“Okay,” I said. “I’ll call him and then get back to you.”
“I’ll be here.”
I hung up and dialed the number. After two rings a man answered and said cautiously, “Hello?”
“Peter? This is Eddie Gianelli, from Vegas-”
“Yes, Mr. Gianelli, I know who you are,” he said. “I recall our meeting once or twice last year.”
“Right.”
“Look, I am only talking to you because Sammy asked me to.”
“I understand that.”
“However, I advise you to choose your questions wisely.”
“Wisely,” I repeated. “Okay, how’s this? Who’s sending men out to Nevada to kill some people who have a photo to sell, JFK or Bobby?”
“Jesus, Eddie, what are you talking about?”
“I want to know if the Kennedy family has been approached to buy some potentially damaging photos? And, if instead of buying them, they decided to kill the fuckers. Who would okay something like that, Peter? Would it be Joe, the old man? Or Bobby, the attorney general? Or maybe it’s just the President himself?”
There was nothing from the other end, and then Peter’s British accent asked in a hushed whisper, “Eddie, how the fuck did you know about the photos?”
“I didn’t really,” I said. “I was guessing. You just told me, Peter.”
“Yes, I did,” he said, “and I could get in a lot of fucking trouble for telling you.”
“Well, we’ll just keep it between us, then. How’s that? Us and Sammy, that is.”
“And Frank.”
“What about Frank?”
“Would you, uh, tell Frank I helped you?”
I’d been hearing some things about Frank and Peter falling out, remembered what Frank had said the night we all went to Dino’s show, how we didn’t need Peter.
“Is that what you want, Peter?” I asked. “You want me to put a good word in with Frank for you?”
“Ah … I would appreciate it, Eddie.”
“Well then, let’s see if you actually do tell me something helpful.”
He hesitated, then asked, “What do you want to know?”
Forty-nine
According to Peter the entire Kennedy clan was in an uproar over the threat of some photos being leaked to the press.
“What photos?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen them, Eddie,” Peter said. “They don’t confide in me like that.”
“Well, has anybody seen the photos?”
“I–I think Bobby has,” he said, “and Joseph.”
“And you have no idea what the picture shows?”
“No.”
“Is it a picture of Jack?”
“Well … it would have to be, for them to be as upset as they are.”
“Okay, here’s the big question,” I said. “Does Jack know what’s going on? That his father and brother are killin’ people for that photo?”
“Eddie, Bobby’s only trying to do-”
“Does Jack know?”
“I doubt it,” Peter said. “They try to shield him from things like that.”
“Unpleasant things, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“That figures.”
“Eddie, what’s going on with Sammy?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“No-well, yes. He said something about a photo, but …”
“Somebody’s tryin’ to sell him a photo for fifty grand.”
“Fifty thousand dollars? But-but that’s nothing compared to …”
“Compared to what?” I asked. “To what the Kennedys are being asked to pay?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Peter said. “Why would anyone also try to sell to Sammy for fifty?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’ve got some ideas. Peter, I don’t suppose if I gave you names you’d recognize them as Secret Service agents?”
“I wouldn’t know them from Adam, Eddie.”
I was thinking I’d gotten all the help I could out of Peter Lawford.
“Okay, Peter, thanks for talking to me.”
“Oh, uh, Eddie?” He sounded like he was desperate to catch me before I hung up.
“Yeah, Peter?”
“You, uh, will mention to Frank that I was of assistance to you?”
“Sure thing, Peter,” I said. “I’ll mention it to him, as soon as I see him.”
“Ah, thank you,” he said, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, Eddie!”
“Yes?”
“A word of advice?”
“Sure.”
“Watch your step,” he said. “If Bobby, or the old man, have sent men out there you’d do well to stay out of their way.”
“I kinda figured that out for myself, Peter,” I said, “but thanks.”
After the call with Peter I officially wanted out. Whether there were Secret Service people out there killing people, or they were just some sort of government assassins, I didn’t want to have anything to do with them. But with Jerry sitting out in the desert in that burnt-out half-a-house, I was stuck.
Unless I could get out there and get us both away from there before the meet time.
Fifty
I got to the location half an hour before the meet. It was dark already, so I left the headlights on.
“Jerry?” I called, getting out of the car.
No answer.
“Don’t fuck around, Jerry,” I called. “I’m here, I’m alone, and we have to get out of here!”
If Jerry wasn’t there I didn’t know what I’d do. If somebody had been good enough to sneak up on him and grab him, what chance did I-
“What’s up, Mr. G.?” Jerry asked, coming out of the remnants of the house. “I thought-”
“I changed my mind, Jerry,” I said. “I’m not as interested in helping Sammy as I was before.”
“Why not? What’s changed?”
“I’ll tell you in the car,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
He started toward the car, then said, “I think it’s too late.” He pointed.
I turned and saw headlights in the distance.
“Damn it!”
