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

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Be back here in a couple of hours,” Otash said. “With any luck I’ll know something about the manager and the bouncer at the Lavender.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”

  I drove back to the guesthouse, went inside, took a shower and brewed a pot of coffee to try to keep myself awake.

  I was standing at the sink, drinking my second cup, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I froze, kept looking out the window and saw it again. Somebody was moving around inside the main house.

  “Goddamnit!” I said angrily. It wasn’t bad enough they had sent Jerry to the hospital, they had to come back? And for what?

  I went out to my car, opened the trunk as quietly as I could and took out Jerry’s.45. Clutching it, I moved around behind the main house to the kitchen. Everybody seemed to be using that door to get in. I was no different. It wasn’t locked, so I opened it and slipped inside. At that point someone chose to enter the room. I raised the gun and pointed before I realized it was Marilyn Monroe.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Marilyn screamed and jumped back, eyes wide, then recognized me.

  “Eddie! You scared the hell out of me!”

  “Marilyn, what the hell are you doin’ here? I told you to stay at Frank’s.”

  “Frank got real busy with the construction,” she said. “I started to feel like I was in the way. I wanted to come home, so he had one of his bodyguards drive me. What are you doing with that gun?”

  “It’s Jerry’s,” I said. “He’s in the hospital.”

  “Wha-why? What happened?”

  “Look,” I said, taking her arm, “let’s go in the guesthouse. I just made some coffee. We can talk there.”

  “But why not here?” she asked, as she trotted to the door.

  “This is where Jerry got hurt,” I said, “and I’m not sure the people who hurt him won’t come back.”

  She turned to look back at the kitchen as I gently shoved her out the door.

  Sixty-two

  Seated at the kitchen table, with coffee in front of both of us, I told her what had happened to Jerry and where he was.

  “My God, Eddie, will he be all right?”

  “I hope so.”

  “You have to make sure the hospital bills get sent to me.”

  “Dean is already takin’ care of it.”

  “You’re here because of me, Eddie,” she said. “There’s no reason why Dean should pay the bill.”

  “You’ll have to take that up with Dean yourself, Marilyn. Right now I’m not very concerned with hospital bills.”

  “I know,” she said, reaching out and touching my arm, “you’re worried about both your friends now.”

  “I’m worried about all of us, Marilyn,” I admitted.

  “I’m sorry I came back, Eddie, but I had to. I couldn’t stay at Frank’s anymore.”

  “We’ll have to find someplace else to stash you,” I said.

  Her lovely shoulders slumped. “Maybe I should just get used to being watched all the time,” she said.

  “Watched on the screen, yeah,” I said, “or on the red carpet, sure, but not every day, morning, noon and night. Nobody should be watched that much.”

  “Eddie,” she said, “can I sleep with you tonight?”

  The question shocked me.

  “What?”

  “Jerry’s in the hospital, so you’re out here alone and I’d be in the house alone,” she said. “I’m awfully lonely, Eddie.”

  “Marilyn,” I said, “if we do that we might be lookin’ for trouble.”

  “I’m not talking about sex, Eddie,” she said. “I just mean … sleep next to you. Just so I’m not so alone.”

  She still had her hand on mine and she squeezed.

  “We’ll see,” I said, squeezing her back. “When tonight comes, we’ll see.”

  She released my hand and sat back in her chair, looking at me. “I’m glad I came back, Eddie,” she said. “Real glad.”

  “When do you have to go to work?” I asked.

  She brushed her hair out of her eyes.

  “Probably should’ve been there by now. I’d have to check my schedule with my agent, but you know what? This is the longest I’ve been in blue jeans and my comfy sweatshirt in a long time. I like it. I think they agree with me.”

  “It all agrees with you,” I said. “You look beautiful.”

  She took her face in both hands. “I must look awful. My hair, my face.”

  “You shine, Marilyn,” I said, “with or without makeup.”

  She got a funny look on her face. “Did you see The Misfits?”

  “No,” I said, “I never had the chance. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, only … what you just said, it was like a line Clark said to me in the movie. Not word, for word, but he said ‘Roslyn, you shine.’ …”

  “I’m sorry if I brought back a bad memory.”

  “There was a lot about that shoot that was bad,” she said, “but some of it was good. Arthur and me, we were like cats and dogs. That was near the end. But Clark … I loved him.”

  “Were you in love with him?”

  “Oh, no, I don’t mean like that,” she said. “He was so in love with Kay, and she was pregnant. No, I just … I just meant …”

  “What?” I asked. “What were you gonna say?”

  “Well, I always wanted Clark Gable to be my … my father,” she said, staring off into space. “Even before I met him. I had this fantasy that he’d adopt me and hug me, bounce me on his knee. That maybe I’d become part of a family.” She looked at me and focused again. “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?”

  “No, it isn’t,” I said. “I mean, as long as you know he’s not your father, you know? And that it’s just … a fantasy.”

  “Well, of course,” she said. “Of course I know that. I’m not crazy.”

  “I know that, Marilyn,” I said. “The rest of the world is crazy, but not you and me.”

