Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand)

by Robert J. Randisi

  “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?”

  “I can,” I called out.

  “Me, too,” Jerry said.

  Helen turned at the sound of our voices. She was getting ready to bite somebody’s head off for interrupting her, but when she saw me she smiled.

  Up to a few years ago Helen Jaye was still a headliner at the Golden Nugget, but she had retired at the top of her game to take the job of ramroding the girls instead of being one of them.

  “Take ten, girls,” she called, and came walking over to us. I knew she was in her mid-forties, but as far as I was concerned she could have still been performing as a headliner at any casino or club on the strip.

  I knew some other ex-showgirls who were working the same kind of job—like Verna over at the Riviera, and Leelee at the Aladdin—but Helen was the best of ’em.

  “Eddie G,” she said, looking Jerry up and down, “you brought me a present.”

  Helen had a well-documented yen for big men.

  “Jerry, meet Helen,” I said.

  “Hey, big fella,” she said, batting her eyes at him, “you gonna be in town long?”

  “Geez, I don’t know—” Jerry started, but I cut him off.

  “Leave him alone, Helen,” I said. “He’s got too much work to do.”

  “Yeah?” She took Jerry in like he was a six-and-a-half-foot ice cream cone and it was a very hot day. “Maybe some other time, huh?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  Then she turned her attention to me.

  “What can I do for you, Eddie?”

  I knew that, in addition to handling the showgirls at the Golden Nugget, Helen ran some girls on the side. I didn’t come right out and ask her to have her whores keep their ears open, but suggested in a roundabout way, which eventually got there.

  “If I hear anything I’ll sure let you know,” she told me.

  “I’d appreciate it, Helen.”

  “See ya around, big guy,” she said to Jerry.

  “Uh, yeah, sure …” Jerry said, and I pushed him out of there.

  “Is that broad runnin’ whores?” he asked, as we walked through the casino.

  “Just a few,” I said.

  “What about her?” he asked. “She a whore?”

  “Not that I know of,” I said. “Why, you interested?”

  “She’s a good-lookin’ broad,” he said, “but a little too old for me, ya know?”

  “What’s wrong with a broad who’s got a few miles on her?” I asked.

  “Nothin’,” he said, “but if I’m spendin’ my dough, I like to spend it on young stuff, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I do know, Jerry,” I said. “And speakin’ of young stuff, you just gave me an idea.”

  “What?”

  “Come on.”

  We left the Golden Nugget and walked down the block to the Fremont Casino. A young girl stood on the corner wearing short shorts and a flimsy top. She was also sporting some goose bumps, because it got cool in the desert at night. I knew she was legal, but she looked all of thirteen.

  “Hey, Amy,” I said.

  “Eddie G,” she said. “How’s it hangin’, handsome?”

  She smiled at me with lips painted crimson and batted eyelashes that were caked with mascara.

  I took hold of her elbow and walked her away from Jerry so I could whisper what I wanted in her ear. Nobody knew the streets like Amy, and I wanted her to keep her ears open. I pushed a twenty into her hand and she grinned, tucking it into her top. I’d say she put it between her breasts, but she didn’t have any breasts to speak of.

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything, Eddie,” she promised.

  “Good girl.”

  I walked over to where I’d left Jerry standing on the corner, and he said, “Now that’s too young.”

  “She’s nineteen.”

  “Yer kiddin’. She looks thirteen.”

  “That’s what I think, but don’t tell her that. She thinks she looks twelve.”

  We walked back down the block to the Nugget, wandering through it again to get to the parking lot.

  Being on the street with Jerry, checking sources I hadn’t checked in a while, I noticed my Brooklyn accent creeping back into my speech. I’d been away from New York a long time, hadn’t been a CPA for a lot of years. Working at the Sands I always found myself adapting my speech patterns to whoever I was talking to at the time. When I was with Jack Entratter I became Brooklyn Eddie again, but with high rollers my speech smoothed out a bit. And with certain ladies.

  “Where to now?” Jerry asked as we got into the car, with him in the driver’s seat.

  “Hm? Oh, just head back to the strip and I’ll give it some thought.”

  “Pull over here,” I said a few minutes later.

  We were back on the strip, just outside of Wilbur Clark’s Desert Inn.

  “Hey, Andy!” I yelled.

  A kid who looked and was twelve—refreshing, wasn’t it?—came over to the car.

  “Hey, Eddie G,” he greeted. “Whatcher doin’ in the passenger seat of yer own Caddy?”

  “Got a friend of mine drivin’ it,” I said. “He appreciates good cars. Jerry, meet Andy.”

  “Hey, kid.”

  Andy leaned in, staring at the length of Jerry’s legs.

  “Wow. What’s he go, about six-four?”

