by Paul W Papa
I walked over to Jeannie’s vanity and opened the drawers one by one. Virginia kept a close eye on me. “When Jeannie’s not here, how often do you two stay in touch?” I asked.
“Well, there’s practice twice daily,” she said. “Except on Sundays.”
I turned to her. “Copa girls go to church?”
“And why wouldn’t they?” she asked.
I turned back to my task.
“When Jeannie went out with Bilotti, or stayed the night with him, she always called,” Virginia said. “Always let me know what she was doing. She didn’t want me to worry.”
“What’s the longest you’ve gone without hearing from her?”
Virginia thought for a moment. “Really not even a day. She always told me where she was and just what she was doing.”
“What about when she went out of town?”
“She never went out of town,” Virginia said. “Our show schedule is far too tight. If we’re not rehearsing for the current show, we’re busy learning the next. There’s no time for travel.”
I shuffled through Jeannie’s things, but I wasn’t wearing my deerstalker, so nothing came of it. Her effects were all there—brushes, combs, mirrors—the trappings of a woman who made her living in the spotlight. Nothing notable. Nothing that told me where she could be.
I turned to Virginia. “Is anything Jeannie told me about becoming a Copa Girl true?” I asked.
“That depends on what she said.”
“She told me Jack Entratter was looking for dancers, Texas dancers in particular, and that you let her know about it.”
“It’s true,” she said. “I knew Jeannie could dance. We worked together in a show and I saw how good she was, so I let her know about the search; taught her how to be a Texan. Thought I was doing her a favor. Neither of us knew they were only going to pick one girl per town until Freeman and Entratter got there. Luckily they picked us both. It was the only town they did that.”
“Jeannie said they liked you first.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“Why do you suppose Jeannie told me she was raised on a farm in the Midwest?” I asked.
“That what she said?”
“That’s what she said,” I confirmed.
“She didn’t know you from Adam. You upended her entire life and put her in danger. What was she supposed to do, buy you a drink and open her soul?” Her words were as sharp as the razor she had used, but not as gentle.
“I was trying to protect her,” I said.
Virginia walked over to the dresser and borrowed a cigarette from Jeannie’s pack. “That’s what all men say,” she said as she lit the thing. “Trouble is, they’re only ever thinking about themselves. Sure you flex your muscles and maybe even take a poke at the guy, and it makes you feel better. You defended a woman’s honor. But what happens the next day when you’re not there? When he finds her? Who suffers then?”
Virginia was speaking from experience. I could see it in her eyes. I should’ve changed the subject, but I didn’t.
“What do you know about her? I mean, really know.”
Virginia took a long drag and studied me as she rolled the cigarette in her fingers. She was clearly weighing her options.
“I know that she hails from Chicago,” she finally said, “and has one brother, who she still keeps in touch with. Her father is dead, though she doesn’t like to talk about it. I’m not sure about her mother. We met in New York. We were both dancing for a show.”
“What show?”
She smiled. “You wouldn’t have heard of it.”
“Try me.”
“It was called Alive and Kicking. It had a very short run.”
She was right. I hadn’t heard of it. “How short?” I asked.
“A month. Forty-six performances to be exact. At the Winter Garden Theater.”
“That bad?”
“I don’t know. In the chorus line, you never really see the whole thing. I guess the public just didn’t take to it.”
“What happened when it closed?”
Virginia blew out a delicate plume of smoke. “We tried to get work, but nothing stuck, so I went home. As far as I know, Jeannie did too.”
“To Chicago.” I said, more than asked.
“Where else?”
I turned and opened the top middle draw and found stationary—matching paper and envelopes—a powder blue. And a fancy ink pen. “Where does her brother live?” I asked.
“Robert? As far as I know, Chicago. She writes to him regularly.”
“That his name? Robert?”
Virginia nodded.
I lifted the paper to see if I could spot the impressions that happen when paper is written upon while stacked, hoping she didn’t pull a single sheet out and write on it. I was out of luck. That’s when I noticed what looked like a thin bottom drawer in her jewelry box. The drawer didn’t have a pull handle. In fact, there was nothing to make it noticeable, except the scrolling didn’t quite match. I tilted the box to slide the drawer open and found a folded piece of stationery paper inside.
I glanced up in the mirror. Virginia was studying her cigarette, rolling it in her fingers. I slid the paper out of the drawer and closed it quickly. Jeannie had a head shot pushed into the frame of the vanity’s mirror. I pulled it out and turned to Virginia.
“Mind if I keep this?” I asked. I held the photo out with one hand and slid the note into my back pocket with the other.
Virginia looked up. “Be my guest,” she said.
I took the photo, headed to the wardrobe, and pulled open the doors. It was full. Floral swing dresses, patterned full skirts, blouses, and plain colored tops with matching pencil skirts. Large hats hung from hooks on one side. Cardigans and knit dresses were there too, though I doubt she wore them much in Vegas—at least not till the winter. I moved over to the dresser where Virginia stood. She watched as I opened each drawer. Girdles, bras, panties, along with gloves, and jewelry. There was nothing here that pointed to anything. Lunch was good and the company spectacular, but other than that, the trip had been a bust. My arm was beginning to ache.
