Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [11]
Glad that Charlie had tipped me so well on such a slow night, I went into the staff room, took off my apron, 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 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 fuckin’ lost it. Can you believe that? Probably some prick 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 sing tonight.”
“Well, I ain’t fuckin’ 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. Shit. Well, next time, huh? I’d fuckin’ love to hear you do ‘That’s Amore.’ It’s what I was gonna ask you to sing.”
“But . . .” He had 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 fuckin’ 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 fuckin’ 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 fuckin’ seconds ago. What the fuck is the matter with you?”
“No, you asked earlier 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?”
“Yes.”
“A cop?”
Or maybe I was the one having a mental breakdown.
“Jesus.” He shook his head and muttered, “Dates a fuckin’ cop.”
“We had this conversation,” I said.
“When did we fuckin’ have this conversation?”
“Fifteen minutes ago.”
He squinted at me. “Does Stella know you’re doing drugs?”
“I’m not doing—”
“ ’Cuz she runs a clean place. If she finds out you’re into that stuff, she’ll can your ass. And I don’t fuckin’ 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 fuckin’ 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 fuckin’ starving. I could kill for some 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 fucked 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