Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [61]
Lucky snorted. “I met this guy, and I can guess how he’d like that description.”
“Max didn’t say we should tell Lopez we’re watching out for him,” I said, knowing Lucky was right. Lopez would be appalled to learn how involved in this I was, and he’d be somewhere between amused and insulted that Max and Lucky were thinking of watching his back. “But even so . . .”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Lucky said in disgust. “Fine. Whatever. We’ll watch your boyfriend’s back. But if you think he’s going to return the favor and watch ours, then you don’t know nothin’ about cops.”
“Thank you, Lucky.” I beamed at him. He scowled back at me.
Max said, “Did he press you about our plans?”
“Huh?”
“Did Detective Lopez attempt to ascertain our next move?”
“Oh! Um, no.”
“So we can go ahead with the sit-down without worrying the cops will bust in?” Lucky asked.
“Yes.” The case had obviously not been Lopez’s priority when he called me. I felt hot again. “We’re good to go.”
“Well, then,” Max said brightly, “let’s plan our strategy. Er, how does one prepare for a meeting of this nature?”
“First rule of a sit-down,” Lucky said, “you gotta leave your piece at home.”
“My piece?” Max said.
“Your rod. Your peacemaker,” Lucky elaborated.
“We don’t want to make peace?” Max asked in confusion.
Lucky sighed. “I can see we got a lot of work ahead of us before tonight.”
12
Hoping to collect the transparent black wrap I had left behind the night before, I got to St. Monica’s half an hour early for the sit-down.
I had just finished talking with Lucky on my cell phone. He wanted to make sure I had followed his advice after leaving the bookstore that afternoon; I assured him that I was now dressed appropriately for the evening. Lucky thought a meeting between the Gambellos and the Corvinos, particularly in the current circumstances, would be tense enough without the presence of outsiders making everyone jumpy. However, since he also thought Max and I needed to be there, he decided the best thing would be for us to try to fit in.
I felt sure I could comply, but we both had our doubts about Max. So while I went home to change clothes, Lucky had remained at the shop, continuing to teach Manhattan’s resident mage to blend in with the wiseguys. Lucky had also phoned two of his colleagues and told them to be at the sit-down; Danny would bring two soldiers, too. So now, with a small bunch of violent felons due to arrive soon at St. Monica’s to hear (little did they suspect) our theories about apparitional bilocated doppelgängerism, I prayed for good luck—and felt an unprecedented impulse to make the sign of the Cross.
“I’ve been hanging out in church too much,” I muttered to myself.
I glanced around the shadowy, silent interior of St. Monica’s, hoping to see Father Gabriel. It was presumably too late in the day for a church administrator to be here, and I had no idea where they stowed lost-and-found items. I supposed I could go into the crypt to see if my wrap was right where I’d left it . . . But the last time I had visited the crypt, I’d met a doppelgangster down there, so I was reluctant to venture back into that subterranean chamber on my own. Even the bunny costumes from the Easter play couldn’t make that place seem unthreatening to me now.
My roving gaze settled on the only other person in the church at moment. The Widow Giacalona was kneeling before the altar of Saint Monica, her head bowed in prayer. People weren’t exaggerating about her devotion.
I wondered if the widow would go to the crypt with me to look for my wrap.
When she lifted her head, crossed herself, and rose to her feet, I cleared my throat and said, “Hello. Nice to see you again.”
She looked over her shoulder at me. The large, dark, long-lashed eyes showed no spark of recognition. “Have we met?” she asked with a faint frown.
I realized that by dressing to blend in at the sit-down, I had changed my appearance so much that the widow didn’t know me.
“I’m Esther Diamond.” When this obviously didn’t ring a bell, I added, “Lucky Battistuzzi’s friend.”
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