Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Naw,” Jerry said, “I like you in that position. Just stay that way.

  “Mister,” Iris said, “can I get dressed and get outta here? I got nothin’ to do with this.”

  “Just stay put, sister,” Jerry said. “Don’t make me shoot yer tits off.”

  She bit her lips and a tear started to roll down her cheek. She buried her face on the pillow that was right beneath her head. The move hiked her ass up a little higher. That didn’t affect Ravisi but damned if I didn’t start to get an erection.

  “Look, pal,” Ravisi said to me, “no hard feelin’s, huh? We was just doin’ a job.”

  “We know that,” Jerry said. “What we wanna know is who you did the job for?”

  Ravisi licked his lips before he said, “Uh, I can’t tell ya that.”

  “Yeah,” Jerry said, “you can. Instead of shootin’ off her tits I can start with your balls.”

  “Hey,” Ravisi said, looking at me. Maybe since I wasn’t holding a gun he thought he could reason with me.

  “Don’t plead your case to me, pal,” I said. “My ribs are still sore.”

  “Jesus, Jesus …” Davis was mumbling.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Ravisi shouted at him.

  “Look,” Jerry said, “we’re real sorry to interrupt your little fuckfest, here. If you just answer our questions we’ll move along and you an yer boyfriend can finish.”

  “We ain’t no faggots!” Ravisi said, anxiously. Then, suddenly, a look of recognition came over his face. “Hey, you’re that big guy from the club, what pushed Catalina’s face in, ain’t ya?”

  “That’s me.”

  Ravisi looked from one of us to the other, slowly getting it. “You were lookin’ for us?”

  “And we found you,” Jerry said. “Like my friend said, his ribs are still sore, and he’s real pissed. He wanted me to come in here shootin’ but I said no, that you guys would cooperate. After all, you was just doin’ a job.”

  “Right, right,” Ravisi said, “we was just doin’ a job.”

  “And that’s what I’m doin’ now,” Jerry said. “A job. And I come all the way from New York to do it.”

  Ravisi’s eyes bugged.

  “He imported you from New York?”

  “That’s right.”

  The man looked at me with renewed respect.

  “You got them kind of connections? You brung in a … a pro?”

  “That’s right,” I said, trying to sound tough. “You fucked with the wrong guy.”

  “Hey, hey,” Davis whined, “we didn’t know you was connected.”

  “Yeah,” Ravisi said, “all we knew was—”

  “You knew he worked at the Sands, didn’t ya?” Jerry asked.

  “Well, yeah—”

  “And who runs the Sands?”

  “Well—”

  “Look,” Jerry said, “you guys made a mistake. It happens. We’re willin’ to overlook it.”

  “You are?” Ravisi asked. He looked directly at me.

  “Well … yeah,” I was, grudgingly, “but I need some answers.”

  Iris still had her head in the pillow, but I could tell she was crying because her dangling tits were jiggling.

  “Let her go,” I said.

  “What?” Jerry asked, without looking at me.

  “Let the girl go.”

  She lifted her head from the pillow and turned her tear streaked face towards me.

  “Okay,” Jerry said, “get up, sweetheart. Get dressed and get out of here.”

  Without hesitation Iris leaped from the bed, ample flesh jiggling everywhere now as she got dressed in a hurry. No underwear, she just pulled on her top and her skirt and slipped into her high heels.

  “Hey, sister,” Jerry said.

  “W-what?”

  “No cops.”

  “I ain’t callin’ the cops,” she said. “I swear.”

  “Go on,” I said. “Get lost.”

  She put her hand on my arm and said, “Thanks, Mister. You come by the club some night and I’ll pay ya back.”

  “Sure.”

  She turned to look at Ravisi then and spat, “And don’t you come by no more—and don’t ever call me.”

  “Hey, what’d I do?” he demanded.

  “You almost got me killed!”

  “Iris—”

  She turned and stormed out of the room, high heels clacking down the hall.

