Dopplegangster

by Laura Resnick

I thought my mother’s soul would abandon her body in Wisconsin and fly to New York to tear my tongue out of my mouth if I claimed to be thinking about converting. But I was spared the need to pretend a passion for architecture. We were interrupted without apology by a middle-aged woman whose hair was a shade of blond that had no equivalent in nature. She grasped Father Gabriel’s arm, cooed his name, and dragged him away from me as she flirted outrageously and invited him to Sunday dinner at her house. I wondered whether her husband would be present for the meal.

  As I had noticed once before, many of the women here seemed to be dressed for a hot date rather than for church. Their eyes followed the handsome priest with enthralled interest, and a number of them were openly competing for his attention.

  How ironic that a man with such sex appeal had chosen a celibate vocation. I was glad that Lopez hadn’t done the same, even though his being a cop was, once again, proving to be very inconvenient. As well as dangerous.

  As I watched Father Gabriel deflecting subtle and not so subtle advances from these women with courteous skill, I wondered at the level of spiritual commitment that had led him away from the temptations of the opposite sex and the pleasures of marriage to dedicate himself to a solitary life of worship and devotion.

  Realizing I was hungry, I crossed the room to examine the selection of cakes and little sandwiches that had been provided for the attendees. I was perusing the food with interest when my cell phone rang. The caller was Lucky.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, you was supposed to warn us if she left the church,” he snapped at me. “What gives? Did she never show up there, or something?”

  “Huh?”

  “We were only in her place for maybe ten minutes when she walked in on us,” Lucky said angrily.

  “What?”

  “Talk about embarrassing. Max did his best to talk our way out of it, but I won’t be surprised if she calls the cops and files a complaint. She was real mad.”

  I felt my eyes grow wide with horror as I stared at the widow, who stood about fifteen feet away from me. “You . . . you . . . she . . .”

  “Anyhow, the job is done. Her apartment is tiny. She ain’t makin’ any doppelgangsters there unless they’re the size of mice. We were practically finished lookin’ around anyhow, when Elena walked in on us.”

  “Lucky,” I choked out.

  “So you and Max better be satisfied now is all I’m sayin’ about it.”

  I turned toward the corner and covered my mouth so I wouldn’t be overheard. “Lucky, she’s here.”

  “Who’s where?”

  “The widow,” I said, keeping my voice lowered. “I’m at St. Monica’s. She’s here.”

  There was a pause. “No, she’s not. I just left her in her apartment about thirty seconds ago.”

  “She’s here, I tell you!” I stiffened when I saw someone glance at me. I mustn’t attract attention. In particular, I mustn’t attract her attention.

  I looked cautiously over my shoulder. I saw her pouring herself a cup of coffee. “I’m looking at her right now.” Trying to keep my voice steady, I repeated, “Right now.”

  He sucked in a sharp gasp of breath. “Holy shit.”

  I heard him tell Max, and I heard Max’s exclamation of surprise. Then Max took the phone from Lucky and spoke to me.

  “You’re still at St. Monica’s?” he asked.

  “Yes. Where are you?”

  “Right outside the widow’s apartment building.”

  “You just saw her?” I asked, wanting to be absolutely sure. “Just now?”

  “Only moments ago.”

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  An older lady standing nearby flinched at my language, then moved quickly away from me.

  “You’re looking at her right now?” Max asked. “This moment?”

  “Yep.”

  “Have you got your knife with you? The one that Lucky gave you yesterday?”

  I realized what he was about to suggest. I turned back to the corner, covered my mouth, and said as quietly as possible, “Max, I can’t do that! There are lots of people here.”

  Unfortunately, Max had left Nelli at home. Since we thought Elena was the killer, it hadn’t occurred to us that we might have to identify her doppelgangster today. And Nelli wasn’t exactly an inconspicuous companion to take along for the stealthy search of a city apartment.

  “Given the widow’s reaction to finding us in her home after we had broken in,” Max said, “I would rather not return now and pierce her skin, if there’s any possible away of avoiding it. I fear that such a confrontation will unavoidably result in an unfortunate interview with the authorities.”

