Dopplegangster

by Laura Resnick

  My doppelgangster cried, “Nelli! Watch out!”

  I looked up to see Max pointing at Buonarotti’s gun. His expression was disconcerted. It was still a gun, it was still in Buonarotti’s hand, and it looked fully functional. Max’s gaze flew to the priest. I looked at Gabriel, too. He was holding the bloodied hand ax and eyeing Nelli. She was crouched down, snarling, and looking for an opening to attack him.

  “What happened?” my doppelgangster said, looking at Max and then at the gun which was now pointed at him.

  “Nelli! No! Don’t!” I was winded from my fall. My voice was weak. The priest looked more scared than menacing. But the ax looked deadly. And since it was covered in chicken blood, he evidently didn’t balk at killing animals with his own two hands, even if he was fastidious about whacking people.

  “Nelli,” my doppelgangster said, attempting to sound calm. “Come here. Nelli.”

  The familiar starting shaking with confusion and nerves. She looked at me and made distressed sounds in her throat.

  “Call off your dog!” Gabriel ordered.

  “Don’t say ‘dog,’ ” Max said tersely, poised to jump Buonarotti if the gangster moved the gun off him to shoot Nelli.

  “Call it off!”

  “Nelli,” Max said. “Down.”

  With obvious reluctance, Nelli backed away slowly from the ax-wielding priest. Now we were spread out well enough that Buonarotti couldn’t cover us all with the gun. We needed to keep it that way.

  Still holding the ax, Father Gabriel looked at Max’s painted face, then mine, then Nelli’s. He frowned thoughtfully. “Interesting solution. But not one, I think, that will catch on among wiseguys.”

  Max look at the gun again. “You anticipated me.”

  “Transformations? Of course.” The priest added, as if this were a great compliment, “You’re not just a crazy old man.”

  “I’m afraid,” Max said to me, “I can do nothing about the firearm. Father Gabriel has taken precautions in that respect.”

  “So I gathered,” I said.

  “Well, that’s just great,” said my perfect double. “Now what?”

  I said to it, “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think I’m doing here? I was kidnapped .” It looked at Max. “What’s going on?”

  I said to Gabriel, “Why the hell did you kidnap it? You created it.”

  “It?” my doppelgangster repeated.

  “I didn’t kidnap her,” Gabriel said with renewed exasperation.

  “You told me to grab the actress!” Buonarotti snapped at him. “I did what you wanted!”

  “Grab me?” I said. “I thought you were trying to kill me.”

  “Yes, well, after your little stunt with the widow today, I realized you weren’t likely to go down as easily as the others,” said the priest.

  “So you did suspect!” I said.

  “Suspect what?” said my duplicate.

  “Of course,” said Gabriel. “And so I thought of a better use for you.”

  “You adapted,” Max said. “Excellent.”

  “Max,” my doppelgangster and I said in unison.

  Buonarotti said, “She’s leverage against the cop.”

  “We believe your young man is getting rather close to us,” Father Gabriel said to me. “It seemed a good idea to create circumstances that would distract him.”

  “Kidnapping me would distract him,” I said. “He won’t miss that thing.”

  “Excuse me?” said the doppelgangster.

  “Oh, I don’t think the good detective knows what you know, Esther,” said the priest. “So either one of you could be useful in that respect. That’s why I kept her when I saw that Michael had brought me the wrong one.”

  “I did?” Buonarotti looked stunned. “So which one is the real one?”

  Gabriel sighed and looked at Max. “Take my advice, don’t ever get a partner. It’s really more trouble than it’s worth.”

  Buonarotti scowled. “Oh, really? So who’d whack the targets if I didn’t have a piece of this action? You, you little pansy?”

  Max said, “I gather this was a partnership of convenience, rather than one of mutual respect and esteem?”

  “Get me out of this chair!” said the doppelgangster. “I’ve had enough of this!”

  The priest glared at me. “You are the noisiest woman. You’ve barely been here an hour, and I swear I’ve got my first ever migraine now.”

  “No, I’ve barely been here fifteen minutes!” I said.

