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

by Robert J. Randisi

  “I’m just sayin’ it was odd.”

  When we got back to the house we still had work to do. We decided to leave the bloody blankets in the warehouse, among some cartons and tarps we found in a dark corner. Maybe the cops would never find them. But if they did, it’d just be another part of the puzzle for ’em to solve.

  At the house, we had to clean the blood out of the living room rug. We also had to decide what to do with the chair Jerry had been duct-taped to.

  It was well into the morning when we put away our buckets, sponges and mops. We had flushed gallons of bloody water down the toilet. I hoped to replace the products before my cleaning lady discovered they were gone. I also hoped the rug would dry before she showed up. I didn’t want her asking any questions.

  “I’m hungry,” Jerry said, as first light started to brighten the interior of the house. “You hungry?”

  “Yeah, I’m hungry, but I’m also tired,” I said. “Let’s go out and get something to eat and then come back and get some shut-eye.”

  “Fine with me.”

  We washed up, put on clean shirts-we’d been cleaning in our t-shirts-and left the house. There was a place not far from my house where Jerry and I had had breakfast a few times last year, and he remembered the way. He ordered a tall stack of pancakes while I went for eggs, bacon and the works.

  “I can’t believe I’m hungry after what we just did,” I said.

  Jerry leaned forward and lowered his voice, despite the fact that there was no one seated near us.

  “Mr. G., we didn’t shot nobody.”

  “I know it, but we broke a helluva lot of other laws,” I said. “You may be used to that in New York, but I’m not.”

  “You and me bent a lot of ’em last year. Did ya lose sleep over those?”

  “So I guess this is what happens when you start bendin’ the laws,” I reasoned. “Eventually, you end up breakin’ ’em, too.”

  “Don’t beat yerself up, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “You’re doin’ what you always do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tryin’ ta help somebody. Ya kept Mr. Davis out of it.”

  “Sammy,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve got to call and tell him what’s goin’ on.”

  “Didn’t he head back to Tahoe today?”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’ll wait a while.”

  “Call him after ya get some sleep,” Jerry suggested. “You don’t look so good.”

  I didn’t feel so good, either, but I was still hungry, so we dug in.

  When we came outside the sun was shining brightly and I thought about those four bodies inside that warehouse-one already partially ripe. I shaded my eyes.

  “Back home?” Jerry asked.

  “Only to get your things,” I said. “I don’t want to take a chance on somebody comin’ to the house again. We’ll catch some sleep at the Sands.”

  “I got two beds in my room, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “You’re welcome to one.”

  “Thanks for the offer, Jerry,” I said, “but I don’t think I’ll have any trouble getting myself a room.”

  “Naw, probably not,” he said.

  We drove from the diner to my block and as we started to pull in I saw the black-and-whites complete with flashing lights. Jerry stopped the car cold and we stared down the block.

  “Cops!” he said, and in that one word you could hear his disdain.

  “What the fuck-” I said.

  “They’re in front of your house.”

  “Jerry, get us out of here,” I said, “and don’t screech the tires.”

  “I’m way ahead of you, Mr. G.”

  Twenty-eight

  We headed for the Sands. If we had to, we could get lost there.

  “How the hell did they know?” Jerry asked.

  “I guess some neighbor did hear the shooting, after all.”

  “Then why did it take this long for them to come?” he asked. “The cops usually respond real fast to a call of shots fired.” He seemed to think a moment, then said, “Shit, if they go inside-”

  “-they’ll find a recently cleaned living room rug, and nothing else.”

  He gave me a quick look, then turned his attention back to the road.

  “What?” I asked.

  “There’s one thing we forgot, in all the hurryin’ around, gettin’ rid of the bodies an’ cleaning up the blood.”

  “Forgot? What did we-oh crap.” I remembered one of the men took a shot at Thomas while he stood in the kitchen doorway. “There’s a bullet in the wall.”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit.”

  “Maybe they won’t go inside,” he offered. “Or maybe they weren’t even in front of your house.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Maybe Mr. Benson was beating his wife again.”

  The police did respond to the Benson home about once a month. I couldn’t remember when the last time was.

  “On the other hand,” I said, “maybe somebody called the cops and told them what happened.”

  “Who would know that?”

  “Whoever sent the messengers.”

  “But why would they do that? You’re the go-between.”

  “Maybe they want another go-between,” I said. “Maybe they’ve lost too many people as it is.”

  “Like I said before,” Jerry said, “you ain’t shot nobody.”

  “Maybe they don’t know that. And maybe,” I added, “we don’t know what the hell is going on.”

  We parked behind the Sands and went inside. I felt like I was literally dragging my ass behind me.

  “I’m gonna get some sleep,” I said. “I suggest you do the same.”

  “What if the cops come lookin’ for us?”

  “Then they’ll wake us up.”

  He went to the elevator court and I went to the front desk to get the key for one of the rooms kept for employees.

  I knew the pretty young blonde behind the desk. Her name was Rose. She had a husband who worked at the Riviera, and she was a bit of a flirt.

  “Do you have Mr. Entratter’s okay for this, Eddie?” she asked, closing her hand into a fist with the room key inside.

