Doppelgangster Part 16

"I believe he means Michelangelo Buonarotti," Max said.

I was still confused. "Michelan . . . Oh! That That Buonarotti?" Buonarotti?"

"No, no, really," said the don modestly. "No relation, I a.s.sure you."

"Fine," I said. "Whatever. Lucky? We need to talk."

Lucky was frowning at me. "What are you wearing? You can't come into church dressed like that!"

"I have a date," I said tersely. "Anyhow, there's nothing wrong with the way I'm dressed." I was wearing a sleeveless black dress with a beaded bodice that showed some cleavage, complimented by a silky, translucent wrap that was currently slung over my arm. It was my s.e.xiest dress, and it had been too long since I'd had occasion to wear it. Okay, it wasn't what I would choose to wear to temple, on the two occasions per year that I go so that my mother won't nag me, but it certainly wasn't indecent.

"Of course there's nothing wrong with it," said Father Gabriel. "I think you look lovely, Esther. Your date is a lucky man."

"Thank you." I smiled at the handsome priest. Lucky frowned at me and stepped on my foot.

"Nothing wrong at all," Buonarotti agreed. "You look cla.s.sy. A real eyeful."

"Ain't you got nothin' else to do with your time?" Lucky said, glaring at Buonarotti.

"Oh, I guess I can find something to occupy me elsewhere." Buonarotti rolled his eyes. "After all, I wouldn't wanna intrude on you and your doctor and your fine cla.s.sical actress, now would I?" He chuckled at his own wry wit. "No, definitely not. So I guess I'll be leaving." He turned to the priest. "Always a pleasure to see you, Father."

"You're always welcome here, Michael."

"Now get lost," said Lucky.

"Someday, Lucky," Buonarotti said with a cold look, "you'll go too far."

"You can count on it."

Buonarotti's glare grew threatening. Then with a suddenness that I found chilling, he banished the look and turned a cheerful smile on me and Max. "Miss Diamond. Dr. Zadok. A pleasure to meet you both."

As we watched Don Michael Buonarotti leave, Max murmured doubtfully, "That man comes here to pray?"

Lucky snorted. "He comes here to hit on the widow. Ever since his wife got sick of his skirt chasing and dumped him."

"The Widow Giacalona doesn't exactly strike me as a 'skirt,' " I said.

"Of course, she ain't! But Buonarotti wants a new wife," Lucky said with a dark scowl. "In addition to his skirts."

"And he's pursuing her in church?" I said.

"I don't question why people enter the house of G.o.d," Father Gabriel said. "I just give thanks that they do do. Especially in this neighborhood, where there has been so much bloodshed over the years. Such as the other night." He took my hand and gazed at me with concern. "I can only imagine how distressing the events at Bella Stella must have been for you, Esther."

Those events were worse for Charlie, obviously, but I nodded and said, "I was very upset."

"To see a man killed in cold blood right in front of you . . ." The priest shook his head. "How dreadful for you."

I didn't want to keep reviewing Charlie's murder, so I changed the subject. "Lucky says there's a weeping saint here?"

Taking my cue, the priest smiled and gestured to the stone statue of Saint Monica. "Yes, we're very proud of it. Of course, only Elena Giacalona has seen the saint's tears so far. She's very devout, you know."

"Prays to Monica twice a day, every day, I gather," I said.

"Elena's life has been plagued by tragedy and loss," the priest said sadly.

I glanced at Lucky. "Indeed."

"She's had three husbands," the hit man muttered. "I only killed one one."

"All the same, Lucky, you don't think it's maybe a doomed courtship?" I said. "And also not in the best possible taste?"

Father Gabriel looked at the ceiling and remained tactfully silent. As did Max, whose two marriages, centuries ago, had left him with a strong preference for bachelorhood. Which was just as well, since, for mystical reasons that weren't entirely clear to me, his vocation encouraged celibacy. Much like Father Gabriel's vocation, I realized.

"Elena will come around," Lucky said. "I just need to give her time. But never mind that now." Glancing from me to Max, he said, "I got someone you need to talk to."

"And I should prepare for vespers," said Father Gabriel. "If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course," I said.

After the priest exited through a side door, Lucky took my arm. "Let's take a walk."

"Oh, good. We're going to sit in the pews?" My feet hurt. I don't usually wear high heels.

"Not this time, kid. We gotta talk in the crypt."

"The crypt?" I tried to pull my arm out of his grasp. "I don't want to go into the crypt crypt. Could you possibly suggest a creepier meeting place?"

"A perfectly understandable reaction," said Max, nodding. "An underground vault, with all the inherent fear of suffocation and smothering that such places naturally engender in mankind."

"You're not helping, Max," I said.

"And there's no denying that a crypt is a shadowy and mysterious chamber rife with negative mythology," he added. "Not to mention the atmospheric hint of dark rituals far older than Christianity itself!"

"Nah, it'll be fine," said Lucky prosaically. "They got electricity down there and everything."

"Why can't we talk up here?" I demanded.

"Because whatever's going on, we gotta be discreet," said Lucky. "Or whoever's behind this situation might figure out that we're sniffing him out."

Since this made a certain amount of sense to me, I sighed and agreed to go into the d.a.m.n crypt.

"Watch your language," Lucky said. "You're in church."

9.

St. Monica's was more than one hundred years old, but the crypt was less intimidating than I had imagined. Possibly because there were about one hundred folding chairs stored there, along with a piano and a rack of costumes from the Easter play that the parish children had performed last month. No room looks very murky and mysterious with a dozen pink bunny costumes in it.