  “Indeed.” Still holding his ax, the priest crossed the room to stand behind my doppelgangster. “I heard you arrive. Half the city probably heard you arrive.” He raised the ax. “You’re not precisely the stealthiest enemies a man could have.”

  My heart thudded. I got off the floor and sprang to my feet. “What are you—”

  “Don’t move.” Buonarotti pointed the gun at me.

  “Untie me!” The doppelgangster looked over its shoulder and saw the raised ax. “Whoa! What are you doing?”

  Max made a dive for the gun. Buonarotti slugged him so hard he bounced off the wall and slid down it. Nelli lunged, snarling, then came to a tense halt as she confronted the gun.

  “No!” cried my perfect double. “Don’t!”

  The ax came down swiftly, cutting off the doppelgangster’s scream of horror in mid-wail. I screamed, too, and covered my eyes with my hands. Nelli barked hysterically. Buonarotti laughed. He really was a pig.

  My heart was pounding, my head reeling. I thought I might be sick. Then I realized that in another moment, I might be dead. I gasped and lowered my hands, blinking rapidly as I looked around the room. But the priest was back at the altar now, wiping chicken blood off his hands. Max was struggling to rise to his feet. Buonarotti was eyeing both him and Nelli, his gun moving uncertainly between them.

  I forced myself to look at the spot where my perfect double had just been beheaded.

  There was nothing there, of course, except a pile of by now familiar substances: feathers, dirt, bird bones, pebbles. And my transparent black wrap.

  I made a horrible sound. All the men in the room looked at me.

  “That is the single most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen,” I said with feeling. I looked back at the three men. “And lately, that’s saying a lot.”

  “Come on, come on,” said Buonarotti. “We’re wasting time.”

  “For once,” said Father Gabriel, “I’m forced to agree with you, Michael.” He bent over and examined the chicken. “It’s not cold yet. I think I can proceed.”

  Max’s gaze moved to a short marble pedestal on the altar. A gold cigarette lighter sat on top of it. “Who are you duplicating now?”

  “Someone whose death will ensure this war finally gets started and goes all the way, until both families are destroyed.” The priest said, “This morning, I paid a condolence call on Danny Dapezzo’s boss.”

  I drew in a sharp breath. “You stole Don Carmine Corvino’s lighter?”

  “And when the Corvino boss dies,” Buonarotti said, gloating, “the family will go apeshit.”

  “The war will commence,” Max said grimly.

  “Nothing can stop it,” Father Gabriel said with satisfaction. “Not if the don is murdered. The family will blame the Gambellos, and they’ll do anything to destroy them then, even if it leads to their own destruction.” He shrugged. “That’s just how these people are.”

  “No!” I said. “You’ve got to stop! You’ve got to stop now!”

  “Be quiet!” the priest said.

  “So far, only wiseguys have died,” said. “But if you go through with this, innocent people will die, too.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Buonarotti said.

  “Sooner or later, it’ll happen! Gabriel, listen to me!” I cried. “How can you do this?”

  “I’m entitled,” he said.

  “Entitled?”

  “Yes,” he said reasonably. “I lost my father in childhood and no one eve
r punished his killer.”

  “He should have chosen a different profession!” I snapped. “You demented, warped, bloodthirsty, craven—”

  Buonarotti hit Max. Max fell on the floor, and the mobster kicked him. Max groaned and lay there in a daze.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted.

  “I told you to shut up. You keep talking,” Buonarotti said, “and I’ll break the old guy’s ribs.”

  I stared at him in mute horror.

  Buonarotti said to the priest, “That’s how you make a broad shut up, genius.”

  Father Gabriel looked distressed. He said to Buonarotti, “That was unnecessary.”

  “You’re the one bitching about how all her yapping gives you a headache.” The mobster grimaced. “Now I’m getting one, too.”

  Gabriel gave himself a shake. “I’ve got to finish my work.” He nodded at Max’s prone body. “Get him out of here.”

  “What should I do with him?”

  “Kill him, of course,” the priest said dismissively.

  “What?” I blurted. “No!”

  Buonarotti pointed the gun at Max. My throat constricted. Nelli crouched low on her haunches, growling.

