“I know,” I said. “I guess we should just go in and get it over with.”
“We don’t have ta do this, ya know,” he said. “You don’t have ta.”
“First, I’m not lettin’ you go in there alone,” I said. “That’s out. Second, yeah, I do have to do this, if just to get Hargrove off my back. Once he knows what was goin’ on maybe I’ll be off the hook for that bullet in my wall bein’ connected to a murder weapon.”
“Or not,” he said.
“Yeah, well, let’s be a little more optimistic here.”
“Okay, Mr. G. You ready?”
I took a deep breath. Was I ready?
No.
“Yes.”
Sixty-seven
We stepped inside and switched on our flashlights. It was quiet but then, in quick succession, other flashlights were turned on.
One … two … three …
… four and five.
“This ain’t good,” Jerry said in my ear. “There was only supposed to be three.”
I nodded, then said, “Yes,” because he probably couldn’t see me nod.
“Walter?” I shouted.
The five points of light came closer to us, but stayed spread out. Jerry and I played our lights across them, saw five guys in their thirties who, like us, were holding lights and guns.
“You’re outgunned,” someone said. “Put ’em down.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“We can put you down and take the money.”
“If we have the money on us,” I countered.
“You better have it on you.”
“Look, if you start shootin’ we’ll start shootin’. You might kill us, but some of you won’t leave this place alive. So why don’t we just do business?”
That was met with silence.
“Walter? Is that you doin’ the talkin’?”
More silence, then, “No, it’s me.” Then: “Jerry, is that you?”
The speaker shone his light on Jerry, who returned the favor. Jerry’s light showed a black-haired guy in his thirties.
“Hey, Angelo,” Jerry said. “What’re you doin’ with these amateurs?”
“Somebody killed the pros I was usin’,” he pointed at me, “left them all in here. I didn’t have any idea who killed them … up ta now …”
“That’s too bad,” Jerry said.
“What’re you doin’ with him?”
“Mr. G., this here’s Angelo DeLucca,” Jerry said. “Angelo, meet Eddie Gianelli. He’s a good friend of Mr. Sinatra’s.”
“So what?” Angelo said, looking unimpressed.
“Does Handsome Johnny know what you’re up to, Angelo?” Jerry asked.
I knew “Handsome Johnny” was Johnny Roselli, who represented Sam Giancana in Vegas, as well as Hollywood. In fact, some folks said Roselli was employed by Monogram Studios as a producer.
I did the math in my head: DeLucca/Roselli, Roselli/Giancana, Giancana/Sinatra, Sinatra/Sammy Davis, not to mention Sinatra/JFK and it wasn’t hard to figure out how this Angelo might know about Sammy’s photos. It wouldn’t take much for DeLucca to have someone creep into Sammy’s house for the film.
“Just tryin’ to do some business on the side, Jerry,” Angelo said. “You know how that is.”
“I do know, Angelo,” Jerry said, “but I’d never cross Mr. Giancana this way.”
“I ain’t crossin’ MoMo,” Angelo said. “This dough ain’t comin’ outta his pocket.”
“Yeah, you tell him that,” Jerry said. “You tell him how you used his connection to Mr. Sinatra to not only hold up Sammy Davis Jr., but President Kennedy.”
“Hey, that wasn’t me tryin’ ta squeeze the nigger,” Angelo said. “That was Ernie and his girl, and Walter’s idiot brother.”
“Where’s Tony?” a voice asked. I assumed it was Walter.
“I’m not sure, Walter,” I said. “Up to half an hour ago the cops had him.”
“The cops?”
“I told you,” DeLucca said, wearily, “I told you to keep that idiot away from us.”
“I didn’t-”
DeLucca turned and fired one shot. One of the flashlights fell to the floor. That was the end of Walter.
“Easy,” DeLucca said, as we all jumped at the sound of his shot. “Just doin’ some housecleanin’.”
And cutting the odds for us, I thought. Two to one, now.
“Too bad,” DeLucca said, looking back at Jerry and me. “He was a waiter at the Sands last year when JFK came to see the Rat Pack.”
“Ah,” I said, “so he spotted Sammy takin’ a picture, saw somethin’ in the background that would be worth money, if it was played right.”