  “Well, there’s probably also going to be an ‘unfortunate interview’ if I do this in front of thirty witnesses,” I argued.

  I heard the two men discussing it, then Lucky came back on the phone. “You’re an actress. Make it look like an accident.”

  An accident. Right. I would just accidentally open a switchblade at a church meeting and cut Elena with it. “Great,” I muttered. “Fine. All right. I’ll call you back.”

  “We’ll be right here.”

  I put my phone back in my purse. I felt around for Lucky’s little knife and opened it inside the handbag. Keeping the short blade concealed with my hand, I took the knife out of the purse and lowered it to my side. My gaze sought the widow. She was walking in this direction. She stopped about five feet away from me to look at the selection of desserts, evidently wanting a snack to go with her cup of coffee.

  If only Lopez could be right. If only this were all a delusion.

  I approached the widow and stood alongside her, pretending to peruse the same selection of cakes and cookies.

  “Hello,” I said brightly. “We meet again.”

  “Yes,” she said without enthusiasm. “Hello.” She didn’t lift her gaze from the food.

  As she leaned forward and picked up a cannoli, I figured it was now or never.

  “Oh, that looks good!” I leaned across her, reaching for a cookie. I pretended to lose my balance, toppled sideways, and grabbed for her, as if reflexively seeking rescue from my fall. I took the widow, her cannoli, and her coffee cup crashing to the hard floor with enough force to break her cup. Through her shrieks and our tangled limbs, I managed to slash her hand quickly with my knife. I was pulling on her hair at the same time, hoping this would distract her.

  “Agh!”

  “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry!” I cried, rising to my knees. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?

  A dozen women descended on us to help us to our feet and inquire after our well-being. And I had evidently given a good performance. Everyone present seemed to assume I was just very clumsy.

  Except for Elena, who snapped, “Are you drunk?”

  “I’m so sorry.” I concealed Lucky’s small knife by pressing it against my midriff with my spread palm. “Are you all right?”

  “No, I’m not all right.”

  She looked down at her hand. I looked, too.

  There was blood.

  I was torn between relief and a desire to blurt out a muddled confession. But I stayed in character. “You cut yourself on your coffee cup!” I exclaimed. “Here, let me see.”

  “Stay back,” Elena said firmly, shying away from me.

  “May I have a look?” Father Gabriel stepped through the women crowding around us. Smiling kindly, he took Elena’s bleeding hand and examined it. “Oh, my, it is bleeding, isn’t it? Nothing serious,” he said reassuringly, “but you should get a bandage and some disinfectant. I believe Mrs. Campanello has some supplies in the office. Shall I come with you?”

  “No, thank you, Father. It’s just a cut. And I’d like to stop by the ladies room, anyhow.” She glared at me. “I feel a bit disheveled now.” She turned and left.

  The priest asked, “Are you all right, Esther?”

  “Just fine.”

  The women around us were already tidying up the cannoli, coffee, and
broken ceramic cup that had scattered across the floor. I picked up my purse. Keeping the knife concealed, I dropped it in there under the pretext of fishing around for a comb to tidy my hair.

  “I think I’d better go,” I said to the priest.

  “There’s no need for that,” he assured me.

  “I feel self-conscious now,” I said. “She didn’t like me very much to begin with.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’ll come around. You don’t need to—”

  “And, actually, I banged up my knee when I fell. It’s throbbing a bit now.”

  “Oh, well, in that case, yes. You should go home and rest. Be sure to put some ice on it.”

  “Yes, I will, Father. I’ll see you again, I hope.”

  “Straight home now,” he said with a kind smile. “No walking around on these cement sidewalks and uneven pavements with a sore knee. You’ll regret it dearly tomorrow if you don’t take care of it today.”

  “Yes, Father. Good-bye.”

  As soon as I was outside the church, I called Lucky.

  “Well?” he said.

  “This one’s the real deal. She bled. What do we do now?”

  “Max says now we gotta abduct the ringer and bring it back to the bookstore for questioning. So we’ll see you back there, kid.”

  21

  What we really wanted to avoid now, I thought, was another visit from Lopez.

