Dopplegangster (30 page)

Authors: Laura Resnick

BOOK: Dopplegangster

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Vinny looked bewildered. “So that stuff Danny was babbling, that
means
something to you guys? I thought he was just having a stroke or something.”

“Believe me, I know exactly how you feel,” I said, “Go on, Vinny, what happened next?”

Vinny wiped his glistening forehead, nodded, and made an obvious effort to collect his thoughts.

“Nathan over there, he works for Danny.” Vinny pointed to the young man guarding the door. From this angle, I could see that Nathan had a gun tucked into his belt at the small of his back. “Danny left him and Bobby at the entrance there, with instructions to search everyone who came in.
Everyone
. I didn’t like it, and I knew the customers would hate it. But, well, Danny’s not really a guy you say no to. And he’s the one who bank-rolled me to open this shop, after all.”

“I see that Nathan’s still by the door now,” I said. “But where’s Bobby?”

“With the body,” Vinny said. “It didn’t seem fitting to, um, leave it lying alone before the priest gets here.”

“You called a priest?” I said.

“It’s what you do when a guy dies.” Vinny glanced at Lucky. “Even a guy like Danny, I guess.”

Max said, “So the two young men guarded the door and searched everyone who came in?”

“Actually, no one came in. Middle of the week, slow day. Nothing happened,” Vinny said.

I nodded, recalling that the street outside was almost empty when we got here.

“So about an hour passes,” Vinny continued. “I’m stocking the shelves, and then . . .
BOOM!
”

I jumped a little.

“Shotgun blast,” Lucky said. “Always loud.”

“I didn’t know what it was at the time,” Vinny said. “I just knew it sounded like a cannon and had come from the cellar. So I told Nathan and Bobby to stay by the door and, if asked, say that a wine casket had exploded in the cellar. It’s stupid, but it would get rid of people. And I went downstairs. There’s only one way in or out of that cellar, and no one had gone past us. So I figured that one of Danny’s Glocks had gone off.”

“Semiautomatics can be a little jumpy,” Lucky said with a nod.

Vinny continued, “I wanted to make sure Danny hadn’t shot himself by accident—or, you know, shot a twelve hundred dollar bottle of wine. I called to him through the door a few times. He didn’t answer, but that door is pretty thick.”

“It’s why Danny chose the place,” Lucky said.

“I was getting really worried,” Vinny said. “I mean, why didn’t Danny open the door and tell me that everything was okay, that he’d just misfired by accident? I suddenly thought maybe he
did
shoot himself. Maybe he needed help! So I keyed in the combination to unlock the door, and I opened it.” He added, “And the whole time, I was saying, in a loud voice, ‘Don’t shoot, Danny. It’s me. It’s Vinny.’ Because he’d been, you know, so jumpy. I was pretty nervous, to be honest.”

“That’s understandable,” I said.

“And when I opened the door . . .” Vinny crossed himself. “As God is my witness, this is the truth. There was no one else in the vault. No one else downstairs . . .” His voice started quavering. “And what was left of Danny was lying there in a pool of blood. His face was all gone, his chest was blown to bits, his brains were splattered all over the bottles and—”

“The lady don’t need so many details,” Lucky said.

“Oh. No. Sorry, miss. I’m just so shaken up, you know?”

“Of course,” I said.

“And his Glocks . . .” Vinny shook his head. “Danny’s guns were still in their holsters, fully loaded. Untouched.”

I looked at Lucky for confirmation.

“They ain’t been fired,” Lucky said. “Danny didn’t get a shot off.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How did the killer get past Vinny, Nathan, and Bobby without being seen and then get through a locked steel door? And then how did he vanish so quickly? With a
shotgun?
”

Shaking like a leaf in high wind, Vinny started weeping. “Sorry. It’s nerves. Just nerves.” He wiped his streaming eyes. “Danny was my cousin, but to be honest, I didn’t like him. Not enough to cry over his body, anyhow. But what the hell is going on here?”

