Doppelgangster Part 3

I smiled and asked, "And how is it that you're you're still unattended, Lucky?" Like most wiseguys, Lucky had married and had children. But Mrs. Battistuzzi had died a few years ago, and Lucky never brought a date to dinner. "Do you like bachelorhood?" still unattended, Lucky?" Like most wiseguys, Lucky had married and had children. But Mrs. Battistuzzi had died a few years ago, and Lucky never brought a date to dinner. "Do you like bachelorhood?"

He shrugged. "A man gets lonely."

"So you think you might settle down with someone again?" I asked as I started clearing Chubby Charlie's table.

"Well, actually . . ."

When I glanced at Lucky, he lowered his eyes. I thought he might be . . . blushing blushing.

"Hey, Esther, I got that." Angelo, one of the busboys, came over to Charlie's table and started clearing it. "Stella says it's slow tonight, you can leave early."

I nodded, then asked, "Lucky, can I get you anything else before I go?"

He waved me away. "Nah, I'm fine. Get out of here, kid."

"This f.u.c.kin' job," Angelo said. "Such bulls.h.i.t."

Angelo Falcone was an aspiring young wiseguy. He had the social skills of a rabid squirrel, and he made sure the rest of us knew that working in a restaurant was way way beneath him. When he wasn't bussing tables, he was doing everything he could to make himself useful to the Gambello family, in hopes of achieving a full-time career change. Since I didn't want to know anything about my coworker's life of crime, I had told him, too, that I was dating a cop. (Though absent, Lopez sure was coming in handy lately.) And since Angelo wasn't very bright, I had to beneath him. When he wasn't bussing tables, he was doing everything he could to make himself useful to the Gambello family, in hopes of achieving a full-time career change. Since I didn't want to know anything about my coworker's life of crime, I had told him, too, that I was dating a cop. (Though absent, Lopez sure was coming in handy lately.) And since Angelo wasn't very bright, I had to keep keep reminding him about my cop "boyfriend" to make him shut up. reminding him about my cop "boyfriend" to make him shut up.

Glad that Charlie had tipped me so well on such a slow night, I went into the staff room, took off my ap.r.o.n, clocked out, and divvied up the bartender's and busboy's portions of my tips. Then I grabbed my sweater and purse, and I headed out of the restaurant. As soon as I was out on the street, where my cell phone got better reception, I checked my voice mail. I was hoping for a message from my agent telling me I had an audition. But no such luck. I snapped the phone shut and sighed.

"Did your date let you down?" said a voice behind me.

I turned to see Chubby Charlie approaching the restaurant. He was smiling flirtatiously (as he no doubt imagined it) at me.

Wondering why he was back, I said, "Did you forget something?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "I forgot to ask you out last time I was here, honey. You're one of Stella's girls, right?"

"Um, I'm one of the servers here, yes. But you did did ask me-" ask me-"

"I thought so! You're the one with the good voice, yeah? You sang 'Beyond the Sea' last time I was here." He patted his heart. "Got me right here."

The gesture drew my unwilling attention to his chest. "Did your handkerchief fall out of your pocket?" Although I had tucked it in for him a few minutes ago, I saw that it was missing now.

"Huh?"

"Your red handkerchief," I said.

"Hey, you remember it?" Looking pleased, he slapped the empty pocket. "I f.u.c.kin' lost it. Can you believe that? Probably some p.r.i.c.k stole it."

"That was fast." I wondered who on this street would be reckless enough to pick the pocket of a Gambello killer.

"It matched this tie so great, too," he said sadly.

"Uh-huh." I tried to push past him. "Good night, Charlie."

"Hey, where you goin', cutie? I want to hear you sing tonight."

"Your memory's slipping, Charlie," I said. "I did did sing tonight." sing tonight."

"Well, I ain't f.u.c.kin' been inside tonight yet, have I?" Then Charlie noticed my sweater and purse. "So you're leavin'? I guess I won't get to hear you sing tonight. s.h.i.t. Well, next time, huh? I'd f.u.c.kin' love to hear you do 'That's Amore.' It's what I was gonna ask you to sing."

"But . . ." He had had asked me to sing it. Tonight. Wondering if he was having some sort of ministroke, I asked, "Are you okay?" asked me to sing it. Tonight. Wondering if he was having some sort of ministroke, I asked, "Are you okay?"

"No! I'm starving to death! I got stuck in traffic. And now, I swear, I could eat the f.u.c.kin' table!"

"But you just ate-"

"Maybe you should join me," he said. "You look a little dizzy."

"I . . . I . . ."

"Got a date? Got a boyfriend? Got a f.u.c.kin' dental appointment? What?" he prodded.

"You asked about my boyfriend," I said, studying him for signs of a mental breakdown. "Do you remember?"

"Yeah, I asked two f.u.c.kin' seconds ago. What the f.u.c.k is the matter with you?"

"No, you asked earlier earlier tonight," I said. "I'm dating a cop. A detective. Remember?" tonight," I said. "I'm dating a cop. A detective. Remember?"

Charlie fell back a step, an appalled expression on his face. "You date a cop cop?"

"Yes."

"A cop? cop?"

Or maybe I I was the one having a mental breakdown. was the one having a mental breakdown.

