Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Two?” Sinatra looked shocked. “What kinda nut kills two gorgeous babes?”

  I shrugged helplessly.

  “You know, Ed,” Sinatra said, “if you want to pull out you can.”

  “Frank, I don’t think the two girls have anything to do with you or Dean. That’s just somethin’ I kinda walked into.”

  “You did have two clydes work you over, though, right?” Frank asked. “Warn you away from Dean?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “They hurt you bad?”

  “A bump on the head, a few sore ribs,” I said.

  Frank smiled. “You and me, we got worse than that when we were kids, right?”

  “Right, Frank,” I said, without much enthusiasm.

  “Hoboken, Brooklyn, not much difference between the two.”

  I didn’t agree with that. No Brooklyn boy would ever agree that any part of New Jersey was the same as Brooklyn, but I kept that opinion to myself.

  The room began to fill with the smell of percolating coffee. Sinatra sat back in his chair and appeared to breath the aroma in deeply. I seemed to remember that he had recorded something called “The Coffee Song,” a few years back.

  “So you’re still with us, then?” he asked.

  “I’m with you, Frank.”

  “Any word yet? Any … clues?”

  “None. I talked to everyone at the hotel. Nobody remembers envelopes being delivered for Dean. Has he been at the set?”

  “He was there yesterday, and he’ll be there today.” He shot his cuff and looked at his watch. “I’ve got just enough time for a cup.”

  He stood up, found where I kept the cups and poured us each full. We both sipped and made the same face.

  “I make a lousy cuppa joe,” he said, and pushed his away.

  To me coffee’s coffee, so I continued to drink it.

  “Walk me to the door.”

  He stood up and I followed. We walked to the door shoulder to shoulder.

  “I’ve got somethin’ for you.”

  “What?”

  “It’ll be here in a couple of hours. When do you go to work?”

  “I’m off the clock.”

  “Good,” he said, “then you’ll still be here when it arrives.”

  He opened my front door and stepped outside. We stood in the doorway and shook hands. I heard the girls laughing in the car. They didn’t seem to be missing Frank at all.

  “Can you give me a hint?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” He started down the walk toward the limo, then turned nimbly. “You need any money? For expenses or something?”

  “No,” I said, “I’m good, Frank.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey, Frank.”

  He turned and looked at me expectantly. I looked around, saw no one, but stepped outside anyway, to get closer to him so I could lower my voice.

  “Frank, do you think anyone …’well, connected, is after Dean?”

  “Kid,” he said, though he wasn’t that much older than me, “if anyone ‘connected’ was after Dean, he’d be dead by now. Capice?”

  Twenty-seven

  I DIDN’T MEAN TO WAIT for Frank Sinatra’s gift to arrive, but as it turned out it took me that long to get myself around. When the knock came at the door I decided that entirely too many people knew where I lived.

  When I opened the door a big guy was standing there blocking out the sun. He was even bigger than Mack Gray.

  “Oh, no, not again.” I figured I was in for another beating.

  “Huh?” he said.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  “You Gianelli?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Eddie Gianelli, right? Eddie G?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Then I got the right place.”

  “The right place for what?”

  “Frank sent me.”

  “Frank … Sinatra?”

  “That’s right,” the man said. “He told me to tell you I was your gift? You know what that means?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “yeah, I’m afraid I do.”

  His name was Gerald Epstein but he told me I could call him Jerry. I didn’t want to call him anything, because I didn’t want him around.

  He was sitting at my kitchen table, drinking coffee Frank Sinatra had made, while I tried to convince him he didn’t have to stay.

  “I don’t leave until you do.”

  “You mean … you’re goin’ with me everywhere I go?”

  He nodded.

  “Until Frank tells me not to.”

  “Jerry … are you carryin’ a gun?”

  “Of course,” he said, looking at me as if I was nuts. “What kinda bodyguard would I be if I didn’t have a gun?” He pulled aside his jacket to show me the piece in his shoulder holster. I recognized it as a .45, same thing I carried in the army.

  “Jerry, if you get caught with that—”

  “I got a permit.”

  That figured.

  “Did Frank tell you what’s goin’ on?” I asked.

  “He said a coupla guys worked you over. He said I should make sure that does not happen again.”

  “Did he tell you who worked me over? Or why?”

  “No,” he said, “but I don’t have to know that to do my job.”

  “Well, let me ask you,” I said, “do you know two guys named Lenny Davis and Buzz Ravisi?”

  “No. Are they local?”

  “I think so.”

  “I ain’t local,” he said. “I’m in from New York.”

  “When did you get here?”

  “Last night.”

  I hesitated to ask the next question. Partly because I didn’t want to know the answer, partly because I thought I already knew.

  “Who do you work for in New York, Jerry?”

  “I work for Mr. Giancana. And while I’m in Vegas, I work for Frank.”

  That’s what I was afraid he was going to say. I’d spent my life trying to stay out of street gangs when I was growing up, and away from the mob as an adult. I’d thought I could work in the casinos in Vegas and stay away from them, and I thought I had done pretty well for twelve years—except maybe for Jack Entratter—but now …

  … Frank Sinatra …

  … Sam Giancana …

  … I guess the connection was unavoidable.

