“Too bad you didn’t listen to what I told you in the bar in Miami, Eddie,” he said.
I tried to scramble away from him and get to my feet, but I slipped on the gravel.
There was more gunfire, and then I realized there were more people. Jerry had come charging out The Place’s front door, and into the fray. He slammed into the blade man, knocking him completely off his feet.
“I got this!” he shouted to Danny, who was behind him.
There was another shot and Danny turned that way, his gun in hand. He found himself facing Madame Merlina, who had picked up the briefcase and still had her gun in her hand. Winter was down, bleeding from a gunshot wound.
“Take it easy, Lady,” Danny said.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.
“He’s with me,” I said, getting to my feet.
Off to the side, her blade man got to his feet and said to Jerry, “I’m gonna cut you good.”
Jerry produced his .45 and pointed it at the man.
“You’re done stickin’ people,” he said.
We were now all encircled by the light from the single pole. Jerry faced the blade man, Danny and I were facing the armed Madame Merlina, and Winter was on the ground, moaning and holding his chest.
Merlina pointed her gun at Danny and me.
“Madame Merlina,” I said, “this is over. Your plan to blackmail Jackie Gleason, your plan to doublecross your partner, Detective Winter over there? All over.”
“He’s not my partner,” she said. “He tried to horn in on us after he killed his partner and needed money to disappear. Well, he wasn’t gonna get our money.”
“You mean Jackie Gleason’s money, don’t you?”
“It’s ours now!” she screamed. “We worked hard for it. Tell that big idiot to stop pointing his gun at Leonard.“
“Leonard?” Jerry asked.
“I’m Lenny the blade,” the man with the knife said, as much to Madame Merlina as to us.
“Jesus,” Jerry laughed, “you shoulda stuck with Leonard.”
“Merlina,” I said, “he’s not going to put his gun down, and neither is Danny, here. So you want to start pulling that trigger, go ahead.”
And then we all heard it in the distance: police sirens.
“Leonard, get in the car!” Merlina shouted. “Let’s go!”
“Don’t move a muscle, Mr. Blade,” Jerry told him, laughing again.
“If you didn’t have that gun I’d cut you up,” Leonard told Jerry. He was a tall, slender, whose voice I recognized from the Fountainbleu in Miami. Even if Jerry put his gun down, Leonard wouldn’t have had a chance against him.
“Drop the gun, Merlina,” I said. “And the briefcase.”
Merlina looked at us, then at Jerry, assessed the situation, and dropped the gun to the gravel. She didn’t drop the briefcase, though. She held that with both hands, tight to her chest, and was still holding it that way when the police cars arrived.
SEVENTY SEVEN
After several squad cars arrived, an ambulance came for Winter, then an unmarked car with Hargrove and his partner, as well as a surprise guest.
Miami Beach Chief-of-Detectives Gentry.
The presence of Gentry — who outranked him, even if it was with another department — seemed to temper Hargrove’s hatred of me.
“You should have called us instead of trying to handle this yourselves,” Hargrove said.
“I think we handled things pretty well,” I said.
“For a bunch of amateurs,” Hargrove said.
“Funny how the only one to get hurt was a career cop gone bad,” I observed.
“Chief Gentry told me he was under investigation,” Hargrove said, “and that he believes Winters killed his partner.”
“He did.”
“Then he’s trash,” Hargrove said. “He should have died here.”
“But he didn’t,” I said, “so I guess Gentry will be taking him back.”
“You’re lucky, Eddie,” Hargrove said, “that your hood and your pet P.I. never discharged their weapons.”
“They didn’t have to. I told you, we handled it.”
Hargrove looked around the parking lot, which was now filled with people, mostly from his department — cops, detectives, lab techs, as well as medical personnel from the ambulance. At that point, Gentry came walking over.
“I’d like to talk to Mr. Gianelli, Detective,” he said.
“Of course,” Hargrove said, and walked away without another word. He must have been choking on them.
“How did you get here?” I asked.
“I came with two of my Internal Affairs detectives,” Gentry said. “They decided Winter had to still be here, after killing Eisman. I wanted to be in on the arrest.”
“And so you were.”
“Yes.” He looked over at the ambulance. “He has a chest wound, and they’re not sure he’ll make it. I hope he will.”
“So you can lock him up.”
“Yes,” he said. ”What about your problem?”
“Gleason’s blackmailers are in custody,” I said. “I think you’ll find the man is the one responsible for the murder in the elevator.”
“His name is Leonard Grayson,” Gentry said. “Apparently, he worked with the woman, Merlina, and they became romantically involved.”
“And decided to make some money by blackmailing Gleason when they realized who he was.”
“Yes.”
I nodded. “They probably thought it made more sense to warn me off than kill me and have another body show up.”
“And then changed their minds once or twice,” Gentry said.
“Until they decided to use me for the payoff—which was probably Winters’ idea when he tried to muscle in on their action.”
“Once he killed his partner to keep him quiet, I don’t think he felt safe enough to come back to Miami,” Gentry said. “So he decided to get in on their action.”
“I wonder how he found them,” I said.
“He’s actually always been a very good detective,” Gentry said, “just a dirty one, as well.”
“Too bad.”
“If he makes it we’ll fill in some of the blanks,” Gentry said. “If he doesn’t, we’ll just have to live with them.”
“We don’t always get all the answers, do we, Chief?”
