Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [137]
“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.
Breathing hard, Max slumped and started to keel over sideways.
“Max!” I rushed toward him and caught him before he hit the floor.
He was damp with sweat and panting with exhaustion. Nelli rose, staggering as she discovered that her foot was too tender to hold any weight, and hobbled a couple of steps closer to investigate Max’s condition, her black nose wiggling as she sniffed his head. I saw that the intense heat had melted the wax in the painted symbols on both their faces, so that they were now covered with runny, rust-colored streaks and splotches.
I petted Nelli with one hand as I held Max in my arms. “Good work. Very good work.”
Her tail wagged wearily.
“Max? Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just a little . . . fatigued.”
We heard another gunshot.
I stiffened. “Lucky!”
“We must assist him,” Max said faintly. “Help me up.”
“He said to stay here until he told us it was safe to come out.”
“We can’t, Esther. There’s one more doppelgangster.”
“I thought so.” I looked over my shoulder to demand the priest tell us who it was, even though I thought I knew.
But Gabriel had escaped while Max was destroying the altar where the priest had cursed his victims with certain death.
“He’s gone,” I said in dismay. “I didn’t beat him up enough.”
“But you certainly gave it your best effort.” Max stumbled toward the door. “We must go to Lucky’s aid.” I followed him as he added, “He will be outnumbered and taken by surprise.”
Nelli was limping heavily behind me. Max turned in the dark doorway and said to me, “Oh, bring the candle.”
Nelli suddenly growled. I turned away from Max to look at her. I heard a dull thud behind me and whirled around. Buonarotti was standing in the doorway holding the gun with which he had just pistol-whipped Max. Max fell to the floor, unconscious. Buonarotti seized my throat, pulled me against him, and pressed the gun to my cheek. Holding me between himself and Nelli, who was snarling and barking, he backed out of the room, ordering me, “Shut the door.”
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t shake my head. I hung by my throat from Buonarotti’s squeezing fingers. His fingernails dug into my skin. The pain was mind-fogging. I thought I would pass out in another second.
“Shut the door,” he repeated, “or I’ll shoot the dog. Now.”
My hand fumbled for the door handle. I found it and pulled. Max’s body was in the way. Buonarotti kicked Max with his foot, rolling him over. My eyes watering with pain and my vision blackening, I pulled the door shut.
“Good.” Buonarotti pressed up against me in the pitch dark hallway. “Now tell me where he is.”
I made a strangling sound.
“Huh? Oh.” He loosened his grip enough to let me talk. “Where is he? Tell me, bitch, or I’ll blow your head off.”
“Where’s who?” I choked out.
“Gabriel.”
“I don’t know.”
He slapped me so hard I reeled away, then he yanked my hair to pull me close again. No wonder Elena had called him an animal.
“He ran off,” I gasped out.
“Why?”
“He’s a coward.”
“What the hell is going on here?”
“Huh?” And