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Authors: Laura Resnick

BOOK: Dopplegangster
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And Lopez, the youngest, had told his parents he was interested in an unstable Jewish woman with unsavory friends (i.e. Max).
I didn’t doubt that Lopez’s attraction to me was sincere. He was a dedicated cop and it was clear that dating me wasn’t good for his career at the moment, so I didn’t think that being in my apartment today was a casual choice for him. But I knew it was nonetheless convenient for him that he was seeing a woman whom his mother wouldn’t want him to marry. And just in case she decided she could cope with a daughter-in-law who wasn’t Catholic, he’d been holding back the shocking news that I was an actress. He was saving that tidbit for an “emergency,” he’d told me.
Well, it looked like the cat was out of the bag now. According to today’s tabloids, I was a chorus girl with ties to the Mafia. (And since there was a sense in which this was perfectly true, I felt depressed again.) So now Lopez was getting an earful in my bedroom about his taste in women.
“All right,
enough,
” I heard him say wearily to his mother. “Give it a rest, would you? Look, I have to go . . . Because I have things to do . . . Of
course
I’m trying to get you off the phone. Is it going to work?”
“Last year, I played Kate in
The Taming of the Shrew
in summer stock,” I grumbled to myself. “But do the tabloids mention that?
Nooooo.
”
The scent of fresh-brewed coffee was filling the apartment when Lopez finally came out of the bedroom, looking sheepish.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“I’m just glad it wasn’t
my
mother who called,” I said sincerely.
“I never suspected her of reading tabloids.” Lopez frowned. “I wonder if my dad knows?”
“I guess everyone’s got a dark secret.”
He sniffed the air and asked hopefully, “Is the coffee ready?”
I realized I didn’t know how he took it. We were still so new to each other. I held up the milk and sugar, and I raised my eyebrows in silent query.
He shook his head. “Just black.”
“Look on the bright side,” I said, handing him a full mug. “It seems certain that as long as we’re dating, she’ll
never
suggest you think about getting married.”
“Good point.”
That led me to something I wanted to get off my chest. “Look, I’m sorry I told everyone at Stella’s that you’re my boyfriend. And, um, that they think we’re engaged. It’s just that I needed—”
“Oh, I don’t care about that.” He waved away my apology. “I mean, I know why you said it.”
“You do?”
“Sure. A place full of heavily armed wiseguys pinching you, hitting on you, and getting too pushy after they’ve had a few drinks?” He shrugged. “A cop boyfriend probably comes in handy pretty often at Stella’s.”
I nodded. “In a nutshell.”
“And since I don’t
want
those guys pinching you, hitting on you, and so on,” he added, “I’m glad you told them about me.”
“Oh.” I smiled. “Okay.”
He smiled, too, then sat down at my kitchen table, half of which was in my living room. That’s a Manhattan apartment for you.
After a moment, though, his expression turned serious. “We have to talk about last night.”
I slid into the chair next to him. “I told you exactly what I saw. I’m not lying to you.”
“Then I need to find out what you’re leaving out.”
“Here we go,” I muttered.
He reached over to me, slid his hand into my hair, and gently pulled my head closer to his. “Look, I shouldn’t even be here. And I
definitely
shouldn’t have just spent three hours in your bed.”
“We didn’t do anything,” I reminded him.
He kissed me. All of a sudden, without preamble. His mouth was hot, and his tongue was silky, and it was a really long, intense, leading-straight-to-steamy-sex kind of kiss. He needed a shave, but his jaw was just rough enough to feel sexy, not uncomfortable.
When he was finally done, I was dizzy and couldn’t speak or move or catch my breath. I just sat there waiting for him to do it again. I think I whimpered a little.
“I didn’t do anything,” he whispered, breathing hard, “because I was just too damn tired.”
“How can you kiss a woman like that . . .” I panted for air, “. . . right after talking to your
mother?
”
He blinked. “Okay, when you put it that way, I suddenly feel too tired again.”
“Forget I mentioned it.” I leaned forward to kiss him again.
“No, listen to me,” he whispered, putting his hands on my face to make me hold still.
“Ow.” I winced. “Nelli’s scratches.”
“Oh!” He brushed his fingertips over my cheek, feather light, to soothe my skin. “Sorry.”
“You could kiss it and make it better,” I suggested.
He shook his head. “We have to talk.”
“I don’t feel like talking,” I said pointedly.
“Neither do I.” He shied away from my mouth again, his eyes heavy-lidded and his breath still coming fast. “But we have to.”
“
You’re
the one who—”
“I know.” His puff of laughter brushed across my face. “I was just making a point. It backfired on me, though.”
“Hmph.” I sat back in my chair. “Okay, fine. Have it your way. Let’s talk.”
“We need to go over . . .” He paused, looking distracted, then said, “Wait. First, just tell me. Why is your face blue?”
“Oh, I forgot about that!” I looked down at my blue arm. “Wow, I must be hot, if you can kiss me like that when my face is blue.”
“Well, as you may remember, you were green all over the first time I ever saw you. I guess I find you sexy in different colors.”
We had met the night Lopez questioned the cast of
Sorcerer!
backstage after Golly Gee disappeared; I was in lots of body make-up and hardly any costume as a green forest nymph.
He asked, “So how did you get so blue today?”
I considered the ramifications of lying and decided to just tell him the truth.
7
 