“No, Mr. Gianelli, we don’t.” He shook my hand. “Thank you. I believe I can keep Detective Hargrove from coming down on your ass, although he does seem to hate your guts.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I said, “but thanks.”
As Gentry walked away he passed Jerry and Danny, exchanging a nod with them. They walked over to me.
“Are we free to go?” Danny asked.
“Sure, why not?” I asked. “We didn’t shoot anybody, did we?”
“Lenny the Blade,” Jerry said, shaking his head. “He was too funny to shoot.”
“And Merlina still has some questions to answer,” Danny said. “I didn’t want to kill her.”
“We might as well get back to the Sands,” I said. “I’ll give Gleason a call and tell him we’ve got his money, and his blackmailers.”
“He ain’t gonna be happy,” Danny said.
“Why not?” Jerry asked.
“He wanted to pay her,” Danny said, “and have her go away. Now, if she wants to, she can reveal his secret to the world.”
“Only if the cops let her,” I said. “And besides, all he has to do is deny, deny, deny.”
“You tell him that,” Danny said, “and see how he reacts.”
“Maybe,” I said, after a moment, “I’ll have Frank tell him.”
EPILOGUE
2009
When you watch a video on Youtube, they list all these similar videos along the side, in case you’re interested. There are clips of the Rat Pack, alone and together, interviews with Jackie Gleason, Jerry Lewis, Lauren Bacall, anybody who ever had a connection with Frank, Dino or Sammy.
/> I saw an interview that had been conducted with Jackie and Marilyn Taylor after they had been married. Jackie looked shrunken and grey, still with the ever-present cigarette in his hand. I didn’t watch it.
In fact, I turned my laptop off. I never saw Jackie again after that whole business was finished, and I didn’t talk to him. I did call Frank and told him to tell Jackie it was all over and he could have his money back. I figured Jackie would send someone to get it, so I was surprised when that someone turned out, to be Frank...
***
It was a couple of days later after Chief Gentry had gone back to Miami Beach with a patched-up Detective Winters in tow—and cuffs--Jerry had gone back to Brooklyn, and Danny was away on a case. I got a call at the Silver Queen bar from Frank, asking me to meet him, with Jackie’s money.
I had to fetch the money from Jack Entratter’s safe, so I decided to have Frank meet me there, as Jack was also out of town.
When Frank walked in I was seated behind Jack’s desk.
“Looks good on you, Pally,” he said, sitting across from me. “Maybe one day you’ll have this job.”
“I don’t want it,” I told him. “I’m happy doing what I’m doing.” I picked the briefcase up off the floor, where I had it next to me, set it on the desk and pushed it across. “There’s Jackie’s money. Every penny’s there, but maybe he’d like you to count it.”
“That’s okay,” Frank said, with a smile as he took it off the desk. “I trust you.”
“Is Jackie upset that I didn’t just pay the blackmailer off?”
“He was, but I talked him down.”
“How?”
“I told him the payoffs would never have stopped, and that they were going up the river for murder, anyway. Anything they said would sound like desperation and all he had to do was deny it.”
“And he bought it?”
“Yeah, he bought it.”
“Well, good.”
“Look, Eddie,” Frank said, “I’m, sorry things got so crazy. I know if we had told you the truth from the beginning--”
“Water under the bridge, Frank,” I said. “Forget it.”
Frank stood up, holding the briefcase in one hand, but he didn’t leave.
“Eddie, are we cool?”
“Sure, Frank,” I said, “we’re cool.”
He smiled, and walked out...
***
But we weren’t cool.
I got myself a small bourbon and sat on the sofa, in front of my now dark laptop. Things were never the same between me and Frank after that. Oh, we talked, interacted, whatnot, but I never felt like we were friends. And maybe the problem was, we never were. I was just a means to an end to be used whenever he needed me.
I didn’t feel that way with Dino. I truly believe that Dean Martin and I were friends. Sammy could be called a close acquaintance. It could be said that I knew Joey Bishop and Peter Lawford. I liked Joey, not Peter.
Of Jackie Gleason, all I ever admit to when people ask — and they’re always asking “Did you know him.” or “Did you know her?” — was that I met him once.
You see, all my memories of that time when Vegas was “my town” are not good.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert J. Randisi is the creator and author of the Rat Pack Mystery series, this novel being the eleventh.
In the mystery genre he is also the author of the Miles Jacoby, Nick Delvecchio, Gil & Claire Hunt, Dennis McQueen, and Joe Keough series. He has written more than 500 western novels and has worked in the Western, Mystery, Sci-Fi, Horror and Spy genres. He is the editor of over 30 anthologies. All told he is the author of over 650 novels. His arms are very, very tired.
He is the founder of the Private Eye Writers of America, the creator of the Shamus Award, the co-founder of Mystery Scene Magazine, the American Crime Writers League, Western Fictioneers and their Peacemaker Award.
In 2009 the Private Eye Writers of America awarded him the Life Achievement Award, and in 2013 the Readwest Foundation presented him with their President’s Award for Life Achievement.
He is also the creator of the long running western series, “The Gunsmith”. Under various other pseudonyms he has created and written the “Tracker,” “Mountain Jack Pike,” “Angel Eyes,” “Ryder,” “Talbot Roper,” “The Son of Daniel Shaye,” and “The Gamblers” Western series.
[Rat Pack 11] - I Only Have Lies for You Page 23
