Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [134]
“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 ever 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.