Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) rp-3

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Eddie … did you call the cops about the body?”

  “No, Sam,” I said, “not yet. I was going to but … let’s wait until you look at the gun. If it’s not yours, I can call the cops and report the body.”

  “And if it is mine?”

  “I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As I hung up, Jerry yelled from the kitchen, “You got some baloney. You want a sandwich?”

  “No thanks.”

  “I’m makin’ coffee,” he said.

  “Good. I’ll have some of that.”

  I left the phone and walked into the kitchen. Jerry had taken off his jacket, hung it over the back of a chair, and rolled up his sleeves. He was wearing his shoulder harness with his.45 under his left arm.

  “You gotta stock your ice box with more stuff, Mr. G.,” he said.

  “Yeah, now that you’re here, I’ll have to.”

  “Geez, don’t you eat?”

  “I eat out, Jerry … a lot.”

  “Yeah, I know, but ya gotta have some food in the house, just in case.”

  “Just in case what?”

  “Ya get hungry!”

  “That’s not a ‘just in case’ with you, Jerry,” I said, “that’s an ‘all the time.’ ”

  “Hey, I’m a big guy. I gotta eat.” He bit into his baloney sandwich and licked a glob of mustard from the corner of his mouth. I didn’t even know I had mustard. I never use it.

  “So did you talk to Mr. Davis?”

  “I did.”

  “What are we doin’ tomorrow?”

  “We’re flyin’ to Lake Tahoe in Frank’s helicopter.”

  “Early, I bet.”

  “A car will pick us up and take us to the airport,” I said.

  “I’ll get up and make some eggs,” Jerry said. “I noticed you have eggs.”

  I didn’t bother to tell him not to make breakfast. I knew it would be no use. Hell, if he had to eat I figured I might as well, too.

  “I’ll get you a pillow and some sheets for the sofa.”

  “Just a pillow’s good, Mr. G.” He patted the.45. “I got my baby to keep me warm.”

  I liked the idea of having Jerry on my sofa with his.45. Once last year a couple of goons had broken into my house and worked me over. Another time, two gunnies kicked in the door only to find Jerry there. And still another time somebody had blown up my Caddy, hoping to find me in it. After finding that body in the warehouse I probably wouldn’t have slept in the house alone with no gun.

  “I’m gonna turn in,” I said. “I’ll get up at the first smell of coffee.”

  “I’ll get it goin’ good an’ early, Mr. G.,” Jerry promised.

  Eighteen

  Everyone who took us to Tahoe was the same-the driver who picked us up at the house, the helicopter pilot, and then Henry, who drove us from the heliport to Harrah’s, rather than to the Cal Neva. I wasn’t figuring we’d stay overnight.

  When we got to Harrah’s I considered making Jerry wait in the lobby, but if push came to shove Jerry’s neck would be on the line along with mine. He deserved better.

  I knocked on Sammy’s door. When he opened it he looked as if he hadn’t slept. His eyes were red-rimmed and he had a cigarette in his mouth-one of many I was sure he’d gone through since we talked the night before. I wondered if the red eyes were only from lack of sleep, or if he’d been drinking, as well. I didn’t know Sammy’s habits, if he drank or did drugs, so I couldn’t really hazard a guess.

  But he seemed steady as he said, “Come on in.”

  We followed him in and Jerry closed the door behind us.

  “This the cat you told me about?” Sammy asked when we reached the sofa. “The one you said you could trust?”

  “Yes,” I said, “this is Jerry.”

  “I know you, don’t I?” Sammy asked.

  “Maybe,” Jerry said. “I was around a couple of times last year.”

  “Sure, okay,” Sammy said. “You helped with Frank and Dean’s problems.”

  “I helped Mr. G., yeah.”

  Sammy leaned over, stubbed out the cigarette in a loaded ashtray, and immediately lit another one.

  “You got it?” he asked, then. “You bring the gun?”

