The Misfortune Cookie: An Esther Diamond Novel (4 page)

That year is over, the year when I met Lopez. It’s done. I
swear
I’m going to move on. He’s in the past now.

I stumbled toward the bar with one hand pressed gingerly over my eye while a mortified Ralph apologized to my retreating back. Amidst all the cheering and hugging, the accordionist began playing
Auld Lang Syne.
Everyone in the restaurant started singing. Everyone but me; I was elbowing my way through the crowd so I could get some ice from the bartender for my throbbing eye.

I leaned quietly against a wall for a few minutes, trying to keep out of the way as I soothed my eye with a couple of ice cubes wrapped in a linen napkin.

I’d met Lopez in the spring, and for the rest of the year, I’d had a lot of highs and lows because of him. The highs, though few and far between, kept making up for the lows . . . Until this past week. Now that I was out of the apartment and working again, now that it was a new year, a fresh start, time to shake off old troubles and bad habits . . . I realized just
how
low I had been in recent days because of him, and I was determined not to go back there. So I made my New Year’s resolution while huddled in the corner of a crowded mob hangout with a cold, wet napkin pressed to my teary eye.

From this moment on,
I vowed to myself,
I am getting over him. From this moment on, I’m only going forward and upward.

Feeling better, I dropped my melting ice cubes into the sink behind the bar, dropped my damp napkin into the laundry, and checked in with the kitchen, where I was expecting an order to be ready for a couple of late diners.

“Table seventeen?” said the cook. “Yeah, we just sent that out a second ago, Esther. That kid Ralph took it for you. He felt real bad about blinding you, or something?”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, grabbing some parmesan and heading for my table to make sure they had everything they needed.

Since Ralph was loaded down with plates of food and I wasn’t, I nearly caught up to him. A few more steps, and I could have prevented what happened next. As it was, though, I was only close enough to shout a warning when Ralph stumbled, his hand tilted, and a big serving of lasagna flew straight at Lucky’s head. Thanks to the reflexes that had probably saved his life on several occasions, Lucky sprang out of his chair when he heard me shout and saw the pasta flying straight at his face. But he wasn’t quite quick enough to escape contact, and it hit him squarely in the chest. A huge mound of gooey cheese and steaming tomato sauce clung to him lovingly for a moment, as if temporarily immune to the laws of gravity, then tumbled to the floor with a messy splatter that flecked his shoes and trousers with glistening red spots of savory sauce.

After a collective gasp, the whole restaurant fell silent, staring in awkward anticipation at the notorious old mobster who was now a sullied mess. Ralph looked white as a sheet, and I feared he might faint from sheer terror as Lucky scowled at him.

“You know,” Lucky said slowly, “I never whacked anyone for personal reasons. Not even once.” He looked down at his ruined shirt, then back at Ralph. “But I could make an exception.”

Ronnie and Jimmy guffawed. Ralph started hyperventilating. Stella grabbed the bus boy’s arm and dragged him away before he could pass out or vomit, either of which seemed possible. I snatched up the discarded linen napkins lying on Lucky’s table and started dabbing at the mess on his chest. Our accordionist began playing again, and the rest of the customers went back to their revels.

“That’s not gonna do any good,” Lucky said to me as I blotted and smeared. “What a
mess.
”

“Come on,” I said briskly, taking his arm. “We need a sink.”

“That kid needs to find another line of work,” Lucky grumbled as I led him through the restaurant. “Something where he ain’t endangering life and limb. And lasagna.”

“He’s going back to school in a couple of days,” I said soothingly.

“Christ, I hope he ain’t studying surgery or something like that.”

When we got to the door of the ladies room, which was my destination, Lucky balked. “I can’t go in there!”

“All right.” I pulled him across the narrow hall at the back of the restaurant and pushed open the other door. “Men’s room, then.”

“Hey!” A man inside exclaimed when he saw me entering.

“Oops.”

“Sorry!” Lucky dragged me back out of the room. “She’s
sorry.
”

Realizing the man was standing at the urinal with his fly unzipped, I closed my eyes until after Lucky had shut the door.

“You can’t go in
there.
” The old hit man was scandalized. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Very distracted tonight.”

For God’s sake, get him out of your head, would you? It’s a brand new year. Move
on,
already.

“Give me those.” Lucky said in exasperation as he snatched the napkins out of my hand. “I can deal with this myself. You go . . . do things.”

“Maybe you should take off your shirt and soak it for a few minutes,” I said.

“Oh, and
then
what am I gonna wear?”