  “Not here,” Gabriel said irritably. “You know how I feel about violence. Take him somewhere to do it. The dog, too.”

  “How am I gonna take a vicious dog somewhere?”

  “Oh, all right,” said the priest, as if dealing with an annoying administrative problem. “You can shoot the dog here, but then you’ve got to remove its body.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Buonarotti said. “This dog weighs more than the old guy does!”

  “These kinds of problems are your department, not mine,” said Father Gabriel in exasperation. “So think of something.”

  “What do we do about the broad?”

  “We keep her alive for now. Leverage against the cop.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Tie her up before you go,” Gabriel said.

  “No,” I said automatically, backing away as Buonarotti took a step toward me.

  Nelli barked and moved toward him. He pointed the gun at her. A shot went off, the sound exploding through the room. I screamed Nelli’s name . . . and was surprised to see Buonarotti flinch and whirl to point his gun at the door—just as Lucky came flying into the room, gun in hand, his painted face contorted in a snarl of predatory rage as he launched himself at Buonarotti.

  There was a cloud of feathers in Lucky’s short gray hair and a dusting of dirt on his clothes. Souvenirs, I figured, of his recently decapitated doppelgangster. He flew across the room and hit Buonarotti with such force that their bodies careened into Nelli, who got knocked into the altar.

  “No!” the priest cried, as feathers, dirt, and chicken blood flew all over the place. A candle toppled over and went out. Two facing mirrors fell against each other with a crashing sound and broke. Rising to her feet, Nelli cut her paw severely on a piece of broken glass and yelped as Lucky and Buonarotti, locked in mortal combat, rolled on the floor nearby, trying to kill each other.

  Nelli limped over to me, trailing blood, and I looked at her paw. Lucky and Buonarotti rolled into us. Lucky’s foot shot out and inadvertently kicked my arm.

  “Ow!”

  On the other side of the men’s tangled, writhing fight, Max dragged himself across the floor to the altar. He pulled a large silver amulet out of his pocket, and laid it at the base of the altar.

  “No!” Father Gabriel cried.

  I saw the priest reach for his ax. “Watch out, Max!” Max looked up and rolled away just in time to avoid the blade of the ax, which Gabriel brought down with enough force to suggest that he was learning to overcome his aversion to killing his victims with his own two hands.

  Buonarotti and Lucky were kicking and flailing, rolling all over the floor between me and Gabriel. Nelli and I were trying to get around them, but they were moving too fast and violently. Nelli was hampered by her injured foot, and I was hampered by not being able to levitate.

  Gabriel raised the ax again. I screamed. Max raised a hand and uttered a hoarse command, better prepared for this blow than the first one. The ax froze in mid-strike, and Gabriel cried out in pain, dropping it.

  Buonarotti kicked Lucky in the face. The old hit man fell backward and his gun flew out of his hand. Buonarotti climbed to his feet, nose bleeding, and pointed his gun at his foe.

  “No!” I screamed. Everything in the room came to an abrupt standstill.

  “Good-bye, Lucky.” Buonarotti pulled the trigger.

  The gun jammed.

  Buonarotti looked down at his weapon in appalled surprise, then back at Lucky.

  Lucky grinned. “Didn’t you know? I’m too lucky to die.”

  “But you were duplicated!” Buonarotti said. “You were cursed with death!”

  “What, you think I paint my face like this because it’s a good look for me?” Lucky dived for his own gun.

  Buonarotti turned and fled the room.

  25

  Lucky said to me, “That gun is jammed, not dead. You stay here until I tell you it’s safe.” He ran after Buonarotti.

  I crossed the room to where Gabriel was bending down to retrieve his ax. I grabbed him before he could seize the weapon.

  “Let’s see how you do with someone who isn’t tied up or lying on the floor half unconscious!” I said.

  Gripping his black shirt, I bashed my forehead against his nose and stomped on his foot.

  He shrieked like a girl, and his nose sprouted blood.

  “Nelli!” Max called. “Your assistance, please!”

  I punched Gabriel as hard as I could, really mad now. Somewhere else in the church, I heard shots fired.

