Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

by Robert J. Randisi

“Okay, give. If we could wrap both of these things up in one day I could go back to my pit, where nobody tries to kill me.”

  “Yeah, they just wish you dead.”

  “Danny …”

  “I got somebody who saw your two dead goons, Ravisi and Davis, meet with a big man in a bar off the strip. Money changed hands.”

  “So they lied about bein’ hired on the phone.”

  “Maybe,” he said, “and maybe they were payin’ off a gamblin’ debt.”

  “You don’t have a better description of the man they met with?”

  “Big guy, expensive suit, wide shoulders. Could be Big Jer, except for the suit. His is more off-the-rack Robert Hall.”

  “No, not Jerry.”

  “Well, whoever he is, he’s your insider.”

  “Then find me somebody on that list you got from Marcia who matches the description.”

  “Sure,” he said, sarcastically, “that’ll take no time at all.”

  “I’m gonna go up and talk to Dean.”

  “Take me with you.”

  “You’ll meet him tonight. Besides, I gotta thank him for helpin’ me out when I’m supposed to be helpin’ him. It’ll be a little embarrassin’.”

  “Hey, one more thing,” he said, as we headed out. “My man says this big guy in the bar was always holdin’ his head, you know? Like he was in pain all the time?”

  We walked out of the lounge together then went our separate ways. I told him I’d see him at the show. His last comment to me had given me the answer I needed. Now I had to decide what to do with it.

  Mack Gray opened the door to Dean’s suite. He was still wearing a dark suit and white shirt, like the first day I met him. In fact, it could have been the very same suit. He also still had that pained expression on his face I’d come to know.

  “The Boss is gettin’ changed,” he said, letting me in. “You wanna drink?”

  I stared at him for a few seconds and he had to ask me again.

  “Huh? Oh yeah, sure. Bourbon, rocks.”

  We walked to the bar together. He went around behind it and I sat on a stool. While he got my drink I went over it in my head and it fit. I was basing it on some pretty skimpy evidence, but there was only one way to find out for sure.

  Ask.

  Fifty-nine

  NOT HAVIN’ ONE?” I asked when he pushed my drink over to me.

  “No.”

  I sipped it.

  “Let’s cut to the chase, Mack,” I said. “I figure you did it because you wanted Dean to need you a little more. Maybe he doesn’t depend on you so much after eight years, or maybe just not as much as Mr. Raft did.”

  He didn’t answer, didn’t look at me, but I thought I saw his shoulders hunch.

  “Or maybe,” I said, “you’re afraid he’s gonna ship you off to someone else the way Raft did.”

  “The Boss didn’t have a choice,” Mack said. “He was broke. I told him I’d stay with him for nothin’, but he said no. So I ended up workin’ for Mr. Martin.”

  “And he became your boss.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you’re still loyal to Raft?”

  He glared at me, now.

  “I’m loyal to both of them,” he said. “They’re great guys.”

  I stared at Mack. He must’ve been about fifty-four then. Moving on would not have been a very good option for him. Starting over somewhere else.

  “So you sent the notes.”

  His jaw tightened and for a moment I thought he’d either ignore me or slug me. Instead, he turned, poured himself some scotch, then pulled a pill bottle from his pocket and took two. Percodan.

  “Somebody saw you with Ravisi and Davis, Mack,” I said. “Big guy in a dark suit, always holdin’ his head like it hurt. That’s you.”

  He looked down at the vial of Percordan in his hand, as if it had betrayed him. I continued.

  “It only occurred to me later that while Frank referred to the notes as death threats, they never really said anything about dying. Even in a note you couldn’t bring yourself to threaten Dean in that way.”

  “I sent one,” he said. “I thought that would do it, but he never mentioned it. Then I sent another. He still didn’t mention it—to me. Pretty soon I found out he was talkin’ to Mr. Sinatra, and then to you.”

  “So when I came into the picture you stopped sendin’ the notes.”

  “They weren’t doin’ no good, so yeah, I stopped,” he said. “I didn’t mean ta threaten the shootin’ schedule. I wasn’t trying ta force the boss into hidin’. I was just … I don’t know what I was doin’.”

  “And then you hired Ravisi and Davis to scare me off.”

  This time Mack looked away.

  “I never meant you no harm, Eddie,” he said. “That’s all they were supposed to do, scare ya. They wasn’t supposed to hurt ya.”

  “Well,” I said, “they did that.”

  I decided not to tell Mack that he was responsible for the two hoods getting killed. I figured they were no loss to anybody, anyway.

  He drank down half his drink while I sipped some more of mine.

  “So I guess you’re gonna turn me in now, huh? Tell the boss it was me?”

  “What good would that do?”

  “What?”

  “He’d probably fire you.”

  “Naw—well, yeah … yeah, I guess he might.”

  “I don’t want you to get fired, Mack.”

  He looked at me with surprise etched on his face.

  “You ain’t gonna tell him? Gee, thanks, Eddie.”

  “Maybe you should, at some point, but I’m not gonna. The important thing is that the threatening notes have stopped, right?”

