Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [72]
Max and I had been introduced to the others as friends of Lucky’s. This was no casual phrase among wiseguys, I knew that much. It meant Lucky was vouching for us, guaranteeing that we were trustworthy people. Mobsters took such a voucher very seriously; if we turned out to be rats, snitches, or trouble, then this introduction could cost Lucky his life. I tried to be touched by his faith in us, but I could only think of him murdering a Corvino for the sin of falling in love and getting married.
While the wiseguys conversed and stuffed their faces (how could they still be hungry?), Max got up and offered (yet another) plate of prosciutto and cheese to Nelli, who began gobbling it eagerly as soon as he set it on the floor for her. I suspected her digestive system would make him regret this benevolence around three o’clock in the morning.
The wiseguys were talking about money. That was what wiseguys often talked about at Bella Stella, too. It was their favorite subject.
“So then this gavone at the car dealership,” Tommy Two Toes said to everyone, winding up for the punchline of the seemingly endless anecdote he had been telling, “says to Little Paulie that he ‘knows some people,’ and he tries to offer Little Paulie a knockdown loan—from the family!”
Lucky silently crossed the crypt to make himself a cappuccino, but the five other gangsters present, including Tommy, guffawed loudly. Father Gabriel looked at Max, and Max looked like he wanted to ask what a “knockdown loan” was. Since he didn’t, though, I gathered that Lucky had advised him not to ask such questions. All I knew was that there were different kinds of loans, with different kinds of outrageously high interest rates (known as “vig” or “vigorish”) and different kinds of punishment if the borrower failed to repay on time.
As the laughter died down, Nelli finished eating her prosciutto and walked across the room to gaze longingly at the cannoli tray.
Lucky, who was standing nearby, asked, “Doc Zadok, is it okay if I give her one of those?”
“Hey, you shouldn’t oughta give no sugar to a dog,” said Jimmy “Legs” Brabancaccio, the other man, besides Tommy, who had joined Lucky here tonight to represent the Gambello crime family. Jimmy had nearly stormed out of the crypt upon learning there was no wine, but Lucky had calmed him down. “Sugar is bad for a dog’s pinkies or somethin’.”
“I think you mean pancreas,” I said absently.
“Pancreas? Yeah, that’s it!” Jimmy Legs looked at me with newfound respect.
Lucky shrugged and said to Nelli. “Sorry. We gotta keep you healthy. You got important work to do in this dimension, helping protect the city from Evil.”
I realized that Max had also explained some traditions during the afternoon he and Lucky had spent together.
Nelli whined and gazed imploringly at Lucky. After a moment, he gave in and slipped her a pastry.
“What are ya doin’?” said Jimmy Legs. “You’re gonna make that dog sick.”
“Just one won’t hurt her,” said Lucky. “Everything in moderation. Ain’t that right, Danny?”
Danny “the Doctor” Dapezzo’s cold, sharklike eyes met Lucky’s. “That’s right.”
Danny had been accompanied here tonight by Mikey Castrucci and Fast Sammy Salerno. They were both thick-necked Corvino soldiers with short dark hair, loud shirts, casual pants, and gold jewelry. Danny, a balding capo who looked about fifty-five, had a trim build, maintained good posture while the others slouched, and was dressed with tidy propriety: brown trousers, a pale shirt, a brown tie, and a tan sport jacket. He ate sparingly, spoke quietly, and lectured the other men at the table about diet and exercise. At a casual glance, he would blend into the woodwork or disappear in a crowd. But after watching those cold eyes for a while, I found it