It Was a Very Bad Year rp-7

by Robert J. Randisi

  ‘What makes you think I’d know?’

  ‘We got a tip.’

  ‘Anonymous?’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘And the tipster said I killed him?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Hargrove said. ‘They just said we should look into you.’

  ‘Look into me?’ I asked. ‘That’s it. And for that you woke me up and dragged me down here?’

  ‘I suppose I should’ve called you and made an appointment?’

  ‘You could’ve called me, yeah,’ I said. ‘I would’ve come down here if you asked me to.’

  ‘Because you’re such a good citizen.’

  Because I worked at the Sands for Jack Entratter, and did favors for Frank Sinatra, Hargrove has always had it in his head that I was connected. And maybe I was, but not in the way he thought.

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘get out of here.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  He looked miserable. Apparently, he had high hopes that I was involved. But even if I was, did he think I’d admit it?

  I left the building, walked a few blocks, then caught a cab and had it take me back to my house. I went inside, took a shower and dressed in fresh, clean jeans and a T-shirt. Then I grabbed my windbreaker and keys and left again. I needed some breakfast, and some time to think.

  I drove to a nearby diner, ordered bacon and eggs and settled in with a cup of coffee to figure out what the hell was going on.

  I had thought the business with Barney Irwin was over and done when we got Abby’s photos back from him. But now, apparently, it had come back, and since Abby and Jerry had gone back home, I was the only one left to deal with it.

  When Hargrove pushed that photo across the table at me, my first instinct was to lie and say I’d never seen the man before. But the fact was, I did know him. It had been a photo of Wayne, the man who had been in the studio with Barney Irwin that day when Jerry and I grabbed him and took him to that warehouse.

  Jerry had choked Wayne out that day, but since then somebody had killed him — and somebody had tried to put the blame on me.

  THIRTY

  After breakfast I drove to Barney Irwin’s studio and found it closed up. I put my nose against the window, trying to see inside. It looked as I remembered it, dusty and worn out. The windows were thick with grime. It had only been a week, but the place seemed as if it had been deserted for years.

  I tried the door, found it locked tight. I went around the back, found that door locked, too. I didn’t have Jerry’s ability to pick a lock, but I knew somebody who did.

  I found a pay phone on the street and called Danny Bardini’s office.

  I was sitting in my Caddy in front of Irwin Studios when Danny arrived. He stopped his heap behind me and got out.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘I need to get inside.’

  ‘Why?’

  I explained about Irwin’s friend, Wayne, who I had only met once.

  ‘So you think Irwin killed him and is tryin’ to sic the cops on you?’

  ‘I don’t know if he killed Wayne,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure he has the balls for that. But he has the balls to call the cops and send ’em looking for me.’

  ‘So now you’re lookin’ for him.’

  ‘I just want to ask him.’

  ‘I thought Jerry said the guy wouldn’t be back.’

  ‘Irwin’s afraid of Jerry,’ I said. ‘He’s not afraid of me.’

  ‘OK,’ Danny said, ‘so you want me to pick a lock? In broad daylight?’

  ‘There’s a back door,’ I said. ‘Come on.’

  Danny picked the back door lock — a lot quicker than Jerry had — and we entered.

  ‘Let’s split up,’ I said. ‘I want to find anything that might tell us where he is.’

  ‘Right.’

  We went through the place, every drawer and closet and corner, and didn’t find a thing. Danny finally joined me back in Irwin’s office. I was standing behind the desk, going through his phone book.

  ‘What’d you find?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothin’ but a lot of dirt,’ Danny said. ‘I need a shower after this. What about you?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ I said. ‘I’ll take this phone book with me. Maybe somebody in here knows where he is.’

  ‘Nothin’ in the drawers?’

  ‘No, noth. . Wait a minute.’ I started going through the pockets of my windbreaker.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Last time I was here, with Jerry,’ I said, ‘I found something — here it is.’

  I took the slip of paper I had found, with some names on it, out of my pocket.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Here.’

  I handed it to Danny to read.

  Nov. 22.

  Sinatra.

  Keenan amp; Amsler.

  Barry.

  Johnny.

  Canoga Park.

  ‘What’s this supposed to mean?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘but it’s got November twenty-second on it. And Frank’s name.’

  ‘So what? Do you know who Keenan and Amsler are?’

  ‘No, never heard of ’em.’

  ‘And Johnny?’

  I shrugged.

  Danny handed it back.

  ‘That makes as much sense as if you’d found a grocery list in his desk.’

  I stuffed the paper back in my jacket pocket and said, ‘Yeah, maybe. We better get out of here.’

  I took the phone book and we left, locking the back door behind us.

  ‘What now?’ he asked, as we walked down the alley. ‘You wanna check out his house?’

  ‘Might as well.’

  When we got to our cars he said, ‘You lead the way.’

  ‘Gotcha!’

  We convoyed our way to Irwin’s house.