  “Goddamn it,” Lenny Davis said, and he was almost crying as the sound of Iris’s heels faded away.

  “Shut up!” Ravisi said. He looked at Jerry. “How about us? Can we get dressed?”

  “Naw,” Jerry said. “You guys stay just like you are. We’re gonna have us a talk.”

  Thirty-five

  THE SITUATION WAS STRANGE, to say the least. Four men in the room, two naked on the bed and one holding a gun. The fourth one—me—wasn’t sure what was going to happen next.

  “This ain’t right,” Davis said.

  “Shut up!” That came from both Ravisi and Jerry.

  “You guys can walk away from this real easy,” Jerry told them. “Just tell my friend who hired you to work him over and warn him off.

  “Warn him off of what?” Ravisi asked. “We don’t even know what we was warning him off of.”

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  “Look,” Ravisi said, “we got hired over the phone, and we picked up our pay at a drop. That’s it.”

  “And what were you told to do?” Jerry asked.

  “Work this guy over,” Ravisi said, indicating me with an impatient wave.

  Jerry looked at me, the first time he took his eyes off the two men. Ravisi took the opportunity to move. He lunged for the top of the bed, sliding his hand beneath one of the pillows. I could only think that he was going for a hidden gun.

  “Jerry!”

  The big man’s head snapped back around as Ravisi’s hand was coming out from under the pillow. Jerry squeezed the trigger of the big .45. The bullet struck Ravisi in the chest and splattered the wall behind him with blood and guts. The gun in the hood’s right hand went off and a .38 slug hit Davis in the left temple and splashed his brains all over the sheets.

  “Jesus!” I shouted. “Christ!”

  “Take it easy,” Jerry said.

  He stepped to the bed and swept the snub-nosed .38 to the floor, then checked both men before holstering his own gun.

  “Are they dead?” I asked.

  “Can’t get any deader.”

  “Christ,” I said, again. My chest felt tight, like I was having a heart attack, and I’d broken out in a sweat. Jerry looked over at me, then got right in my face and slapped me—not hard, but hard enough.

  “Breathe,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Come on,” he said, “Deep breaths.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out.

  “Another one.”

  I did it again, and again. Suddenly, the steel band around my chest was gone. I still felt hot, but at least I could breathe.

  “Okay?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “yeah. I think so.”

  “We have to look around,” he said, “but don’t leave your fingerprints anywhere.”

  “What?”

  “We have to search the place and then get outta here before the cops come.”

  “W-what are we lookin’ for?”

  “Anythin’ that will tell us who these two were workin’ for. Come on, Mr. G. The place ain’t that big.”

  We went through the place as thoroughly as we could and as fast as we could. The clerk might have called the cops, or maybe the girl had, before the shooting. Certainly someone must have called them after the shots, but I still didn’t hear any sirens. I was careful to keep my eyes averted from the bed, which was soaking through with the blood of both men. I’d had enough of dead bodies in the past couple of days to last me a lifetime. Watching the lead rip through these two right in front of me was more than enough.
>
  “Find anything?” Jerry asked.

  “No.” I’d picked up a pen from somewhere and was using it to open drawers and go through things, even underwear. “You?”

  “I got a phone book and calendar,” he said.

  “Anythin’ on it?”

  “I don’t know.” He shoved it into his pocket. “Let’s get out of here.

  I started to put down the pen I was using, then thought better of it and shoved it in my pocket.

  “You touch anything?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Ya gotta be sure,” Jerry said. “From the minute we came in, did you touch anything?”

  “No,” I said, “no. You kicked open the door, so … no.”

  “Then let’s get out of here.”

  As we went through the lobby I noticed that the clerk still had his head down on the desk. He’d either stayed that way the whole time, or had assumed the position when he heard us coming down the stairs.

  In the car Jerry got behind the wheel again.

  “What about the clerk?” I asked. “Or the girl?”

  “What about them?”

  “Either one can identify us.”

  “They won’t say a word.”

