‘So tell me, Eddie,’ Dino said. ‘What was goin’ on in the bar?’
‘That guy is related to the dead man who was gonna sell Bing the horse,’ I said. ‘And there’s a sister. She’s taken over the sale, but this brother doesn’t want it to go through.’
‘Why was he gonna take it out on you?’ Dean asked. ‘And why’d he bring help?’
I told him what had happened out at the ranch.
‘Well,’ Dean said, ‘they’re lucky they backed off. The four of us would’ve cleaned the place up with ’em.’
‘You got that right,’ Mack said around a mouthful of burger.
While we were talking, Jerry finished both hotdogs and one of his burgers.
‘How were the hot dogs?’ Mack asked.
‘OK, but not as good as Nathan’s in Brooklyn.’
‘You know, I spent a lotta time in Chicago,’ Mack said, ‘and those Chicago hot dogs are pretty good. I can’t see how them skinny Nathan’s dogs can be better.’
‘Are you crazy?’ Jerry asked. ‘There ain’t nothin’ better than a Nathan’s hot dog. Hell, even those dogs at Nedicks in the city are better than Chicago. I mean, you gotta put all that extra stuff on them to make them taste better, right?’
‘All that stuff joins with the hot dog,’ Mack explained, ‘which is nice and plump.’
Jerry and Mack went off then, each extolling the virtues of Chicago and Brooklyn hot dogs. I thought I should probably stop them before they moved on to a pizza argument.
‘When does Frank get to town?’ I asked.
Both Jerry and Mack stopped and looked at me.
‘Tomorrow,’ Dean said.
‘And that’s Frankie’s last night at the Flamingo?’
‘Yep.’
I counted in my head.
‘That makes five nights. The Flamingo booked a new singer for five nights?’
Dean stared at me.
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘That was silly.’ A new singer named Sinatra, I told myself.
‘Hey,’ Dean said, ‘I’m gonna go and get a burger for the driver. I forgot all about him.’
‘I’ll get it, boss,’ Mack said. ‘Somebody might spot you in line and cause a fuss.’
As Mack walked towards the shack, Dean called out, ‘Bring him a beer, too.’
After we all finished our burgers – including the driver – we piled into the limo and headed back to the Sands. The inside of the car smelled like meat and onions. Not so bad. Jerry and Mack continued their hot dog debate, and then did move on to pizza.
THIRTY-SIX
The next morning the hotel was gearing up because Frank Sinatra was coming in. The steam room in the basement had to be ready. It pretty much belonged to Frank, and while any of the group – Dean, Sammy, Peter or Joey – was free to use it, nobody ever did unless Frank was there.
When I drove in from home I could see the hustle and bustle Frank’s imminent arrival always caused.
I had gone home the night before, despite the fact Philip Arnold could have shown up with his two boyfriends at any time. Jerry offered to go home with me and sleep on the couch – ‘like the old days’ – but I refused.
‘I don’t think he’s that dangerous,’ I said.
‘Well, if he does bother you,’ Jerry said, ‘remember, don’t fight fair.’
I didn’t have to worry about fighting fair or foul, since he never showed up.
As I crossed the lobby somebody called my name from the front desk. I headed over there. It was Charlie Slater, one of the concierges.
‘Glad I spotted you,’ he said. ‘Somebody came in lookin’ for ya this morning.’
‘Who?’
‘Cops.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Mr Entratter’s office. He told me to watch out for you.’
‘To tell me to go up and see him, or to warn me off?’ I asked.
Charlie shrugged.
‘You know who they were?’
‘A couple of detectives,’ Charlie said. ‘I got no names, though.’
‘Were they lookin’ for anybody else?’
‘Mr Entratter said they wanted to talk to Jerry, and to Mr Crosby.’
‘And are either one of them up there?’
‘I think Mr Crosby.’
‘Have you seen Jerry?’
‘He’s that big guy that’s friends with you, right?’ Charlie asked.
‘That’s right.’
‘I ain’t seen him this mornin’.’
