You're nobody 'til somebody kills you rp-4

by Robert J. Randisi

  I approached the big arched doorway, and rang the bell. There was a small window in the door, only good for peering out. I saw blond hair, then a blurry face. I thought the dense glass had made the face blurry until she opened the door a crack. Okay, her face wasn’t blurry, but her eyes were.

  “Eddie?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Marilyn. Eddie.”

  She swung the door open and threw herself into my arms. My arms were filled with lush, soft female and my body reacted. I was embarrassed-which was new for me. I didn’t want her to think that all I wanted was what every other man wanted. I pushed her away, held her by her shoulders, and made like I was looking her over. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, no shoes.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I-yes,” she said, touching her hair, “I suppose so.” She had no lipstick on, and I was so used to seeing those bloodred lips that they looked paler than pale. The bottom one also looked as if she had been biting it.

  “Come in, Eddie, come in.” She grabbed my wrists and started to pull me in.

  “Marilyn, somebody’s with me. Can I bring him in?”

  “W-who is it?”

  “It’s a friend of mine-a big guy named Jerry. He’s sort of like a bodyguard.”

  “For me?” Her eyes went wide.

  “Well, actually for me. Look, he’s harmless, nice … and he’s a real fan.”

  “Eddie … I look awful.”

  “You look great.”

  And she did. Even pale and trembling she oozed sex. She couldn’t help it.

  “You bring him in,” she said. “I’m gonna touch up.”

  “Marilyn-” But she ran inside.

  I went back down the walk and waved to Eddie, signaling him to bring the car up the drive. When he got past the gate I made him stop so no other car could get by.

  “That gate should be closed, Mr. G.”

  “When we get inside we’ll find out how to close it. Come on.”

  He stopped moving.

  “Inside?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Marilyn’s house?”

  “Yeah.”

  “B-but … is she home?”

  “Yeah, she’s home,” I said. “Come on, the front door’s open and I wanna go in.”

  “Mr. G.,” he said, “we been drivin’ a long time.”

  “You can freshen up inside, Jerry,” he said. I suddenly became aware that I was kind of rank myself. “We both can.”

  I led him through the front door. It was a small, one-story house with an attached garage and a cathedral ceiling.

  “Wow,” Eddie said.

  I assumed Marilyn was still in her bedroom, so I found the bathroom and Jerry and I took turns cleaning up. Eventually, we were both back in the living room, waiting for Marilyn.

  “What do I say when she comes out?” Jerry asked.

  “Try hello, big guy.”

  It took several more minutes but Marilyn finally breezed into the room. Her red mouth was lushly in place, her hair combed and gleaming. She was still wearing jeans and the sweatshirt, but the shirt had artfully slid off one rounded, pale shoulder. She was once again the Marilyn of every man and boy’s wet dream. For me she was Sugar Kane Kowalczyk of Some Like It Hot.

  “Marilyn, this is my friend, Jerry.”

  Jerry opened his mouth but nothing came out. He was staring. I’d never seen the big guy so dumbstruck.

  Twenty-one

  "Hello, Jerry,” Marilyn SAID pleasantly. She walked up to him and put out her hand. Jerry still didn’t say a word, but he shook her hand, engulfing it in his.

  “Eddie told me you’re a big fan.”

  “Uhh, yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m always so happy to meet a real fan.”

  “Oh, I’m a real fan, ma’am,” Jerry assured her. “I loved you as Kay in River of No Return and as Cherie in Bus Stop.”

  “Bus Stop,” she said. “That was hard. I got bronchitis during the filming, but I did perfect that Texas-Oklahoma twang.”

  “You sure did,” Jerry said. “That was a great performance.”

  “River of No Return was a bad movie,” she said, “but I loved working with Robert Mitchum.”

  “It may not have been a good movie,” Jerry said, “but it’s one of my favorites.”

  “You’re sweet,” she said, and then looked at me. “I like him.”

  “That’s good,” I said, “because he’s gonna be around for a while.”

  “He is?”

  “I am?” Jerry asked.

  “Before we get to that, Marilyn, do you know a man named Danny Bardini?”

  She frowned, putting a pretty little wrinkle in the smooth skin of her forehead.

  “No, I don’t. Should I?”

  “He’s a friend of mine, a private eye,” I said. “He was keepin’ an eye on you for me.”

  “Following me?”

  “Only from Tahoe to here,” I said.

  “I thought you were going to help me,” she said, “not some friend of yours.”

  “Mr. G. had to go to a funeral,” Jerry said, before I could say a word. “His mother died.”

  “Oh, Eddie.” She put her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I only had Danny watching you until I got back.”

  “Well, he never came up to me,” she said.

  “Did you feel someone was watching you these past few days?” I asked.

  “Well, I did … maybe it was him?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe he saw who was watching you.”

  “Can you ask him?”

  “That’s just it,” I said. “He’s missing.”

  “Missing?” she asked. “W-what does it mean?”

  “It means I think Jerry should stay in your guesthouse until I find out what’s going on.”

  “What about you?” Jerry asked. “You need me to watch your back.”

