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

by Robert J. Randisi

  “To who?”

  “Tell you later, but I’ve got another question for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “These guys claimed they didn’t know anything about Jerry gettin’ clobbered,” I said.

  “Well, if that’s true, then who slugged Jerry, and why?”

  “Those are the questions.”

  Sixty-five

  Stanze finally let me take Marilyn back to the main house.

  “Eddie,” she said, when we got inside, “it’s going to be in the newspapers that I killed a guy.”

  “No,” I said, “it’s gonna be in the paper that I killed two men in your guesthouse … in self-defense.”

  “B-but, you can’t take the blame for something I did,” she said.

  “Sure I can,” I said. “Nobody cares about me. This will all be in the papers because it’s your house, but it’ll soon become old news. The other way, if we tell them you killed one, it’ll be in the news forever.”

  “But I’ll always know,” she said. “It was terrible. I can still hear the sound and see all that blood-”

  “Marilyn, those guys were gonna kill me,” I said, “and if they found you in the house, they might’ve killed you, too. I told you before. You saved our lives.”

  “Okay,” she said, “okay, Eddie. I think I’m going to go to my room and lie down.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  As she left the room somebody knocked on the front door. I went and let Otash in.

  “How is she?”

  “Shaken up,” I said. “She went to lay down.”

  “You’re taking a chance, you know, taking all the blame,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Looks pretty cut-and-dried to me. They were gonna kill me, for sure, and who knows what they would’ve done to her if they’d found her there.”

  “I agree.”

  “You can feel pretty safe though,” I said.

  “How’s that?”

  “They said you were too high-profile to kill.”

  “I’ll try not to let that go to my head. So, let’s see where we stand now?”

  “I killed the only two men who might’ve told us what they did with Danny, that’s where we stand-officially.”

  “There’s still the Lavender and the guy who manages it,” Otash said. “We could sweat him.”

  “I don’t think we have time for that, Fred. After all this if Danny’s still alive they might decide to get rid of him.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “I’ve got a phone number,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s still good, but I can try it.”

  “And who would be at the other end of that number?”

  “Well,” I said, “last year it was Joseph Kennedy, but I actually got a call back from JFK.”

  “The president?”

  “That’s the only JFK I know of,” I said.

  “And these are the sort of contacts you make as a pit boss in Vegas? Who else, besides show business people and politicians?”

  “Those are pretty much my specialty.”

  I took out my wallet and extracted a slip of paper with a phone number on it that had been there for months.

  Otash lowered his voice and asked, “You sure you want to make that call from here?”

  He was referring to the fact that I felt sure the house was bugged.

  “Oh, yes,” I said, “I want everybody involved to know about this phone call.”

  I dialed and was pleased to hear it ring. I waited for someone to answer.

  Otash and I played gin for more than two hours before the phone rang.

  I had just checked on Marilyn, found her asleep in her bed, lying atop the comforter. Next to her, on the night table, were some pill bottles, all with the caps on tight. I looked at the labels, recognized a couple that were for sleeping, and then I saw Nembutal and chloral hydrate. There was no water or any liquid on the table, no glass, but she could have gone into the bathroom and taken them there. The bottles, however, all had a healthy amount of pills inside.

  At that moment she opened her eyes and smiled when she saw me. Her eyes were sleepy, but clear. “Is everything all right, Eddie?”

  “Sure, kid, everything’s fine,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”

  She closed her eyes and seemed to fall back to sleep in seconds. I had the feeling she was exhausted, and that being home was going to be good for her after all.

  I leaned in close to her. She smelled wonderful and I could see the pulse beneath the pale flesh of her throat beating strongly. Everything I saw led me to believe she was sleeping peacefully.

  “How is she?” Otash asked when I came out.

  “Sleeping,” I said. “She’s got a lot of pills on her night table, but I don’t think she took any.”

  “She breathing okay?”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “I mean, I’ve heard stories-”

  “She’s fine, Fred.”

  I didn’t bother telling him what pills were on her table, but I vowed to look into it myself later on.

  So we went on playing gin after I checked on Marilyn and when the phone rang we both jumped.

  “Jesus,” he said.

  We stared at the phone as it rang a second time.

  “That could be the president,” he said.

  “Could be.”

  “Of the United States.”

  I snatched it up so it wouldn’t ring a third time and maybe wake Marilyn.

  “Hello?”

  “Eddie?”

  “That’s right.” I recognized the broad Massachusetts accent.

  “Eddie, I know you wanted to speak to Jack, but he’s unavailable. Will I do?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, realizing I was talking to Bobby, “the attorney general will do just fine.”

  Sixty-six

  I laid it out for the attorney general of the United States and he listened quietly.

  “I think I am most surprised by Marilyn’s reaction,” Bobby Kennedy said when I finished.

  “Not quite the delicate flower everyone thinks she is,” I said, “at least not with a frying pan in her hand.”

  I told him about the whole ordeal, but not that she had killed the man. I still maintained I had killed them both.

  “Eddie, I think you should give me a little time, and then go over to the Lavender Club to find your friend.”