‘OK, Charlie, thanks.’
I went to the house phone and dialed Jerry’s suite. No answer. Next I dialed Jack’s number. He answered.
‘Are we in trouble?’
‘No,’ Entratter said, ‘I said I didn’t want to be disturbed. I’ve got Bing Crosby with me.’
‘I get it,’ I said. ‘Is one of the detectives in your office; Hargrove?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What the hell does he want? We haven’t done anything.’
‘I don’t have all the answers.’
‘All right, Jack,’ I said, ‘I might as well just come up.’
‘And your friend?’
‘I don’t know where Jerry is,’ I said. ‘So for now, I’ll come up alone.’
‘OK, you do that.’
We hung up. I walked to the elevator and took one up to the second floor. Jack’s girl just waved me in without saying a word.
THIRTY-SEVEN
‘Well, look who’s here,’ Hargrove said. He was seated so he could see the door as I entered.
‘Hello, Detective,’ I said.
Bing Crosby turned in his chair and said, ‘Good morning, Eddie.’
‘Bing.’ I looked at Jack. ‘Is this why you were lookin’ for me, Jack?’
‘Come on in, Eddie,’ Jack said. ‘The detectives have some questions.’
I looked at the other detective in the room, and was surprised. I expected one of the other Las Vegas dicks, but instead it was one of the Sheriff’s Department men. I didn’t recall his name.
‘You remember Detective Lewis, don’t you, Eddie?’ Hargrove asked. ‘From the Sheriff’s Department?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Nice to see you, Detective. Or is it?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Lewis said. ‘I guess we’ll have to wait and see.’
‘Sit down, Eddie,’ Hargrove said. ‘We were just asking Mr Crosby some questions about the other day in Red Rock Canyon.’
‘What more do you think he knows?’ I asked, while I remained standing.
‘Well, that’s why we ask questions,’ Hargrove said.
‘Well, maybe I can help clear up whatever’s bothering you fellas,’ I said.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Eddie,’ Hargrove said. ‘You’ll get your turn.’
‘Mr Crosby?’ Detective Lewis said. ‘You mind answerin’ my last question?’
‘And what was that question, Detective?’ Bing asked.
‘How long were you and Mr Epstein apart before he came back and told you he had found the victim?’
‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘This is about Jerry?’ I looked at Hargrove. ‘You’re tryin’ to pin this on Jerry?’
‘We didn’t know about Mr Epstein’s record when we spoke to you at the scene the other day,’ Lewis said. ‘Detective Hargrove was kind enough to fill us in on both of you.’
‘So why aren’t you trying to pin it on me, then?’ I asked.
‘You and Mr Crosby were together,’ Lewis said. ‘Or you say you were. That puts Epstein alone with the victim.’
‘Yeah, the dead victim.’
‘So he says,’ Hargrove said. ‘And we all know Jerry the Torpedo never lies.’
‘Whatever you think of him, he’s not lying now,’ I said.
‘That’s what you say,’ Hargrove said. ‘I think Mr Crosby should answer the question.’
‘It was only a few minutes,’ Bing said. ‘Hardly enough time to beat a man to death.’
‘That’s not for you to decide, Mr Crosby,’
Lewis said. ‘I’ve seen Epstein. He’s certainly big enough to beat a man to death, especially if he’s using a weapon.’
‘What weapon?’ I asked.
‘We haven’t determined that, yet.’
‘Jerry couldn’t have beaten that man to death and avoided being splattered with blood.’ I looked at Lewis. ‘Did you see any blood on him?’
Lewis looked over at Hargrove.
‘We still need to talk to Epstein,’ Hargrove said.
‘I don’t know where he is.’
‘Not likely,’ Hargrove said. ‘You always know where he is. When he’s in town you two are joined at the hip.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Can’t help you. I called his suite and he wasn’t there.’
‘His suite, huh?’ Hargrove shook his head. ‘How does a Brooklyn torpedo rate a suite?’
‘I’m paying for it,’ Bing said. ‘He’s my guest here.’
‘That figures.’