  “Definitely,” he said. “No more notes.”

  “If you want Dino to depend more on you, find another way, okay?”

  “Okay. You got it.”

  Suddenly, we heard Dino’s footsteps coming down the hall.

  “What are you gonna tell ’im?” Mack asked, lowering his voice.

  “I’m gonna wing it,” I said, quickly. “Just go along with me.”

  He nodded and we both turned and tried to look as innocent as newborn babes as Dino entered the room, shaking his right hand.

  “It’s been a few years since I hit somebody for real,” he said to us. “Had to soak my hand for a while.”

  “You want ice, boss?” Mack asked.

  “No, Mack, that’s okay,” Dean said. “I could use a drink, though.”

  “Comin’ up, boss.”

  “Just one before the show,” he said, approaching the bar. “So Eddie, what happened down there after I left.”

  “The guy you hit was Lou Terazzo,” I said. “He killed his girlfriend and her roommate, both showgirls at the Riv. He also killed a guy named Mike Borraco, who worked with him there.”

  “Was it a sex thing?” Dean asked, accepting a glass of amber liquid from Mack. I hadn’t watched him pour it, but I assumed it was bourbon.

  “Yeah,” I said, “sort of a triangle, and the roommate got caught in the fallout. But here’s the weird part.”

  “Tell me,” he said, still flexing the fingers of his right hand, “I like weird.”

  “Lou Terazzo was the guy sendin’ you the threats.”

  “Why? What’d I ever do to him?”

  “He fancied himself a ladies man, modeled himself after you, even thought he could,” I lied. “When he realized he was none of those things, he snapped.”

  “Are you kiddin’ me?” Dean looked delighted. “You mean I got him myself?”

  “Guess you didn’t need me after all, Dean,” I said. “Fact is, you saved me.”

  “Hey, hey,” Dean said, “don’t sell yourself short, pally. You worked your ass off on this. I’m not gonna forget it.” He turned to look at Mack. “Ain’t that right, Killer?”

  That was Mack’s nickname from the days when he was a fight manager, before hooking up with George Raft.

  “That’s right, boss
,” Mack said. “His ass.”

  “So no more notes,” Dean said. “That’s good. And the guy’s in the slammer.”

  “For a long time,” I added.

  “I’ll have to tell Frank,” Dean said. “He was worried, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I put my glass on the bar and got down from my stool. “Guess I’ll be back on the clock now. If you want to deal any blackjack the rest of the time you’re here, let me know.”

  I took it easy on his sore right hand as we shook.

  “You really did save my bacon out there today, Dean,” I said. “Not to mention Bev’s. Thank you.”

  “We’re even, Eddie,” Dean said. “That’s the way I see it.”

  “Okay.”

  He walked me to the door with his arm around me.

  “You comin’ to the show tonight? There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

  “Milton Berle’s comin’ tonight,” Mack said. “And Mr. Sinatra’s new girl.”

  “New girl?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Dean said, “we won’t be seein’ Judith around tonight. Juliet Prowse is coming. Gorgeous dancer. What a pair of gams!”

  “Sounds like I shouldn’t miss it,” I replied. “I’ll be there.”

  “Come back stage after and I’ll introduce you around.” He squeezed my shoulder when he said that, and then released me so I could go out the door. I found it an oddly touching gesture, like he was saying we were friends now.

  Epilogue

  Las Vegas

  November 26, 1996

  2:26 A.M.

  YOU OKAY, Eddie?”

  I opened my eyes and looked around. I was the center of attention, a circle of people standing around me, looking down at me with worried or curious looks on their faces.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Where the hell am I?”

  Sheldon Adelson said, “You passed out. We called an ambulance. You’re lyin’ on a gurney.”

  “Well, get me off,” I demanded. “I’m fine.”

  Actually, I was better than fine. All that Rat Pack stuff had passed through my head while I was out—was it seconds? Minutes? Whatever it was I appreciated it. I would much rather have those memories of the Sands than any from the implosion tonight.

  “Come on, somebody help me up!” I demanded.

  Sheldon and Wayne Newton stepped forward and helped me sit up and get off the gurney. I looked at Wayne and could still see the fresh-faced kid in there who came to Vegas so many years ago. He patted me on the back affectionately and turned to leave. I knew he had his own memories of the Sands.

  I looked at my watch. I’d been out about twenty minutes.

  “You want me to take you home, Eddie?” Sheldon asked.

  “I’ve got my car, Shelly,” I said. “Don’t worry about me. It was just … you know, the dust and … everything …”

  “Yeah, I know, Eddie,” Sheldon said, “I know.”

  The crowd was starting to disperse and I decided to get to my car and turn on the air-conditioning. I was still feeling kinda woozy, but I didn’t want anyone to know.

  I reached my Coupe Deville and got inside. I still liked Caddies. I started the engine, turned up the AC and put my head back. For one more moment I was back in the Copa Room at the Sands in 1960. Frank, Dino and the guys would leave Vegas on February 18th and head to Hollywood to finish shooting Ocean’s 11 there. The movie would be a big hit, and the guys would go on to make a few more—except for Peter Lawford. After Kennedy got elected he’d snubbed Frank and never let him come to the White House. Oddly enough, Frank never blamed JFK. He blamed Peter, and after 1962 the two never spoke again. I didn’t like Peter much, but I thought he got a raw deal from Frank.