  Twenty-eight

  I CALLED DANNY BARDINI and he agreed to meet me for breakfast at the Horseshoe, Benny Binion’s place on Fremont Street. Benny had arrived in Vegas the same month Bugsy Seigel opened the Flamingo. He’d left a violent past behind in Texas, where he had a reputation as a gambling king and a killer. They say he arrived with two million dollars in a suitcase. Four months later he bought the old Eldorado Club, changed the name to the Horseshoe Club and turned it into one of the most popular casinos in Las Vegas.

  Danny was waiting at a booth in the back of the Horseshoe’s coffee shop.

  “Who’s he?” Jerry asked, as we entered.

  “A friend of mine.”

  “A cop?”

  “No,” I said, “he’s not a cop. He’s a P.I.”

  Jerry made a face.

  “Same difference.”

  “Jerry, why don’t you sit at the counter and have what you want.”

  “You buyin’?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m buyin’.”

  He looked over at the counter, and then at the booth Danny was sitting in.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “You can see me from there.”

  “Okay.”

  As he settled onto a stool—almost two stools—I walked over to where Danny was waiting.

  “Who’s the giant?”

  “That’s Jerry,” I said, sliding in across from him. “He’s a gift from Frank Sinatra.”

  “Frank never heard of jewelry?” Danny asked. “Or cars? You know, I heard that Elvis Presley gives everybody cars, even people he doesn’t know. Why don’t you work for Elvis Presley?�
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  “Give Elvis my number,” I said. “If he calls I’ll work for him. Meantime, what did you find out?’

  “Can we order, first?”

  “Sure.”

  As I looked at the menu a waitress came over.

  “You Eddie G?” she asked.

  I looked up at her. A waitress in the Horseshoe’s coffee shop and she looked like she should be a showgirl—but considering how many showgirls had shown up dead lately, maybe she was better off where she was.

  “That’s right.”

  “Um, the big man at the counter? He says you’re payin’ for his breakfast?”

  “He’s right.”

  “Mister,” she said, “he ordered two dozen pancakes.”

  I turned and looked at Jerry, who was staring into a mug of coffee. As if he felt my eyes on him he turned his head and looked over, his face expressionless.

  “So give him his pancakes,” I said.

  She shrugged and said, “Okay.” She turned and nodded to the man behind the counter, then looked at us. “You boys ready to order?”

  “Yeah,” Danny said. “Pancakes sound good but I’ll just have a stack.”

  I ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, home fries, toast, juice and coffee.

  “Two dozen pancakes,” Danny said as she walked away. “This I gotta see.”

  “Danny,” I said, “tell me you found somethin’ for me, because I’d hate to have to rely on Mike Borraco.”

  “That weasel?” he asked. “He’s scammin’ you, Eddie, if he says he can get you somethin’.”

  “Probably,” I said. “I just have him looking for Unlucky Lou Terazzo.”

  “You and the cops,” Danny said. “What did you get yourself into, pal?”

  “The cops talked to you?”

  Danny nodded.

  “A dick named Sam Hargrove. I know him, and he knows we’re friends.”

  “What’d he ask you?”

  “Wanted to know if you were violent,” Danny said. “Have you ever beat up any women? Did you have somethin’ against showgirls.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “‘No, no and no,’”he quoted. “Those words, exactly. So what’d you walk into, bub?”

  “Danny, I don’t know. I went lookin’ for Lou Terazzo just to see if he might know somethin’ about the two goons who worked me over.”

  “Why Lou?”

  I shrugged. “I just figured they were members of the same fraternity, you know?”

  “And?”

  “And I never found him. Instead, I get put onto a showgirl named Carla and while I’m lookin’ for her I find her dead roommate.”

  “And now she’s dead, too.”

  “That’s what Hargrove and his partner told me last night.”

  “What does this have to do with Dean Martin?”

  “Fuck if I know,” I said. “Nothin’, probably.”

  “You mean this is all a coincidence?”

  “It’s got to be.”

  He sat back in his chair and stared at me.

  “What?”

  “I hate coincidences, Eddie. You know how I hate coincidences.”

  “What else could it be?” I asked. “I just happen to go looking for Lou Terazzo, and he’s involved with the threats on Dean Martin? Isn’t that a coincidence, too?”

  “Those two girls got killed for some reason.”

  “That’s got nothin’ to do with me or the Rat Pack,” I insisted.

  “So you’re still lookin’ into this for Sinatra and Dino?”

  “I gave my word.”

  I’d given a lot of thought to quittin’, but the truth was I didn’t want either Sinatra or Dino to think badly of me, or even Entratter. It might have been an ego thing, but there it was. I couldn’t quit.

  The waitress came with our breakfast and set it all down. Danny was lookin’ past me, so I turned and saw that Jerry had started in on his two dozen pancakes.

  “Maybe he needs a shovel,” Danny said to the waitress.

  She laughed and walked away.

  “Danny …”

  He dumped some butter and syrup on his cakes and said, “I’ve got nothin’ on Ravisi or Davis, Eddie. They’ve disappeared.”

