonable person can have objections.” Our eyes met . . . and though we exchanged no words, we shared the same thought at the same moment—and chuckled together. This meeting wasn’t for
reasonable
people, of course; it was for wiseguys. I smiled at the priest, liking him. “I’ll explain it to Lucky. I’m sure he’ll agree and take care of any complaints that arise.”
“Thank you.”
“Was the collections dish especially full on Sunday, Father? This seems like a pretty expensive refreshments table.”
“Lucky said that Danny Dapezzo would reimburse the church.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “Good.”
Since I doubted Lucky had cleared that with Danny, I decided to make sure
someone
repaid the priest. I doubted any of St. Monica’s parishioners made their weekly contributions in the belief that their hard-earned cash would be used to feed tasty delicacies to wealthy wiseguys.
Looking around the crypt, Father Gabriel said, “Thinking of the widow’s tragic past almost made me forget why we came down here. Do you remember where you left your wrap?”
“Draped over the back of the chair I was sitting on.”
Since the room was rearranged, there was no telling which chair had been mine. I didn’t see the garment anywhere, so I started looking through the chairs that were folded and stacked against the wall. “Maybe someone put my chair back, and my wrap slid down to the floor?”
“Let’s see.” The priest started investigating a different stack of chairs.
I couldn’t resist asking, “I understand Elena has lost three husbands, Father?”
“Yes, her life has been very difficult. Hmm, no, I don’t see a black wrap over here. I’ll look at that stack over there,” he said. “Elena’s losses have brought her closer to her faith, but at great personal cost.”
“Her first husband worked for the Gambello family?” I asked, trying not to sound gossipy.
“More than that. He was one of the Shy Don’s many nephews.”
That surprised me. “Was he a brother of Johnny Gambello?”
“No, Anthony and Johnny were cousins. But they were almost as close as brothers. Anthony was older, and he tried to take Johnny under his wing. Help him, give him some guidance. But that, of course, turned out very bitterly.”
“How so?” I asked, looking around the room and wondering where else my wrap might have fallen or been dropped. Among the bunny costumes? It seemed unlikely, but I checked anyhow.
Father Gabriel explained, “About twenty years ago, Johnny had an affair with a lady whom a certain drug lord considered his, er, exclusive companion.”
“Okay, I know Johnny wasn’t very bright, but why would the woman do something so dumb?” I wondered.
“Well, though his looks were eventually ruined by his indulgences, Johnny was quite a handsome young man. So the woman may have found him irresistible. I remember neighborhood girls my own age swooning over Johnny back then, though we were much younger than he, of course.”
“So you grew up around the Gambellos?” I asked.
“Yes. Hmm, I’m afraid I don’t see your wrap anywhere, Esther.”
“No, I don’t, either.” But I was more interested in our conversation by now. “You knew Johnny back then?”
“No, I just knew who he was. As everyone did. Well, everyone except the cuckolded drug lord and his thugs.”
“They came looking for him?”
Father Gabriel nodded. “But Johnny was not unaware of the risks of wooing that woman, so he had taken a precaution when introducing himself to her. And it’s easy to believe that he was too foolish to consider how horribly the jest would backfire, or what it would cost others.”
“Oh, my God!” I covered my mouth. “Er, pardon me, Father. I mean . . . You’re saying Johnny told the woman he was Anthony?”
The priest nodded. “Precisely. As a result, Anthony’s body was found . . . Well, I’ll spare you the details, but it was a brutal death. And Elena, just over thirty at the time, became a widow.”
“What a terrible story,” I said with feeling. “No wonder she hated Johnny. But considering that Johnny had caused his cousin’s death, why didn’t Don Victor . . .”
“Well, Johnny was
also
a nephew of the don. So he was given a pass.”
I’d heard the expression before. At Bella Stella, of course. “And I gather it wouldn’t turn out to be the last time, either, that the Shy Don spared Johnny for doing something that would typically be a killing offense.”
“No, indeed,” the priest agreed.
“But how did Elena wind up married to a Corvino after that?” I sat in a chair and gestured for the priest to do the same.
“She fell in love,” Father Gabriel said simply, taking a seat. “They met here, in fact. I gather she sought support and counsel from Father Stefano, who was the priest here back then. Father Stefano encouraged their love, believing that the union of a Gambello widow and Corvino soldier might end the constant and deadly violence between the two families.” Father Gabriel sighed. “He had a good heart and a strong faith, but he was naive about these matters.”
“It’s a real Romeo and Juliet story, isn’t it?”
“With an equally unhappy outcome.”
“When the Gambellos found out,” I guessed, “the sh . . . er, things hit the fan?”
“Elena married her Corvino lover in secret, then went alone to Don Victor’s home to confess the truth, to ask for his forgiveness and blessing. He was so enraged, he tried to kill her.”
I gasped, imagining the violence of that confrontation. The frail old man’s vitriol and fury, Elena’s fear and desperation, and the thugs who were probably just outside the door, prepared to carry out whatever heinous act their boss ordered.
Father Gabriel continued, “But even the don, who had committed so many acts of deadly violence before growing old and turning over the dirty work to his subordinates . . . Even he stopped short of murdering a woman.
Just
short. Elena says she had dark bruises on her throat for a week after that night.”
I put my hand up to my own throat, disturbed by the mental image of the Shy Don trying to kill his nephew’s remarried widow.
Father Gabriel shrugged. “There is some reluctance among wiseguys to murder a woman.”
“I guess that saved Elena’s life.”
He sighed. “Well, they didn’t kill Elena, but as far as the Gambellos were concerned, there was still unfinished business to settle. A Corvino had courted a Gambello widow. He had poached in sacred territory. In their code of honor, they couldn’t rest without making an example of him. So Lucky . . .
Oh
. Oh, dear.” He looked at me, evidently recalling that I hung out with Lucky. “Never mind.”
“So Lucky killed him?” I asked in shock. “For
that
?” I had assumed Lucky’s murder of Elena’s second husband was “business,” not something so personal, so vicious.
“Yes.”
“No wonder she hates Lucky so much,” I said, appalled.
“Yes,” Father Gabriel repeated.
I felt depressed. I was suddenly ashamed to think of Lucky as my friend, as someone I liked.
Lopez had been right, I was naive. I knew Lucky was a killer! Had I really supposed he’d had
good
reasons for murdering people?
“Of course, Elena remarried in time,” said Father Gabriel.
“Uh-huh,” I said, not really interested now, feeling sick as I thought about the deeds of a man I had described to Elena as my friend only a few minutes ago.
“To another Corvino.” The priest shrugged. “Perhaps she was lonely. Or perhaps staying within a powerful family made her feel safer. But, of course, Eddie Giacalona was killed, too. About two years ago.”
“By Lucky?”
“No. By another Corvino.”
I looked at Father Gabriel in surprise. “They killed one of their own?”
“For betraying the family.” He snorted and added, “Not all bosses are as sentimental as the Shy Don.”
“So Elena must hate the Corvinos almost as much as she hates the Gambellos.”
“It’s an obsession with her.” He looked even sadder. “She comes here to pray twice a day, almost every day. But her heart has not yet felt God’s infinite love and forgiveness.”
“That’s hardly surprising, is it?” I said.
He suddenly changed his tone and the subject. “But listen to me, gossiping about all this water under the bridge. We still haven’t found your wrap, have we? We should look in the lost and found. If you spoke to Mrs. Campanello—that’s who was in the office today—she probably came down, found it, and put it there. Why didn’t I think of that before? You stay here, Esther, I’ll go look.”

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