“The Boss is gettin’ changed,” he said, letting me in. “You wanna drink?”
I stared at him for a few seconds and he had to ask me again.
“Huh? Oh yeah, sure. Bourbon, rocks.”
We walked to the bar together. He went around behind it and I sat on a stool. While he got my drink I went over it in my head and it fit. I was basing it on some pretty skimpy evidence, but there was only one way to find out for sure.
Ask.
Fifty-nine
Not havin’ one?” I asked when he pushed my drink over to me.
“No.”
I sipped it.
“Let’s cut to the chase, Mack,” I said. “I figure you did it because you wanted Dean to need you a little more. Maybe he doesn’t depend on you so much after eight years, or maybe just not as much as Mr. Raft did.”
He didn’t answer, didn’t look at me, but I thought I saw his shoulders hunch.
“Or maybe,” I said, “you’re afraid he’s gonna ship you off to someone else the way Raft did.”
“The Boss didn’t have a choice,” Mack said. “He was broke. I told him I’d stay with him for nothin’, but he said no. So I ended up workin’ for Mr. Martin.”
“And he became your boss.”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re still loyal to Raft?”
He glared at me, now.
“I’m loyal to both of them,” he said. “They’re great guys.”
I stared at Mack. He must’ve been about fifty-four then. Movingon would not have been a very good option for him. Starting over somewhere else.
“So you sent the notes.”
His jaw tightened and for a moment I thought he’d either ignore me or slug me. Instead, he turned, poured himself some scotch, then pulled a pill bottle from his pocket and took two. Percodan.
“Somebody saw you with Ravisi and Davis, Mack,” I said. “Big guy in a dark suit, always holdin’ his head like it hurt. That’s you.”
He looked down at the vial of Percordan in his hand, as if it had betrayed him. I continued.
“It only occurred to me later that while Frank referred to the notes as death threats, they never really said anything about dying. Even in a note you couldn’t bring yourself to threaten Dean in that way.”
“I sent one,” he said. “I thought that would do it, but he never mentioned it. Then I sent another. He still didn’t mention it-to me. Pretty soon I found out he was talkin’ to Mr. Sinatra, and then to you.”
“So when I came into the picture you stopped sendin’ the notes.”
“They weren’t doin’ no good, so yeah, I stopped,” he said. “I didn’t mean ta threaten the shootin’ schedule. I wasn’t trying ta force the boss into hidin’. I was just … I don’t know what I was doin’.”
“And then you hired Ravisi and Davis to scare me off.”
This time Mack looked away.
“I never meant you no harm, Eddie,” he said. “That’s all they were supposed to do, scare ya. They wasn’t supposed to hurt ya.”
“Well,” I said, “they did that.”
I decided not to tell Mack that he was responsible for the two hoods getting killed. I figured they were no loss to anybody, anyway.
He drank down half his drink while I sipped some more of mine.
“So I guess you’re gonna turn me in now, huh? Tell the boss it was me?”
“What good would that do?”
“What?”
“He’d probably fire you.”
“Naw-well, yeah … yeah, I guess he might.”
“I don’t want you to get fired, Mack.”
He looked at me with surprise etched on his face.
“You ain’t gonna tell him? Gee, thanks, Eddie.”
“Maybe you should, at some point, but I’m not gonna. The important thing is that the threatening notes have stopped, right?”
“Definitely,” he said. “No more notes.”
“If you want Dino to depend more on you, find another way, okay?”
“Okay. You got it.”
Suddenly, we heard Dino’s footsteps coming down the hall.
“What are you gonna tell ’im?” Mack asked, lowering his voice.
“I’m gonna wing it,” I said, quickly. “Just go along with me.”
He nodded and we both turned and tried to look as innocent as newborn babes as Dino entered the room, shaking his right hand.
“It’s been a few years since I hit somebody for real,” he said to us. “Had to soak my hand for a while.”
“You want ice, boss?” Mack asked.
“No, Mack, that’s okay,” Dean said. “I could use a drink, though.”
“Comin’ up, boss.”
“Just one before the show,” he said, approaching the bar. “So Eddie, what happened down there after I left.”
“The guy you hit was Lou Terazzo,” I said. “He killed his girlfriend and her roommate, both showgirls at the Riv. He also killed a guy named Mike Borraco, who worked with him there.”
“Was it a sex thing?” Dean asked, accepting a glass of amber liquid from Mack. I hadn’t watched him pour it, but I assumed it was bourbon.
“Yeah,” I said, “sort of a triangle, and the roommate got caught in the fallout. But here’s the weird part.”
“Tell me,” he said, still flexing the fingers of his right hand, “I like weird.”
“Lou Terazzo was the guy sendin’ you the threats.”