  “What about who they were workin’ for?”

  “They’ll work for anybody who can run two dollars together.”

  “What about big boys like Costello or Giancana?”

  “Why would they give work to bums like that,” Danny said, “when they’ve got Man Mountain Jerry, over there? By the way, what’s his last name?”

  “Epstein.”

  “A Jew? Maybe he works for Lansky?”

  “He says he’s from New York, where he works for Giancana. Now he works for Frank.”

  “Mo Mo sent Frank one of his boys? Guess they’re as close as everybody says, huh?”

  “I don’t care,” I said. “Frank can be friends with anybody he wants.”

  “They say the mob got him From Here to Eternity.”

  “What’s the difference?” I asked. “He made the most of it, didn’t he? Got his career back on track?”

  Danny shrugged around a mouthful of pancakes. He had a smudge of syrup on one corner of his mouth. I piled some eggs and bacon onto a piece of toast and shoved it into my mouth.

  “If they bought him the movie, they coulda bought him the Oscar, too.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but they can’t sing for him. He does that on his own.”

  “I hear he’s pushin’ for Kennedy,” Danny said. “That’s some triangle, huh? Frank, Mo Mo and JFK?”

  “We’re gettin’ off the subject, Danny.”

  “Okay, okay,” Danny said. “I’ll keep lookin’ for these guys. I don’t think we’re gonna find out who they’re workin’ for until we actually meet them face to face.”

  “What if they’re in a hole in the desert somewhere?” I asked.

  “You better hope they ain’t,” he said, licking the syrup off his lip. “They sound like your only lead.”

  Twenty-nine

  AFTER BREAKFAST I FOUND OUT that Jerry had washed down his pancakes with two pots of coffee and a quart of orange juice. He’d also had a half a dozen pieces of toast.

  “I’ve never seen a breakfast check come to that much,” Danny said, when the waitress brought the check over. “That looks more like dinner at the Ambassador Room.”

  “Luckily, I’ve got a tab here,” I said, signing my name on the check.

  “Entratter got you a tab here?”

  “And other places,” I said. “I can pretty much eat at most of the places in town.”

  “And you eat in coffee shops?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “Damn,” Danny said, “I’ve got to get you to take me someplace more expensive.”

  “You find those two guys for me and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

  “You’re on.”

  Walking out onto Fremont Street I asked Jerry, “You get enough to eat?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m full. The pancakes is very good there.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “it’s one of the best coffee shops in town.”

  “The best coffee shops in the world are in New York,” he said.

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “You get pancakes this good in New York?” I asked.

  “On every corner.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “that’s pretty much the way I remember it.”

  “You from New York?”

  “Brooklyn,” I said. “I grew up in Red Hook.”

  “The Hook was tough,” he said, “but I grew up in Bed-Stuy.”

  Bedford-Stuyvesant was one of the toughest neighborhoods in Brooklyn, but I would put my childhood in Red Hook up against his any day.

  “You ain’t got no accent,” he insisted.

  “I’ve been away from there a long time.”

  “I hate leavin’ New York,” Jerry said. “And I hate this town.�
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  “What’ve you got against Vegas?”

  “It ain’t got no heart.”

  “It’s got a pulse,” I said.

  “It’s all lights and cheap gamblers,” he said. “And the broads is phony. I can’t wait to go back home.”

  “I’m sorry to keep you here,” I said. “You can leave any time you want, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I can’t go back until Frank says so,” he said. “I got a job ta do.”

  “Okay, then,” I said, unlocking my car, “maybe we’ll go see Frank and get him to send you home.”

  He shrugged and got in on the passenger side.

  “I meant to tell ya before,” he said, “this is a nice car.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I like Caddies. Had one of my own at home.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked. “What kind?”

  We talked cars almost all the way to the Sands and as I pulled in behind the building I was thinking Jerry wasn’t such a bad guy. At least he had good taste in cars.

  I was going to go looking for Frank when we got inside but instead I said to Jerry, “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink—that is, unless it’s too early for you.”

  “Ain’t never too late for breakfast or too early for a drink,” he said. “Not when you grew up in New York where you can get anything any time.”

  He was proud as hell to be a product of New York. I considered that I’d had a decent upbringing in Brooklyn, but what I remembered most about living there was my job as an accountant, a job I hated.

  On the way to the bar we passed a technician working on a slot machine, a porter cleaning out a standing ashtray, a security guard and a handsome man in a tuxedo, all of who greeted me by name.

  “Lots of people sure know who you are,” Jerry said.

  “It’s my casino, Jerry,” I said. I didn’t bother telling him that people in other casinos greeted me, as well. If he stuck with me the way he said he was going to, he’d find that out for himself.

  “That fella in the tuxedo …” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Was that Vic Damone?”

  “It was,” I said. “Vic’s gonna play the lounge in a couple of days, but he likes to come in early.”

  Jerry tried not to look impressed.

  When we got to the bar I noticed that Beverly wasn’t on duty yet. That was good. I didn’t want Jerry to scare her.