  We had Elena Giacalona’s shrieking doppelgangster tied to a chair in Max’s basement. Her hands were also bound together behind her back. And although we had initially left her legs free, Lucky had agreed to tie her ankles to the legs of the chair after she kicked Max in the groin.

  It was not a scene I felt I’d ever be able to explain to Lopez’s satisfaction. So I fervently hoped he didn’t feel another urge to come to the bookstore tonight.

  Abducting a grown woman in the middle of Little Italy in the middle of the day wasn’t easy, but Lucky was an expert at this sort of thing. With a couple of quick phone calls, he had arranged for a large trunk, a small truck, and two sturdy Gambello soldiers to do the heavy lifting. And thus he had gotten Elena’s perfect double from her apartment to Max’s basement with no fuss, no mess, and no awkward questions asked.

  The creature seemed to be dressed for Sunday Mass. Or possibly a dinner date. With Elena, it was hard to tell. She wore a dark blue knit dress, a silver wristwatch, cheap pantyhose, and plain black pumps. Her hair was styled in a simple but flattering twist, and around her neck hung the lovely cross she had inherited from her mother, made of silver, diamonds, and mother-of-pearl.

  “Are you out of your minds?” she raged at us. “This is kidnapping! You’ll go to prison for this! And you’ll rot in hell, Lucky!”

  She was every bit as convincing in her role as the other doppelgangsters we had encountered. But we had no doubt of her true nature. Apart from the blood I had seen oozing from Elena Giacalona’s hand at St. Monica’s today, Nelli’s hostile reaction to this creature, upon meeting it, had confirmed that it was indeed a duplicate.

  Nelli was now upstairs, since keeping her separate from the creature was easier on everyone’s nerves.

  Questioning the doppelgangster, which Max had been so eager to do, proved to be disappointing. As Max had previously postulated, they were not self-aware. Like the other ones we had met, this one was utterly convinced it was the real thing. Consequently, Max’s probing questions revealed exactly what we would have learned from the real Elena Giacalona about the nature of the doppelgangsters, the method of their creation, and the identity of their maker: nothing.

  “I gotta go,” Lucky said after we’d spent about an hour with the infuriated perfect double.

  “Go?” I repeated “Where?”

  “Someone’s trying to kill Elena,” he said, his face strained. “I’ve got to tell her and convince her to get out of town until this all blows over.”

  “Good plan,” I said. If I thought Lopez would agree to get out of town, I’d pack his bags and buy the plane ticket. “Go on.”

  After the old hit man left, I took Max aside and admitted to feeling discouraged. Instead of being the killer, Elena was the next victim.

  “I went way down the wrong track on this one,” I said. “And we’re still no closer to stopping the killer than we were yesterday.”

  “Don’t lose heart,” Max said. “Although you were mistaken about the widow, your suspicion of her did inadvertently lead to our saving her life by ensuring she and her perfect double don’t meet. So some good has certainly come out of today’s events. Moreover, my instinct is that we are getting very close to a solution. We may not be able to see it yet, but I feel as if it’s just out of reach.”

  I, on the other hand, thought it seemed a million miles away. But I didn’t think that saying so would help the situation, so I kept this opinion to myself.

  The doppelgangster didn’t want any dinner, but I was hungry by that evening, so Max ordered some Chinese food to be delivered. After it arrived, Max insisted I eat first, while he guarded the doppelgangster. Then I went back down to the lab to guard her while Max and Nelli took their evening meal.

  I knew “the widow” wasn’t the real thing, but she looked and acted so real, I didn’t want to leave her alone and frightened in the subterranean laboratory tied to a chair.

  I also knew that the situation was taking a heavy toll on Lucky. He wouldn’t be able to behead this doppelgangster, nor to let Max behead it. It was too much like the woman he loved. On the other hand, we certainly couldn’t release the creature. Left to its own devices, after all, the duplicate would sooner or later meet the real Elena Giacalona unless the widow went into hiding for the rest of her life.