  THIRTY-ONE

  ‘Two strip clubs,’ Danny said, shaking his head as we got out of our cars.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘This house has been here a while,’ Danny said as we made our way up the walk. ‘Strip clubs probably got built up around it.’

  We got to the front door and stopped, looked both ways. It was early, and the strip club parking lots were empty.

  ‘Let’s go to the back,’ I said, ‘just to be on the safe side.’ I led the way.

  There was no car front or back. This time Danny didn’t have to pick the lock. He used a piece of plastic to simply slip it.

  The inside of the house was musty. Danny sniffed the air.

  ‘Days,’ he said. ‘Nobody’s been here for days.’

  Just to be sure, we did a search of the house. Everything was covered with a layer of dust.

  ‘It looks to me like your boy went underground after he left you and Jerry. Maybe he didn’t want Jerry to find him, again.’

  We went to the bedroom.

  ‘There are clothes here, but not enough,’ Danny said. ‘And no suitcase.’

  ‘So he packed and left.’

  ‘Looks like. There’s no money around, no bank books. Everybody leaves extra cash in the house.’

  ‘In the cookie jar?’

  We went to the kitchen and looked. Nothing.

  ‘Now what?’ Danny asked.

  ‘His bank,’ I said.

  ‘You know where he banks?’

  ‘I know where he has a safety deposit box.’

  ‘Might not be the same one where he has an account, though. And even if he does, why would they tell us anything?’

  ‘We just need to know if the account’s been closed.’

  He thought a minute.

  ‘I suppose I could run some kind of scam on a teller-’

  ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘When we were there to pick up the pictures he went to a teller, a pretty girl. She didn’t like him.’

  ‘That’s it, then,’ Danny said. ‘All I have to do is play her. You just have to point her out.’

  ‘Let’s go, then.�
�

  I went into the bank with him just long enough to point out the girl, then I went outside to wait.

  ‘OK,’ he said, when he came out. ‘He closed his account.’

  ‘She just told you that?’

  ‘I turned on the charm,’ he said, with a grin. ‘Showed her the ol’ profile.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And she hates Irwin,’ Danny said. ‘He was a pig, and gave her the creeps. Was always saying he wanted to take her picture. She’s smart, she knew what that meant.’

  ‘But not too smart to fall for your line?’

  ‘What line? I told her who I was, that I was looking for him for a client.’

  ‘The truth worked?’

  ‘The truth works a lot,’ he said, with a smile. ‘It’s just not always as much fun.’

  ‘So he closed his office, left his house, closed out his bank account. Any idea how much he had in there?’

  ‘No. She said she couldn’t tell me that. I let her have one.’

  ‘Yeah, OK. You think he left town?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘If he killed Wayne, he better have left town. If he had Wayne killed, he may still be around. If he’s looking to fuck you up, he might want to stay around to watch.’

  ‘He’s the only one who would have called the cops on me,’ I said. ‘It’s got to be him.’

  ‘Then he’s around,’ Danny said. ‘And since it didn’t work, he may try something else.’

  ‘I’ll be on the lookout.’

  ‘Call me if you need anything,’ he said.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And I’ll keep my ears open. Maybe I can locate Irwin.’

  ‘I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘Let’s get the hell out of here,’ he said.

  We shook hands at the cars, and drove our separate ways.

  THIRTY-TWO

  I went home, but didn’t want to be there if the cops, or somebody else, came looking, so I dressed for work — dark suit, light blue shirt, black tie — and then drove to the Sands.

  I wasn’t scheduled for a shift till that night, but that was OK. I still had some telephone work to do. I took the elevator to the business offices floor and claimed an empty desk. I dialed Jerry’s home number, hoping he wasn’t out breaking somebody’s arms or legs.

  ‘Hey, Mr G.,’ he said, when he heard my voice. ‘You ain’t callin’ to check on Billy’s IOU, are ya?’

  ‘Not my job, Jerry,’ I assured him. ‘How’s the kid doing?’

  ‘He went to Atlantic City, Mr G., and lost some more dough on that system of his.’

  ‘System players, Jerry,’ I said. ‘There’s not much you can do about it.’

  ‘Really? Lately I been thinkin’ I been bustin’ the wrong heads. What’s goin’ on there?’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you. .’ And I did. Jerry remembered Detective Hargrove very well, and listened in silence until I finished my tale.

  ‘I agree with the dick, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘Irwin is still around.’

  ‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘Anything happening there? I’m thinking he might’ve sent somebody to Brooklyn to jam you up.’

  ‘Nope, nothin’ here,’ he said. ‘I ain’t bein’ watched, either. I’d know.’

  ‘OK, so he’s still afraid of you.’

  ‘I guess,’ Jerry said, ‘I shoulda done somethin’ before I left to scare him off ya. Sorry, Mr G.’

  ‘Not your fault, Jerry,’ I said. ‘I’m just glad you’re OK.’

  ‘So what are you gonna do?’

  ‘Watch my ass,’ I said, ‘and see if I can find Irwin before he tries anything else.’

