Dopplegangster (29 page)

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Authors: Laura Resnick

BOOK: Dopplegangster
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I silently cursed the Evil that was dragging me away from this man right now.
I wanted to avoid lying to Lopez. So, choosing my words carefully, I said, “I can’t bring a stranger with me. It wouldn’t be appreciated.”
“Then I’ll wait outside for you, or in a cab or something.”
I shook my head. “No, this will take a while.”
“Esther—”
I kissed him. After a moment of surprised immobility, he slid his arms around me and kissed me back. I knew it was a dirty trick, kissing him so he’d stop talking about this; but it certainly wasn’t as if I didn’t want to kiss him. And go right on kissing him. For hours.
While we kissed, I tried to calculate how long it would take me to go get Max, go to Brooklyn, pry Danny Dapezzo out of his cousin Vinny’s wine vault, and get him back to the bookstore in the Village. At which point, I would cheerfully abandon Lucky and Max to question Danny about the doppelgangster and come up with a plan of action, while I returned to my interrupted plans with Lopez.
I
tried
to calculate it, but it wasn’t possible to think while Lopez was kissing me. Not possible at all.
Trying to regain my breath when he let me go, I settled for saying, “Look, this should only take a few hours. We’ll meet here again tonight, okay?”
At that point, I decided, I would have to tell him the truth about where I had gone today—and why. But right now, I was in a hurry and didn’t have time for the big argument I knew we’d have. So the truth would have to wait until tonight.
“Okay,” Lopez said, “I’ll come back tonight. But, look, are you sure I can’t even—”
I kissed him again. Quickly this time. “I have to go.”
He hesitated for a moment, obviously puzzled and probably wanting to ask if my caller had been Max, but then nodded. “Okay.”
“The fact that you never sulk is one of my favorite things about you,” I said suddenly.
He smiled and touched my cheek. “You don’t sulk, either. And dating a cop isn’t easy.”
“That much is true.”
I picked up my purse and walked through the front door as he held it open for me. I locked the apartment, and we went down the stairs together. Once outside, he put his arm around me as we walked to Tenth Avenue, where he hailed a cab for me. When a taxi stopped next to us, Lopez opened his mouth to give the driver the address of my destination, then realized he didn’t know where I was going. He looked at me in silent query.
“I’ll see you tonight.” I kissed him once more and hopped into the cab. To my relief, it instantly squealed away from the curb, as if fleeing deadly danger.
 