“I’ll check the staff room and see if we’ve got any extra—”

“Never mind. I’ll figure out something. You just move along,” Lucky said to me. “That guy you interrupted in the john won’t want to see
you
standing here when he comes through this door.”

True enough. I nodded and went back out into the restaurant, leaving Lucky to try to clean about a pint of Bella Stella’s special sauce off his clothes.

As I passed Lucky’s table, Jimmy asked me, “Has Lucky killed the kid?”

“No, but I think he’ll be in the bathroom for a while,” I replied.

“We should have a name for that dish,” said Ronnie. “How about Lucky Lasagna?”

“With extra sauce!” Jimmy added.

While they enjoyed their laugh, Freddie the Hermit insisted it was time for the duet that Ned and I had promised.

“All right,” I said as Ned finished wiping a table and nodded his agreement.

“Mack the Knife!
” Tommy Two Toes shouted.

“Yeah, give us Mackie again!” Ronnie said.

“That does it,” Ned said to me, losing all will to live. “I’m going to go drown myself in the kitchen sink.”

“Wait, wait.” I grabbed his arm as he turned to go. “I’m not taking requests for this one, fellas. It’s dealer’s choice.”

“Fair enough,” said Freddie. “Let the lady decide!”

The accordionist asked me, “What’ll it be, Esther?”

I thought of my New Year’s resolution.
“From This Moment On.
”

“I’m not sure I remember all the words,” Ned warned me.

“Just follow me,” I said with determination.

He did, and although we’d never worked together before, we performed well as a duo. So well that the customers demanded another song and we promptly complied. The crowd was jubilant, the joint was jumping, and by the time we were on our third song,
The Best Is Yet To Come
(in keeping with my personal New Year’s theme), the two of us were literally dancing on tabletops.

Ned leapt from Tommy’s table to Freddie’s while singing about what a ripe plum he had plucked from the tree of life.

Ronnie and Jimmy were swaying and singing along as I danced atop their table. Giving Ned a flirtatious look, I raised the hem of my black skirt to show him a modest flash of stocking-clad thigh as I sang that he ain’t seen nothin’ yet. This went over well, and our audience gave a boisterous cheer as I inched my hem a little higher and kept singing, smiling at Ned.

At that exact moment, Detective Connor Lopez entered the restaurant, wearing a dark blue vest with “NYPD” printed on it and his badge prominently displayed as he shouted, “Police! Nobody move!”

Yin-yang

Complementary yet contradictory forces, often represented as female and male.

M
ore than a dozen cops barreled into the restaurant right behind Lopez, all of them wearing NYPD vests or jackets, all of them armed and shouting.

One of them was saying into a megaphone, “NYPD! Stay seated! This is the police! Do not move! Stay where you are!”

Holy shit.

“It’s a raid!” Ronnie screamed as he leapt to his feet. “Police raid! Run!
Run!
”

“Are you
nuts?
” Jimmy stayed seated and tried to tug Ronnie back down into his chair.

Frightened diners were already screaming. Some jumped out of their seats and were strongly (and
loudly)
encouraged to sit right back down. Other people were sliding out of their chairs to hide under their tables. The accordion squealed atonally as the staggering musician got squeezed between the panicking people and the cops who were ordering them to stay calm.

A confused customer bumped hard against the table Ned was still standing on. The actor lost his balance as the table rocked; he flailed briefly, then flew headfirst into a pair of cops. The impact carried all three of them to the floor, shouting and groaning, while startled diners around them shrieked in alarm.

“What the
hell . . . ?
” I glanced around frantically, unable to form a coherent thought. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in little pants. I looked at Lopez, who was standing in front of my table, staring up at me in apparent shock, his jaw hanging open, his eyes wide with horror.

Not exactly the expression a woman hopes to see on a man’s face the first time they meet again after spending a passionate night together.

“It’s a
raid!
” Ronnie screamed while being strong-armed by the police
and
Jimmy Legs. “Save yourself!”

“Will you calm down?” Jimmy shouted at his colleague. “They’ll put a bullet in you if you keep this up!”

“He’s right!” confirmed a grimacing, redheaded cop who was trying to subdue the panicking mobster. “You’re tempting me, Ronnie!”

“You can’t shoot him!” Jimmy turned on the cop in outrage. “I want my lawyer!”

“Viva la revolución!
” someone in the kitchen screamed.
“Viva la libertad!
”

Everyone paused for a moment to look in that direction.

Then Ralph dropped a whole tub of dishes. It fell to the floor with an earsplitting crash of shattering ceramic and glassware, and everyone started screaming again.

