into the shop that day and said he'd just seen his perfect double, his spitting image."
"His doppelgänger?" said Father Michael.
"Yeah, his doppelgangster," said Carmine. "He was fucking freaking out. In a cold sweat, shaking like a virgin in a whorehouse, babbling like a snitch with the Feds. Scared out of his mind."
"Because he'd seen this doppelgangster?" I said.
"Yeah. He said it meant he was gonna die."
"He was right," I said. "But how did he know?"
"Perhaps he knew that, traditionally," said Father Michael, "seeing your doppelgänger portends your own death."
"No shit?" said Carmine.
"No sh—Um, yes, really," said Father Michael.
"But we got more than people pretending their deaths here, Father," I said.
"No, portending," the priest said. "Seeing your doppelgänger is, in popular folklore, a sure sign that you're going to die."
"Weird shit," said Carmine.
"Even weirder," I said, "Danny ain't the only one around here who's seen a doppelgangster." I told them about Skinny Vinny telling Connie he'd seen his own perfect double the day before he died.
"Johnny Gambone did, too!" said Father Michael, swaying a little. "My God! I didn't realize . . ." He wiped his brow. "Just a few days before his body was found, Johnny told me after Mass that he'd seen a man who looked very much like himself, dressed the same, even bearing the same tattoo—but nowhere near as handsome."
"He always was a vain sonofabitch," said Carmine.
"So he saw his double, too, then," I said. "All three of these guys died after seeing their doubles."
"And died in such strange ways," Tony added.
"Yes," said Father Michael. "Almost as if meeting the doppelgänger doesn't just presage death, it actually curses the victim, making him utterly defenseless against death when it comes for him."
"So once you see this fucking thing, that's it?" said Carmine. "You're as good as whacked?"
"That would explain how bullets somehow got past or around Vinny's vest," I said.
"And how someone walked past all of us without being seen," said Tony, "and got through a locked door to kill Danny."
"So we're dealing with . . . what?" I said. "Witchcraft? Some kind of curse? The Evil Eye?"
"It's some weird fucking shit," said Carmine.
Father Michael fumbled behind the skirts of the shrine of the Virgin and pulled out a bottle of wine. He uncorked it, gulped some down, and then said, "Black magic. What else could it be?"
"Fucking creepy."
"And whoever is doing it is damn good," I said. "I had dinner with Johnny Gambone's doppelgangster and didn't even know it wasn't the real guy."
"But no one has seen Vinny, Johnny, and Danny since they were found dead, right?" said Father Michael. "I mean . . . no one has seen their doubles since then?"
I hadn't even thought about that. "No," I said. "That's right. The last time I saw Johnny's double—the last time anyone saw it, as far as I know—was before his body was found."
"So . . ." Father Michael took another swig. "So whoever is doing this sends a doppelgangst . . . doppelgänger after the victim to curse him with inevitable death. And then, after the victim is dead, the perfect double continues carrying on the victim's normal life until the death is discovered."
"And then what?"
"Then it . . ." Father Michael shrugged. "It probably disintegrates into whatever elemental ingredients it was originally fashioned from."
"So if you hid the fucking body well enough, it would be years before anyone even knew you'd made the hit. Hey, this black magic is some fucking great stuff! If I could learn to do it—"
"Whoever has learned to do it," I said, "is out to kill all of us. Get it? We've got to stop him before we're all dead!"
"Vito's right," said Joey. "We're all in danger."
My cell phone suddenly rang, making us all jump a little. (Hey, if you thought someone was about to kill you that way, wouldn't you be a little jumpy, too?) I pulled the phone out of my pocket. "Hello?"
"Vito?" said Joey at the other end. "I'm coming from my mother's, and I'm still in Brooklyn. Stuck in traffic. You'd better start the sit-down without me. I'll get there as soon as I can."
My blood ran cold as I stared at the Joey sitting here with me, absently stroking his chin the way the real one often did. Choosing my words carefully, I said, "Seen anything strange lately?"
"Huh?"
"Anyone familiar?"
"Well . . . my mother, obviously."
"No one else?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Okay, good," I said with relief. I liked Joey, I'd miss him if he