It took a few minutes to convince Max we’d never find a taxi driver willing to take Nelli to Brooklyn Heights with us, and we must therefore leave her behind. And once the two of us were finally in a cab and heading toward the bridge, we encountered heavy traffic; many of the downtown bars and restaurants were doing their midweek stocking up of food and alcohol for the coming weekend, so the narrow streets were clogged with parked delivery trucks. Then, to top it off, there was an accident in Brooklyn that caused traffic to back up onto the bridge, where we sat for twenty minutes.
After several tries, I finally reached Lucky on his cell phone. He had been in Queens, and now he was on his way to Brooklyn to help Danny. As Max and I sat in traffic, Lucky told me he’d been calling Danny without getting any response.
“Well, he said he was going to lock himself in a vault,” I reminded Lucky. “His cell phone probably isn’t getting a signal in there.”
“Let’s hope that’s all it is.”
“Call me when you get there. We’re still stuck on the bridge.” After I hung up, I said to Max, “We should have taken the subway, we’d be there by now.”
Since we weren’t moving at all, Max was fairly calm. “I propose we walk.”
I nodded and said to the driver, “We’re getting out here.”
He gave me a horrified look. “You can’t do that!”
I sighed. “I know you were counting on the meter running up to an astronomical sum while we sit here, but this is an emergency. We can’t dawdle. A human life is at stake.”
“Oh, come on, lady.”
“Also,” I said, “we’ll tip you well.”
“Yeah?”
I muttered to Max, “How much cash did you bring?” “Is one hundred dollars sufficient to cover our obligation?” he asked me.
“That’s way too much,” I said.
“That’s perfect!” The cab driver snatched the hundred dollar bill from Max. “Thanks, buddy! You folks have a nice day.”
“Hey!” I said.
“No, Esther, we have more urgent concerns than mere money.” Max opened the door, exited the cab, and extended his hand to me.
I didn’t know if he had invested wisely over the past three hundred years or if the Magnum Collegium—the secret, ancient, worldwide organization that had sent him here—paid him well. Either way, he always seemed to have a healthy cash flow. So since he didn’t want to fight with the driver about the money, I let it go.
The wind on the bridge whipped my dress around my legs as we walked above the East River and toward Brooklyn Heights.
“You look very nice, by the way,” Max said.
“Thanks,” I said morosely, recalling why I had worn this clingy black dress and these pretty red shoes today.
Once we reached Brooklyn, we walked south for a few streets to get away from the traffic jam. Then I hailed another cab.
“Oh,
must
we?” Max said with dread.
“Yes, we must,” I replied as a taxi pulled up next to us. “Manhattan is the only borough I know well. I haven’t the faintest idea how to find this wine shop on foot.”
This cab driver, however, didn’t know Brooklyn any better than I did. He also didn’t speak English. And Max’s Russian was rusty, especially when combined with the stress of being in a moving vehicle. So we drove around for quite some time in search of Vino Vincenzo, the wine shop where Danny was hiding.
“There are days when I really hate New York,” I muttered.
Just as we found the right street and turned into it—going the wrong way down a one-way street—my cell phone rang. The caller was Lucky.
“I’m here at the wine shop,” he said. “But I’m too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“Danny’s dead,” Lucky said.
Our cab rolled to a stop in front of Vino Vincenzo.
“What?”
“Dead,” Lucky repeated. “In the cellar.”
I half wondered if the gangster had died of old age while we made our epic journey to this spot.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I know what a corpse looks like,” Lucky pointed out.
“How was he killed?”
“Shotgun.”
“How do you know that?”
“I seen it before,” he said patiently. “And it’s pretty hard to mistake.”
“Oh.” My head was reeling. “How long ago?
“About ten minutes,” said Lucky. “Where are you now?”
“I’m right outside the wine shop. Max is paying our cab driver.” I got out of the cab.
“Don’t come downstairs. I’ll come up. This is not something you should see.”
I absorbed that for a moment. Then Max took my elbow, and I said, “All right. We’re coming inside now.”
I briefly relayed to Max what Lucky had just told me. Whatever had happened here, it hadn’t attracted a crowd. There were only a few people on the street, and they were going about their business. A massive young white man with big muscles and short brown hair was guarding the door of the wine shop, blocking the way.
“We’re closed, miss,” he said as we approached him.
“We’re here to see Lucky,” I said.
He looked at Max. “You’re the Doc?”
“Yes,” Max replied.
“Okay, you can go in.” He stepped aside long enough to let us pass, then resumed his position.
As we entered the shop, I said to Max, “He should have been standing there all along. Then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”
A shaky voice said, “He
was
standing there all along.”
I looked at the tidily dressed balding man who had just spoken. He was pale, sweating, and looked queasy. Something about his beady eyes was familiar. “You must be Danny’s cousin?”
He nodded. “Vinny Dapezzo.” He looked at Max. “You must be the Doc. I’ve been expecting you. Danny said you’d know what to do.” He gulped and started shaking. “And Lucky said there’d be a young lady with a white beard . . .”
“Pardon?” Max said.
“Sorry. I mean . . . Um . . .” Vinny shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Lucky got here right after it happened. Thank God. I know he’s a Gambello, but . . . Well, I was a
mess
. So were Danny’s boys. We had no idea what to do. I don’t, uh . . .” He started wringing his hands.
Lucky emerged from the back of the shop. It was an attractive place, elegantly decorated, very upscale, reflecting the expensive neighborhood and the well-heeled professionals who probably shopped here. Everything seemed to be in perfect order. You’d never guess that a notorious mobster was lying dead in the cellar.
“What happened here?” I asked.
Lucky and Vinny started to speak at the same time. Then Lucky said, “You tell it, Vinny. You were here.”
Agitated and wiping his damp brow, Vinny Dapezzo nodded. “Danny showed up here this afternoon carrying two Glock semiautomatics and a big supply of ammo. He said someone was after him. So he was going to lock himself in the vault and wait for the Doc. It’s ventilated.” Vinny paused. “The vault, I mean.”
“So he told me,” I said.
“I keep the specialty bottles there. That’s why I’ve got the vault. Because the stock in there is so valuable. We do off-the-street retail business, of course, but my real interest is limited editions, rare vintages, and collector’s items. So if you’re looking for something very special, miss, or if you want a unique gift for—”
“Vinny,” Lucky said.
“Oh, my God, I’m babbling, aren’t I? Sorry.” Vinny looked like he might cry. “Where was I?”
“The vault,” I said helpfully.
“Right. Danny said we shouldn’t allow anyone into the cellar. Then he said . . .” Vinny started swaying a little. For a moment, I thought he might pass out. “This whole thing is so crazy!”
“Take a steady, deep breath,” Max said gently, “and give yourself a moment to put your thoughts in order.”
Vinny gave Max a grateful look and nodded. After a few slow, calming breaths, he said, “Okay. I’m telling you exactly what happened, even though it sounds nuts.”
Max nodded. “Understood.”
“Danny said the killer was crafty, ruthless, and might be disguised—might even look just like
him
. Identical. A perfect double.” Vinny shook his head. “He was jumpy and confused, not making much sense. He kept babbling in Italian—”
“He talked Italian,” Lucky said pointedly to me.
“So this was serious,” I guessed.
Vinny continued, “He said something about a
doppio
—”
“A double,” Lucky translated.
“—and then, looking scared out of his wits, he started shouting stuff. It didn’t make any sense. Stuff like,
‘La mia propria faccia nel viso di un altro!’
”
I drew in a sharp breath. “That sounds exactly like what Charlie said to me!”
Vinny asked, “Who’s Charlie?”
“Charlie Chiccante,” I said.
“Who?”
Lucky said to me, “Vinny ain’t in the family business.”
“Oh. And I guess you don’t read the tabloids?” I said to Vinny, a little pleased.
“Oh, wait a minute! Charlie Chiccante.” Vinny nodded. “Yeah, I read about it. Isn’t he that Gambello capo who got whacked on Saturday night by a chorus girl with ties to the mob?”
“I didn’t whack him,” I snapped. “I just
saw
him get whacked!”
Today was Wednesday. I prayed that by the following weekend, some celebrity scandal would make tabloid fans everywhere forget all about me.
“So . . . I don’t understand,” Vinny said. “Are you saying that Charlie Chiccante and Danny got done by the same hitter?”
Though not in the family business, he’d obviously grown up with the vocabulary.
“We think so,” I said. “Lucky, what does that phrase mean? The one that Charlie and Danny both said before dying?
La mia . . .
whatever.”
Lucky said, “ ‘I saw my own face on someone else’s face.’ ”
“Doppelgangster,” Max said with a nod. “Like poor Chubby Charlie, Danny understood what he had seen.”
“Because we tried to warn him,” I said.

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