  Nelli hobbled across the room on three legs to join Max at the altar. He started chanting.

  “Noooo!” Gabriel lunged toward them.

  I tripped him, knocked him down, and kicked him in the ribs. He cried out and curled up in a fetal position.

  “Get up!” I kicked him again. “Get up you evil, murdering, self-righteous lunatic!”

  He rolled over and crawled away from me. Somewhere else in the building, there was a lengthy exchange of gunfire.

  Nelli started destroying the remaining objects on the altar, knocking down the candles, tipping over the urns of dirt and pebbles, scattering the animal bones. She took the dead chicken between her jaws and started shaking it furiously as if it were a chew toy.

  This was a little too much for me. “Nelli, give me that,” I insisted. I took it away from her.

  Hobbling along with her bad leg, she rose up to knock the human skulls off the altar, then did her best to destroy them.

  “No, no, no!” Father Gabriel was practically weeping now.

  I swung the dead, mangled chicken and walloped the priest with it as hard as I could. He cried out and backed away. Stomping toward him, I hit him with the deceased bird again.

  “Do you know how terrified Charlie and Danny were when they died? Did you get a kick out of that, you malicious bastard?” I hit him again. “You were going to kill Elena? A woman? Because she resisted being raped by your murdering, gloating, disgusting partner in crime?” I tossed the chicken aside and kneed Gabriel in the groin. He doubled over in pain.

  Max’s chanting grew louder. I was sweating. I thought it was because of my rage and exertion. But it dawned on me that, actually, the room was suddenly hot. Very hot. Unnaturally so.

  “And you were going to have Buonarotti kill me?” I shouted. “ME? What did I ever do to you?”

  Gabriel moaned pathetically. “You were going to find out. You were going to stop me.”

  “And you should be stopped, you warped, twisted, pathetic, homicidal asshole!” I grabbed him by the shirt shook him really hard. His head thudded against the wall. “You were killing people! You were going to get lots more people killed! Even innocent people! People who aren’t wiseguys! Like Lopez!”

  I clamped my fingers around his jaw and sque
ezed until he made a strangled sound of pain. “And you nearly blew my audition for The Dirty Thirty! You JERK!”

  There was an explosion so strong it shook the whole room. I staggered backward, releasing my hold on the weeping, whining, disheveled priest. A blaze of fiery heat washed over my back. Nelli howled. I heard more gunshots somewhere in the belly of the church.

  I turned around and raised an arm to shield my eyes from the intense glow emanating from the sacked altar. Squinting and looking through my fingers, I could see that Nelli and Max were enveloped in a bright golden light. Max was on his knees now, his arms raised overhead and spread wide, as Gabriel’s had been when we first entered this room. Nelli sat next to him, her muzzle turned skyward as she continued howling. Max was bellowing words I didn’t understand, and the intensity of light and heat increased until flames were rippling all around him and his familiar.

  “Max!” I cried, afraid they wouldn’t survive. “Nelli!”

  Shapes started developing in the glowing flames, struggling to coalesce into coherent forms within the undulating white fire that consumed the whole altar. I thought I saw arms, legs, faces . . . Something huge and rotund emerged from the tangled fray of writhing, twisting, hideously suggestive shapes in the fire. It looked like . . .

  “Charlie?” I said.

  The figure resembling Chubby Charlie Chiccante seemed to fold into itself, tumbling over into more molten white heat and fire, and then another figure emerged, then another.

  I saw the graceful curves of Elena Giacalona’s figure moving through the flames, as well as Lopez’s clean profile and taut body, Danny Dapezzo’s tidy form, and Johnny Be Good’s disturbingly Elvis-like image. Something that looked like Lucky floated through the flames and then dissolved, followed by a writhing entity that looked like my own perfect double, glowing in the liquid heat of this mystical cleansing. As the flames began receding and the glow faded, one final shape passed through my vision. I frowned, thinking I must be wrong about who it was.

  And then the heat faded, dissipating almost as quickly as it had gathered. The flames vanished, leaving just one feeble candle on the altar to illuminate this old, forgotten room.