  “Why not?”

  “Fear,” he answered. “In my business, it’s my best friend. Come on, gimme some directions.”

  “Where to?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “We might as well go back to your place. I think we’re done for the night, don’t you?”

  “More than done,” I agreed.

  When we got to my place we approached it slowly, carefully. I didn’t know if we were expecting more goons, or the cops. I didn’t want anyone to be there because I needed to sit quietly, have a beer and think.

  Once we were inside and established that we were alone I grabbed two bottles of Piels from the refrigerator, handed one to Jerry, and then went to sit on the sofa in the living room. Jerry chose the big, overstuffed armchair across from me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to him.

  “What for?”

  “That you had to kill those men.”

  “I didn’t kill both of ’em,” he said. “I killed one and he killed the other one.”

  “Whichever way it went—”

  “And there ain’t nothin’ for you to be sorry about,” he went on. “The idiot went for a gun. I’m sorry I had to kill ’im before we got what you were after.”

  “You didn’t believe them?”

  “What? That they got hired on the phone and picked up their money from a drop?” he shrugged. “Could be. It ain’t the way I would work, but these two weren’t real pros.”

  “Well,” I said, “I’m back to square one. At least with them warning me off I had somebody to go lookin’ for; I had a reason to believe that the threats made to Dean Martin were real.”

  “Look on the bright side,” he said.

  “What’s the bright side?”

  “With those two dead,” he said, “whoever hired them is gonna have to hire somebody new to go after you.”

  “To go after—you mean—”

  “They ain’t about to let it go,” Jerry said. “You got beat up and threatened off and you still kept goin’. Next time, they’re gonna try harder.”

  Christ. I hadn’t thought of that.

  Thirty-six

  JERRY DECIDED TO STAY the night on the couch instead of going back to the Sands, where he had a suite. Briefly, I had considered both of us going back to the Sands, but he said he thought I’d have a few days grace until whoever hired Ravisi and Davis found out about their deaths and then replaced them.

  When I got up the next morning I could smell coffee. Jerry already had the percolator going, and something in the toaster as I entered the kitchen.

  “All you had was bread,” he said, “so I’m makin’ some toast.”

  “We could’ve gone out for breakfast,” I said.

  “We still can,” he said. “I just have to have somethin’ in the mornin’ before I get started.”

  “Did you sleep okay?” I asked.

  “You mean because I killed somebody last night?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, “because you slept on the couch, which is too small for you.”

  “I managed,” he said.

  We sat at the table together, buttered our toast and ate, washing it down with sips of good, strong black coffee. It struck me that this was the second time in as many days that a man had come to my house and made me coffee.

  We exchanged some inane conversation for a few minutes, getting to know each other a little better. I found out that he liked watching westerns on TV—Bonanza, Gunsmoke, Maverick—but that his favorite TV show was The Untouchables. I told him I preferred the Warner Bros. private-eye shows like 77 Sunset Strip, Hawaiian Eye, The Untouchables and Bourbon Street Beat.

  “Them shows are too phony for me,” he said. “I mean, westerns is history, and so is The Untouchables. Those other shows poke fun at mugs like me. That Kookie, fer instance? I woulda made him eat that comb of his a long time ago. I prefer more realistic characters.”

  I stared at him for a moment, surprised.

  “I ain’t as dumb as I sound, Mr. G,” he said. “That’s just what a heavy Brooklyn accent does ta ya. You managed to get rid of yours. I get the feeli’ you wasn’t on the streets as long as I was.”

  That was true enough. I’d gone to college, gotten my degree and became a CPA.

  “So whatta you wanna do today?” he asked.

  “To tell you the truth I’d like to just go back to work and forget everything else.”

  “You could do that?” her asked. “Tell Frank and Mr. Martin that?”

  “No,” I said. “I told them I’d help. I can’t go back on my word.”

  “So you really think this other stuff is separate?” he asked.

  “It’s got to be,” I said.