"Jesus." He shook his head and muttered, "Dates a f.u.c.kin' cop."

"We had had this conversation," I said. this conversation," I said.

"When did we f.u.c.kin' have this conversation?"

"Fifteen minutes ago."

He squinted at me. "Does Stella know you're doing drugs?"

"I'm not not doing-" doing-"

" 'Cuz she runs a clean place. If she finds out you're into that stuff, she'll can your a.s.s. And I don't f.u.c.kin' blame her." He wagged a fat finger at me. "If you want a good job at a nice place like this, you should keep your f.u.c.kin' nose clean."

This was just what I needed: to be lectured by a foul-mouthed killer.

"I'm going inside now," Charlie said. "I'm f.u.c.kin' starving. I could kill for some pasta arrabbiata pasta arrabbiata." At the door to Stella's, he paused and looked at me. "You're still a great singer, though. Even if you are all f.u.c.ked up."

"Such a tribute," I muttered.

Lucky Battistuzzi exited the restaurant as Charlie entered it. When he saw me standing there, staring after Charlie with a frown, Lucky asked, "Was he bothering you again?"

"Not exactly. But I think something's wrong with him."

"Yeah, something's wrong with him. He's a schmuck."

"Besides that." I recounted the conversation to Lucky.

"Isn't that strange?"

"Hmm. Like the evening was erased from his memory?"

"Yes," I said. "Including the ma.s.sive dinner he just packed away."

"You'd think even a screwball like Charlie would remember that he just ate," Lucky said, shaking his head.

"Especially since he said just a few minutes ago that he was stuffed."

"He didn't even remember you singing?" Lucky asked.

"No."

"And he seemed to love that. You sounded great, by the way."

"Maybe he's having a ministroke?" I wondered if we should call a doctor before Chubby Charlie keeled over in the middle of Bella Stella.

"Maybe he was caught in a time warp or something," Lucky suggested.

I blinked. "You've been watching too much SyFy Channel. I was thinking of something more prosaic. Could a myocardial infarction cause this behavior?"

"What kind of infection?" kind of infection?"

"Um, a problem with his heart," I said. "So that maybe his brain isn't getting enough oxygen."

"You think something's wrong with his brain?" Lucky snorted. "I'd say that's that's a given." a given."

"He's a hundred pounds overweight, and he packed away enough food at dinner to kill a wildebeest," I said. "I thought he looked a little red-faced when he left."

"Red-faced? Well, sure." Lucky shrugged. "He just found out he was makin' the moves on a cop's girlfriend."

"I'm wondering if his behavior is a warning sign." Chubby Charlie was a repulsive human being, but I'd nonetheless feel bad about just letting him drop dead tonight, maybe from a stroke or heart attack.

"Ah, Charlie's always been strange, kid. Moody. Forget it."

"But-"

"Look, if you're worried about him," Lucky said, "why not come to church with me?"

"Because I'm Jewish."

"G.o.d don't care about that. You could light a candle and pray for Charlie's good health."

"I was thinking of doing something more practical than that," I said. "Like maybe warning Stella or calling a doctor."

"What makes you think lighting a candle ain't practical?"

"Spoken like a good Catholic."

Lucky put his face against the restaurant's window and peered inside. "Charlie's already sitting down and yacking at his waitress. Seems perfectly normal to me. Have a look, Esther."

Following his example, I spotted Chubby Charlie just in time to see him pinch his waitress' bottom. "Perfectly normal," I agreed.

"See? No reason to worry."

"I don't know, Lucky. What could explain his behavior?"

"Maybe he was pulling your leg," Lucky suggested. "Havin' some fun with you."

"And eating dinner twice in a row tonight?" I said skeptically.

As we continued peering through the window, Charlie looked up and noticed us. He gave us the finger.

That's when I decided it wasn't my problem if he was having a major medical incident. Okay, so I'm not as compa.s.sionate and selfless as I could be.

Lucky scowled and stepped away from the window. "Stronzo "Stronzo," he muttered. "Is that any way to treat a young lady?" he muttered. "Is that any way to treat a young lady?"

I looked at Lucky. "I think you're right. He was pulling my leg. And his digestive system defies all norms of human physiology."

He nodded in agreement. "Okay, then, I'm heading to St. Monica's."

It was a church around the corner, between Mulberry and Mott streets, that some of our customers frequented. "Evening Ma.s.s?" I asked.

"I might stay for that, depending."

"Depending on what?"

He lowered his head and shuffled his feet. I thought he might be . . . blushing blushing again. "Well, uh . . . um . . ." again. "Well, uh . . . um . . ."

"So if you don't go for Ma.s.s, what do you do there?"

"I light candles for all the dead guys I know. Especially the ones I liked. And, well, there's, um . . ."

"Have you lost many people?" I asked sympathetically.

"I didn't lose lose 'em, I whacked 'em." Lucky shrugged and added, "But the ones I liked, I'm sure they knew it was strictly business." 'em, I whacked 'em." Lucky shrugged and added, "But the ones I liked, I'm sure they knew it was strictly business."

Since I couldn't think of any response to that, I said, "Well, good night, Lucky."

"You don't want to come with me? It's good for the soul."