  Jerry had offered to carry the gun and I’d let him. He was so big it made less of a bulge in his belt. He reached behind his back and took it out, wrapped in a cloth. Neither of us had touched it with our bare hands.

  I put it down on the table and unwrapped it.

  “Examine it without touching it,” I told Sammy.

  “I don’t have to examine it,” he said. “It’s one of mine.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “A man knows his own guns,” he said.

  “He’s right, Mr. G.,” Jerry offered.

  “That’s just great,” I said. “I need a drink. Anybody else?”

  “Sure,” Sammy said.

  “I’ll get ’em,” Jerry said.

  “Here.” Sammy picked up a glass from the table next to the sofa and handed it to Jerry. “Bourbon, rocks.”

  “Me, too, Jerry.”

  Jerry went to the bar and built three drinks while I stayed where I was and watched Sammy, who actually crouched down and stared at the gun.

  “Do we know for sure the cat was killed with this gun?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, “but it seems pretty obvious somebody wanted you to get the blame.”

  He used one finger to move the gun, just touching the cloth. Jerry came over, handed me my drink and put Sammy’s down on the table.

  “Is that gun registered to you?” I asked Sammy.

  “No,” he said, “none of them are registered. They’re all supposed to be collector’s pieces.”

  “Does that mean they’re not supposed to fire?”

  “Right,” Sammy said. He grabbed his drink and stood up. “Most of them are plugged, like the two you saw yesterday.”

  “But this one actually works?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who knew that?” I asked. “Who knows about your guns?”

  “Just a few people,” Sammy said, “but I trust them. May, Silber, my dad …”

  There was an overstuffed armchair behind me and I decided to sit down. Jerry sat in an identical chair a few feet away. Sammy remained standing, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, and it looked to me like he was swaying.

  “Sam.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why don’t you sit down?”

  He stared at me for a moment, then seemed to process what I said and sat on the sofa.

  “Somethin’s wrong here,” I said. “You’re not tellin’ me everything.”

  He hesitated.

  “Come on, Sam. One of your guns goes missin’ and you don’t know it? I don’t buy that.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry, man. Yeah, the gun was taken the same time the photos were.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m not sure I know the answer to that, Eddie,” he replied. “Maybe I didn’t think you’d help me if you knew about the gun.”

  “You never reported it missing?”

  “I told you, none of them are registered.”

  I thought a minute, then said, “Okay. Forget it. It doesn’t change anything right now. We still have to deal with this.”

  “You still haven’t called the police?” Sammy asked.

  “No,” I said, “and as far as we know a body hasn’t been found. At least, it wasn’t on the news this morning.”

  “But you’re gonna call ’em?”

  I looked at Jerry, who looked away. I knew his thoughts on the subject.

  “I feel like I have to.”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s gonna be found sooner or later,” I reasoned.

  Sammy nodded, added another stubbed-out butt to the ashtray and lit up a fresh cigarette.

  “What about this?” he
asked. “What are we gonna do with this?”

  We all stared at the gun.

  “Well, it’s yours.” Jerry and I still hadn’t touched it.

  “But it may have killed someone.”

  “We don’t know that, but yeah, it may have.”

  “Get rid of it,” Jerry said.

  Sammy and I both looked at him.

  “Throw it in the lake.”

  Sammy looked at me.

  “I do that, we’ll never know,” Sammy said.

  “What’s the difference?” I asked. “The guy’s dead.”

  “If we throw away the murder weapon, how will they ever find out who the killer was?” he asked.

  “If you don’t get rid of it,” Jerry said, “they could use it to prove you did it.”

  Sammy looked at me and I shrugged.

  “Jerry knows more about this stuff than either one of us.” I looked over at the big guy. “Keep going, Jerry.”

  “If the dead guy is one of the blackmailers,” Jerry said, “who cares who killed ’im? You didn’t, right?”

  “Of course not,” Sammy said. “I was here-I was on stage last night.”