  I sat down on a spare chair in the laboratory, within a few feet of Elena’s double, and wondered what to say to it. The doppelgangster didn’t like me any better than the real woman did. Actually, since I was keeping it tied up in a cellar, it probably liked me even less.

  After a few minutes of sullen silence, Elena frowned as her gaze moved over me. “That wretched dog has shed all over your dress.”

  “Oh. Yes.” I brushed self-consciously at the increasingly unhygienic black knit material. “I slept on Nelli’s couch. In this dress. With Nelli on top of me.”

  “Perhaps it’s time to change clothes,” the widow suggested with fastidious distaste.

  “I don’t have any spare clothes here. And I don’t really want to go home until Lucky knows whether the Corvinos are planning to k—”

  “Lucky.” She scowled. “So what’s he going to do, now that he’s kidnapped me? Rape me and then feed my body to a cement mixer?”

  “What? Oh, good God, no!” I was shocked. Okay, yes, he had murdered her second husband. But still. “Look I know it sounds crazy,” I said to the glaring doppelgangster, “but Lucky’s trying to save your life.” I blinked, realizing it wasn’t this thing’s life that he was trying to save. “I mean, um—”

  “Oh, nonsense!” she snapped. “His obsession with me has sent him over the edge! I wish his wife had never died! None of this would be happening if he still had a woman at home to look after him.”

  “Did he love his wife?” I had never asked him.

  “Yes. And he mourned her death. Then when he was done mourning . . .” She gave a disgusted sigh. “He decided he was in love with me.”

  “I guess he’s lonely,” I said.

  She made an exasperated sound. “Michael Buonarotti says he’s lonely, too! That was his excuse for his disgusting behavior last night!” She added with satisfaction, “I pushed him down the stairs of my building.”

  “Really? I thought you and Buonarotti seemed like you were starting to get along,” I said.

  “Not after last night. He’s an animal!” She added with a dark scowl, “Well, I’ve had enough. I didn’t press charges for the murders of any of my husbands, but I will have Michael arrested if he ever comes near me again, and I will definitely prosecute Lucky for kidnapping me!”


  “None of the murders were prosecuted? I suppose that’s because you were afraid for your life,” I said.

  “No,” she said dismissively. “I stay out of the business.”

  “Pardon?”

  She gave me an irritated glance. “Don Victor took care of Anthony Gambello’s killers. I stayed out of that. And the deaths of Salvatore Fatico and Eddie Giacalona . . . It was business, and I stayed out of that, too.”

  “You think of Sally Fatico’s death as business?” I said, stunned.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t hate Lucky for it,” she said darkly. “But Sally . . . well, there’s no denying he brought it on himself.”

  “By marrying you?”

  “What? No.” She glared again. “Being married to me was what kept him alive after they found out what he was doing.”

  I felt lost. “What was he doing?”

  “He was cutting into the Gambellos’ truck hijacking business.” Her shoulders slumped for the first time since I had met her. “Sally was a bit of a fool. Dashing and handsome and romantic, and . . .” She sighed. “A bit of a fool.”

  “He was stealing from the Gambellos?” A fool indeed.

  “Lucky liked Sally, so he warned him. And when that had no effect, Lucky warned me. Normally I would—”

  “Stay out of the business?”

  “Yes. But I realized how serious this was. How dangerous. So I told Sally to stop.” She shook her head. “But Sally just didn’t believe they’d kill him. Because he was married to me, and the don was fond of me.”

  “I thought the don had tried to strangle you?”

  “Yes, well, he has a peculiar way of showing his fondness,” she said coldly.

  “So . . . Sally wasn’t killed for marrying a Gambello widow?”

  “You read too many tabloids,” she said. “Oh, Don Victor threw a violent tantrum the night I told him I had married Sally. That part of the gossip is true. But Lucky calmed him down—”

  “Lucky was there?”

  “Lucky was always there. I think he’s a workaholic,” she said. “He told the don I was too young to remain a widow for the rest of my life. He pointed out that a priest had married me to Sally, so it couldn’t be undone. And also that the two families weren’t at war, after all. Well, not at the time, anyhow.” She shrugged. “A week later, Don Victor sent me a wedding gift and his blessings.”