“Why? What’d I ever do to him?”
“He fancied himself a ladies man, modeled himself after you, even thought he could,” I lied. “When he realized he was none of those things, he snapped.”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” Dean looked delighted. “You mean I got him myself?”
“Guess you didn’t need me after all, Dean,” I said. “Fact is, you saved me.”
“Hey, hey,” Dean said, “don’t sell yourself short, pally. You worked your ass off on this. I’m not gonna forget it.” He turned to look at Mack. “Ain’t that right, Killer?”
That was Mack’s nickname from the days when he was a fight manager, before hooking up with George Raft.
“That’s right, boss,” Mack said. “His ass.”
“So no more notes,” Dean said. “That’s good. And the guy’s in the slammer.”
“For a long time,” I added.
“I’ll have to tell Frank,” Dean said. “He was worried, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” I put my glass on the bar and got down from my stool. “Guess I’ll be back on the clock now. If you want to deal any blackjack the rest of the time you’re here, let me know.”
I took it easy on his sore right hand as we shook.
“You really did save my bacon out there today, Dean,” I said. “Not to mention Bev’s. Thank you.”
“We’re even, Eddie,” Dean said. “That’s the way I see it.”
“Okay.”
He walked me to the door with his arm around me.
“You comin’ to the show tonight? There’s somebody I want you to meet.”
“Milton Berle’s comin’ tonight,” Mack said. “And Mr. Sinatra’s new girl.”
“New girl?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Dean said, “we won’t be seein’ Judith around tonight. Juliet Prowse is coming. Gorgeous dancer. What a pair of gams!”
“Sounds like I shouldn’t miss it,” I replied. “I’ll be there.”
“Come back stage after and I’ll introduce you around.” He squeezed my shoulder when he said that, and then released me so I could go out the door. I found it an oddly touching gesture, like he was saying we were friends now.
Epilogue
Las Vegas
November 26, 1996
2:26 A.M.
You okay, Eddie?”
I opened my eyes and looked around. I was the center of attention, a circle of people standing around me, looking down at me with worried or curious looks on their faces.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Wh
ere the hell am I?”
Sheldon Adelson said, “You passed out. We called an ambulance. You’re lyin’ on a gurney.”
“Well, get me off,” I demanded. “I’m fine.”
Actually, I was better than fine. All that Rat Pack stuff had passed through my head while I was out-was it seconds? Minutes? Whatever it was I appreciated it. I would much rather have those memories of the Sands than any from the implosion tonight.
“Come on, somebody help me up!” I demanded.
Sheldon and Wayne Newton stepped forward and helped me sit up and get off the gurney. I looked at Wayne and could still see the fresh-faced kid in there who came to Vegas so many years ago. He patted me on the back affectionately and turned to leave. I knew he had his own memories of the Sands.
I looked at my watch. I’d been out about twenty minutes.
“You want me to take you home, Eddie?” Sheldon asked.
“I’ve got my car, Shelly,” I said. “Don’t worry about me. It was just … you know, the dust and … everything …”
“Yeah, I know, Eddie,” Sheldon said, “I know.”
The crowd was starting to disperse and I decided to get to my car and turn on the air-conditioning. I was still feeling kinda woozy, but I didn’t want anyone to know.
I reached my Coupe Deville and got inside. I still liked Caddies. I started the engine, turned up the AC and put my head back. For one more moment I was back in the Copa Room at the Sands in 1960. Frank, Dino and the guys would leave Vegas on February 18th and head to Hollywood to finish shooting Ocean’s 11 there. The movie would be a big hit, and the guys would go on to make a few more-except for Peter Lawford. After Kennedy got elected he’d snubbed Frank and never let him come to the White House. Oddly enough, Frank never blamed JFK. He blamed Peter, and after 1962 the two never spoke again. I didn’t like Peter much, but I thought he got a raw deal from Frank.
But that night in the Copa Room in 1960 the show went great. I saw Danny and Marcia enjoying it from their front seats, and I hoped the two would get along. But I didn’t expect much, because Danny was a ladies’ man and not ready to settle down. They had a ball, though, especially when they went backstage and met Frank and the guys.
While we were all backstage Dean came over to me and clapped me on the back again.
“Glad you made it, Eddie. Come on, I wanna introduce you to somebody.”
I had already shaken hands with Milton Berle, and Frank had introduced me-briefly-to the beautiful Juliet Prowse, so I didn’t know who Dean was taking me to meet.
But even now, thirty-six years later, I smiled in my Caddy as I remembered Dean Martin walking me up to a vision of loveliness, the owner of the best legs in Hollywood, and saying to me, “Eddie, I’d like you to meet Angie Dickinson.”
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Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime rp-1 Page 21