  “We don’t need an alibi, Sam,” I said.

  “It’s more likely the blackmailers got into it and one of them shot the other one.”

  “So what do you suggest we do?” Sammy asked.

  “Like I said, get rid of the gun,” Jerry answered. “Then sit and wait for somebody to get in touch with you.”

  He sat back in his chair.

  “He’s more than just muscle, huh?” Sammy asked.

  “And he can cook,” I said.

  Nineteen

  I never should have said anything about Jerry being able to cook, because that reminded him that he was hungry. Again, true to his word, he had made breakfast for us earlier in Vegas. But several hours had passed, erasing all memory of a full stomach.

  “When’s the last time you ate?” I asked Sammy.

  “I don’t remember.”

  We called room service and ordered three full breakfasts and a pot of coffee. Jerry and I didn’t finish our drinks, but Sammy did. In fact, booze was probably all he’d had since the night before.

  “Sammy, why don’t you go take a shower,” I suggested. “By the time you come out the food’ll be here.”

  “Yeah,” Sammy said, rubbing one hand over his face. “Yeah, okay.” He stubbed out the cigarette. “I’ll be right back.”

  I hoped he wouldn’t light another butt in the shower.

  “We gonna stick around today?” Jerry asked.

  “Might as well. They didn’t get their money last night, so somebody’ll probably make contact today, right?”

  “I would.”

  I grabbed the three drink glasses, went to the bar, emptied Jerry’s and mine into the sink, and left all of them there.

  “He don’t look so good, Mr. G.,” Jerry said.

  “I know. Let’s see if we can get some food into him, and then maybe we can get him to lie down.”

  “We could slip him a mickey.”

  I stared at him. Did he just happen to have a pill in his pocket?

  “Forget it,” I said. “He’s so tired he’ll fall right to sleep.”

  “Or I could just give him a little love tap, ya know, to put ’im out?”

  “No love taps on Sammy Davis Jr., Jerry,” I said.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  I sat back down and waited for either Sammy or room service, whichever came first.

  “I don’t hear a shower running,” Jerry said.

  “Maybe’s it’s too far away.”

  “This suite ain’t that big.”

  “I better check.”

  I got up, went down the hall and into the bedroom. Sammy was lying on the bed, fast asleep. He’d never made it to the shower.

  Jerry finished off both breakfasts before I finished mine.

  “I think I’ll call down for some sandwiches,” I said. “That way Sammy can eat something when he gets up.”

  “Sandwiches are good,” he said. “Get some extra.”

  I shook my head.

  I called down and ordered the food, then hung up and walked to the window. There wasn’t much to see. The suite’s window overlooked the back parking lot.

  “If the phone rings we’re gonna have to wake him up,” Jerry said.

  “Maybe not,” I said. “They know I was the go-between. They’ll probably talk to me.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Jerry gathered the plates and trays together so room service could take them away when they came with the sandwiches. I lifted the coffeepot and shook it. Maybe one cup left.

  “You want some coffee?” I asked him.

  “Naw, you have it.”

  Why do people do that, I wondered? Offer someone else the last of something when they really want it themselves? I poured myself the cup, glad that he’d turned it down.

  When the sandwiches showed up they looked good-so good that Jerry asked, “Mind if I have one now?”

  “Just leave one for Sammy,” I said.

  “No problem.”

  As the guy left with the tray from breakfast, I thought I should have ordered another pot of coffee.

  “Jerry, any soft drinks behind the bar?”

  “Some Coke, I think. You don’t want another bourbon?” he asked.

  “I didn’t finish the first. Too early.”

  “I could mix it with the Coke.”

  “Bite your tongue.”

  I got a bottle of Coke from the fridge behind the bar and used the opener attached to the underside of the bar. Jerry and I got back in our chairs.

  “So what’s the plan?” he asked.

  “We wait,” I said, “for Sam to wake up, for the phone to ring, for a note to be delivered … we just wait.”

