The Misfortune Cookie: An Esther Diamond Novel

by Resnick, Laura

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Why did you screw up?”

  Now he was annoyed. “Because seeing you at the restaurant—where you weren’t supposed to be, Esther—right in the middle of my bust . . . Well, it threw me off my game. I got rattled. And then you and I devolved into some kind of insane tabloid brawl. Which I still don’t really know how . . . Wait. No. I swore I wouldn’t go there again. Not here and now.” Lopez took a deep breath and regrouped. “I’m just saying, I’m normally a lot better at my job than that.”

  “Um, no, I meant, why did you screw up my arrest?”

  “Oh.” He blinked. “That?”

  “Yes,” I said, clinging to my patience. “That.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face before answering, as if trying to wake himself up. “Well, I saw there was no way Napoli would let you go. Not in those circumstances. He was going to bring you in tonight, no matter what.” Lopez shrugged. “So I made sure that we can’t keep you.”

  Now I thought I understood. “By handling this so sloppily that you have to drop the charges?”

  He nodded. “You’d have to be a much more important collar for the prosecutor to stick with this and try to press charges after the mess I’ve made of your arrest. So we’re cutting you loose.”

  I remembered Napoli’s comments in the restaurant when Lopez decided to take over arresting me. “Detective Charm knew you were going to do this, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” He looked through the window again. “Oh, good, they’ve got your stuff.”

  “I don’t get it. Napoli is such a jerk. Why—”

  “He’s not the easiest guy in the world to get along with,” Lopez admitted, “but he’s a good cop, and he’s fair. We’ve learned how to work with each other. Though you probably couldn’t tell, based on tonight’s performance.”

  “But he can’t stand me,” I said. “So why did he let you go ahead and do this?”

  “Because it’s a fair compromise all around,” Lopez said dryly. “You got to slap me, which Napoli thought I deserved. He got to make his point in front of the Gambellos about hitting a cop. And me . . . well, I guess I won’t have to explain to anyone why you’ve got a criminal record.” As he handed my stuff to me, he concluded, “See? Everyone walks away a winner.”

  “Some victory,” I muttered. “No money, no job . . .” No boyfriend.

  “You’ll find another job,” he said firmly. “You can do better than a mob joint that’s full of wiseguys hitting on you.”

  “I liked it there,” I said grumpily.

  His shoulders slumped. “I know.” His voice was soft, and he was avoiding my eyes again.

  “So I guess this thing happened because of the way OCCB has been putting the Gambellos under a microscope ever since the Fenster heists first hit the news?” I said.

  Lopez nodded, then said, “Now check to make sure this is everything that you had with you when you were brought in, then sign for it.”

  “Miss Diamond,” said the clerk. “Here’s the rest of your belongings.”

  “The rest?” I said with a puzzled frown. My server’s pouch was the only possession I’d been arrested with (and as far as I could tell, all the cash was still inside it). Then I saw what he was handing over to Lopez. “Oh! Well, that’s good, at least.”

  It turned out that shortly after I was arrested, it had occurred to Ned to get my daypack and my coat from the staff room and give them to the cops, so I could be reunited with these things upon eventually being released. Lopez set my daypack on the floor and held my coat slung over one arm while telling me this. I was relieved, since this meant I wouldn’t have to go back to Little Italy and try to convince the cops to let me into the restaurant so I could remove my stuff.

  It also meant I had the keys to my apartment now, so I could go straight home and collapse. I suddenly realized how exhausted I was. Without thinking, I grabbed Lopez’s wrist and looked at his watch. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning.

  “Oh. No wonder I feel like a pumpkin,” I said, still holding his wrist.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s almost morning,” I said.

  But suddenly I wasn’t thinking about the time.

  “I know,” he murmured.

  My thoughts had shifted to how sturdy his arm felt. I hadn’t touched him in a week—except to slap him tonight.

  “I wanted to release you sooner, but um . . .” His voice was a little breathless now. “But it takes some time to . . . uh . . .” He trailed off.

  I looked up into his face and our eyes met. I had stepped closer to him to look at his watch. Now I realized how close. I could feel his body heat. With our gazes locked, I saw the fatigue in his dark-lashed eyes replaced by a spark of something else. Something I’d seen there before. His gaze drifted down to my lips and his breathing changed.

  Everything inside me quickened and my hand tightened on his wrist. Touching him for a moment, even with his wooly sweater between my fingers and his flesh, reminded me of what it was like to touch him elsewhere . . . Everywhere . . . Really touch him. Anywhere I wanted, as much as I wanted . . .

  NO. Stop right there.

  I dropped his wrist like a hot rock and stepped away so quickly I stumbled.

  “Careful.” He reached for me.

  “Don’t,” I snapped, staggering away from his outstretched hand.

  “Huh?”

  I balanced myself against the nearby wall, aware that I was breathing too hard for someone who’d simply been standing around for the past few minutes.

  “Esther?” he prodded.

  “Don’t do that,” I said. “You are not allowed to do that.”

  “Okay,” he said quickly.

  “Just don’t.”

  “I won’t,” he promised.

  “Good.”

  After a pause, he said, “Just so I know . . . What are we talking about?”