“N
elli scared Lucky,” I said. “Lucky shot up Max’s place. Some weird blue stuff in a beaker fell on me.”
It seemed simple enough.
But when Lopez planted his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, I decided that maybe honesty wasn’t the best policy after all.
“
What
were you doing with Lucky Battistuzzi this morning?” he asked, head still in hands. “No, wait, that’s not my first question. My
first
question is, what was Lucky doing at
Max’s?
No, wait—” He lifted his head and scowled at me. “What were
you
doing at Max’s?”
“On a scale of one to ten,” I said, “how important are these questions?”
“
What?
” he snapped.
“I mean, what did you come here this morning to talk to me about?”
He looked dumbfounded. “You drop a bombshell like
that
—telling me you spent the morning watching a notorious Gambello hit man shooting up the home of a guy who you
know
I think is crazy and probably a danger to you—”
“Max isn’t crazy,” I said patiently. “And he’s certainly not dangerous.”
“—and you expect me to remember what I came here to talk about?”
“It’s been a weird twenty-four hours,” I admitted.
“Esther.”
He seemed at a loss for words.
“I didn’t realize the truth would upset you this much,” I said.
“Max is bad enough,” he said in appalled tones, “but
Lucky Battistuzzi?
Don’t you realize how dangerous it is to hang out with him?”
“Don’t worry, I took away his gun,” I said, thinking this would soothe my concerned suitor.
Lopez’s eyes bulged.
“You took away Lucky Battistuzzi’s gun?”
“Actually, I guess Max took it away,” I said, recalling the spell which had briefly transformed it into a winged bat. I decided not to mention the details. “But I hid it. So Lucky doesn’t have it anymore.
“He has plenty more of them,” Lopez said tersely. He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Why were you with him in the first place?”
“He wanted to know what I could remember about Charlie’s death.”
“You shouldn’t be talking to him about that!” Lopez exploded. “It’s a police matter!”
“I know,” I said, “but Lucky and Charlie were . . . Well, I guess ‘friends’ would be a wild exaggeration.”
“For all you know, Lucky was questioning you on behalf of the killer!” Lopez said in exasperation. “To see if they need to get rid of you!”
“You think Lucky is involved in Charlie’s death?”
“Actually, I think the Corvinos killed Charlie,” he said irritably. “I think they’ve probably just fired the first shot in a brand new war with the Gambello family. But right now, that’s only a theory, Esther. Without more facts, I have to keep in mind the possibility that Lucky could be involved and might have a motive to eliminate you!”
“That did occur to me,” I admitted.
“And you met with him anyhow?” Lopez shouted.
“Only after I decided it was safe!”
“What convinced you it was safe?” he demanded.
At the moment, I couldn’t actually remember. So I said, “The point is, it
was
safe, and—”
“No, the
point
is you should not be running off to meet with wiseguys at Max’s place!” A horrible expression crossed his face. “Oh, my God. Wait a minute. You’re saying . . .
Max
is involved in this?”
“Um . . .” This wasn’t going well. I stared silently at Lopez, wondering what to say now.
Looking like he wanted to shout at me again, he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “What is it about Max, Esther? Why do you hang out with him?”
Despite feeling very conscious of the need to stay far, far away from the fact that I had helped Max kill Hieronymus, I said, “He saved my life. Max is odd, I admit, but he’s got his reasons. And he’s someone I trust. Someone I can count on.”
Still looking like his head hurt, Lopez said, “Look, I know that you . . . hear a different drummer. And I
like
that about you.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“But this is dangerous, Esther. It’s also skirting the edge of the law. I don’t think you’re stupid or a thrill seeker.” He made a vague gesture and shook his head. “But you don’t know what you’re getting into, hanging out with guys like Lucky and Max.”
I was startled into laughter. Lopez’s dark expression made it clear that my levity only confirmed his fears. But hearing Max and Lucky lumped into the same category struck me as comical.
“You’re being naive,” Lopez said.
I again tried to think of what to say. Lucky wanted to find Charlie’s killer before the cops did so he could whack him. Of course Lopez would oppose my helping with that, and I agreed with him. I hadn’t initially intended to help. But Chubby Charlie had seen his perfect double before dying and had talked about a curse. No one could figure out how the murder had been committed, and Max had a theory about a doppelgänger. So I suspected this crime might be something that a smart cop like Lopez just wasn’t equipped to solve.
It was the sort of situation I would have thought was insane before getting to know Max and the nature of his work. And I had a fair idea of how insane it would sound to Lopez if I tried to explain it. So I just stared at him in silence, wondering what to say.
“I want to take you into protective custody,” he said firmly, putting his hand over mine. “I’m afraid your life is in danger.”
“From Lucky?” I shook my head.
“More likely from the Corvinos.” He added, “But it’s not as if the Gambellos appreciate witnesses, even in a case where the victim is one of their own.”
I thought about it. If Max was right about the doppelgänger, I doubted the cops were equipped to protect me. And if Max was indeed right, then the assassin, whether a Corvino mobster or someone else, was no ordinary hoodlum who’d whack me on nervous impulse, as Lucky had initially implied and as Lopez obviously feared.
So I said, “If I agreed I was in potential danger—”
“Esther . . .” He looked impatient, realizing I intended to refuse.
“—I’d go along with this. But . . .”
The strange logistics of the homicide made me suspect Max was right.
And if Max was wrong, well, I hadn’t seen anything revelatory last night—but I
had
seen enough movies to suspect protective custody would be unpleasant and not even all that protective.
“I don’t think it’s the best thing for me,” I said.

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