  “Little bigger,” I said.

  “What can I do for ya, Eddie? I gotta pass out the rest of these flyers.”

  “I’m not going to interfere with your job, Andy. I just want you to stay alert for me.”

  “Why?”

  I gave him the same story I had given the others.

  “You doin’ this for one of your whales?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Wouldn’t be Mr. Sinatra, would it?” he asked, his eyes lighting up. “I’d really like to do somethin’ for Mr. Sinatra, ya know?”

  “Andy,” I said, “I can honestly tell you this isn’t for Mr. Sinatra.”

  “Well, okay,
Eddie,” the kid said, “I’ll just have ta do it for you.”

  I handed the kid a sawbuck and said, “Thanks, Andy. I’ll appreciate anything you can do.”

  “Here,” Andy said, reaching across me, “you look like you appreciate a good piece of ass.”

  Jerry took the flyer and Andy backed away from the car.

  “Phone numbers?” Jerry asked, looking at me. “He’s handin’ out phones numbers for whores?”

  “It’s all legal here, Jerry,” I said. “Why not?”

  Jerry thought that over a moment, then shrugged, folded the flyer and put it in his jacket pocket.

  “Where to, Mr. G.?”

  “Home, Jerry. The Sands.”

  Thirty-two

  AFTER A FEW HOURS of running around the strip and downtown, Jerry and I went into the Silver Queen Lounge for a couple of cold ones. The bartender—a new guy named Richard—put a new bowl of peanuts on the bar in front of us.

  “Whatever happened to that red-haired gal you were tappin’ for a while?” Jerry asked.

  “Beverly. She got a better offer. She left to get married.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “No, that’s good for her,” I said. “She had a kid who needed a father and I’m not the type to get married.”

  “I getcha.” He popped a handful of nuts into his mouth. “We doin’ anythin’ else tonight?”

  “No,” I said, “I think I’ve had it. But we’re gonna fly back up to Tahoe again tomorrow to see Sammy.”

  “Early start?”

  “Yup.”

  He got off his stool.

  “I think I’ll go have a sandwich in my room and then turn in.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you in the lobby in the morning … let’s make it around nine A.M.?”

  “Okay, Mr. G.,” he said. “Good night.”

  I watched Jerry leave the lounge, then I turned back to the bar and signaled the new guy to bring me another beer.

  “There ya go, Mr. Gianelli,” Richard said, setting a frosty mug in front of me.

  “Thanks.”

  “Um, there was somebody in here earlier, looking for you, sir.”

  “Don’t call me ‘sir’ Richard,” I said. “I’m not your boss.”

  “Yes, si—I mean, sure, okay.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know, just some guy,” he said. “He came in, asked if you were around. When I told him I didn’t know, he left.”

  I took a better look at Richard. He was a handsome guy in his early thirties who, I had heard, was drawing some extra female clientele into the lounge when he was on duty. He had blond hair, with a shock of it falling down over his forehead. I wondered if that was part of the appeal to women. My own hairline had begun to recede lately.

  But I wasn’t watching him to see how good looking he was. I wanted to study his eyes, decide if he had any smarts to him.

  “What did he look like? This guy who came to inquire about my whereabouts?”

  He smiled, almost shyly.

  “I do really good describing women because I notice them more,” he admitted. “This was just … a guy. Not tall, dark-haired …”

  “Thin or fat?”

  “Thin, but not skinny.”

  “When you say dark are we talkin’ hair or skin? Or both?”

  “Black hair, I mean,” Richard said. “His skin was pale, I think.”

  “Have you ever seen him in here before?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Did you see where he went when he left?”

  “Um, there was a blonde and a brunette at the bar tryin’ to get my attention,” he said. “I didn’t see which way he went.”

  “Okay, Richard, thanks,” I said.

  “Sure thing, Mr. Gianelli.”

  “Eddie,” I said, “it’s just Eddie.”

  “I hear folks call you Eddie G,” he commented.

  “Yeah, sometimes.”

  “Okay, Eddie G,” he said, “let me know if you need anything else.”

  “This’ll do it,” I said, indicating the beer. “Just let me have a check.”

  “Do you usually pay for drinks?”

  “Kid,” I answered, “I always pay for drinks. It’s a rule.”

  “Your rule?”

  I shook my head.

  “House rule.” It was a Jack Entratter rule. There was no reason any employee should drink for nothing, he always said.

  He gave me my check, I paid it, leaving most of it on the bar, and I sipped some more beer.

  I went out to the hotel lobby, to the desk. There were a guy and girl on duty. The girl was pretty, but I didn’t know her. I knew the guy. His name was Anthony something. Early twenties, he had just come out of training for his job. Which was probably why he’d caught this late shift.