The strangest thing in the room, however, was . . .

"An Elvis impersonator?" I said blankly.

"What's an Elvis impersonator?" Max asked.

"I'm not not an impersonator," said the man seated at the piano. "I can't help the resemblance." an impersonator," said the man seated at the piano. "I can't help the resemblance."

"You could try dressing a bit less like The King in his declining years," I suggested.

The man was overweight and wearing a white leisure suit with silver trim. His red shirt was open halfway down his chest, revealing thick gold chains nestled in black chest hair. The hair on his head was coal black and thick, with long sideburns; I thought it looked like a wig. He wore a pair of rose-tinted gla.s.ses over his puffy, lined face.

"Show some respect," Lucky said to me. "This is the boss' nephew."

"Which one?" I asked. The Shy Don had a big family.

"They call me Johnny Be Good," the man said.

I blinked. "You're Johnny Be Good Gambello?"

"You heard of me, huh?" he sounded pleased.

I had never seen him at the restaurant, because Stella had banned him from there years ago. She said Johnny Be Good was a very bad boy. He had notorious problems with drugs, alcohol, and gambling. Wiseguys disapproved of divorce, and he was on his third marriage. He'd even been caught embezzling from the Gambellos. The only reason he was still alive was that he was a nephew of the don himself, so only Victor Gambello could order his death. And the Shy Don, Stella said, had a soft spot for his blood relatives.

"Yeah, I've heard of you," I said.

"But I'm afraid I I have not had the pleasure of hearing about you," said Max. have not had the pleasure of hearing about you," said Max.

"Who's this jerk?" Johnny asked Lucky.

"This is Doc Zadok," said Lucky, "who's got specialized knowledge that might be useful to our situation."

"And the girl? She's the one who saw Charlie go down for the dirt nap?"

"Yep."

"The one who saw his double, along with you?"

"That's right," Lucky said.

Johnny regarded me. "She's a looker. You didn't mention that."

"Did he mention that my boyfriend is a cop?" I said, not liking the oily way Johnny was a.s.sessing me.

He flinched. "You date a cop cop?"

"Why are we here?" I asked Lucky wearily.

"Johnny, tell these two people what you told me," Lucky instructed, setting out a couple of the folding chairs for me and Max.

Johnny nodded and cracked his knuckles. As he began his tale, I draped my wrap over the back of a folding chair and sat down. Max sat next to me.

Johnny Be Good began his tale. "I was in a friendly little establishment uptown last night-neutral turf, you understand-enjoying a social game of cards." He eyed us, as if daring us to mention his famously bad luck at all forms of gambling, including poker. "One of the other guys at the table was Danny the Doctor."

"Who's that?" I asked.

"Danny 'the Doctor' Dapezzo," said Lucky. "He's a capo in the Corvino family. Mean son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"And he's a doctor?" Max asked. "Medicine or philosophy?"

"They call him the Doctor," Johnny Be Good said, "because of the surgical way he cuts up bodies into nice, neat little parts. I'm telling you, Danny can get fifty pieces out of one skinny corpse."

I said to Max, "You had to ask."

Lucky said with reluctant admiration, "Yeah, it's very hard for the cops to identify a corpse after Danny gets done with it. They can't find enough parts."

"So you're playing cards with Danny," I said loudly to Johnny. "And . . ." "And . . ."

"And Mickey Rosenblum, from Las Vegas, is at the same table, and he's having as great a night as Danny's having a bad one." He paused and added, "You oughta know Mickey. He's Jewish. Same as you." When I didn't say anything, Johnny prodded, "You know him?"

"No."

He looked at Lucky. "Didn't you say she was Jewish? How come she don't know Mickey?"

"So Mickey cleaned out Danny the Doctor?" I prodded.

"Yeah. And Danny, well, he goes away in a real bad mood, pockets empty, b.i.t.c.hing about how he don't even have cab fare left to go visit his girlfriend before he goes home to the missus."

"Uh-huh." Who married married these men, I wondered? these men, I wondered?

"And two minutes later . . . Guess who enters the club and sits down at our table, fresh as a daisy? You got it! Danny the Doctor. And his pockets are full of dough! What's even stranger is, he don't remember a thing. He thinks we're we're nuts when we talk about what just happened with him, right at this very table. And us, well, we figure nuts when we talk about what just happened with him, right at this very table. And us, well, we figure he's he's nuts, going senile or something. But his cash is real." Johnny smirked and added, "And you know what? Mickey Rosenblum cleaned him out all over again!" Johnny guffawed long and loudly, occasionally pausing to repeat this last bit. Several times. "Cleaned him out all over again!" nuts, going senile or something. But his cash is real." Johnny smirked and added, "And you know what? Mickey Rosenblum cleaned him out all over again!" Johnny guffawed long and loudly, occasionally pausing to repeat this last bit. Several times. "Cleaned him out all over again!"

Max and I looked at each other. Then we both looked at Lucky.

He nodded. "What did I tell you? We got us another doppelgangster somewhere out there. Only this one's a Corvino."

It proved to be impossible to have an intelligent conversation with Johnny Be Good Gambello in the room, so it was a relief when he suddenly asked Lucky to loan him some cash so he could go enjoy himself elsewhere while the night was still young.

After Johnny left, Lucky said to Max, "I put the word out after talkin' with you and Esther yesterday morning. I know you thought Charlie's doppelgangster was a one-time thing, Doc, but my gut told me otherwise."