Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [138]
Another gunshot rang out. Then two more. My captor stiffened. “Who is that?”
“You don’t know?” I rasped.
I was right about the final figure I had seen in the dying flames of the altar.
Buonarotti’s doppelgangster grabbed my throat again. “You and I are getting out of here.”
Well, Gabriel had said his partner was proving to be more trouble than he was worth. Apparently the priest had decided it was time to help him shuffle off this mortal coil. Once Buonarotti came face to face with his own perfect double, he’d be easy pickings. Perhaps the priest intended to bring about the three-way war by giving up Don Michael to the other two families now that he was vulnerable.
Holding me by the throat, his gun pressed to my head, the doppelgangster hauled me down the pitch dark hallway. We paused at the doorway leading to the choir gallery, and my captor leaned against it, listening. We heard voices shouting on the other side of it.
“No, not that way,” he muttered.
“There’s another way?”
“Stairway to the courtyard.” He dragged me to the end of the hall. “It’s how I came up.”
“No, those stairs aren’t safe,” I protested as he dragged me toward them.
“That’s just what he tells people to keep them out of here,” Buonarotti said dismissively.
He took his hand off my neck long enough to open a door. Despite his comment, I was still anxious about descending a staircase in complete darkness with a gun pressed to my head. I was equally anxious about going anywhere with a murderous doppelgangster.
So it was a relief when I heard a man’s voice coming from somewhere beyond the bottom of the stairs.
Buonarotti went still and covered my mouth with his hand, pressing the gun harder against my head. Along with the voice, we heard a gurgling electrical noise, like someone switching channels on a radio. This was followed by a metallic sounding voice. I couldn’t make out the words, but I gave a reflexive start when I realized what the sound was: a walkie-talkie.
And then I realized what the voices were talking about. I could make out a man saying, “Shots fired,” and giving this address.
Someone was talking on a police radio. There was a cop at the other end of these stairs!
I tried to cry out. Buonarotti squeezed my throat so hard I nearly blacked out. He shut the door and then dragged me back to the other door, the one that led to the choir gallery.
“One sound,” he whispered, “and I’ll kill you.”
I was coughing helplessly from the abuse to my throat, so this seemed like a pretty stupid threat. He opened the door a crack and listened.
We both heard Gabriel whispering, “No, there’s a cop in the courtyard! We need to leave this way.”
Buonarotti—the real one—whispered back, “How do you think we’re gonna get past Lucky? He’s between us and the door.”
The doppelgangster’s body, which was pressed up against mine, stiffened. “Who the fuck is that?” When I didn’t respond, he prodded, “Who’s with Gabriel?”
“You are,” I said.
“Huh?” He made an irritated sound. “Dumb broad.” He opened the door and dragged me through it.
The gallery was pitch dark, too. Buonarotti and Gabriel weren’t giving Lucky a target by illuminating themselves.
“You and your bright ideas,” Buonarotti said to the priest. “I can’t see a fucking thing.”
“Then neither can Lucky,” Gabriel said. “We’ll slip past him.”
And then a familiar voice at the far end of the church shouted, “Police! Weapons down! Police! Drop your weapons! I’m a cop!”
Lopez! Every cell in my body got a flood of renewed energy as I recognized the voice.
“Hey, I’m not armed!” Lucky shouted. “Don’t shoot! I am not armed!”
“That liar,” Buonarotti muttered.
“Lopez!” I cried.
“Esther! Stay down!” He didn’t even sound surprised to hear my voice. “Lucky, is that you?” he called.
“Yeah. Watch out! Buonarotti’s the killer! He’s so off his rocker, he’ll whack a cop!”
“Where is he?” Lopez’s voice was coming from a new position. He was getting closer to us.
“I think he’s up in the gallery,” Lucky called.
The