  “You can check with him if you like, Rose,” I said.

  “And what will you be using this room for?” she asked. “Entertaining one of your showgirls?”

  “You know I only have eyes for you, Rose.”

  She smiled and said, “If only I didn’t have a husband.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  She smiled broadly, batted her eyes at me, and handed the key over.

  “I’m just gonna get some shut-eye.”

  “Sleep tight,” she said, and then moved down the line to handle a check-in.

  I hoped I would.

  I slept more than tight; I slept like the dead for ten hours. I came awake slowly, rolling over and checking the clock, then looking around the room a few moments before I remembered where I was and what had happened. It was 9 P.M., not too late to call Sammy. In fact, I’d have to call him later, after he got off-stage. That was okay with me. My stomach was growling.

  I’d gone to my locker for a fresh shirt and underwear before heading for the room. I’d just have to wear the same pants I wore the day before. That wasn’t a problem. The shirt was a casual one, but since I wasn’t working I didn’t need a tie.

  I turned the TV on as I dressed to see if there was anything on the news about bodies being found, or maybe even something about my block or my house. Thankfully, there was nothing-yet.

  I left the room and went down to the Garden Room. When I got there it was no surprise that Jerry was already at a table, with a full dinner in front of him. I joined him.

  “When did you get down here?” I asked.

  “I just woke up half an hour ago, Mr. G.,” he said. “And I woke up hungry.”

  “What a shock.”

  A waitress came over and I ordered a steak dinner, which was what Jerry was working on, and a beer.


  “No cops,” he said, around a huge chunk of meat.

  “No,” I said, “not yet.”

  “Maybe not at all.”

  “We can hope.”

  The waitress brought me a mug of beer.

  “Thanks, Lucy.”

  “Sure, Mr. Gianelli.”

  “I forget you know everybody,” he said.

  “Lucy’s been here a few months,” I said. “She’s putting herself through college.”

  “Pretty girl,” he said. “You hittin’ that?”

  “There are a lot of pretty girls in Vegas, Jerry,” I said. “One man can’t hit ’em all.”

  He grinned and said, “You could try.”

  I sipped my beer, frowning as something he said hit me.

  “You know, you’re right.”

  “About what?”

  “I do know a lot of people in this town,” I said. “Maybe I should start using some of those contacts.”

  “To do what?”

  “To find out what the hell is goin’ on.”

  “That,” he said, popping a potato into his mouth, “would be real helpful.”

  Twenty-nine

  Jerry went to watch the blackjack tables while I returned to my room to call Sammy. He was there, fresh from the stage. I asked him if he wanted to take a shower and wind down and I’d call him later.

  “No, no,” he said. “I wanna know what’s goin’ on.”

  “Have you heard from anyone?” I asked.

  “Not a thing.”

  “Okay, we managed to do what we wanted to do last night,” I said. “We, uh, got rid of all the dead weight.”

  “That’s good … I think.”

  “Yeah, it is good, but we couldn’t go back to the house. There was somethin’ happenin’ on the block. The police were there.”

  “At your house?”

  “We’re not sure,” I said. “Could’ve been a domestic disturbance of some kind. Meanwhile, we’re at the Sands. If you hear from anyone, call me here.”

  “Okay, Eddie.”

  “Listen, Sam …”

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s a possibility that someone won’t want me to be the go-between anymore.”

  “Well, that’ll be tough,” he said, “because I want you to.”

  “Okay, let’s see what happens.”

  “Eddie, thanks, man. And tell the big cat I said thanks, too, will ya? And that other cool cat? You guys are the best.”

  “Talk to you soon, Sam.”

  I hung up and remained seated on the bed for a few moments, wondering what our next move should be.

  I wondered if I should ask Sammy what this was all about. Just what was this photo he was trying to buy back, and why were people apparently dying over it? I was operating in the dark, and when it looked like all I had to do was make the buy, that was okay. But things were different now.

  Another trip to Lake Tahoe might be in order.

  But there were still some things I could do while we waited. As Jerry had pointed out, I knew a lot of people in Vegas. That was the original reason I’d been asked to help Frank and Dean last year.

  Jerry and I were going to go out casino-hopping.

  The last time Jerry had been in Vegas he’d discovered blackjack. He didn’t play, but he loved to watch-mostly the people.

  I found him studying a couple of tables that, at this time of night, were being played by tourists. The regulars usually came out during the day. Except for one. Ellie James was a woman of indeterminate age who had three kids, one grandchild, and still turned heads when she walked through the casino. Last year Jerry had noticed her and called her “the broad with the big titties.”

  “That broad still comin’ in here?” he asked as I reached him.

  “Ellie’s here every day-or evening, that is. She comes in to play at night because she’s busy during the day with her family.”

  “Oh, right.” He frowned. “Still can’t believe she’s a grandma.”

  “Come on,” I said. “We got some things to do.”

  “Like what?”

  I started away and he fell into stride next to me.

  “I’m gonna show you some other casinos, and we’re gonna talk to some people”

  “What people?”

  “People who know what goes on in Vegas.”

  Thirty

  Our first stop was the Dunes. I knew a car jockey there who had two older brothers who worked dodges all over town. They were small time, but they had their fingers in lots of pies.