  I stared at him incredulously. “I never cease to be amazed,” I said in disgust, “at what a guy you can be.”

  “And here we go,” he muttered.

  “No, here we don’t,” I said. “I’m leaving. Right now.”

  He nodded, apparently perceiving the unwisdom of saying anything more just now. My coat was still slung over his arm. He shook it out now and held it open for me.

  That date-like gesture upset me, all things considered, so I snatched the garment away from him and slipped into it by myself. It was a heavy, knee-length wool coat with a hood. I’d found it at a thrift shop two years ago. It had a ragged hem and a dark stain on one side, and its profusion of buttons and zippers always took a while to fasten and unfasten. But it was really warm and very good at keeping out the icy winter winds that hurtled down the urban canyons created by the city’s tall buildings.

  While I zipped and buttoned, feeling self-conscious as Lopez watched me, I said, “I need to go home and get some sleep. Because then I have to go look for a new job now that you’ve closed down my place of employment.”

  “I was doing my job,” he shot back. “And if Stella didn’t want her restaurant to be shut down, then she shouldn’t have . . . Um . . . never mind.”

  Apparently my expression had made him recognize the folly of justifying tonight’s events to me at this particular moment.

  Lopez sighed and, in an apparent attempt to placate me, said, “Look, maybe some acting work will turn up soon. You’ll get some auditions and . . . and . . .” After taking a good long look at my face, he said in defeat, “I probably just shouldn’t speak, huh?”

  “No. And that shouldn’t be a problem for you.” I picked up my daypack. “As I’ve learned this past week, you’re really good at not speaking to me.”

  I turned away and stalked toward the exit, eager to get out of here—and away from him, before I either hit him again or else burst into tears. />
  “Esther! Wait!”

  I heard his footsteps behind me, but I didn’t slow down, let alone turn around. I had a dark feeling that tears might triumph in a few more seconds, and I didn’t want him to see that. Being around him kept reminding me of the night we’d spent together, which made it that much harder for me to bear everything that had happened since then.

  “Esther, stop,” he said, right behind me now.

  When I felt his hand on my arm, trying to halt me, I tried to jerk away from him. “Leave me alone!”

  He tightened his grip, pulled me to a sudden stop, and turned me around to face him.

  “Don’t!” I yanked myself out of his grasp.

  “Sorry, sorry.” He raised his hands, palms out, and took a step back. “Sorry, but this is important. There’s something . . .” He looked uncomfortable. “Something I . . .”

  Against my will, I felt a little flutter of hope unfurl inside me. “Something you want to say?” I prodded.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Something I want to say.”

  I hesitated only a moment. “Okay. I’ll listen.”

  “Good.” He took a breath . . . but seemed to have trouble getting started. “Um . . .”

  I waited, running his lines for him in my head: I’m sorry. I should have called. I’m a toad, a worm, a dung beetle. But I’ll do anything in the world to make it up to you. Can you ever forgive me?

  That would be a good beginning. I waited for him to start there.

  “There’s something I keep thinking about . . .” he said tentatively.

  I can never apologize enough for the way I’ve treated you. I don’t deserve it, but even so, I’m begging you for another chance.

  I liked that. He could riff on that for a while. And then he’d need to explain what the hell had happened. Since it was obvious his tongue hadn’t been cut out by marauding bandits, I tried to think of some other acceptable excuse for his failure to call me. Maybe . . .

  As soon as I left your apartment, I was abducted by aliens and taken to the mother ship. They didn’t release me until tonight. Nothing less than that would have made me go a whole week without calling you after what happened between us.

  Hmm. Maybe not.

  I frowned as I tried to think of a more plausible reason that would be equally acceptable.

  Nothing came to me. I started feeling vexed with him again.

  A week! A whole week.

  “Well?” I prodded, thinking this had better be good. Really good. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Are you still taking the pill?” he asked in a rush.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “We didn’t use anything that night. You know—protection. And, uh, I didn’t ask at the time . . .” When I didn’t respond, he added, “It’s something we should talk about.”

  “Oh, now you want to talk,” I said, feeling fresh outrage rush through me. “All week, you couldn’t be bothered to speak to me! But now that you’ve arrested me, you’re feeling chatty.”

  “Could we please stick to the subject?” he said irritably. “Just for a minute?”

  “I am on the subject!”

  “Are you still taking the pill?” His voice was getting louder. “That’s all I want to know!”

  A man being led past us in handcuffs looked at us with interest. So did the cop who was escorting him.

  Lopez noticed and made an exasperated sound. “Great. We’re the floor show again.”

  I waited until those two men were out of earshot, then I demanded, “How did you even know I was taking birth control pills?” We had never discussed it.

  “I saw them in your bathroom a few months ago.”

  “You’ve got no right to search my bathroom!”

  “I didn’t. You left them lying out,” he said. “I noticed them when I was, you know, using the bathroom.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have noticed,” I sputtered, too angry to care how lame that sounded. “It’s none of your business.”

  “It is now,” he pointed out.

  “So this is what you’ve been thinking about?” I demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “This is what you wanted to say to me?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought about hitting him again.