  “Jerry, right now I think I need you to watch out for Marilyn,” I said. “If somethin’ happened to Danny-”

  “Can’t you stay, Eddie?” Marilyn asked, grabbing my arm.

  “I’ll come back,” I promised. “It may take me a few days to find Danny, but I’ll come back each night. Meanwhile, Jerry will stay with you. Are you working right now?”

  “No, we’re still having some problems with that script, so I’m just … staying around here.”

  And drinking, I thought, maybe worse. I’d have to have Jerry keep an extra-careful eye on her.

  “Can’t Jerry look for your friend?”

  “No,” I said, “he’s my friend, my responsibility. I sent him here. If anything’s happened to him it’s my fault.”

  Marilyn looked from me to Jerry and dropped her hand from my arm.

  “All right, Eddie,” she said, in a little girl’s voice. “Whatever you say.”

  “Jerry, let’s get your suitcase from the car.”

  “Okay, Mr. G.”

  It wasn’t a two-man job, but he knew I wanted to talk to him outside.

  At the car I said, “I’m gonna go and talk to the local cops.”

  “And you don’t want me along?”

  “I know you don’t think the cops do any good, Jerry, but I’ve got to find out if anything happened to Danny. He could be in jail, or …”

  “Or the morgue.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, Mr. G.,” he said, “but you call if you need me.”

  “Let’s go back inside. I’ll take down Marilyn’s number, and we’ll see if the guesthouse has a phone. Also, you can take a look around the grounds, see if it looks like anyone’s been here.”

  “Okay, Mr. G.”

  “Jerry,” I asked, “didn’t we talk about you callin’ me Eddie?”

  “Yeah, Mr. G.,” he said, “we talked about it.”

  Twenty-two

  I presented myself at the West Los Angeles Station of the L.A. Police Department.

  “You want to talk to a dete
ctive?” the desk sergeant asked. His name tag said his name was Clemmons.

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you want to report a crime?”

  “Not a crime, exactly.”

  “Then what?”

  “Well … maybe a missing person.”

  “Who’s missin’?”

  “A friend of mine.”

  “We only take missing persons reports from family members,” the sergeant said. “Are you a family member?”

  “Uh, I-look, I just need to talk to som-”

  “Can you produce a family member?”

  “I-no, look-um, I’m the closest thing to a family member.”

  “What’s your relation?”

  “Cousin-second cousin.”

  He stared at me.

  “Is that not close enough? Should I have just stuck with cousin?”

  “Sir-”

  “Can I give you his name and find out if he’s been arrested? Hospitalized? Killed?”

  “You think he might’ve been killed?”

  “I hope not. Look, I can’t find him, I’m just tryin’ to decide how worried to get. If you guys have him in a cell, I’d prefer that to the morgue.”

  “Can’t say I blame you,” Sergeant Clemmons said. “Let me have his name, your name and I’ll check. Have a seat.”

  I sat for half an hour when a tall, dark-haired, very slender man wearing a suit approached me. I stood up slowly, not liking the look on his face.

  “Mr. Gianelli?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Detective Robert Stanze. I understand you’re looking for a man named Daniel Bardini?”

  “That’s right. Have you-” I almost said “found him,” but the words stuck in my throat.

  “We have two unidentified males in our morgue,” he said.

  “T-two?”

  “Well, we have more than that,” Stanze said, “but two match the description of your-of Daniel Bardini. At least, the description you’ve given us.”

  “I see.”

  “Would you be willing to take a look and see if …?”

  I felt my eyes burning, the foyer we were standing in closed in on me.

  “Sir, are you all right?”

  “I-” I cleared my throat. “I am, yes. And yes, I’ll take a look.”

  “Come with me, please.”

  The morgue was cold. I had been to a morgue in Vegas once. It hadn’t felt this cold.

  Two bodies, covered by sheets on separate tables.

  “Ready?” Stanze asked.

  “Is anybody ever ready for this?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Okay,” I said, “then I’m ready.”

  The attendant grasped the sheet on the first body and rolled it down to the dead man’s waist.

  “No,” I said, “that’s not him.”

  “Good,” Stanze said.

  I guess we were both glad I had been able to dodge that bullet. The attendant covered the poor guy up and we moved to the next table. True to my Vegas background I was wondering what the odds were that man number two was Danny Bardini.

  We positioned ourselves at the table, Stanze and me on one side, the attendant on the other.

  “Ready for this one?” Stanze asked.

  I thought he was incredibly sensitive for a detective. The Vegas dicks I’d dealt with wouldn’t have cared if I was ready or not. In fact, I knew one who would have taken real pleasure in peeling the sheet down and showing me Danny’s body.

  I felt nauseous.

  “Mr. Gianelli?”

  I was afraid if I opened my mouth I’d vomit, so instead I just nodded.

  “Okay,” Stanze said to the attendant.

  The man nodded, grasped the top of the sheet and pulled it down.

  Twenty-three

  Detective Stanze took me into an office.

  “This is my lieutenant’s office, but he’s not in today,” he said, seating himself behind the man’s desk. He looked uncomfortable.