“See anything?”
“Nada,” I said. Virginia let out more smoke.
“Does she have haunts? Places she visits frequently. Places where she might go if she got into a bind?”
Virginia flashed me a stern look. “If she was in a bind, she would have come to me. We protect each…” She let the word drop and looked down.
“Does she have a car?” I asked.
“No, we share the T-bird. It’s mine, but she uses it.”
“Do you have any idea where she could be?” I asked.
Virginia looked back up at me. “If I knew where she was, you wouldn’t be here.”
“It’s good to be wanted,” I said.
“Don’t take it that way. It’s just that if I knew where she was—if I knew she was okay—I wouldn’t need you to find her. I was hoping you’d see something I didn’t.” She pressed her cigarette into the ashtray sitting next to the pack. “No such luck.”
We went back to the kitchen. I pulled down my sleeves as Virginia straightened my collar and replaced my tie. She helped me on with my jacket and then straightened my lapels, just as she had done before. Then she stepped in close. So close I could smell the lavender. She looked at me for a moment, really looked at me.
“Are you a man to be trusted, Mr. Rossi?” she asked.
I wanted to tell her I was, but the note in my back pocket said otherwise. “Can any man ever be trusted?” I asked.
She held my gaze. “I suppose not,” she said.
“It’s not just because of me that I need to find her,” I said. “Jeannie is in grave danger. If Chicago thinks I offed Bilotti, they just might think she was in on it. If they’re willing to take me out, they won’t hesitate to take her as well.”
Virginia patted my chest. “Then you had better find her,” she said. “That girl is very important to me.”
“I’m doing my best.”
Virginia shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s going to be good enough.”
I left Virginia’s apartment feeling like a heel.
Twenty-Seven
I WALKED DOWN the block until I found a payphone and called a cab. My Roadmaster was still at the Sands and although she offered, I wasn’t about to have Virginia take me back there. As I waited for the cab, I pulled the note out of my pocket and read it. “I can’t do this anymore,” it said. “There has to be another way.” Who was Jeannie writing to, I wondered, and what did she mean about there having to be another way? Nothing was coming to mind, so I slipped the note back in my rear pocket.
I thought of all the places Jeannie could be. If she hadn’t left town and hadn’t been taken off the payroll, she had to be hold up somewhere. That part was easy. Where exactly she could be…well, that wasn’t so easy.
There were only so many places a woman could go to escape a man in Las Vegas, and I was pretty sure Queeney had already checked on all of them. There were other places of course, but I didn’t think showing up at any of them in my current situation was such a good idea.
When the cab arrived, I climbed in. “Where to, Mister?” the driver asked.
“The Sands,” I told him.
Nothing more came to me on the trip there. So I thought back on what I knew so far. It wasn’t much. I had taught Bilotti a lesson and someone else had finished the instruction, but everyone still thought I was the teacher. I’d been beat down and someone had tried to fill me full of lead. Manella was trying to get rid of me, my alibi had disappeared into thin air, Queeney wanted me in bracelets, and I was running out of time. I was beginning to wonder why I had stayed in Vegas in the first place.
The cab dropped me off at the front doors. I paid my fare and gave him a little extra to live off of, hopefully he’d do better than I was doing. I’d barely made it in the front door when the bell captain approached.
“There’s a message for you at the front desk,” he said.
I thanked him and headed over there. When I arrived I was handed a piece of paper with three words: “Call your mother.” It was from my father. That was the message he sent me when he needed to talk, and if he needed to talk, it wasn’t about the ball game. It also meant I shouldn’t call him on a hotel line, so I headed back outside to the payphone at the end of the building.
I dialed the number and after a short conversation with my mother—one that ended in her imploring me to come home—my father came on the line. “What d’ya know?” I said.
“Still above the Daisies?”
“As far as I can tell.”
“What happened?” he asked.
The question surprised me. His note had told me to watch what I said, now he was asking for details. “You want the highlights or are you writing a feature?” I asked.
“Just the highlights,” he said. “I’ve got an idea how it went down.”
“We were in a suite I’d been given in return for a favor. Tony and Tina were in town on a long-awaited honeymoon. I offered them my suite and was showing them around, when someone took exception to the regifting.”
“What were you thinking?” he asked, in the role of disappointed father.
I didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. All I could see was Tina in that hospital bed, breathing through tubes.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
I took a deep breath. “It’s pretty bad.”
My father took a minute before he spoke again. “You ever find that package you were looking for?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“I’m going to book you a flight. I think you should come home. I’m not sure the weather out there is good for your health.” There was an urgency in his voice I didn’t like.
“You know something I don’t know?’ I asked.