‘Gents,’ Entratter said, ‘I think we’ve all cooperated with you as much as we can, right now.’
‘You think so?’ Hargrove asked. He looked at me. ‘Where’s your buddy, Bardini?’
‘How am I supposed to know?’ I asked. ‘You think these two check in with me with their every move?’
‘We’re lookin’ for him,’ Hargrove said, standing up. ‘You let him know that . . . if you see him.’
‘I’ll pass that message along.’
‘Mr Crosby,’ Hargrove said, ‘don’t leave town.’
‘Why not?’ Bing asked.
‘We might have more questions.’
‘I think you might have to talk to my lawyer, in the future,’ Bing said. ‘I was nice enough to come down here to be questioned—’
‘Just don’t leave,’ Hargrove said, cutting him off.
Hargrove looked at Lewis, who stood up and followed the Las Vegas dick out the door.
‘They’re gonna try to pin the Red Rock murder on Jerry,’ I said.
‘And sounds like they want Bardini for the Vegas killing,’ Entratter said.
‘Jesus,’ I said, sitting down next to Bing. ‘Jack, this time we’re in the clear on both cases.’
‘Then maybe you’ve got nothin’ to worry about, Eddie,’ he said.
‘Somehow,’ I said, ‘I can’t bring myself to look at it that way.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
I went back down to the casino floor while Bing stayed to talk with Entratter. I think they were going to try to get their lawyers together.
I needed to find Jerry and tell him what was going on, and then we needed to track down Danny and warn him. As long as the cops were looking at Jerry for the Red Rock murder, and at Danny for the Fred Stanley murder, they weren’t going to be looking for the real killers.
While I was looking for Jerry in the casino I started to wonder, if both murders involved horsemen, maybe they were connected. And they both also involved Bing Crosby. I didn’t know if the murders could have been done by the same person, but it was no stretch to think they were somehow connected.
I didn’t find Jerry in the casino, the lounge or the coffee shop. I checked the race book, but he wasn’t there either. I didn’t know where else to look. If he left the casino where would he go? And how? The only time he ever left the Sands was when he drove my Caddy.
I went through the hotel lobby and out the front door, checked with the valets if they had seen Jerry get into a car, either a cab or a limo. There had been no sign of him.
Inside I went to a house phone, tried his suite again. No answer. Then I realized I needed tickets for Frank Junior’s closing night. I didn’t want to ignore Frank by not showing up for his kid’s last performance. I called my contact at the Flamingo to make sure he held out four tickets for me. I was thinking me and Jerry, and then maybe Danny and Penny.
With that done I wondered if I should go ahead and leave the hotel and look for Danny. I started away from the house phones and stopped when I saw somebody in the lobby. She was just standing there, looking around, as if she didn’t quite know what direction to go in. She was similarly dressed to the last time I’d seen her, but the shirt was a little dressier, and the jeans were very clean. The heels of her boots unnecessarily added to her height. The biggest difference was her hair, which was cascading down over her shoulders, shimmering as if she had just washed it.
I walked over, reached her as her head was turned and said, ‘Miss Arnold?’
Adrienne Arnold turned her head to me quickly, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. The men in the hotel lobby were all looking at her.
‘Oh! Mr Gianelli,’ she said. ‘You startled me.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘Looking for Bing Crosby?’
‘Um, no,’ she said, ‘actually, I came here looking for you. Is there someplace we can talk?’
‘Complete privacy?’ I asked. ‘Or just someplace to sit?’
‘Just somewhere to sit.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Come with me.’
I took her to the Garden Room, where we both ordered coffee.
‘What brings you to Las Vegas, Miss Arnold?’ I asked.
‘First, I wish you would call me Adrienne,’ she said. ‘Second, I know I look like a country girl, but I do come to town quite often for various reasons.’
‘I’m sorry, Adrienne,’ I said, ‘I wasn’t judging you. At least, not harshly.’
‘I should apologize,’ she said. ‘If I don’t want to be judged I guess I should dress a bit differently when I come to town.’
