Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [91]
“Who cares?” he said.
“My point exactly. Who cares?” I sighed, folded my arms on the table we were sitting at, and rested my head on them. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
The shop’s telephone rang. It startled me, but I didn’t even lift my aching head. I heard Max rise and cross the floor to answer it.
“Zadok’s Rare and Used Books. How may I help you? Yes, this is Max . . . Hello? Hello?”
I lifted my head in time to see Max putting the phone back into its cradle. There was a puzzled expression on his face.
“Who was it?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Max frowned. “The caller said, ‘Max?’ When I said yes, he said, ‘Shit’ and hung up.”
“The voice didn’t sound familiar?” Lucky asked, also frowning.
“Does anyone’s voice sound familiar on the telephone?” Max asked, glancing at the modern device with open distaste.
“But it was definitely a man?” I asked.
“Yes. I mean, I think so.”
Lucky and I looked at each other. Then I gasped.
“Max! It . . . it couldn’t have been you, could it?”
Lucky blinked. “You think his doppelgangster was phoning him?”
“Oh, dear,” Max said. “I hope not.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions, kid,” Lucky said to me. “This is a store. That call coulda been from anyone who likes dusty books. Or it coulda been the IRS.”
“Oh, no!” Now Max was really alarmed.
“Ah, don’t worry, Doc, I can take care of that little problem for you.”
I said, “Lucky, I don’t want you to—”
“My point is, let’s not make ourselves crazy. That’s exactly what the hitter wants, right?”
Max took a little breath and nodded. “You’re absolutely right, Lucky. We must strive for rational thought at all times.”
“You’ve got be kidding,” I muttered, looking at my pile of literature on doppelgängers and etheric bodies.
“Let’s get back to work,” Lucky said.
“Work?” I said to him. “What work are you doing?”
“You been on my back since last night,” he said irritably. “What’s with you?”
I didn’t want to talk about it in front of Max, since I was the one who had introduced Lucky to him. So I said, “We’re studying stacks of books with long-winded print the size of subatomic particles, while you’re pacing around and talking on the phone.”
“You’re the one who told me to try to find out what the Corvinos are saying about Danny’s death,” he pointed out. “And it was a good idea, so that’s what I’m doing.”
Obviously trying to prevent an argument, Max said, “Esther, perhaps some ice cream will help you keep your strength up? There’s some Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby in the freezer.”
I took a steadying breath. “An excellent idea.” I rose to my feet to get sustenance, spoons, and bowls. “Who else wants some?”
We spent the rest of the evening studying. In between Lucky’s phone calls, we exchanged ideas.
“If I’m correct in my theory that the victim’s encounter with his own doppelgangster unleashes a powerfully fatal curse,” Max said, wiping some Chubby Hubby from his beard, “then our short-term strategy should be to attempt to mitigate the effect of the curse.”
“Huh?” Lucky said.
“To try to take the juice out of the doppelgangsters,” I translated.
“Gotcha,” Lucky said. “No curse, no hit.”
“So how do we mitigate the curse?” I asked.
Lucky said, “By chopping off the doppelgangster’s head before it meets the victim.”
“That would be effective,” Max agreed. “But only if we meet the doppelgangster before the victim does.”
“Surely it would also only be a temporary solution?” I said. “I mean, if whoever’s behind this can create a doppelgangster, then can’t he create a replacement for it?”
“Possibly,” Max said. “It depends on how the creatures are being created. Which we still don’t know.” Nelli came to the table to examine our empty ice cream bowls. Max petted her absently while he said, “And, unfortunately, the other potential means of blocking their power also relies largely on understanding how they’re created.”
“What means is that?” Lucky asked.
“If I knew more about their creation or how their power