  “What about the FBI?” I asked.

  “It seems you’ve taken care of their freelancers,” RFK said, “but, Eddie, I really think you should leave Edgar to me.” It sounded like he said “Edgah.”

  “I think I know what you’re tellin’ me, sir.”

  “Let me make it clear,” RFK said. “I’m telling you to be satisfied to get your friend back. Be satisfied that Jerry is alive. And be satisfied that you’ve taken care of the two freelancers who, in all probability, were watching Marilyn. And I don’t think there will be any charges brought against you.”

  “So I just let it go that the FBI was behind the whole thing?”

  “As I said,” Kennedy repeated, “Edgar must be left to me. I’m used to dealing with him.”

  “And what do I tell Marilyn?”

  “That she won’t be bothered anymore.”

  “Is that true?”

  He hesitated, then said, “It’s the best thing you can tell her.”

  I fell silent. I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with what he was telling me.

  “Eddie?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Believe me, this is the best way,” he said. “Let me make some calls, and then you go over to the Lavender Club-which will probably be padlocked by tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “My father and brother tell me you’re a reasonable man.”

  “I have been.”

  “Well then, continue to be,” Kennedy said, “and everything will go your way.”

  “My friend, Danny, has to be alive, sir, for me to be reasonabl
e in even the smallest way.”

  “Just give me some time and then you can go pick him up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I hung up and stared at Otash.

  “Bobby Kennedy?” he asked.

  “He says we can go and pick up Danny in a little while.”

  “Where?”

  “The Lavender Club, which he says will be closed down by tomorrow.”

  “And?”

  “And then everything is over.”

  “And the FBI’s involvement?”

  “The attorney general asked me to leave them to him. He says he’s used to dealing with Hoover.”

  “That’s all over my head,” Otash said. “You’d better go along, Eddie.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, “it’s always better just to go along, isn’t it?”

  Sixty-seven

  The bouncer stopped US at the door.

  “By invitation only tonight, gents,” he said. “It’s our last night.”

  Well, if I was wondering if Robert Kennedy had made his phone calls, that clinched it.

  “We have invitations,” I said.

  “Let’s see ‘em.”

  “Tell your boss Eddie G is here.”

  The bouncer smiled. “Eddie G. That’s it?”

  “Believe me, that’ll be enough.”

  The bouncer stopped frowning and took a second look at Otash, standing next to me. “Hey, I know you.”

  “Not officially,” Otash said.

  “What’s your na-”

  “Eddie G is all you need,” I said. “Now hurry. We’re all on a tight schedule.”

  The man wanted to argue, but obviously wasn’t sure of his footing. “Wait here.”

  He went into the building, locking the door behind him. It took ten minutes for him to return.

  “Come on.”

  We followed him inside. For a private party it was remarkably well attended. It looked like standing room only and apparently all the girls were on the runways. The music was too loud to think or speak, so he just beckoned us to follow him.

  Down the hall again, this time with permission, and into the office. The man behind the desk looked up and frowned at me. His hair was painfully red and if he had smiled he would have looked like he belonged on the cover of Mad magazine. The Hawaiian shirt he was wearing was even more painful than his hair.

  But he didn’t smile at me.

  “Are you the guy who left the light on in the basement?” he asked.

  “That was me,” I said.

  “I’m gonna send you my electric bill.”

  “What, the FBI won’t pay it?”

  “And you’re also the reason I’m being shut down?” he demanded.

  “Probably.”

  The man covered his face.

  “I’m gonna have to start wearing a suit again.”

  “I guess you should’ve snatched somebody else’s friend.”

  “Is that what this is all about?” he asked, waving his hand. “He’s fine.”

  “Unlike Max Johnson.”

  “Who? Oh, yeah, the hotel clerk. That was those two idiot freelancers, Harris and Delaney. I understand you killed them?”

  “They needed it,” Otash said, butting in. Maybe he was feeling left out. “The FBI must be falling on hard times to employ those two.”

  “When you employ for the purpose of deniability there’s no point in making it top talent, is there?”

  “So if I hadn’t killed them-”

  “Somebody would’ve.”

  “Wait a minute,” Otash said, “you’re actually an FBI agent?”

  “Born and bred,” the man said. “Twenty years, right out of college. My father was an agent before me, but he never had a sweet gig like this.”

  “And him?” Otash asked, jerking his thumb at the bouncer.

  “Just a bouncer,” the man said.

  “And a pimp,” I said.

  “What?” The agent looked surprised.

  “Hey,” the bouncer said.

  “Last time I was here I heard him saying he ran a string of girls out of here.”

  The agent looked at the bouncer.

  “Peter, I’m very disappointed in you,” he said. “Damn it. Now I’m gonna have to arrest you.”

  “Damn it, Sam, I was just-”

  Sam (Kearny, no doubt), the FBI agent, took a gun out of his top drawer and shot Peter the bouncer. Peter looked shocked, grabbed his stomach and fell facedown on the floor.

  Otash and I didn’t move. I think we both realized we were in the hands of a crazy man.

