Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [70]
While I was wondering if Elena would find love again, this time with Michael Buonarotti, Lucky and Max entered the church.
They brought Nelli with them. She noticed me before they did, and she wagged her tail. Apparently she’d forgiven me for the comment about her ears. Maybe dogs—or familiars—didn’t hold grudges.
“So these were straight hits?” Max was asking Lucky as they walked down the aisle of St. Monica’s.
“No, no, someone was sending a message with these hits.” Lucky stopped in the middle of the church and elaborated. “A straight hit is when no one ever finds the body. Clean and tidy. Bada-beep-bada-bope-bada-boop.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. I remember now.”
“No evidence. No corpse. No case.”
“Understood, dear fellow.”
“Don’t call me that at the sit-down.”
“Yes, of course,” Max said.
“And don’t say ‘of course.’ Say ‘no shit’ or ‘whatever’ or ‘sure.’ Got it?”
Max nodded. “Whatever.”
“When you risk the cops finding the body, it’s because sending a message is important enough to take that chance.”
“Sure.”
“So what’s the message we’re supposed to get outta these hits?” Lucky said. “We still don’t know.”
“No shit.”
I blinked at the first vulgarity I had ever heard Max use.
I also blinked at his appearance. He wore a black pin-striped suit with black shirt and a white tie. I looked down and saw he wore shiny black shoes. His unruly white hair was tamed by gel and scraped severely away from his bearded face. The ensemble was topped off by a black fedora with a white hatband.
He looked like a hippy who’d been cast in a Guys and Dolls revival.
As Lucky continued talking, Max glanced down the aisle and saw me walking toward him. “Oh, excuse me, miss? We’re looking for . . . Esther?”
“Max?”
Lucky’s jaw dropped. “Kid?”
Nelli’s tail wagged harder, expressing her happiness at the reunion.
I said to Lucky, “What did you do to Max?”
Lucky preened. “Ain’t I a genius?”
“I should never have left the bookstore today,” I said with conviction.
“Oh, dear,” Max said fretfully. “Do I not look the part?”
Lucky said, “Ignore her. You look perfect. But don’t say ‘oh, dear.’ Say ‘fuck.’ ”
“I can’t say that!”
“Then say ‘Madonna’ or ‘bite me.’ ”
“It’s a lot to remember,” Max said, starting to look flustered.
“You’ll do fine.” Lucky gave me a stern look. “Tell him he’ll do fine.”
I nodded. “You’ll do fine, Max.”
“But, Esther, is my ensemble not convincing?” Max asked.
“Well,” I said honestly, recovering from my shock, “I am not the expert on what will make these guys take you seriously. Lucky is. So let’s go with his judgment on this.”
“Exactly,” said Lucky. “And may I say, kid, even without my help, you did a great job. You could almost be Danny’s eldest daughter.”
“He lets his daughter dress like this?”
Lucky asked, “Where’s Father Gabriel?”
“In the crypt.”
“Everything’s all set up?”
“You are going to pay him for all that food, aren’t you?”
“Won’t have to,” Lucky said. “Danny called for the sit-down, so he’ll make a big donation to the church when he gets here and sees the spread. He’s a vicious bastard, but he knows what’s right. At most, I might have to pay for the wine.”
“There is no wine.” I explained why not.
Lucky shrugged, then nodded.
Max asked, “So . . . we won’t need to ask for a receipt?”
“A receipt?” Lucky said. “At a sit-down?” Suspecting the source of Max’s sudden interest in fiscal paperwork, I said, “Did you receive another letter from the IRS today?”
“Yes. It appears to be a litany of dreadful threats. It’s most distressing,” Max said morosely. “It also doesn