  When I didn’t answer him, he said in exasperation, “Fine. Let me put this another way. Could you be pregnant now?”

  There was a roaring in my ears for a moment, and then everything went silent. I stared blankly at Lopez, suddenly feeling drained and empty. The combination of anger, humiliation, and hurt that I’d been juggling for days caught up with me, as did my fatigue, my financial stress, and my anxiety about finding another job soon enough to keep myself going. I felt ready to collapse, and I could hardly form a coherent thought. I swayed a little, feeling a bit dizzy.

  “Are you okay?” He reached out to steady me, then evidently remembered my reactions tonight to his attempts to touch me, and stopped himself. “Esther? You look a little . . . Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I’m just really tired.” My voice sounded dull and distant to me. I felt dull and distant now.

  Lopez rested his hands on his hips, looked at the floor, and let out his breath slowly. “All right, look. Maybe this isn’t the time—”

  “I’m still taking my pills.” I’d been on that prescription for several years. It helped stabilize my erratic cycle and control my symptoms. “And I’m definitely not pregnant.” Nature had made that quite clear in recent days.

  He nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly.

  I knew I was really mad at him, but I just couldn’t feel it now. Everything had shut down. I just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Nothing else mattered.

  “Are we done?” I asked wearily. “Can I go?”

  “Yeah. But I want you to wait here a minute, okay? I’m going to get a squad car to take you home.”

  Since I couldn’t afford to waste money on a cab, and the logistics of getting home by foot and subway at five o’clock on a frigid winter morning seemed overwhelming just now, I nodded my agreement.

  A few minutes later, Lopez escorted me outside, where it was dark and bitterly cold, and put me in the backseat of a squad car. A uniformed policewoman was behind the wheel. Her male partner sat in the passenger seat. I nodded in response to their brief greeting.

  Lopez said to me, “They’ll wait in the street until they’re sure you’re inside your apartment. Turn on a light so they’ll know, okay?”

  I nodded again, too tired to speak.

  He said to the cops in the front seat, “Miss Diamond lives on the second floor, and her living room faces the street. Don’t leave until you see the light go on.”

  “Understood, detective.”

  And then, despite how apathetically exhausted I was now, Lopez managed to enrage me one last time.

  “I’ll call you,” he promised me.

  It was like being poked with a cattle prod. My temper ignited immediately, my energy suddenly renewed. “I can’t believe you! The nerve. The gall! The—”

  “I just said the wrong thing, didn’t I?” he guessed.

  “It’s exactly what you said when you left my bed a week ago,” I fumed. “And then you never called!”

  “He slept with you and then didn’t call?” said the policewoman at the wheel of the squad car. “For a week?”

  “That’s right!” I said.

  “God,” said Lopez, “I just hate my whole life right now.”

  “Men,” said the policewoman.

  “Oh, come on,” said her partner. “That’s not fair. We’re not all like him.”

  “Take Miss Diamond home now,” Lopez instructed them. “Right now.”

  “Men,” I agreed, as Lopez slammed the car door shut and walked away.

 
I fumed in stony silence all the way home, huddled in the backseat of the police car while the two cops in the front seat bickered about . . . I don’t know. Mars, Venus, men, women, Lopez, and me. Something like that.

  After I let myself into my shabby but welcoming apartment in Manhattan’s West Thirties, I turned on the light, then went to the window and waved at the bickering cops in the car on the street below, so they’d go away.

  My daypack by now felt like it was stuffed with bricks. I slid it off my shoulder and dropped it on the floor. Then I headed toward my bedroom, unzipping and unbuttoning my coat. As soon as I slid it off my shoulders, I shivered. My apartment was freezing. I quickly stripped off my clothes, leaving them lying in a heap on the floor, and donned heavy flannel pajamas, followed by a thick, fuzzy bathrobe. After a quick trip down the hall to the bathroom, I crawled into bed, still wearing my bathrobe, and collapsed facedown on my pillow, so relieved to be there.

  I was just drifting off to sleep, trying to banish the random thoughts and images that were floating through my head, when I realized who hadn’t witnessed my embarrassingly public fight at Bella Stella with Lopez about extremely private things. Who hadn’t been in the police van, either, along with me and the other prisoners.

  Once again living up to his nickname, Alberto “Lucky Bastard” Battistuzzi had escaped OCCB’s sweep of the Gambello crew.

  When the cops barreled into the restaurant, shouting “NYPD!” and everyone else started screaming in response (in particular, I remembered Ronnie shouting, “It’s a raid!”), Lucky had been in the men’s room, trying to clean splattered lasagna off his clothes. Alerted to what was happening, he must have made his getaway.

  I assumed the cops had all the exits covered, but it didn’t surprise me that Lucky had managed to slip away undetected. He was wily, experienced, and quick-thinking, and he knew that building well. He was also, well, lucky.

  I wondered where he was now. He presumably couldn’t go home, and I doubted he’d gone to Victor Gambello’s house—that would be too obvious to be safe. Besides, for all we knew, the cops were executing a search warrant there, too.

  Well, wherever Lucky was tonight, I thought drowsily as I drifted off to sleep, I hoped he was all right.