Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [144]
Actually, Don Victor Gambello looked so close to death’s door that I thought we should summon an ambulance, but I didn’t contradict Lucky. The octogenarian boss of the most powerful crime family in New York might be skeletally thin, a sickly gray-yellow color, wheezing with the effort of walking down the steps of the church, and trying to control a tremor, but there was still a chillingly cold, ruthless shrewdness in the elderly gaze that assessed me, Max, and Nelli.
“So these,” he said in a breathy, rasping, very soft voice, “are our friends?”
Lucky drew in a sharp breath of pleased surprise. “Yes, boss. This is Esther Diamond, Dr. Maximillian Zadok, and Nelli. Our friends.” Lucky added to us, “I told him what you three done for us.”
I said, “Well, we didn’t exactly do it for—” Lucky elbowed me, and I shut up.
Don Victor looked at us without saying anything. Max acknowledged Lucky’s introduction with polite phrases. Nelli wagged her tail, causing a passerby to give a startled exclamation of pain. The old mobster continued to stare hard at us for a long moment. I could tell that a lot of people around us were staring, too, aware of this marked attention and wondering what would happen.
At last, the Shy Don said, “Thank you.” He gave Max a friendly handshake, patted Nelli’s head, and raised my hand to his lips. Then he turned and left.
“Gosh,” I said, aware of the puzzled and impressed scrutiny of dozens of people around us.
“Brief,” Max said, “but gracious.”
“You’re friends of the Gambello family now,” Lucky said. “So if you ever need anything . . .”
“Which reminds me, my dear fellow! I must thank you for your help with the Internal Revenue Service!”
My eyes flew wide. “Lucky! What did you do?”
“Relax, will you? I just gave those IRS letters Max has been getting to the boss’ accountant, that’s all. He cleared it up with one phone call.”
“How did he clear it up?”
“It was all just a dumb mistake. So calm down,” Lucky said. “The letters was intended for a business with a tax ID that’s one digit different than Max’s, is what the accountant says.”
“They were dunning Max with letters on the basis of a typo?”
Max nodded. “Mercury Retrograde. Such things happen.”
“So you can close your jaw,” Lucky said. “I didn’t break any legs.”
“By the way,” I said hesitantly. “I know I got a little snappish with you this past week, Lucky. I’m really sorry.”
“Ah, forget it kid. Doppelgangsters, panicky wiseguys cursed with death, seeing Charlie whacked right in front of you, an evil sorcerer trying to screw up your audition, problems with your boy—with Lopez . . .” He shrugged. “Who wouldn’t get a little cranky?” After a moment, he added, “Speaking of Lopez, here he comes.”
I caught my breath and followed Lucky’s gaze. Lopez was emerging from a car that was parked down the street. He was wearing a pale gray suit with a dark coal gray shirt and tie, and his black hair was neatly combed. His blue eyes looked alert and serious as he approached the church.
“Max,” I said suddenly, “what do you think happened in the church that night? When the lights came on?”
Max’s head turned sharply, his expression surprised as he met my gaze. “Oh! I didn’t know you realized . . .”
“Realized what?” I prodded.
“Realized that one possible explanation for the sudden illumination was the unconscious imposition of his will on matter and energy at a moment when he feared for your life.”
“But Max, you don’t really think . . . I mean . . .”
“Think what?” Lucky said, his intent gaze fixed on the approaching cop. “What does Max not really think?”
“I think,” Max said, “that we should keep our minds open to the possibility that Detective Lopez has talents of which he is unaware.”
“Madre di Dio!” Lucky said.
Which was more or less my reaction, too.
“No,” I said. “I don’t believe it. No way. And Lopez certainly wouldn’t believe it.”
Max said nothing as he watched Lopez approach.
“Max and me will be inside,” Lucky said to me, “paying our respects to the departed.”
Max said, “Perhaps