Free The Misfortune Cookie: An Esther Diamond Novel by Laura Resnick

“And then you never called!”
    “He slept with you and then didn’t call?” said the policewoman at the wheel of the squad car. “For a
week?
”
    “That’s right!” I said.
    “God,” said Lopez, “I just hate my whole life right now.”
    “Men,
” said the policewoman.
    “Oh, come on,” said her partner. “That’s not fair. We’re not all like
him.
”
    “Take Miss Diamond home now,” Lopez instructed them. “
Right
now.”
    “Men,
” I agreed, as Lopez slammed the car door shut and walked away.
    I fumed in stony silence all the way home, huddled in the backseat of the police car while the two cops in the front seat bickered about . . . I don’t know. Mars, Venus, men, women, Lopez, and me. Something like that.
    After I let myself into my shabby but welcoming apartment in Manhattan’s West Thirties, I turned on the light, then went to the window and waved at the bickering cops in the car on the street below, so they’d
go away
.
    My daypack by now felt like it was stuffed with bricks. I slid it off my shoulder and dropped it on the floor. Then I headed toward my bedroom, unzipping and unbuttoning my coat. As soon as I slid it off my shoulders, I shivered. My apartment was freezing. I quickly stripped off my clothes, leaving them lying in a heap on the floor, and donned heavy flannel pajamas, followed by a thick, fuzzy bathrobe. After a quick trip down the hall to the bathroom, I crawled into bed, still wearing my bathrobe, and collapsed facedown on my pillow, so relieved to be there.
    I was just drifting off to sleep, trying to banish the random thoughts and images that were floating through my head, when I realized who
hadn’t
witnessed my embarrassingly public fight at Bella Stella with Lopez about extremely private things. Who hadn’t been in the police van, either, along with me and the other prisoners.
    Once again living up to his nickname, Alberto “Lucky Bastard” Battistuzzi had escaped OCCB’s sweep of the Gambello crew.
    When the cops barreled into the restaurant, shouting “NYPD!” and everyone else started screaming in response (in particular, I remembered Ronnie shouting, “It’s a raid!”), Lucky had been in the men’s room, trying to clean splattered lasagna off his clothes. Alerted to what was happening, he must have made his getaway.
    I assumed the cops had all the exits covered, but it didn’t surprise me that Lucky had managed to slip away undetected. He was wily, experienced, and quick-thinking, and he knew that building well. He was also, well,
lucky.
    I wondered where he was now. He presumably couldn’t go home, and I doubted he’d gone to Victor Gambello’s house—that would be too obvious to be safe. Besides, for all we knew, the cops were executing a search warrant there, too.
    Well, wherever Lucky was tonight, I thought drowsily as I drifted off to sleep, I hoped he was all right.

4

    Laoshi
    An elder teacher, sage, and role model who has devoted his life to knowledge and wisdom.
    J ob hunting was not going well. Employers were letting go of holiday staff in the early days of January, not hiring new people. I filled out applications online and in person. I applied at restaurants, retail stores, and temp agencies. I answered employment ads and looked for signs in windows. Some places with “Help Wanted” signs posted told me that those notices were left over from last month and should really be taken down.
    “Gee, y’think?” I muttered.
    Other places said they just weren’t hiring. “It’s the economy,” they’d tell me with a resigned shrug.
    Some places had already filled the positions I inquired about. With so many people looking for work these days, I supposed this wasn’t surprising.
    While overpaid politicians with self-righteous smirks and media pundits with patent-leather hair, all of whom had enjoyed paid holidays last week, daily shrieked insults into TV cameras about the lazy, no-good, leeching poor and unemployed of America, I