fired it?” Lucky glanced dismissively at the two patrolmen and added, “Everyone outside is actually telling the truth, Esther. No one saw nothing.”
“Really?” It hadn’t occurred to me that anyone but me was telling the truth.
“Yeah. Put it all together, and it don’t make no sense.” Lucky shook his head, frowning like Lopez now. “I’m telling you, it’s like Charlie got popped by a ghost.”
4
D etective Napoli and a patrol officer took me to the OCCB’s charmless headquarters to get my statement. Lopez, whom Napoli obviously didn’t want anywhere near me, stayed at Stella’s to keep working on the problem the cops were having with the crime scene.
I figured they were looking for evidence of a second gun. Or at least a second bullet. Because the shot fired from the street, through the front window, couldn’t have been the shot that killed Chubby Charlie. But it was still the only one the cops knew about by the time I left the scene. And unless the killer could see through walls and program his bullets to turn corners, there was no way the shot that came through the window could have killed the mobster.
If I hadn’t been hysterical after watching Charlie die, I might have realized this right away. Or maybe not. I’m an actress, not an assassin. My familiarity with guns, bullets, and firing trajectories is limited to what I see on Crime and Punishment .
But Lucky, whose knowledge of such things seemed to be encyclopedic, was baffled.
The cops seemed to be baffled, too. In between bouts of questioning me, Napoli had several exasperated phone conversations with CSU personnel back at Stella’s, and one very exasperated conversation with Lopez.
At least, I assumed it was Lopez, since there was one point at which Napoli snapped at his caller, “Miss Diamond is fine . Now keep your mind on your job, goddamn it!” I doubted that any other cop at Bella Stella was asking after my well-being.
Napoli asked me a lot of questions about myself, about that evening at Stella’s, and about Charlie. He didn’t ask how I knew Lopez, though. He didn’t even allude to the acquaintance. But I had a feeling he’d be asking Lopez plenty about it, once they were done processing the crime scene.
“You seem very tight with the Gambellos,” Napoli observed, handing me a diet soda after we’d been talking for a while.
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m just a waitress. I’ve been working at Stella’s on and off since last year, but only when I don’t have a real job—an acting job. I’m not an insider there, and I don’t socialize with anyone there. I like the place because Stella is a good employer and the customers tip well.”
“Oh?” Napoli affected casual surprise. “I thought Stella and a number of her customers seemed very fond of you tonight. Protective, too.”
“I think they were mostly trying to annoy the cops.”
Actually, I did have warm relationships with Stella and Lucky. And since a number of the restaurant’s regulars liked the way I sang, they often asked to sit in my section and I was on cordial terms with them. But I definitely wanted to quash Napoli’s attempt to suggest that I was cozy with the Mafia.
He persisted, “I thought they seemed to count you as one of their own.”
“I’m not Italian,” I said. “And I think you know, Detective Napoli, that people in that walk of life would never think of me as one of the family. So to speak.”
“Meyer Lansky was Jewish, but he and Lucky Luciano were like brothers.”
“Meyer Lansky was a gangster. I’m an actress waiting tables in between roles.”
“But you see a lot at Stella’s, I’ll bet.”
“I keep my head down and mind my own business,” I said firmly. “For the most part, I’m not even sure which of Stella’s customers is or isn’t a Gambello. They don’t carry business cards or wear matching shirts, you know. I realize there are real mobsters at Stella’s, and I know who the more famous
“Really?” It hadn’t occurred to me that anyone but me was telling the truth.
“Yeah. Put it all together, and it don’t make no sense.” Lucky shook his head, frowning like Lopez now. “I’m telling you, it’s like Charlie got popped by a ghost.”
4
D etective Napoli and a patrol officer took me to the OCCB’s charmless headquarters to get my statement. Lopez, whom Napoli obviously didn’t want anywhere near me, stayed at Stella’s to keep working on the problem the cops were having with the crime scene.
I figured they were looking for evidence of a second gun. Or at least a second bullet. Because the shot fired from the street, through the front window, couldn’t have been the shot that killed Chubby Charlie. But it was still the only one the cops knew about by the time I left the scene. And unless the killer could see through walls and program his bullets to turn corners, there was no way the shot that came through the window could have killed the mobster.
If I hadn’t been hysterical after watching Charlie die, I might have realized this right away. Or maybe not. I’m an actress, not an assassin. My familiarity with guns, bullets, and firing trajectories is limited to what I see on Crime and Punishment .
But Lucky, whose knowledge of such things seemed to be encyclopedic, was baffled.
The cops seemed to be baffled, too. In between bouts of questioning me, Napoli had several exasperated phone conversations with CSU personnel back at Stella’s, and one very exasperated conversation with Lopez.
At least, I assumed it was Lopez, since there was one point at which Napoli snapped at his caller, “Miss Diamond is fine . Now keep your mind on your job, goddamn it!” I doubted that any other cop at Bella Stella was asking after my well-being.
Napoli asked me a lot of questions about myself, about that evening at Stella’s, and about Charlie. He didn’t ask how I knew Lopez, though. He didn’t even allude to the acquaintance. But I had a feeling he’d be asking Lopez plenty about it, once they were done processing the crime scene.
“You seem very tight with the Gambellos,” Napoli observed, handing me a diet soda after we’d been talking for a while.
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m just a waitress. I’ve been working at Stella’s on and off since last year, but only when I don’t have a real job—an acting job. I’m not an insider there, and I don’t socialize with anyone there. I like the place because Stella is a good employer and the customers tip well.”
“Oh?” Napoli affected casual surprise. “I thought Stella and a number of her customers seemed very fond of you tonight. Protective, too.”
“I think they were mostly trying to annoy the cops.”
Actually, I did have warm relationships with Stella and Lucky. And since a number of the restaurant’s regulars liked the way I sang, they often asked to sit in my section and I was on cordial terms with them. But I definitely wanted to quash Napoli’s attempt to suggest that I was cozy with the Mafia.
He persisted, “I thought they seemed to count you as one of their own.”
“I’m not Italian,” I said. “And I think you know, Detective Napoli, that people in that walk of life would never think of me as one of the family. So to speak.”
“Meyer Lansky was Jewish, but he and Lucky Luciano were like brothers.”
“Meyer Lansky was a gangster. I’m an actress waiting tables in between roles.”
“But you see a lot at Stella’s, I’ll bet.”
“I keep my head down and mind my own business,” I said firmly. “For the most part, I’m not even sure which of Stella’s customers is or isn’t a Gambello. They don’t carry business cards or wear matching shirts, you know. I realize there are real mobsters at Stella’s, and I know who the more famous
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