  “Hey, Billy,” I called as he started to get into a car.

  “Hey, Eddie G.,” Billy said, with a big grin. Billy Sykes had red hair and a face full of freckles that made him look sixteen, even though I knew he was thirty. His baby face made for even better tips. “What’s shakin’?” He looked past me at Jerry. “Whoa, who’s the man mountain?”

  “Billy, this is Jerry,” I said. “He’s watchin’ my back.”

  “Watchin’ your-what’s goin’ on, Eddie? You in trouble?”

  “A little bit,” I said.

  “What can I do?”

  During the walk over I had been trying to think of a way of explaining my problem. I knew Billy wasn’t the type who would ever talk to the police, but I also didn’t want him connecting me to four dead bodies, if and when they showed up.

  “I’m lookin’ for somebody working a blackmail dodge,” I said.

  “Some high roller gettin’ the squeeze?”

  “Yeah, and he doesn’t like it. He’d rather pay to find these guys than pay these guys.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “My gratitude,” I said, “and a hundred bucks.”

  “Groovy,” he said, then frowned. “You ain’t thinkin’ about my brothers, are ya? Their meat is usually tourists, not high rollers.”

  “No, I wasn’t thinkin’ about them, Billy, but maybe they heard somethin’ helpful. They’ve always got their ears to the ground, right?”

  “Hey, Billy, get that car out of here!” his boss yelled.

  “I’ll talk to ’em, Eddie, and I’ll keep my ear to the ground,” Billy promised. “I gotta get to work.”

  “Sure, Billy,” I said. “Just call me at the Sands, okay?”

  “Okay, Eddie.”

  Billy got in the car and drove it away.

  “Can you trust that guy?” Jerry asked.

  “I didn’t really tell him anything,” I said. “Even if those bodies show up, Billy will never connect them to me.”

  “What’s next?” he asked.

  “We were gonna walk up to the Stardust, but let’s get the car. I wanna go downtown after that.”

  “Ain’t we goin’ inside?” Jerry pointed to the Dunes.

  “No,” I said, “but we’ll go into the Stardust, and cross over to the Riv.”

  We got the Caddy and drove it over to the Stardust, parking behind it. We had to walk through the entire casino to get to where I wanted to go, the hotel lobby. I was hoping Gary Hogan was on the concierge’s desk that night, and he was.

  “That’s our man,” I said to Jerry.

  “The mousy-lookin’ bald guy?”

  “That mousy-lookin’ bald guy can get you anything you want in Vegas.”

  Gary looked up as we approached the desk. He’d been working the Vegas strip for years before I got there. He’d known everybody then and knew everybody now. In fact, he claimed that he was there the night Herb McDonald invented the buffet at the El Rancho Vegas.

  “Hey, Eddie, man,” Gary said, grinning. Though he was in his fifties his balding head was no sign of age. He told me once he’d gone bald in his thirties. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Gary Hogan, this is Jerry Epstein. Jerry’s helping me out with something.”

  “Must be a big somethin’,” Gary said. “Somethin’ I can do?”

  “Since you ask, yeah, there is.”

  “Need a big game?” he asked. “A girl? Two girls? Somethin’ … kinkier?”


  “Blackmail.”

  “You want to blackmail someone? I know a good photographer-”

  “I thought maybe you might,” I said, “but I’m kinda workin’ for somebody on the other side of the play.”

  “Oh,” Gary said. “So whataya need from me?”

  “I need to know who in town works that kind of dodge-you know, with photos? Somebody not afraid to work a high-roller, highprofile type?”

  “High profile? So you mean somebody with more balls than brains?”

  “Right,” I said, “and who doesn’t work alone.”

  “Lemme give it some thought, Eddie,” Gary said. “Maybe I’ll have some ideas tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Gary,” I said. “You can get me at the Sands or leave a message anytime.”

  “Gotcha.”

  His phone rang then, as if on cue, and Jerry and I backed off and went out the front door.

  We crossed over to the Riviera, where I had basically the same conversation with a bartender in the lounge. Pete Tynan had been tending bar in Vegas for twenty years, and had been at the Riv for three. He liked to spread his talents around. He either quit his jobs to go elsewhere, or ended up fired when he got caught sleeping with a guest.

  I told him what I needed and he promised to give me a call if he thought of some names.

  From the Riv we went back through the Stardust to retrieve the Caddy and drive downtown to the Golden Nugget.

  “I hope this place got a new house dick,” Jerry said, as we entered.

  The old house dick had been killed the last time Jerry was in Vegas.

  “I’m sure they’ve hired somebody, but I’m more interested in a woman who works here.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Her name’s Helen Jaye,” I said. “She’s the den mother to all the Golden Nugget showgirls.”

  “We gonna talk ta some showgirls?”

  “We’re going to talk to Helen,” I said. “Chances are there’ll be some showgirls around. Come on. Let’s see how lucky we get.”

  Thirty-one

  We found Helen Jaye working with some of her girls in the Golden Nugget ballroom.

  “… two, three, four!” she was saying as we walked in. “Can’t anyone here count to four?”