“Sorry!” Ralph wailed. “Sorry about that!”

Still on top of my table, I gaped down at Lopez. “What’s going on? What are you
doing?
”

He blinked, as if surprised to hear me speak. Then he frowned thunderously. “What are
you
doing?”

“Working!”

“No, what are you doing
here?
” He was scowling up at me as if my very existence offended him.

“Working!” I repeated, staring down at him while people all around us continued screeching, shouting, and bounding around the restaurant in agitation.

Stella was bellowing, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? I got rights! I’ll
sue!
Get out of my restaurant!”

I looked away from Lopez long enough to see a couple of cops shove Stella up against the wall next to Ronnie, Jimmy, Tommy Two Toes, and Freddie the Hermit. They were all being frisked, along with four or five other Gambello wiseguys. A policewoman started searching Stella, who continued shouting threats and questions despite being ordered to pipe down.

Lopez said something to me.

“What?” I looked down at him again, unable to hear him above the roar of the crowd.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” he shouted, as if accusing me of breaking a promise.

And then it hit me.

You
bastard!
You slept with me and then didn’t call!

“You weren’t supposed to start working until next week!” he shouted up at me.

“Hey, Lopez, some
help
over here?” hollered the redheaded cop who was handling Ronnie and Jimmy.

He ignored that and continued shouting at me, “You told me you weren’t getting any shifts here until after the holidays!”

Lopez’s rich blue eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes, were bloodshot and shadowed by dark circles. His straight, shiny black hair was rumpled. His strong face, exotically good-looking, appeared drawn and tired, and his golden-dark skin looked a little sallow tonight—at least in this light. The vest he was wearing added some bulk (I vaguely realized it was one of those bulletproof things), but under it, he had a slim, lithe, athletic build. And now that he was here in the flesh, the last person I had expected to see tonight, looking almost edibly gorgeous despite his apparent fatigue and furious scowl . . .

I wanted to
kill
him.

I wanted it so much, my hands bunched into tight fists, clutching the fabric of my skirt, and my shoulders started creeping upward in vengeful wrath as my chest swelled with righteous indignation.

“You can lower your skirt any time now, Esther,” he added irritably. “I think the wiseguys are getting enough excitement for one night.”

“What?” I looked down and realized that I was still holding my skirt hiked up to display a flash of thigh. In fact, in my agitation, I had tugged my hem up almost to my panty line and was displaying a lot more than I’d realized. “Oh!”

I dropped my skirt and smoothed it over my legs.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Lopez demanded. “Lifting your skirt for these guys!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” I snapped.

Jimmy Legs roared, “I want my phone call! I want my lawyer!”

“I will sue you bums into the next century!” Stella bellowed.

“Everyone calm
down!
” the megaphone cop ordered the agitated diners. “You’ll all be able to leave as soon as an officer collects your information.”

“But I don’t
have
information!” a sweating man wailed. “I don’t have
any
information!”

“As soon as an offer gets your personal details,” the cop amended.

“You’re not getting
my
details!” Freddie the Hermit’s date insisted, now clustered with the regular diners.

The cop said doggedly, “Please wait quietly in your seats until—”

“This is still a free country, buddy!” someone cried. “You can’t hold us prisoner here!”

“No one here is a prisoner,” said the cop, clearly growing exasperated.

“Does that mean I can go now?” Tommy Two Toes called across the restaurant. “I know you already got
my
details.”

“No, you’re a prisoner,” the cop said to Tommy while fiddling with the volume on his megaphone.

An outraged diner rose from his seat. “So we
are
prisoners! By what right—”

“EVERYONE CALM DOWN AND STAY SEATED!
” The officer had turned up the volume so loud, the walls reverberated. Seeing the way everyone flinched, he added, “Sorry.”

“So are we prisoners or not?”

“Yeah!” said Tommy. “Inquiring minds want to know!”

The cop said, “
Most
of you will be able to leave as soon as an officer collects your information.
Some
of you . . .” He looked across the restaurant at Stella and the Gambello crew. “. . . will be taken into custody, read your rights, and allowed to make your phone call, see your attorney, and use the toilet. This is New York City, not Soviet Russia.”

From the kitchen, we heard,
“Viva la revolución! Vivan los trabajadores!
”

“WILL SOMEONE SHUT THAT GUY UP?
” After a moment, the cop added to everyone else, “Sorry.”