  But that night in the Copa Room in 1960 the show went great. I saw Danny and Marcia enjoying it from their front seats, and I hoped the two would get along. But I didn’t expect much, because Danny was a ladies’ man and not ready to settle down. They had a ball, though, especially when they went backstage and met Frank and the guys.

  While we were all backstage Dean came over to me and clapped me on the back again.

  “Glad you made it, Eddie. Come on, I wanna introduce you to somebody.”

  I had already shaken hands with Milton Berle, and Frank had introduced me—briefly—to the beautiful Juliet Prowse, so I didn’t know who Dean was taking me to meet.

  But even now, thirty-six years later, I smiled in my Caddy as I remembered Dean Martin walking me up to a vision of loveliness, the owner of the best legs in Hollywood, and saying to me, “Eddie, I’d like you to meet Angie Dickinson.”

  Also by Robert J. Randisi

  IN THE JOE KEOUGH SERIES

  Arch Angels

  East of the Arch

  Blood on the Arch

  In the Shadow of the Arch

  Alone with the Dead

  IN THE NICK DELVECCHIO SERIES

  No Exit from Brooklyn

  The Dead of Brooklyn

  IN THE MILES JACOBY SERIES

  Eye in the Ring

  The Steinway Collection

  Full Contact

  Separate Cases

  Hard Look

  Stand Up

  IN THE DENNIS MCQUEEN SERIES

  The Sixth Phase

  Cold Blooded

  STAND-ALONE NOVELS

  The Disappearance of Penny

  The Ham Reporter

  Once Upon a Murder

  Curtains of Blood

  The Offer

  BY ROBERT J. RANDISI AND CHRISTINE MATTHEWS

  IN THE GIL & CLAIRE HUNT SERIES

  Murder Is the Deal of the Day

  The Masks of Auntie Laveau

  Same Time, Same Murder

  Author’s note

  THIS BOOK GREW out of my own respect for Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. as entertainers—not necessarily in that order. My posthumous thanks goes out to these three men for years of enjoyment through their films, their albums and their appearances on stage.

  The books also comes from my love for the history, the pulse, the excitement that is Las Vegas. There’s no other place in the world like it.

  Believe it or not, research is an enjoyable thing. You just have to be careful not to get caught up and lost in it. The following books were hard to put down once I picked them up and instrumental—in large part or small—in making my book fun and interesting to write and, hopefully, to read. I acknowledge them, and their authors, here:

  Rat Pack Confidential by Shawn Levy, Doubleday, 1998.

  The Rat Pack: The Hey-Hey Days of Frank and the Boys by Lawrence J. Quirk and William Schoell, Taylor Publishing, 1998.

  Dino: Living High in the Dirty Business of Dreams by Nick Tosches, Dell Publishing, 1992.

  His Way: The Unauthorized Biography of Frank Sinatra by Kitty Kelley, Bantam Books, 1986.

  Gonna Do Great Things: The Life of Sammy Davis, Jr., by Gary Fishgall, Scribners, 2003.

  The Peter Lawford Story: Life with the Kennedys, Monroe and the Rat Pack by Patricia Seaton Lawford, Carroll & Graf Publishers, 1988.

  Mouse in the Rat Pack: The Joey Bishop Story by Michael Seth Starr, Taylor Trade Publishing, 2002.

  The Frank Sinatra Film Guide by Daniel O’Brien, BT Batsford, 1998.

  The Last Good Time: Skinny D’Amato, the Notorious 500 Club, and the Rise and Fall of Atlantic City, by Jonathan Van Meter, Crown Publishers, 2003.

  Casino: Love and Honor in Las Vegas by Nicholas Pileggi, Simon & Schuster, 1995.

  Las Vegas Is My Beat by Ralph Pearl, Bantam Books, 1973, 1974.

  Murder in Sin City: The Death of a Las Vegas Casino Boss by Jeff German, Avon Books, 2001.

  Of course, it was necessary for me to view the original film Ocean’s 11 several times, which was no hardship since it is a favorite of mine. My thanks go out to Warner Bros. and the cast and crew. The remake of several years ago was but a pale imitation. The original has taken a bad rap over the years. I think the guys did what they were supposed to do, th
e story held up, and I have always loved the irony of the ending.

  My thanks also to Kathy War, photo archivist, UNLV Libraries, Special Collections Department, for the time and effort she put into talking with me and providing me with archive photos of the Sands Casino. As always my gratitude goes out to Marthayn Pelegrimas, for her love, support, and willingness to edit my manuscripts so they come out readable.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  EVERYBODY KILLS SOMEBODY SOMETIME. Copyright © 2006 by Robert J. Randisi. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.

  An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.

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  Design by Phil Mazzone

  eISBN 9781466806894

  First eBook Edition : December 2011

  First Edition: November 2006