  “How’d you get involved in it?”

  I’d been intending to think it over that morning, so maybe talking it out with Jerry would be even better.

  “Look,” I said, “let’s finish up here and then I’ll take you somewhere for breakfast and we can talk it out.”

  “I ain’t much for talkin’,” he said, “but I’m a good listener.”

  “Great. That’s what I need right now.”

  I took Jerry to a small diner near my place where I sometimes had breakfast before going to work, or on my days off. He ordered pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, potatoes, coffee and juice. While we hadn’t exactly had breakfast together yesterday, we’d had it in the same place, so I knew he ate big. The only other meal I’d had with him had been dinner the day before at the Sands, where he’d consumed a twenty-ounce prime rib in record time along with vegetables, a salad and a couple of loaves of bread.

  “How tall are you?” I asked, when we had our food.

  “I go about six-five, and about two-eighty. I’ve been over three hundred pounds, but that makes me feel sluggish.”

  I ordered a more normal size omelet, juice and coffee.

  “You was gonna tell me how you got mixed up with them dead girls,” he reminded me.

  I told him how I’d been stumped about how to move forward with the Dean Martin thing, so I’d thought of going to find Lou Terazzo to see if he knew anything.

  “This Terazzo, he’s in a family?”

  “Yeah, he works over at the Riviera.”

  Jerry nodded and shoveled some pancakes into his mouth.

  I told him about locating Terazzo’s girl and how she had run out on me, how I tracked her down to where she lived and found her roommate in the pool.

  “And then she turns up dead, too.”

  “Only you didn’t find her?”

  “No,” I said, “the cops filled me about that one.”

  I back tracked, then, and told him how Mike Borraco had gotten involved.

  “And then he ends up dead.”

  “Right.”

>   Jerry sopped up the rest of his eggs with some toast, stuffed it into his mouth and then sat back with a contented sigh.

  “So if you hadn’t gone lookin’ for this Unlucky Lou guy in the first place, you probably wouldn’t know nothin’ about these dead girls.”

  “Probably not.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “What are you thinkin’?” I asked.

  “Well, I tol’ ya I ain’t much for talkin, and I’m probably even less for thinkin’, but it occurs to me to wonder if those girls woulda ended up dead if you hadn’t gone looking for Unlucky Lou in the first place?”

  “So you’re sayin’ I could be the link between the two things?”

  “Do you see another link?”

  “Well, I didn’t see any link … until now.”

  “Did you tell anyone why you was lookin’ for Terazzo? What you was gonna ask ’im?”

  I thought back, but I couldn’t remember.

  “I’m not sure, but even if I had, just because I was askin’ questions about somebody threatening Dean Martin … I don’t see how that blows up into murder.”

  “Well, you asked this Borraco guy to find Terazzo for ya, and now he’s dead. I ain’t tryin’ ta make you feel bad, Mr. G, but you sure do seem to be the link, here.”

  I sat back and thought a moment, then leaned forward and said, “If that’s the case, Jerry, then I’m even more confused.”

  “I don’t blame ya,” he said, and burped. A mixture of odors—mostly syrup and meat—wafted across the table at me.

  “I think I should go to the cops,” I said, abruptly.

  “What for?”

  “To make sure they don’t come lookin’ for me. I’ll call the detective in charge, or go and see him, and ask what he’s found out about the girls. I figure they’ll think if I had somethin’ to hide I wouldn’t be goin’ to see them.”

  Jerry considered it for a moment, then said, “That sounds like a smart idea, Mr. G. But if you go to the cops I can’t go with ya. I hope you understand.”

  “I understand, Jerry. You can wait at the Sands. I’ll do it this morning and get it over with.”

  Thirty-seven

  A HARNESS BULL walked me through the building until we reached a squad room. Detective Hargrove looked up from his desk as we approached and showed no surprise at seeing me there. He said something to his partner, Smith, who was sitting across from him. When the Negro turned and looked at me he did look surprised.