  Kearny put the gun back in his top drawer.

  “There,” he said, “I’m back on the right side of the law, aren’t I?”

  “How long have you been under?” Otash asked.

  “Would’ve been five years next week,” Kearny said. “I had a helluva celebration planned. Now next week I’ll be back in an office in Washington.”

  “Um … I’m sorry?” I said.

  He waved my apology away. “Don’t be. It had to end some time.” He stood up, straightened his Hawaiian shirt. “All right, come with me.”

  He walked past us, out the door. We followed him down the hall to the basement door.

  “You’ve been here before,” he said to me, “so mind your step.”

  We went down the steps and he pulled on a new string someone had attached to the bulb, which was now a forty watt white.

  The man seated in the wooden chair looked up at us. He had a lopsided grin on a bruised face.

  “Damn it,” Danny said, “what took you so long, Eddie?”

  Amazingly, the crazy fed let us all go.

  “I’d invite you to stay for the party, but I’m actually pretty pissed at you,” he said at the front door. “Hope I don’t run into you again.”

  “Likewise,” I said, as the door closed.

  Now that we were outside I grabbed Danny in a bear hug.

  “Goddamnit, man, I was starting to think that you were dead.”

  “Lemme go, I got sore ribs!” he said, pushing me away. “They knocked me around a bit, but never really came close to killing me. How’s Penny doin’?”

  “Worried sick.”

  “And Marilyn?”

  “I’ll tell you in the car,” I said, and then, “Oh, yeah, meet Fred Otash. Fred, Danny Bardini.”

  “Hey, I know you,” Danny said, as they shook hands. “I saw your ad. How much did that set you back?”

  “Like Eddie said, I’ll tell you in the car.”

  We walked to my Caddy.

  “You want to go to the hospital?” I asked.

  “Naw, you know what I really want?” he asked. “A burger and a beer.”

  I looked at Otash.

  “I’m kinda hungry myself.”

  “Okay,” I said, “but let’s go pick up Marilyn and we’ll make it a foursome.”

  “I get to meet her?” Danny asked happily. His smile was so wide it split a scab on his lip.

  “After what you’ve been through, old buddy,” I said, “it’s the least I can do. But first you’ve got to call Penny.”

  Sixty-eight

  A couple of days later I drove to Palm Springs with two passengers, Danny and Jerry. Jerry had awakened the day before in his room with the two Johnny Roselli men watching him, took one look at them and said, “Hi, guys.”

  Once he was awake there was no keeping him in the hospital. He was upset that I had gotten into a shoot-out without him, and he wanted to be by my side in case the FBI came after me.

  Marilyn wanted Jerry to stay with her in the main house so she could baby him, and as appealing as that sounded, the big guy turned her down. We did continue to stay in her guesthouse, but that was it.

  “Ya can’t trust the feds, Mr. G.,” he said, “and as long as I’m awake, I’m with ya.”

  Taking Danny to Frank’s was the least I could do for him. Also, he wanted to go back to the motel, but I put him in a hotel not too far from Marilyn’s, that ha
d room service and a pool.

  So we pulled up to Frank’s place with a bandaged Jerry in the front seat and a bruised Danny in the back. I felt guilty that they had taken the brunt of the punishment.

  “This is great, Eddie,” he said, looking at Frank’s Palm Spring enclave.

  I stopped the car and turned off the engine. I could hear raised voices as George came down the stairs toward us.

  “What’s goin’ on, George?” I asked.

  “This is not a good day to visit, Mr. Gianelli.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mr. S. has gotten some bad news today.”

  “From who?” Danny asked.

  “Oh, George, this is my friend Danny, the one I’ve been lookin’ for.”

  “Ah, so glad to see you looking so … well, sir.”

  “Yeah, a few bruises, one cracked rib … but thanks. So what gives?”

  George looked at Jerry. “Are you all right, sir?”

  “I’m fine, George, thanks.”

  “Mr. Lawford came to see Mr. S. today,” George said, leading the way up the stairs. “I’m afraid he told him that the president would not be staying here, as planned.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That is bad news.”

  When we reached the top we could see Frank and Peter Law-ford on the newly constructed wing. Frank was doing all the shouting, with Peter throwing in a plea or two when he could.

  “Goddamn useless limey sonofa-” Frank was shouting.

  “Not my fault, Frank,” was all we heard from Peter, and then suddenly he was tumbling backward down the stairs from the second level. I had never liked him, but I felt sorry for him, caught between the Kennedys and Frank.

  As Peter hit the ground Frank came running down the steps. He stepped over Peter, walked around the side of the building and came back holding a sledgehammer.

  “Is he gonna-” Danny said.

  “I hope not.”

  Peter was moving, which meant he wasn’t dead. But if Frank took the sledgehammer to him, that could change. Frank stalked over to the concrete helipad he’d had constructed for JFK and began wailing away at it with the hammer. For a skinny guy, he was putting a lot of power behind it, and the concrete began to crumble.

  “Ya want I should help Mr. S., Mr. G.?”