‘I don’t see anything wrong with the way you’re dressed.’
‘Well . . . thank you.’ She didn’t blush, but she came close. I thought she was more of a country girl than she wanted to admit.
‘That’s very nice of you to say, considering where you live and work.’
‘Now who’s judging?’ I asked.
‘I only meant, you work with such beautiful women; showgirls, even the waitresses, they’re all so . . . glamorous.’
‘I think if you asked a bunch of these waitresses if they thought their jobs were glamorous you’d be surprised at the answers you’d get.’
‘Perhaps, but the showgirls, surely . . .’
‘Mostly they complain that their feet hurt,’ I said. ‘In fact, that’s the same complaints you hear from the waitresses.’
‘It’s a problem I share with them, then,’ she said.
‘Maybe that’s because of the boots.’
‘Actually, it’s when I try to wear regular shoes,’ she said. ‘My feet feel great when I wear boots.’
‘I’ve been wondering about something,’ I said.
‘What’s that?’
I leaned forward, which caused her to do the same.
‘How tall are you when you’re wearing boots?’
She smiled and said, ‘Six one.’
I sat back, a little breathless. The waitress came with our coffee. We stared at each other while she was setting it down. In the past few years the women I had spent time with had either been waitresses, showgirls, or the occasional movie star.
This lady was a change of pace for me, and I still didn’t really know what she did.
THIRTY-NINE
‘I wanted to warn you,’ she said.
‘About your brother?’ I asked. ‘He’s already been here, with a couple of his friends.’
‘What happened?’
‘I had a few of my friends with me, too.’
‘Mr Crosby’s trainer?’
‘Jerry,’ I said, ‘and Dean Martin.’
‘Dean Martin,’ she said. ‘That’s an impressive friend to have.’
‘And he used to be a boxer,’ I said. ‘Your brother backed down.’
‘Yes, but don’t depend on him staying that way,’ she warned. ‘Philip is mean.’
‘Will he be mean just to me,’ I asked, ‘or to you, too?’
‘Oh, he’ll be mean to anyone who gets in his way,’ she said. ‘Or sometimes, just for fun. Wh
en we were kids, living on a farm, he’d torture animals to death.’
‘Sounds like a great brother.’
‘No, Christopher was the great brother.’
‘Were horses his business?’ I asked.
‘Not always, but they were now. He started breeding them a few years ago, but was still working his regular job.’
‘Which was what?’
‘Investments.’
‘And what’s your business?’
‘Antiques.’
‘And Philip’s business?’
‘That’s a little . . . hazy,’ she admitted. ‘We’ve always wondered what he’s into, and why he’s always broke.’
‘So that’s why he doesn’t want the horse sold?’ I asked.
‘Not until he can figure out a way to get his hands on the money,’ she said. ‘Christopher wanted to keep him away from the profits of the horse sale.’
‘Adrienne,’ I said, ‘would Philip have killed Christopher to keep him from selling the horse?’
She looked stunned.
‘You haven’t considered that?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘not til now.’
‘Christopher was beaten to death,’ I said. ‘Philip is quick with his hands. It seems to be the way he solves his problems.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘Oh my God.’
She needed something stronger to drink so we went to the lounge. Didi was there and seated us, giving me a hard look as she did. I ordered two martinis.
‘Cute,’ she said. ‘Is she going to poison my drink?’
‘I doubt it.’
She rubbed her face, a masculine gesture I was surprised to see from her.
‘If she did maybe I’d just drink it,’ she said. ‘How could one of my brothers kill the other?’
‘We don’t know that he did,’ I said, ‘but instead of looking at your brother the cops are tryin’ to pin the murder on Jerry.’
‘But why? He didn’t even know my brother?’
‘It’s a long story,’ I said. ‘Jerry has a . . . checkered past.’
‘One that has nothing to do with horses?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And your past?’
‘Checkered, but for a different reason.’
Didi brought the drinks, set them down carefully, then stared at me, holding the tray down in front of her.
Fly Me to the Morgue Page 11
