Part 11 (1/2)

”Hmm.” Max tugged absently on his beard as he considered what we had told him about Chubby Charlie's death. ”Interesting. Very, very interesting.”

”Yes, but is it supernatural supernatural?” I asked.

I immediately realized my mistake. Max started lecturing. The gist of it was, there is no such thing as ”supernatural,” that's a false construct; almost everything (though not quite quite everything) in the universe is natural, but some things are mystical or magical, and some are not. everything) in the universe is natural, but some things are mystical or magical, and some are not.

Lucky summed up my feelings perfectly by interrupting Max's monologue to say, ”Whatever. Who cares? The point is, Doc, do you got any idea what the h.e.l.l is going on here?”

We had left the laboratory and were upstairs in the bookstore, sitting in comfortable, prettily upholstered chairs in the reading area set up around the fireplace. The shop had well-worn hardwood floors, a broad-beamed ceiling, dusky rose walls, and a soothing atmosphere.

I had gratefully helped myself to coffee at the small refreshments station that Max kept stocked for his customers. It sat near a large, careworn walnut table with books, papers, an abacus, writing implements, and other paraphernalia on it.

Max didn't bother opening the store for business yet. No one but us was awake this early on a Sunday in the West Village.

Nelli was busy exploring the shop, getting acquainted with her new home by sniffing row after row of bookcases, snuffling at modern books on the occult, and sneezing at ancient leather-bound volumes that needed dusting.

”Well,” Max said, ”I hesitate to theorize about poor Chubby Charlie's death without more information, but it sounds to me as if he may have seen his doppelganger.”

”His doppelganger?” I repeated. ”I've heard the word, but . . .” I shrugged to indicate that my familiarity with it stopped there.

”Understandable,” said Max. ”It's a very rare phenomenon, and the study of German mythology doesn't seem to have deeply absorbed your generation in the New World.”

”Kids these days,” Lucky said, shaking his head. ”If it ain't on MTV, it don't exist.”

”Indeed,” said Max. ”Plus 'doppelganger' is hard to spell.”

”So what does a doppelganger do?” I asked.

”It doesn't really do do anything,” Max said. ”It's traditionally a portent or omen rather than a proactive agent.” anything,” Max said. ”It's traditionally a portent or omen rather than a proactive agent.”

”Huh?” said Lucky.

”A doppelganger is an apparition,” Max elaborated. ”Loosely translated, the term means 'double walker' or 'double goer.' It's a second physical version of a person. A perfect double.”

I noted, ”That's exactly what Charlie said. That he'd seen his perfect double.”

”In some cultures,” Max continued, ”it's believed to be a reflection of a person's soul; in others, it's considered an entirely separate ent.i.ty from him. In any case, it is a seemingly exact replica of a living person.”

Lucky said, ”So are you saying this thing, this dopp . . . dopp . . .”

”Doppelganger,” Max supplied.

”This doppelgangster-do you think it could've done a smooth hit?” Lucky asked. ”Because if it was a replica of Charlie, well, he had a lot of experience at that.”

”A smooth hit?” Max repeated, puzzled.

I explained, ”Lucky's asking if the doppelgangst . . . er, doppelganger could have killed Chubby Charlie.”

”Ah! I see. A 'smooth hit'? What an interesting expression.”

”It was very clean,” Lucky said. ”Very professional. One shot to the heart, instant death, no muss, no fuss. And no witnesses.”

”And no logical explanation for how it happened,” I said. ”At least, not so far.”

”So what I'm wondering is, did this doppelgangster whack Charlie?” Lucky said.

”Whack?”

”Hit,” Lucky clarified.

”You think the creature struck struck him?” Max asked. him?” Max asked.

I said, ”Lucky's asking if the doppelgangster killed Charlie.”

”Interesting!” Max said to Lucky, ”Your dialect fascinates me. May I ask where you learned it?”

Lucky shrugged. ”I'm from Brooklyn.”

”I see.”

”To return to the question, Max,” I said. ”Could the double have shot Charlie?”

”It seems unlikely,” he said. ”The appearance of a doppelganger is a.s.sociated with the imminent death of the person replicated-”

”So that' that's why Charlie was so sure that seeing his perfect double meant he was going to die,” I mused.

”-but the doppelganger merely portends death, it doesn't actually kill the replicated individual.”

”How you pretend pretend death?” Lucky asked. death?” Lucky asked.

”Er, I mean the doppelganger is a warning of death,” Max explained. ”It's a sign. As Chubby Charlie seems to have known, seeing your doppelganger traditionally means you're going to die by nightfall.”

”But does it mean you're going to get whacked out by a hitter no one saw and a bullet that traveled around corners?” Lucky asked.

”Not as far as I know,” Max said.

”So do you think a doppelgangster could do a hit like that?” Lucky asked.

”I'm afraid I don't know enough about doppelgangsters-er, doppelgangers-to postulate a response to that at this juncture,” Max said. ”I'm not familiar enough with the phenomenon. Did I mention that it's very rare? I'm going to need to do some research on this.”

Feeling very tired, I looked around the store without enthusiasm. ”Does that mean we have to start reading?”

”Unfortunately,” Max said, ”the Germanic portion of my library is very thin. I will need to summon a.s.sistance.”

”Will there be more smoke and explosions involved in this summoning?” I asked anxiously.