“He was always hangin’ around me,” DeLucca said, “wantin’ a job. When he came to me with this I knew how to play it.”
“Right,” I said, “sit on it until JFK got comfortable in the Presidency.”
“Right,” DeLucca said, “but he was actually as big an idiot as his brother. He kept that six-gun he took when he creeped the nigger Jew’s house.”
“He did the house?” Jerry asked.
“He went with one of my men,” Angelo said. “Spotted the guns, decided to take one.”
“So why did you leave it on the body?” I asked.
“Why not? I knew Walter had it on him, so after I killed Ernie I took it from him and left it there. Give the cops somethin’ ta think about.”
“But why frame-”
“Where’s the fuckin’ money?” DeLucca demanded, cutting me off.
I wondered if we could cut the odds down a little more.
“You guys see that?” I asked. “That’s what he’s got in mind for all of you.”
“Shut up,” Angelo DeLucca said. “Shut yer friend up, Jerry.”
“Why, Angelo?” Jerry asked. “He’s right, ain’t he? You ain’t gonna share any of the money with these bozos. I’ll bet they was all brought into the game by Walter, right? And now you shot their friend down right in front of them.”
“A four-way split is better than five,” DeLucca announced to his cohorts.
“And a one way split is the best of all,” I said. “Come on, guys, Angelo here is a pro. He knows how to tie up loose ends, and you guys are all loose ends.”
“You’re the biggest loose end,” Angelo said to me. “I should take care of you right now.”
He extended his gun toward me.
“Don’t Ang-” Jerry said, but he had no time to finish. He had no choice but to fire. The shot lit up the room. The bullet hit Angelo dead center. He spasmed, pulled the trigger of his own gun, firing a round wild and lighting the darkness again.
That left three of them and two of us.
“Drop ’em, boys,” Jerry said. “It’s all over.”
We played our lights over them. They were all nervous, jittery, sweating and biting their lips, wondering what to do because the two men who were their leaders were gone. If they panicked and started shooting it wasn’t going to go well.
Suddenly, we heard what sounded like a bolt being thrown and the sliding metal door to the bay slid up. The glare of several sets of headlights lit the interior of the warehouse and nearly a dozen men came charging in with guns.
“Drop ’em, everybody!” somebody yelled. “Federal agents.”
One guy got antsy and turned his gun toward them. He caught three slugs and went down. In quick succession his buddies met the same fate, and then it was just me and Jerry standing.
“Take it easy!” I yelled, and we put our hands in the air.
I had no doubt these were Joe Kennedy’s men. He’d sprung us after my phone call, and then obviously had us followed. Now the question was, what were their orders where we were concerned?
“You Eddie Gianelli?” one of the agents asked.
If I said yes would they gun us down? Tie up the last of the loose ends?
I had to play the hand that had been dealt to me.
“I’m Gianelli.”
&
nbsp; The dead men were being searched by other agents, and one of them came up with a brown manila envelope. He brought it over to the man who’d questioned me, obviously the agent in charge. The envelope had blood on it, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He had a flashlight of his own. He opened the envelope, shined the light in, and then closed it. All he’d been able to see was that there were photos and negatives inside, but I didn’t think he’d been able to see what they were photos of.
He folded the envelope lengthwise, stuck it in his inside jacket pocket, then turned his attention back to his men.
“Pack it in!” he yelled.
The agents brought in plastic bags, which they used to remove the bodies. I still wasn’t sure what they were going to do with us.
The agent-in-charge looked at us as his men cleaned up the scene and said, “Mr. Kennedy’s compliments. You and your buddy better get out of here.”
Jerry and I looked at each other. If they hadn’t shot us by now they weren’t going to shoot us as we left.
“You don’t have to tell us twice,” I said, and we got the hell out of there.
Sixty-eight
As soon as Sammy opened his door I handed him the photo and the negative.
“Come on in.”
I entered, closing the door behind me. It was the morning after and Jerry had remained in Vegas. I wanted to get the photo back to Sammy right away.
“Did you … look at it?”
“Once,” I said, “just to make sure it was the right one.”