“I know a lot of things you don’t know,” he said. “But not about the weather. I can’t seem to get an accurate forecast. For some reason all the weathermen’s shoulders have suddenly gotten cold.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “You think a northern storm was responsible for the accident?” I asked. “Something from the lake?”
“Look, all I know is people are unhappy and nobody seems to want to talk about it. You should come home.”
“It’s just as cold in Boston as it is in Vegas,” I said.
“Yeah, but I know some places where you can get warm until the storm blows over.”
“You and I both know those type of storms don’t blow over. I gotta take my chances here, Dad. I gotta find that package and get it mailed.”
My father was silent. I never liked it when he got silent. “Then I’ll send you a coat for protection.”
“I’m fine, Dad,” I said quickly. “I’ve got all I need right here.”
“You sure this is wise, Max?”
“Not at all,” I said. “But the way I see it, I have no other choice.”
“Vic’s coming there,” he said casually. “Checking on his kid brother.”
“When?” I asked.
“Tonight. Far as I know. Six-thirty flight.”
That was my father. He always acted like he didn’t know anything, then had the exact information at the ready. “Can you get a message to him?” I asked.
“I can try.”
“Tell him I’ll pick him up at the airport.”
Twenty-Eight
I THOUGHT ABOUT what my father said as I headed back inside. The fact that he wanted to send me protection didn’t bode well. The last thing I needed was a hired gun hanging around me. But more importantly, it meant my father was scared for me. Well, as scared as my father could get. He was a practical man, my father. Not that he didn’t love me. He just wasn’t the kind to allow that love to make him overprotective. “You’ve got to learn to see things for what they are and act accordingly,” he told me on more than one occasion. “You can’t let feelings cloud your judgment,” he’d say. If my father was willing to send someone here to protect me, it meant he thought I needed protection.
I headed back to the suite. I don’t know why, but my feet seemed to be going that way, so I went along for the ride. Except for the security officer standing outside the door, it all looked normal. No signs that a failed hit had taken place the night before. Leave it to the casino, business as usual. Don’t alarm the guests. I reached for the door, but security stopped me.
“You can’t go in there, Mister,” the officer said. He looked official in his uniform; arms folded across his chest. He was a good head taller than me, and twice as wide in the shoulders.
“But it’s my suite,” I protested.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The police said no one goes in, so no one goes in.”
I thought about rapping him one, but it didn’t make sense. Besides, I wasn’t quite sure I could take another hit. I tried honey, someone once told me it worked better. “If you could get a message to one of the detectives inside, I’d really appreciate it.” I said and pulled out a sawbuck. “His name is Lieutenant McQueeney.”
He looked at the bill and then back up at me. His eyes narrowed and just when I thought he was going to tell me to shove off, he snatched the bill from my hand. “Wait here,” he said.
He stepped inside the room, and since he neglected to ask my name, I figured I’d just lost a sawbuck. A few minutes later he came back into the hallway and looked down at me as if he was surprised I was still there. He folded his arms and stood back into position without saying a word.
That didn’t help my blood pressure any.
“Cat got your tongue?” I said, taking a step closer.
He just stared at me, grinning.
“How ‘bout you…” Just then the door opened and Queeney stuck his giant head out.
“Rossi? That you?”
“It’s me,” I confirmed.
“Well, get in here,” he said and opened the door for me to pass.
I eyed security as I we
nt in. “Enjoy that ten,” I said. He nodded and grinned. I followed Queeney across the main room to the scene of the crime. Lab techs were collecting evidence and taking photographs. The place was still a bit of a mess; shattered glass all over the floor and the couch shot up much more than I realized.
All I could see was Tony diving across the room toward his bride; her body convulsing with each hit of lead. I felt a little sick and took hold of the couch to steady myself.
“You okay?” Queeney asked.
I looked over at him and I think I answered, but I wasn’t sure.
“Where’d you take off to?” Queeney asked. “You were supposed to wait at the hospital. I wasn’t done with you yet.”
“I had things I needed to do,” I said. “I can’t sit around waiting for you all day.”
“And you just walked right past the uniform guarding your door?”
“Ah, don’t be too hard on him, my attorney…”
“Your attorney,” Queeney said, cutting me off. “You mean Virginia James.”
I was taken aback and it must have shown. “How did you…”
“The uniform described her. I’ve seen her before,” Queeney cut in. “At her place when I questioned her.”
Funny, I thought, Virginia didn’t mention being questioned by the police. “When was this?” I asked.
“None of your damn business,” Queeney countered.
“Well did you find anything when you searched the place?” I asked.
“What makes you think I searched it?”
I flashed Queeney my best look.
“All right,” he said. “We searched the place, but found nothing. How ‘bout you? You come up with anything?”
“What makes you think I was over there?” I said.
“Nice shave,” Queeney countered.
“All right. I was over there.”
“And?”
“I didn’t find anything,” I lied. So what? He was lying to me too.
Queeney looked at me for a moment, probably deciding whether to believe me. He let the comment pass. “Walk me through this,” he said.