I ran to the rental car and doused the lights. Jerry was still staring at the road.
“More than one car,” he said.
“I think those cars are filled with men with murder in mind, Jerry. We’ve got to get going.”
“Where?”
“This road keeps going,” I said, although it was barely a dirt road. “I don’t know where to, but it’s better than going back.”
“Maybe not,” Jerry said, with a smile, “if you let me drive.”
I tossed him the keys. It was a better alternative than driving out into the middle of the Nevada desert at night.
We got in the car and Jerry started driving, his foot pressed to the floor. The car began gathering speed, and the headlights of the other cars were getting closer.
“We playin’ chicken?” I asked.
“That’s what we’re doin’.”
The road was narrow, only room for one car at a time. We needed the drivers of both cars to play chicken with us … and lose. If even one of them had the guts for it we’d end up in a head-on collision, because I knew Jerry wouldn’t give in.
We were leaving a thick cloud of dust behind us, which didn’t matter. It couldn’t be seen in the dark. Besides, it was all about headlights, now. We could see theirs, and they could see ours.
Jerry and I didn’t talk. He gripped the wheel fiercely and I held on for dear life. He was right to drive. With me behind the wheel we eventually would have ended up in a ditch somewhere.
“Hang on,” he finally said, as the approaching headlights loomed.
Somehow, he managed to get more speed out of our car, and suddenly the headlights ahead of us veered off, one pair to the left, the other to the right. One of them simply kept going out into the dark of the desert, but the other one hit somethin
g and flipped over. It tumbled end over end, but we didn’t stay to see where it came to rest.
I did turn to look behind us as we sped away. The car that was upright sat still, headlights on, but I could hear a wheel spinning. They were stuck.
“Are they followin’ us?” Jerry asked.
“No,” I said, turning back around. “You can slow down before you kill us.”
He slowed, but not by much.
“Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“I think that first guy we found in the warehouse was met and killed by somebody who was sent by the Kennedy family.”
“And the men we killed in your house?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Secret Service, CIA, or just hired muscle. Whichever, they were being directed by someone inside the administration.”
“Jesus,” Jerry said, “the President?”
“That’s the funny part,” I said. “I don’t think the President knows what’s goin’ on.”
We were back on the paved road to Reno when I told Jerry what Peter Lawford had told me.
“Somebody’s freelancin’,” he said when I was done.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean whoever was after Mr. Davis’s fifty G’s is not playin’ the game accordin’ to plan.”
“So while they’re trying to get big money from the Kennedy family,” I said, “somebody else decided to make a quick fifty grand on the side?”
“And got killed for it.”
“The guy in the warehouse,” I said.
“I still think his own people killed him,” Jerry said, “for pullin’ this stunt.”
“But I got another note after he was killed.”
“So he’s got friends,” Jerry said. “That dame who came to your room, and her boyfriend.”
“They might be dead, too.”
“If I was makin’ the big play,” he said, “I’d kill anybody who was pissin’ in my pot.”
“So we’ve got blackmailers killin’ blackmailers, and government hit men killin’ people,” I said. “All the more reason for us to just get out. I mean, look what just happened back there. If we’d gone there for a meet, we’d be dead.”
“Mr. G.,” he said, “if there are hitters in town-private or government-I might be able to find out.”
“I’m lookin’ to back out of this whole business, Jerry,” I said. “I don’t think I want you to make any calls. Let’s wait and see what happens after I talk to Sammy.”
We drove in silence until we saw the lights of Reno.
“You saved my ass again, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “Comin’ out there for me. I ain’t gonna forget it.”
“That’s okay, Jerry,” I said. “I think we’re about even.”
Fifty-one
We were walking through the casino in Harrah’s when I said, “I saw Marilyn Monroe in here earlier tonight.”
“Yer shittin’ me.”
“I shit you not.”
“What was she doin’ here?”
“She’s shootin’ a movie with Clark Gable,” I said. “The Misfits.”
“Wow. She look good?”
I thought of the handkerchief in my pocket with her lipstick on it. “She looked great.”
We went up to our room to collect what few things we’d brought with us, which included Jerry’s back-up gun.
We packed up and he took out the.38 and showed it to me.
“Still don’t want it?” he asked.
“Considerin’ everything that’s happening,” I said, “I’ll take it.”
“You know how to use it?” he asked, handing it to me.
“I know.”
I tucked the gun into my belt, where it felt foreign, but comforting.
We had finished packing our bags and were heading out the door when the phone rang.
We looked at each other. The reason we were getting out was because people knew where we were. We weren’t sure if Sloane and his two friends were in either of those cars, but it was a good bet.
“Gonna answer it?” Jerry asked.
“No,” I said. “They might just be checkin’ to see if we’re here. Let’s go!”
We left the room and hurried down the hall.
“Wait,” Jerry said, at the elevators. “There must be another way off this floor and to the lobby.”