Lucky looked at me. “This doppelgangster business is getting to be a real pain in the ass.”

I
didn’t want to cause Lopez any more embarrassment, not after he’d gone out on a limb to get Napoli off my back. This meant I didn’t want to get my name on any police reports related to Danny Dapezzo’s death, since it might be difficult for Lopez to explain to the Organized Crime Control Bureau what his girlfriend was doing at the scene of yet another mob hit.

Lucky was also in favor of avoiding contact with the cops. In fact, he, Bobby, and Nathan were all opposed to reporting Danny’s death to the police. However, Vinny was a respectable businessman who had just, through no fault of his own, discovered a violently murdered man in his cellar. Due to his family connections, he was used to looking the other way, he said, but there were limits, and we had just reached them. So he rejected (somewhat hysterically) the three gangsters’ plan to cover up the crime, remove Danny’s body by stealth, and dump the corpse somewhere in New Jersey.

Max and I sided with Vinny. As I explained quite firmly to Lucky and the Corvino soldiers, I had no intention of becoming an accomplice in concealing a homicide and destroying evidence.

So Lucky, Max, and I left the scene while Vinny was calling 911 to report the shooting.

The three of us were silent all the way back to Manhattan, not wanting to discuss the case within earshot of our cab driver, but too absorbed by the subject to talk about anything else.

When we got to the bookstore, Nelli greeted us with enthusiasm, then stared intently at Max as he related the details of Danny’s death to her. While he talked, she drooled a little.

I walked through the bookshop, followed by Lucky, and sank into a cushioned chair near the fireplace. “You really think they won’t slip up and mention to the cops that we were there?” I asked Lucky.

“Vinny, Bobby, and Nathan? No, they’ll be fine. And even if they do say something—which they won’t, so stop worrying—they don’t even know your names, after all.”

I doubted the absence of my name would keep Napoli off my trail if he got a description of me, and I knew Lopez would quickly realize who “the Doc” was. So I decided to hope the subject just never came up.

“Well,” I said, “at least Vinny’s story about Danny’s death will sound so crazy, the cops will probably be fully occupied with trying to figure out how he died.”

Lucky shook his head. “Nah, it’s going to sound like what the cops hear all the time when they’re poking their noses into mob hits.” In response to my puzzled frown, he said, “Nobody saw nothin’.”

“Oh,” I said as I realized what he meant.
“Oh.”

“They’ll think Vinny’s just covering up when he claims that a killer with a shotgun got past him and the Corvino soldiers unseen, blew Danny away, and disappeared without a trace.” He shrugged. “Business as usual. And you can bet he won’t tell them the vault was closed and locked when Danny died. Anyone raised by the Corvinos will know better than to confuse the cops with unnecessary details.”

“Hmm.” I saw Lucky’s point. The story the cops heard at Vino Vincenzo would sound much more mundane than one
we
had heard. “Poor Vinny. Either way, I think he’s in for a very long interview with Detective Napoli.”

“Probably. But even though he’s pretty shaken up, he knows the score. He won’t mention us to the cops.” Lucky sat down by the fireplace, too. “And when I called Father Gabriel, I told him to say that Vinny is the one who asked him to come. So he won’t drag me into it, either.”

“You called Father Gabriel?” I said. “For a death all the way out in Brooklyn?”

“It’s one of the five boroughs,” Lucky said. “Not exactly a distant region. Anyhow, he was Danny’s priest. That’s who you call when a guy kicks the bucket—his own priest.”

“Oh, really? When you murdered Elena’s second husband, did you call
his
priest?”

“No. You don’t call for the priest when you’re the one who whacked the deceased,” Lucky snapped. “When are you going to get off my back about Sally Fatico?”

“Who?” I said blankly.

“Elena’s second husband!”

I frowned. “She married a man named Sally?”

“Salvatore.”