The restaurant remained noisy and the crowd was still anxious, but the panic died down as some semblance of order took shape. Gambello wiseguys were separated from everyone else and obviously being prepared for a mass arrest. More cops entered the restaurant, and four of them headed straight for the stairs that led up to Stella’s office on the second floor. Another detective presented her with a search warrant. Stella tore it up and stuffed some of the pieces into her mouth before Jimmy Legs advised her not to bother trying that.

Money laundering,
I thought suddenly.

Ever since I had started working here, I’d heard the rumors that Bella Stella washed dirty money for the Gambellos. But I’d always vaguely supposed that if it were true, then Stella would be arrested and the restaurant would be shut down.

As the policewoman placed Stella under arrest and recited her rights to her, I realized that OCCB’s intense investigation of the Gambello family in recent weeks must have uncovered evidence confirming the rumors.

My startled gaze flashed back to Lopez, who was glaring up at me again.

Before I could blurt out the questions forming in my mind, he demanded, “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be here tonight. What the hell happened?”

My lips moved in speechless outrage. I hardly knew where to start. If he had bothered to
speak
to me since leaving my bed a week ago, I’d probably have told him that I was working tonight. I tried to think of words scathing enough for the stinging response he deserved.

Still glaring at me, Lopez added, “And get off the damn table, would you?”

He reached up a hand to help me down.

I slapped it away. “Don’t
touch
me!”

He looked surprised. “What?”

“Miss, do
not
behave violently toward a police officer!” a male voice said sharply on my left.

I looked in that direction and flinched when I recognized Detective Peter Napoli. “You!” I said in horror.

Napoli froze when he recognized me. “Oh, God help us, it’s
you
again.”

Detective Napoli, who had seniority over Lopez, had questioned me in connection with Chubby Charlie’s death here in the spring. That interview had not gone well. In fact, it had gone so badly that Napoli had wanted to take me into custody, and he suspected me of being involved with Gambello business. So he was someone I’d really hoped never to meet again. Judging by the expression on his face now, the feeling was mutual.

Napoli said accusingly to Lopez, “Did you know about this?”

“That
she’d
be here?” Lopez reacted with apparent revulsion. “No!”

Infuriated, I said, “How could he possibly know I’d be here? He’d have to
talk
to me for that!”

Napoli said to Lopez, “I don’t want her causing any trouble.”

“Trouble?” I said in outrage.

“She won’t,” Lopez assured him.

“Trouble?
” I repeated.

Lopez said darkly, “Not now, Esther.”

“Who steamrolled in here without warning in the middle of the party, scaring everyone half to death and nearly starting a riot?”

“You tell ’em, Esther!” shouted Freddie the Hermit.

“Thatta girl!”

I continued, “
That’s
trouble, and it sure wasn’t
me
who caused it, you sorry bast—”

“Please come down from there now,” Lopez interrupted, reaching up to grab my hand.

I slapped him away again. “Don’t you
dare—
”

“Miss Diamond,” Napoli said sharply, “this is your last warning about striking a police officer.”

“What? Are you
kidding
me, you moronic jack—”

“I’ll deal with this,” Lopez said loudly to Napoli. “Leave her to me.”

“‘Leave her to me?’” I repeated, appalled.

“Sort out your problems with your girlfriend on your own time,” Napoli said tersely. “We’re working.”

“She ain’t his girlfriend!” Jimmy Legs said.

The redheaded cop smacked him on the back of the head. “Shut up, Jimmy.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I insisted from my tabletop, looking down at Napoli.

“All right, everyone take a deep breath,” said Lopez. “Let’s calm down and—”

“Shut up,” Napoli and I said to him in unison, which made him blink.

Napoli looked up at me. “What
ever
you call your thing with Detective Lopez, I won’t have it interfering with this bust. Is that clear?”

“I don’t have a ‘thing’ with him,” I said, swamped with anger and humiliation. “There is nothing between us.
Nothing.
”

Lopez looked sharply up at me. “What?”

I glanced down at him and saw his startled expression. “What do you mean, ‘What?’”

Napoli said to Lopez, “Get her over there with the rest of the staff and get her details.”

Lopez said to me, “What do
you
mean?”

Napoli said, “Or have you already got her details?”

He got a lot more than my
details.

“Did I miss something?” Lopez asked me.

“Oh, my
God.
” Realization dawned as I stared down at my ex-almost-boyfriend.

Since I still didn’t want Lopez touching me, I leaned down to put my hand on Napoli’s shoulder—ignoring the way the detective flinched and tried to move away from me—and used him for balance as I hopped off the table.

I stood in front of Lopez, eye to eye. (Well, nearly. He’s almost six inches taller than I am.) I gaped at him for a long moment before I spoke. “You thought I’d sleep with you again?”