  “And if they don’t make contact today?”

  “We’re going back to Vegas tonight,” I said. “Sammy can call us.”

  “Call you about what?”

  We looked up and saw Sammy walking into the room. He looked a little rested, and fresh from a shower, but he was still dragging.

  “A new meeting place,” I said. “If they don’t call or make contact today. You got a show tonight, Sam?”

  “No, not tonight,” he said. “We’re goin’ to Dino’s show tonight, right? With Frank?”

  “I forgot about that,” I admitted.

  “I’ll get dressed,” Sammy said, “and we’ll all go to Vegas.”

  “Slow down,” I said. “Have a sandwich. We’ll stick around here a while longer, give them a chance to call, and then we’ll head to Vegas.”

  Sammy sat down on the sofa and accepted the sandwich Jerry retrieved from the fridge. He unwrapped it and took a bite.

  “Anybody else want some coffee?” he asked, with his mouth full.

  Twenty

  Nobody called.

  Nobody sent a note.

  Nobody came to the door.

  After Sammy called Frank at about 3 P.M. he told us, “Frank’s gonna meet us at the Sands. We got a front table for Dino’s show.”

  “Fine,” I said. “We might as well get back.”

  “He got me a room at the Sands,” Sammy said. “I’ll change there. Where’s the driver?”

  “Waiting in the lobby, I hope.”

  “Call down and have him phone the helicopter pilot,” Sammy said. “I’ll be right with you, and then we can go.”

  I picked up the phone. Sammy started to leave the room, then turned and called to Jerry, “Hey, big fella, you wanna sit with us tonight?”

  “With you, and Mr. G., and Mr. S.?” Jerry asked. “Sure.”

  “Good,” Sammy said. “Joey’ll be there, too. And he might bring Buddy. We’ll make a party of it.”

  In a couple of hours Sammy’s attitude seemed to have changed. I chose to look at that as a good thing. Maybe he needed to get out and party a little. Once he was contacted again it would start all over.
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  Jerry said, “What do we do with the gun?”

  I looked at it, still lying on the cloth on the coffee table.

  “Nobody’s looking for it,” I said.

  “Not yet.”

  “When they find the body they’ll start looking for a murder weapon,” I said.

  “We can’t let ’em find it,” Jerry said. “It’ll point to Mr. Davis.”

  Just for a split second I thought, what if Sammy did it? We’d be covering up for him. But I didn’t really think Sammy Davis Jr. was a killer.

  “Mr. G.? Did you hear me?”

  “No, Jerry,” I said. “No, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

  “I said, why don’t we drop it out of the helicopter? Over the desert, or the lake?”

  I thought that over.

  “Nobody would ever find it,” he added.

  “Maybe not,” I said, “but the pilot would be a witness.”

  “Good point,” Jerry said.

  We both sat there, waiting for Sammy and staring at the gun. Then I remembered and called down to the lobby for the driver.

  “There’ll be three of us going to the heliport, Henry.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be ready.”

  “Thank you, Henry.”

  When Sammy came out, Jerry and I were still wondering what to do with the gun.

  “Why don’t we just leave it here?” he suggested.

  “We can’t do that,” I said.

  “Why not?” Sammy asked. “Nobody’s looking for it, nobody knows-”

  “The blackmailers know,” I said. “If this was an attempt to frame you they could call the cops and give them your name. What if they came here and found the gun?”

  “Okay,” Sammy said, “okay, so we just take it with us.”

  “I can carry it,” Jerry offered.

  “No,” I said, “we have to hide it, or get rid of it.”

  “Okay,” Sammy asked, “where?”

  “That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out.”

  We met Henry in the lobby.

  “The car is ready, sir.”

  “Okay, Henry,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Jerry, Sammy and I got in the backseat, and Henry headed for the heliport.

  For a moment I thought about giving the gun to Henry to get rid of, but that would make him a witness-or, at least, an accomplice.