  “No,” she said, reaching for my hand again, “not you and me.”

  Speaking of crazy, I thought …

  “You know, Marilyn, I’m part of a big Italian family. I have a brother, a sister, and about thirty-two cousins.”

  “That must be wonderful.”

  “Well, it’s not,” I said. “You see, my father is crazy, always has been, and my brother and sister grew up wanting his approval, so they’re crazy, too.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She wasn’t so much crazy as she was dominated by my old man,” I said. “Whenever he’d try to play with my head, or decide to give me a beating, she’d just watch and shrug helplessly.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Yes, it is,” I said.

  “But … you said she just died. Were you … upset?”

  “I was,” I said, “but when I went back to Brooklyn for the funeral my father started right in again, and you know what? I got mad at my mother all over again. I was mad at myself for being sucked in again. I never should’ve gone to the funeral. But Jerry went with me, and saw what happened, and he understood. He’s more of a brother than my brother ever was.”

  “Oh, Eddie.” Her eyes got moist and she threw her arms around me. “I guess it’s better to have good friends.”

  “Definitely,” I said, “definitely better to have good friends.” I squeezed her tightly.

  “I’ve got to go out,” I said, releasing her. “Fred Otash is waiting for me.”

  “Is it about Danny? And Jerry?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but I’ve got to put you someplace safe. I better call Fred.”

  “Don’t do that, Eddie. Just leave me here,” she said, “in the guesthouse. With no car outside, nobody will know I’m here.”

  “Marilyn, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Just for today,” she said. “You have things to do and I’ve surprised you. Go and do what you’ve got to do. I promise I’ll stay out of sight.”


  I hesitated and she knew she had me.

  “Go on, your private eye is waiting for you.”

  “Okay,” I said, “but remember, stay inside. I think there’s some food in the fridge, thanks to Jerry.”

  “Good,” she said, standing up. “I’ll have something to eat later.”

  I stood and she took my arm, walked me to the back door.

  “Be careful, Eddie,” she said. “I’ll be waiting here when you’re done.”

  “Okay, now move away from the door.”

  “You think someone’s watching us right now?”

  “I hope not,” I said, “but just to be safe.”

  “All right,” she said, backing away, her hands behind her back. “There, now you can leave. I’ll see you later.”

  “I’ll try not to be away too long, but if somethin’ happens I’ll call.”

  I went out the door, hoping I wasn’t making a big mistake. Otash and I were on the verge of finding Danny-at least, that’s what I was tellin’ myself-and she had surprised me by showing up. To change my plans now might mean never finding Danny.

  I just wished she had stayed at Frank’s.

  When I got to the car I opened the door to get in. “Close it back up, Eddie.”

  I turned and saw two men. One was Harris, and the one holding a revolver had a livid scar almost dead center down his forehead.

  “We thought it was time we got acquainted, Eddie,” the man with the scar said, “seein’ as how you’re bein’ such a pain in the ass.”

  Sixty-three

  "Pain in the ass?” I asked. “Me? I don’t even know you guys.”

  “Start walkin’,” Harris said.

  We headed back to the house with me in the lead.

  “Not the big one,” the man with the scar said.

  Damn it. I was hoping to lead them away from Marilyn.

  “Yeah, you’ve been a pain,” the scarred man said. “Because of you we had to kill that Johnson guy.”

  “Why?” I asked. “He lied when I came back with the cops. And he wiped the records clean.”

  “He would’ve talked eventually,” Harris said. “Nope, we agreed he had to go.”

  “And your buddy, Bardini-” the scarred man started. “Did you kill him, too?” I asked, cutting him off. “Or is he alive somewhere?”

  “And you were seen in the club,” Harris said, “you and your private eye.”

  “Only we can’t kill him,” the scarred man said. “He’s got too high a profile-or so we’re told.”

  “Told by who?” I asked. “The FBI?”

  The two men looked at each other.

  “Boy,” Harris said, “any chance you had of walkin’ away from this just went out the window.”

  Me and my big mouth.

  I thought about making them kill me right there and then, so that they wouldn’t go any farther and find Marilyn. Maybe I wasn’t brave enough to do it, or maybe I was just holding onto my life as long as I could, figuring that something would happen to save me.

  I headed for the front door of the guesthouse, but once again they directed me.

  “Back door, sport,” Harris said.

  “What were you doin’ in the house yesterday?” I asked. “Why’d you hit Jerry?”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Harris asked, his eyes going all jerky.

  “Who’s Jerry?” the scarred man asked. “That your big buddy?”

  “Come on,” I said, “you laid him out and put him in the hospital by ambushing him.”

  The scarred man looked at his partner and asked, “What’s he talkin’ about, Harris?”

  “Nothin’,” Harris said. “He’s just tryin’ to save his ass.”

  We reached the back door.

  “You got a key?” Harris asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Maybe it’s open,” Harris said, reaching for the door.

  “No,” I said, pushing past him, “I locked it. I’ll use the key.”