“We were just … bein’ silly,” he said, looking embarrassed, “and I had one shot left. May … isn’t usually this … free with her body-”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“Not that she’s a prude,” he went on, “but, man, if this picture had gotten into the papers-you dig?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I do.”
He put his hand out and I shook it, then he pulled me into a big hug.
“Thanks, Eddie. Man, I owe you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He put the photo and negative into his pocket, then asked, “And the other thing? You fix that, too?”
“I hope so,” I said.
I didn’t want to tell him there could have been more prints out there, that there was still the possibility that a photo of a naked May Britt, or a compromised JFK, could still show up in the newspapers or a magazine. It seemed like all the guilty parties were either dead or-as in the case of Caitlin and Tony-in jail, at the moment.
Apparently, the same phone call that had sprung me and Jerry had sealed Caitlin and Tony’s fate. When I had gone to sleep the night before I was almost expecting to be awakened by cops at my door, but the morning dawned with no such intrusion. Hargrove may have still had it in for me, but for the moment I seemed to be in the clear.
“Did you hear about Joe Kennedy?” Sammy asked.
“What about him?”
“He had a stroke,” Sammy said. “Yesterday.”
“Dead?” I asked.
“No, but pretty bad. They think he’ll be in a wheelchair from now on.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “Guess I was one of the last to see him on his feet. He was … pretty damn impressive.”
“Who did it, Eddie?” he asked. “Who broke into my house and stole the photos?”
I told him.
I spent the night in the room at the Sands, and that’s where Jerry still was, but it was time for me to go home. I needed to talk to Jack Entratter, but I was putting that off for later in the day.
The rug had dried, the bullet hole was still in the door frame, but the bullet was gone. Hargrove had it.
Could he use it to come after me again? Now that Joe Kennedy was incapacitated? Well, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t been looking over my shoulder for him ever since the first time we met. So nothing had really changed.
I was making a pot of coffee when the phone rang. What I needed to do was sit quietly, drain the pot by myself, and finally stop shaking from the confrontation in the warehouse.
“Hello?”
“Eddie?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s Jack.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Jack Kennedy. The President?” he added.
“I know who you are.”
“I’m sorry to call so unexpectedly,” JFK said, “but I wanted to thank you for what you did.”
“I, uh, was under the impression that you didn’t know what was going on.”
“Oh I didn’t,” he said, “until my father had his stroke. Then I was told.”
Yeah, right.
“So … it was you who got me sprung last night?”
“Yes.”
Hargrove didn’t know how right he’d been about my connections going higher.
“Of course, no one knows it was me, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Of course.”
“You did your country a great service, Eddie.”
“Um, well, okay.” Now was not the time to tell him I was glad I didn’t vote for him.
There was a moment of silence, and then he asked, “Uh, you didn’t see the photo, did you, Eddie?”
“What photo was that, Mr. President?”
Epilogue
The show actually brought tears to my eyes. Sandy Hackett and his troupe of players had the guys down pat. Sandy himself did a great job playing Joey. Even hearing Buddy Hackett’s voice do the opening made me mist up. I had last seen Buddy in 2003, just before he passed away, and I missed him.
And the fella playing Sammy was perfect. He made me miss Sammy so much I looked down at the gold watch I was wearing, the one Sammy had given me for helping him out in 1961.
I should have gone backstage to congratulate them but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Didn’t want to make an old fool of myself.
I fell in with the flow of people filing out and, once outside, buttoned my coat. The chill in the desert was getting to my old bones more than usual.
I stood to the side, allowing the rest of the crowd to file past me. At my age being jostled could amount to the same as being shoved off a cliff.
Finally, the crowd was gone and I stood outside the Greek Isles virtually alone-until I heard someone call my name from behind. I turned to see Sandy approaching me, still in his Joey makeup.
“You runnin’ out on me?” he asked.
“To tell you the truth,” I said, “your show got to me. Brought back a lot of memories. I–I wasn’t sure I could …”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “My dad’s only been gone four years but every time I hear his voice …”
We stood there together, a moment of silence for the departed, the friends and loved ones from our past….
Oh yeah, next time you watch Sergeants 3 check me out. I got last billing as “Man with snake.”
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You with the Gun in Your Hand) rp-3
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