“Oh.”

Max and Nelli came over to the alcove to join us. Nelli had a large rawhide bone in her mouth. Max was carrying a tray with some cookies and coffee cups on it. “I’ve just started a pot brewing.”

“I’m so confused,” I said wearily.

“That’s understandable,” Max said. “The situation is most perplexing.”

Nelli lay down and started chewing on her bone.

“I gather that activity helps her think.” Max added with a touch of resentment, “In any case, at least it keeps her from chewing on
my
belongings.”

“Something’s bugging me.” Lucky rubbed his forehead. “The way these guys are dying . . . in a sense, they’re very ordinary hits. Shot through the heart in a restaurant. Hit on the head and dumped in the river. A shotgun in the face. It’s work-a-day stuff.”

“Oh, good grief,” I said in disgust.

“No, let him continue, Esther,” Max said.

“What I mean is,” Lucky said, with an irritated glance at me, “the killer is either an ordinary wiseguy, or someone who wants us to
think
he’s an ordinary wiseguy.”

“Oh, well, that narrows it down.”

“I really wish your cop boyfriend would do something to put you in a better mood,” Lucky grumbled at me.

Before I could reply, Max said, “Let’s not quarrel. What are you getting at, Lucky?”

“These hits are exactly how these things are done in our business. Except for . . .”

“The mystical elements,” Max said.

“Right,” Lucky said. “And it’s finally occurred to me to wonder why.”

“Hmm.” Max stroked his beard. “Interesting.”

“A person or a thing that can make doppelgangsters and commit impossible murders without even being seen . . .” Lucky frowned. “Why aren’t the hits . . . I dunno. More creative? More original? If you can spook Danny Dapezzo with a doppelgangster and slip unseen through a locked steel door, then why just blow him away with a shotgun, like any dim-witted foot soldier can do?”

“You mean,” I said slowly, “why not make his death dramatic enough to match the mystical power behind it? Sort of an Edgar Allan Poe death?”

“A
what
kind of death?”

“The writer, Edgar All—”

“Yeah, I know who he is, I just don’t know what you mean.”

“He killed off his characters in bizarre, chilling ways,” I said, remembering the times I’d left the light on all night after reading Poe. “So, for example, what if we had found Danny’s corpse standing upright and staring in horror at the door, with no apparent cause of death? Or what if Charlie had suffocated after being buried alive, instead of getting shot over a plate of pasta?”

“Yeah, that would be scary,” Lucky agreed. “That would be like nothing I ever seen before.”

“Hmm. So in one sense,” Max mused, “these murders are ordinary, mundane. Which is in direct contrast to the rare phenomenon of doppelgängerism—
and
to the unique way it’s being employed here. In my reading so far, I have found nothing similar to our problem.”

“Nothing at all?” I asked in despair.

He shook his head. “Even where doppelgängers invariably portend death, the demise which follows is relatively normal. There does not seem to be a known form of doppelgängerism whereby murder through seemingly impossible means is the cause of death.” He stroked his beard again and nodded. “So while the murders are uncreative and unoriginal, the magic being employed here is
highly
creative and
quite
original. The contrast is striking, now that Lucky has brought it to my attention.”

“Which brings us back to the question,” I said, “of how someone actually committed Charlie’s and Danny’s murders. A bullet that went around a corner and hit Charlie right in the heart. There were lots of people present, but no one saw the killer. And then Danny . . .” I shook my head.
“How?”

“I have a theory,” Max said.

“Thank God,” I said. “I’m wide open to anything at this point. What’s your theory, Max?”

“Let’s look at the problem from this perspective for a moment: Why was Danny killed today?” Max said. “Why not yesterday?”

Lucky shrugged. “ ’Cuz the killer chose today.”

“No, I mean to say, what was different about today? Last night, after all, Danny found the idea of a doppelgangster absurdly comical.”

“Today,” I said, “he saw the thing. And he was terrified.”