“A freight elevator. If this place is anything like the Sands it’ll be this way.”
“What about a stairway?”
I looked on either side of the elevator and saw a door.
“That’d be it, but we’d come out right by the elevators. This way.”
I led him back up the hallway, past our room, to where I hoped we’d find the freight elevator. We had to go through a door, but we found it.
“We take this to the first floor and then we duck out the back,” I said.
The door opened and we got in. As the door closed Jerry eased his.45 from his shoulder holster.
“No harm bein’ ready,” he said.
I put my hand in my jacket pocket and closed it over the.38. I was very tense when the door opened, but relieved when there was no one there.
We came out into a hall. I got my bearings and said, “This way,” moving away from the casino toward the back of the building. We found a door that took us out to the parking lot.
When we reached the car and got in-me behind the wheel-Jerry slid his.45 back into holster and said, “Where are we goin’?”
“Tahoe.”
“Why not back to Vegas?”
“That’s probably where they’d expect us to go.”
“We gonna find the helicopter pilot-”
“Forget it,” I said. “We’ll drive. It’s only forty or fifty miles.”
“Can we check into a hotel then?” Jerry asked.
“No, we’ll go to the Cal Neva. Frank left me a key for the cabin whenever I wanted.”
“So what do we do when we get there?”
“I’m gonna talk to Sammy, tell him exactly what I think is goin’ on, and why I want out.”
“Mr. G.”
“Yeah?”
“What happens if they won’t let us out?” he asked.
“You’re out, Jerry,” I said. “We can get you back to Vegas and put you on a plane to New York.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll have to try to convince them that I haven’t seen any incriminating photos of the President, and I don’t want to.”
“How’re you gonna do that?”
“I’ll have to go through Peter Lawford, I guess. I don’t know if Frank can get to anybody in the administration.”
“What if you can’t get in touch?”
“I’ll have to, somehow,” I said. “Maybe Jack Entratter can help me.”
“I can still make those phone calls, you know,” he said. “Find out about the hitters?”
“Yeah, okay, do that when we get to Tahoe. You might come up with something I can use.”
We drove in silence for a while. I was tired, but so keyed up that my eyes were wide open.
“Mr. G.?”
“Yeah?”
“What about Mr. Giancana?”
“What about him?”
“He might be able to help you.”
“He’d never get to the Kennedys,” I said. “Maybe before Jack was President, but not now.”
“You never know if you don’t ask.”
I took a quick look at Jerry, then put my eyes back on the road.
“Why would he do that for me?” I asked.
“I think he liked you when he met you last year.”
“Have you seen or talked to him since then?”
“No.”
“I wouldn’t even know how to get in touch with him.”
“I got a number you could call.”
I hesitated, almost asked him if he’d make the call for me, but instead I said, “I’ll give it some thought.”
“You need to get some help wherever ya can, Mr. G.,” h
e said. “I know that, Jerry,” I said. “Okay, I’ll give it a lot of thought.”
Fifty-two
We phoned Sammy and woke him up when we got to the Cal Neva and let ourselves into cabin four. He invited us up to his suite but I wanted to go a different way.
“Why don’t you come over here?” I said. “I want to be able to talk without anyone knowin’ where we are.”
“Okay, man,” he said, “your call. Since you have no room service can I bring anythin’?”
“Coffee.”
“Unless you want something stronger?” he said.
“Coffee’s fine,” I said. “The way I’m feelin’ if I have a drink it might knock me right out.”
“Where’s your partner?”
“He’s here.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I hung up and walked to the window. I could see a portion of the lake from there.
“This ain’t what I expected when you said cabin,” Jerry observed.
“I know,” I said, “when I first came to see Frank I thought I’d find somethin’ more rustic.”
“Huh?”
“Somethin’ more … earthy, plain. Nothin’ this fancy.”
“Oh, yeah … rustic.”
“How about a hike while we’re here?” I asked.
“I was willin’ ta hike for you in Reno, Mr. G.,” he said. “Let’s don’t push it, huh.”
Sammy had a driver who had him at the cabin, with coffee, inside of half an hour. The driver carried the tray in-coffee and some donuts-while Sammy gave me and Jerry a big hug each. Jerry wasn’t used to that kind of demonstrative behavior, but he put up with it.
Sammy poured three cups of coffee, handed us each one, then sat down on the sofa. The driver went outside and waited in the car.
“My eyes used to get like yours when I was tired,” he said. “Now this one stays clear.” He pointed to the glass eye and laughed.
I noticed that his good eye was as red as both of mine.
“You want out, Eddie?” he asked.
“Sammy, I need-”
“No hard feelings,” he said. “I appreciate what you’ve done, especially when it came to the gun. You can walk away.”
“I need to explain this to you.”
He sat back on the sofa and said, “I’m all ears, pal.”
Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) rp-3 Page 15
