Part 49 (1/2)

”Well, whatever brought the power back on,” Lopez said to me, ”I'm just glad it happened. I thought you'd be dead in two more seconds.”

Max was staring at him.

Lopez noticed. ”What?”

I stared, too, remembering the fierceness in his voice at that moment: I want LIGHTS! I want LIGHTS! And suddenly there had been light, in answer to his command . . . And suddenly there had been light, in answer to his command . . .

I blinked. Oh, good grief, what was I thinking?

Don't be ridiculous. It was just . . . coincidence.

Max kept staring hard at Lopez, his posture erect, his gaze intent and speculative. Lopez stared back, probably thinking again about having Max's place searched for drugs.

”Max?” I prodded, feeling uneasy.

”Pardon? Oh!” Max smiled. ”Er, you were saying, detective?”

”I'm all done done saying. Now it's your turn.” Lopez said to me, ”What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?” saying. Now it's your turn.” Lopez said to me, ”What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?”

”We, uh . . .” I looked at Max.

Max looked at Nelli, who had by now limped to his side. Nelli looked at Lucky, who came up the staircase at a slow, painful pace, grimacing as he reached the top step. She wagged her tail.

Lucky said, ”I'm gettin' too old for my work.”

”What 'work' was going on here tonight?” Lopez said, keeping an eye on Buonarotti, who was still sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth as he laughed hysterically and occasionally shouted, ”I'm a dead man!”

”Ah, forget it,” Lucky said genially. ”You can take all the credit. We was never even here.”

Lopez look at all three of us for a long, tense moment.

Then he sighed. ”Well, my backup will be here in about two minutes. So if you were never here, then you need to be gone before then.”

”Really?” I said. ”You'll let us leave? We don't have to talk to Napoli or anyone?”

”Esther,” Lopez said wearily, ”the very last thing in the world that I want right now is to spend the rest of the night . . . No, the rest of the week . . . No, the rest of my career trying to explain to Napoli and my captain what you were doing here tonight with them.” His glance encompa.s.sed Max, Lucky, and Buonarotti.

”Oh.”

”We've got tainted physical evidence and conflicting witness statements. The, er, chicken-slaughtering priest who's just committed suicide may be an accessory to murder. We recorded a phone conversation today in which Buonarotti brags about whacking Chubby Charlie, Johnny Be Good, and Danny the Doctor-”

”He talked about it on the phone? phone?” Lucky looked appalled.

”-but he sounded so crazy in that conversation that I thought he seemed well on his way to making a credible insanity plea . . .” Lopez took another look at Buonarotti, who was now shrieking with laughter. ”Even before now.” He shook his head. ”Overall, I don't think either side is going to want to take this case to trial.”

Lucky said, ”So Buonarotti will go to a prison for head cases. The priest will get buried. This mess will go away quietly. Sounds good to me.”

I looked at Max, who looked much the worse for wear. ”Yes,” I said slowly. ”I guess that is for the best.”

We heard sirens approaching.

”Go,” Lopez said. ”I won't cover for you if you're still hanging around when they get here.”

”Thank you,” I said.

”But someday, Esther . . .”

”Yes?”

”Someday you're going to explain to me what the h.e.l.l that c.r.a.p is that's all over your face and hands. You look like you've had the worst tattoo accident in history.” His gaze swept our group. ”All three of you, actually. And your little dog, too.”

26.

”I was wrong about your boyfriend,” Lucky said. ”He may be a cop, but he watched our backs when it counted. He's a stand-up guy.” was wrong about your boyfriend,” Lucky said. ”He may be a cop, but he watched our backs when it counted. He's a stand-up guy.”

”I don't think he's my boyfriend,” I said morosely.

”You ain't sure?”

”I haven't talked to him since that night.”

We stood outside St. Monica's on the day of Father Gabriel's funeral, watching the mourners leave. I had initially resisted attending the funeral Ma.s.s of the demented killer who'd tried to manipulate three crime families into a war as well as kill me, Elena Giacalona, and Connor Lopez. But Max and Lucky had convinced me that we had to wrap up this one last piece of business.

So now we were loitering outside the front door of St. Monica's with Nelli, keeping an eye on the mourners-to see if a doppelgangster attended the service.

Buonarotti was the final deadly duplicate that Father Gabriel had made, as far as we knew from what we had witnessed upon destroying the demented sorcerer's altar. But I agreed that we'd rest easier if we made absolutely sure.

Nelli, with her injured paw wrapped in a fresh bandage and healing nicely, observed everyone leaving the church as the service ended, just as she had observed them entering.

The priest's funeral was heavily attended by members of all three of the crime families with which Father Gabriel's life and evil works had been connected. Many non-felonious parish members were also in attendance. In particular, there were lots of tearful women mourners.

Lucky said, ”So your boyfriend figured out-”

”Can you just call him Lopez?” I asked.

”So Lopez figured out that the Gambellos and Corvinos wasn't hitting each other, huh? Not bad for a cop.”

”I told you not to underestimate him,” I said.

According to the newspapers-which was how I was learning about this, since Lopez hadn't called me-the Organized Crime Control Bureau had initially believed Charlie's death might be the commencement of a new Corvino-Gambello war. But after Johnny Be Good was. .h.i.t, an unnamed ”new recruit” to the bureau had pointed out that the Corvinos had nothing to gain by killing a useless momzer momzer like Johnny and that the murder of Don Victor's own nephew would certainly incite a mob war at a time when the Corvinos and Gambellos each had far more to lose from such a conflict than either side could hope to gain from it. So the ”bright young detective” had proposed the investigators consider who would actually benefit from such a war. like Johnny and that the murder of Don Victor's own nephew would certainly incite a mob war at a time when the Corvinos and Gambellos each had far more to lose from such a conflict than either side could hope to gain from it. So the ”bright young detective” had proposed the investigators consider who would actually benefit from such a war.

”Cui bono,” Lucky said. Lucky said.

”Huh?” I said.

”Whom does it benefit?” Max translated. ”Who stands to gain?”