  “Okay, neither body was that of your, uh, cousin, Danny Bardini,” he said, sitting back in the chair. It slipped and he righted himself before he could fall. Further proof that he wasn’t used to sitting there. “You want to tell me about him and what he was doing when he went missing?”

  I had been giving this some thought ever since I saw the face of the second dead man and realized it wasn’t Danny. How much to tell the detective? And then I thought, why not tell him everything-except about Jerry.

  “Okay,” I said, “I work in Las Vegas at the Sands Hotel and Casino. I’m a pit boss there, but sometimes I’m called on to do special favors for our celebrity customers.”

  “You mean like get them tickets to shows, or girls? Like that?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Go on.”

  “You can check this out with a simple phone call to my boss, Jack Entratter,” I said. “I can give you the phone number-”

  “If I want to check it out I won’t call any number you give me, Mr. Gianelli,” he said, cutting me off. “I can look up the number for the Sands and call myself. But for now, why don’t you just continue with your story?”

  “I was asked by Dean Martin to try to help a friend of his who was having some trouble.”

  “What friend?”

  I hesitated, then said, “Marilyn Monroe.”

  “Dean Martin and Marilyn Monroe,” he repeated.

  “That’s right.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then said, “Okay, go on.”

  I told him how Marilyn felt she was being watched and followed. How I’d asked Danny to keep an eye on her, and then was called away to New York for a funeral. In my absence Danny had followed Marilyn all the way home to make sure she was all right.

  “He called his secretary, told her what motel he was staying in, and now he’s missing and she hasn’t been able to locate him.”

  “Have you gone to his motel?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he wasn’t there?”

  “No,” I said, “but I talked with the desk clerk and he did check in.”

  “And when did the clerk see him last?”

  “When he checked in,” I said. “He suggested the night man or girl might have seen him later. I was going to go back later and ask.”

  “Where are you staying?” he asked. “At that same motel?”

  I hadn’t gotten myself a room anywhere.

  “At Miss Monroe’s.”

  “In her house?”

  “No, she has a guesthouse.”

  He drummed his fingers on the desktop.

  “Detective, why would I lie about things that can be checked out?”

  “Okay,” he said, “sit here a while. Don’t get impatient. I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  He left. I knew he was going to check up on me, I just didn’t know how much checking he was going to do. I tried to follow his advice, but it was easier said than done.

  Detective Stanze returned in half an hour.

  “Okay,” he said, “let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Out to the Starshine Motor Court.”

  “Did you check-”

  “I called the Sands Hotel,” he said. “It’s only because that checked out that we’re driving out to the motel to check on the rest of it. Come on, you and me. Let’s go.”

  In the hallway I said, “I have my car.”

  “Good,” Stanze said. “I’ll follow you.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  “That’s what I said, pal,” he replied. “Just you and me.”

  Apparently, he wasn’t going to assign any other men to the job until he knew for sure what the hell was going on.

  I was hoping we’d both know that pretty damn soon.

  Twenty-four

  When we arrived at the motel I pulled up in front. Stanze parked his unmarked car behind me. We went inside and found the same clerk behind the desk.

  “Hey,” I said. />
  He looked at me and asked, “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Detective Stanze, LAPD,” Stanze said, showing his badge. “Do you know this gentleman?”

  The clerk looked at me and said, “Nope. Should I?”

  “You should,” I said. “I talked to you this morning about one of your guests. Danny Bardini?”

  “You talked to me?” he asked. “Come on, pal, how much did you have to drink last night?”

  Stanze looked at me.

  “What are you tryin’ to pull?” I demanded. “We talked about my buddy, Danny Bardini. He was staying in room two-one-five.”

  “Two-one-five?”

  “Would you check and see if you have anyone by that name in room two-one-five?” Stanze asked.

  “Sure thing.” The clerk checked his register, then shook his head. “That room’s empty.”

  “When was it last occupied?”

  “About two days ago.”

  “By a Danny Bardini?”

  “Nope,” the clerk said. “A woman.”

  “What the hell-” I said.

  Stanze put his hand on my arm.

  “No.”

  “What is your name?” he asked the clerk.

  “Max.”

  “Well, Max, I’d like to see room two-one-five.”

  “I’ll take you up there,” the clerk said. “Do I gotta take him, too?”

  “Just give me your key.”

  “I don’t think I can-”

  “Come on, Max,” Stanze said. “I don’t have all day. Comprende?”

  Max shrugged and said, “Okay, okay.”

  He turned to grab his passkey, looked around, seemed lost for a minute, then found it and handed it over.

  “Somebody’s always movin’ it, the damn thing.”

  “Thanks.”

  Stanze and I left the office and walked up a flight. He unlocked the door and we went in.

  “Clean,” he said.

  “It was clean when I came in,” I said.

  “The clerk let you in here?”

  “No, one of the maids.”

  “And it was like this?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “like she had just finished, except …”

  I went into the bathroom. The counter was cleared off.

  “There was a toothbrush and a bottle of Hai Karate here.” I sniffed the air. “You can still smell it.”