  “Hey, Anthony.”

  “Hey, Mr. Gianelli.”

  “You got any messages for me?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said. “Caitlin, we got any messages for Mr. Gianelli?”

  Caitlin turned her dark gaze on me, brushed a lock of auburn hair from her eyes and said, “Nope, I don’t have anything. Sorry, Eddie.”

  Crap, she knew my name and I hadn’t known hers. When had we met, I wondered? And why didn’t I remember meeting a doll like her?

  “Well, was anybody askin’ for me? Maybe a guy, dark hair, pale skin?”

  “Gee, I don’t remember anybody like that,” Anthony said.

  “Me, neither,” Caitlin said, coming closer. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey,” I said, “don’t be sorry. I just heard a guy was lookin’ for me in the lounge. I guess he didn’t want to find me bad enough to ask out here. Thanks, both of you.”

  “Sure,” Anthony said.

  “ ’Bye, Eddie.”

  I stopped in mid-turn, looked at her and said, “Good-night, Caitlin.”

  I wouldn’t forget her name again.

  Thirty-three

  I WENT TO MY ROOM, thinking about the guy who’d been trying to find me. A gambler, maybe a regular who needed something from me? Or another man involved in the Sammy Davis Jr. fiasco.

  That’s what it had turned into, a fiasco. Four men dead, and I didn’t know exactly what was going on. If Sammy was holding something back I was going to get it out of him tomorrow.

  I undressed and got into bed. I found myself wondering what the cops had been doing on my block the night before and, if they were at my house, why they hadn’t come to the Sands looking for me. My old friend—and I use the term very loosely—Detective Hargrove would love to get something on me. Maybe he was trying to make his case before coming for me.

  I made a mental note to stop in and see Jack Entratter before heading to Tahoe the next morning. Which meant I was going to have to get up early so I could see Entratter and still meet Jerry in the lobby at nine. I picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Front desk.”

  “Caitlin?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Eddie Gianelli.”

  “Oh, hello, Eddie.” Was there was a warm tone in her voice or was I imagining it?

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like an early wake-up call,” I said. “Like … six.”

  “That doesn’t give you much time to sleep,” she said. “It’s almost one.”

  “Five hours should be plenty,” I said.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “A six A.M. wake-up call for Mr. Eddie G.”

  “Thank you, Caitlin.”

  “Don’t mention it, Eddie.”

  I hung up, turned off the light, pulled the sheet up over me, and wondered again if I was messed up enough that I had met this girl and didn’t remember?

  I woke when there was a knock on the door. In a fog, I got to my feet, clad only in boxers, and went to the door. When I reached it I suddenly came awake and wondered if there were cops outside.

  I looked out the peephole and, instead of a cop, I saw a girl.

  Cait
lin.

  I opened the door a crack. “Caitlin.”

  “Good morning, Eddie,” she said. A sweet smell came off her, as if she’d just recently put on some perfume. “I thought I’d personally deliver your wake-up call.”

  “Is it six already?”

  “Yes, it is,” she said. “Time to get up. Or …”

  “Or what?” I asked.

  She smiled enigmatically, making me wait, then said, “Or time to let me in.”

  “Wha—”

  She pushed on the door abruptly, catching me by surprise, and I was forced back far enough for her to come in.

  “Caitlin, I’m in my underwear….”

  “I know, Eddie,” she said, “so I guess it’s only fair that I get down to mine.”

  I couldn’t believe my eyes as she unbuttoned the white blouse all the front desk girls were supposed to wear.

  “Caitlin, what are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing, Eddie?” she asked, removing her blouse to reveal firm, peach-sized breasts in a lacy white bra. “I’m waking you up.”

  We both looked down at the same time and saw that she certainly was.

  Thirty-four

  WHEN I WOKE UP for the second time, Caitlin was gone. I got into the shower but even when I made it cold the memory of her firm young breasts, smooth strong thighs and agile mouth made me hard again. Even feeling like a dirty old man—she was apparently almost twenty years younger than I was—couldn’t make it go away.

  “Damn,” I said. I tried thinking about Jerry waiting for me in the lobby. Yup, that did it. I was able to get dressed after that.

  I still had a half hour before meeting Jerry, so I detoured to Entratter’s office. I knew Jack had a house on Charleston Boulevard, but he also had a suite at the Sands. If he slept in the suite he’d be in his office this early.

  When I entered the outer office his girl wasn’t there, but I could hear him banging around inside. As I walked in he slammed a desk drawer angrily.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “What’s good about it?” He sat in his chair and leaned back. It creaked beneath his weight. “Whataya want, Eddie? You finished with Sammy’s business yet?”

  “No, not yet,” I said. “In fact, I’ve got to go to Tahoe again today.”