  The door was unlocked, but I jiggled the doorknob like I was using the key, hoping Marilyn would hear us and hide.

  “Hold it,” Harris said, as I pushed the door open. “I’m goin’ first.”

  I backed away. “Be my guest.”

  He walked in ahead of me and suddenly there was a scream and a sound, like metal on bone. Harris went down like he’d been poleaxed.

  I didn’t wait, I reacted and backed into the scarred man, who stood startled by what had just happened to his partner. We got tangled up, stumbled back together and fell to the ground. I tried to grab his gun hand, but he managed to roll away from me. He got to his feet with his back to the house. I was on the ground on my back. He pointed the gun down at me and I waited for the sound of the shot, or the muzzle flash. Suddenly Marilyn came flying out of the house with a cast-iron frying pan in her hand.

  “Leave him alone!” she screamed, and swung the frying pan.

  The man turned at the sound of her voice and the frying pan caught him right on the forehead. I saw blood fly and he went down, the gun dropping from his hand.

  “Eddie-” Marilyn said.

  “Bitch!” Harris shouted, staggering out of the house. His face was covered with blood and he was trying to clear it from his eyes so he could use the gun in his hand.

  I scrambled on all fours, grabbed up scar face’s gun from the ground and turned it on Harris. He was still blind, but if he decided to start squeezing off shots Marilyn might get hit. I pointed the revolver at him and pulled the trigger three times. All three shots hit him and drove him back through the doorway and into the house.

  I got to my feet and Marilyn came running over to me.

  “Are you all right, Eddie?”

  “Yeah, I am, thanks to you.”

  I hugged her tightly. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “I heard you at the door, and the voices. I looked out the window over the sink and saw that man with the gun. I didn’t know what to do, so I grabbed a frying pan and hit the first guy through the door.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t me.”

  “Are they dead?”

  “I’m gonna check,” I said. “Just stand here a minute.”

  I checked the one on the ground first. Marilyn’s frying pan had split his head right along that old scar line. He was deader than dead.

  I went into the guesthouse and leaned over Harris. He was dead.

  “Damn it!” I shouted.

  “Eddie? What’s wrong?” Marilyn stuck her head in the door.

  “They’re both dead,” I said, “now we can’t find out what they did with Danny.”

  “Oh.” She looked like a scolded little girl.

  “Hey, hey,” I said, taking the pan from her and setting it aside, “I’m not mad at you. You did the right thing. Marilyn, you saved our lives.”

  “I did?” she asked, and then nodded and said, “I did.”

  “Why don’t you go and sit in the living room?” I asked. “I’m gonna call the cops, and Otash.”

  “Okay, Eddie.”

  She went into the other room and I wondered how long it was going to take for it to dawn on her that she had killed a man.

  Sixty-four

  Half an hour later Marilyn was sitting in the living room of the guesthouse, perched on the edge of the sofa, hugging herself tightly. She didn’t realize that the position was pushing her breasts up out of her sweatshirt so that there was a lot of pale cleavage for the cops and technicians to stare at.

  I called Detective Stanze over to one side and said, “Do you think we could get your men to stop drooling over Marilyn’s tits for five minutes?”

  “Come on, Eddie,” he said, “it’s Marilyn Monroe, for chrissake. You don’t want them looking then get her to cover up.”

  “Can I move her to the main house?”

  “No,” he said, “this is where everything happened, and I want her here.”

  He was pissed at me for calling him to the scene with tw
o dead men on the ground. Or maybe it was because the FBI had gotten him yanked from the case, and here he was back in it again.

  “Let me through!” I heard Fred Otash shout from the kitchen.

  Stanze heard it, too, and he craned his neck and said, “Let him in.”

  Moments later Otash came stalking into the living room.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded, looking at me. “I thought you told me she was out of town.”

  “She was,” I said, “I didn’t expect her back here.”

  “And these two just happened to pick today to take you out of the picture?” Otash asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “They said they killed the desk clerk, and grabbed Danny, and now I was a big enough pain in the neck that they had to kill me, too.”

  “So they killed Danny?” Otash asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I couldn’t get a firm answer out of them and then … they were dead.”

  “No, not ‘and then they were dead,’” Stanze said. “You killed them.”

  “So they wouldn’t kill us.”

  “What I want to know is how you killed one with a frying pan and one with a gun?”

  “I told you already.”

  “Yes, I know,” Stanze said, “but it doesn’t sound logical to me.”

  “None of this has seemed logical to me,” I said, “especially the part where you pulled your men from the hospital.”

  “I told you that wasn’t my decision, but I have to follow orders.”

  “No matter who they come from.”

  “They came from my boss!”

  “And where did his orders come from?” I demanded.

  “Ah!” Stanze said, and stormed off into the kitchen.

  “How the hell are we going to find out what happened to Danny now?” I asked.

  “There’s only one place we can get answers from,” Otash said.

  “Where?”

  “The FBI. The problem is, how to get the FBI to talk to us?”

  “I don’t know,” I said as a thought hit me, “I might have to make a few calls.”