  ‘You gotta be careful, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘That Irwin guy ain’t got the balls for murder, but it don’t take balls to hire it done.’

  ‘That’s what I figure, too,’ I said.

  ‘Make sure Bardini watches your back.’

  ‘He will.’

  ‘Call me if ya need somethin’.’

  ‘You’re the first one on my list, Jerry.’

  I hung up, thought about going into Entratter’s office, but decided instead to simply call him.

  ‘What can I do for you, Eddie?’

  ‘You got a number for Frank, Jack?’ I asked. ‘I assume he’s still shooting?’

  ‘Yeah, they’ll be at it for a while,’ Entratter said. ‘Sure, kid, give ’im a call. He’ll like hearin’ from you.’

  He gave me the number, which I wrote down. I broke the connection, and then dialed. It was the Biltmore Hotel, and I had to leave a message, which I did. Just my name and number. It had been a week since JFK’s assassination, and I figured if I didn’t check in with Frank now it’d look bad for me. Besides, I genuinely wanted to see if he was OK.

  I had a small phone book of my own that I’d started carrying, ever since I’d needed to call Dino while Jerry and I were in LA. Dean wouldn’t be staying in a hotel while shooting Robin and the 7 Hoods, because he always lived in Beverly Hills. I ended up talking to his wife, Jeannie, who I had met several times.

  ‘He’s on the set, Eddie,’ she said. ‘He won’t be back till this evening. Can I give him a message?’

  ‘I was gonna check in with him about how Frank was doing with this JFK thing. I left a message for Frank at his hotel, but thought I might get a more truthful response from Dean.’

  ‘Frank took it hard, Eddie, especially since they wouldn’t let him attend the funeral. Plus, it was Peter’s wife who told him he couldn’t come.’

  Ouch, I thought. That was adding insult to injury. Peter was still number one on Frank’s shit list since the fiasco with JFK staying at Bing’s house instead of Frank’s. The odd thing was, Frank had no anger toward Bing, and actually had Bing replace Peter on the 7 Hoods shoot.

  ‘I’ll try Dean again later, Jeannie,’ I said. ‘I’ll be working tonight.’

  ‘OK, Eddie. Come and see us some time, huh?’

  ‘You bet.’ I’d have to go to Beverly Hills to see her, because she rarely accompanied her husband to Las Vegas.

  I hung up, tapped the phone with my index finger, then made several more calls before standing up and leaving the room. I’d dropped Irwin’s name on a few of my local contacts, in the hopes that one of them might spot him, or hear something. At the moment there was nothing else I could do. Eventually, I might go and talk to Entratter. Maybe he’d be able to help locate Irwin through some of his contacts, if mine didn’t pan out. My people were on the street, though, vendors, doormen, valets, the locals who saw everything that happened in Vegas, heard everything. If anybody was going to help me locate Irwin, it would be one of them, or Danny.

  THIRTY-THREE

  During the night — a busy one, since it was a Friday — Entratter came down to the casino floor and showed up at my pit.

  ‘What kind of a night are we havin’?’ he asked, as I came around to greet him.

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘A couple of high rollers came in for the weekend.’

  ‘Why didn’t I know about ’em?’ he asked, with a frown.

  ‘It was a spur of the moment thing,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, I made sure they’re staying here. I got them two suites.’

  ‘Good work. Anything going on with you?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because, Eddie,’ he said, giving me a look, ‘somethin’s always goin’ on with you.’

  ‘Well, now that you ask. . let’s get a drink.’

  We went to the Silver Queen lounge and sat at the bar, eyeing the Allan Stewart mural that ran the length of the wall behind it. It illustrated the history of Vegas from Gold Rush to A-bomb.

  It was quiet in the lounge. About an hour ago Jack Jones had wrapped up a set, and while half of that crowd was still there, they were well-behaved, sharp-dressed men with their elegant ladies. That was the kind of crowd Mr Jones attracted.

  When we had a beer each I said, ‘I got a visit from Detective Hargrove. He hauled me in for questioning this morning.’

  ‘What did you do now
?’ Entratter asked. ‘Oh, wait. It’s more likely something you and Jerry did while he was here, right?’

  ‘It ain’t even our fault,’ I said. I told him about going to see Irwin — without telling him exactly why — and how he had some cheap muscle named Wayne there who Jerry had choked out fairly easily.

  ‘He killed him?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘we left him sleeping on the floor.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Now, a week later, he turns up dead.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with you?’

  ‘Hargrove got an anonymous call and somebody dropped my name in his ear.’

  ‘This Irwin guy?’

  ‘That’s what I figured.’

  ‘You go and see him?’

  ‘He’s gone to ground,’ I said. ‘His studio and home are empty.’

  Entratter took a pad and pen from inside his jacket.

  ‘Gimme his particulars.’

  I told him Irwin’s full name, described him, and both his addresses.

  ‘I’ll see what I can find out.’ He stashed the pad away. ‘You put out the word?’

  ‘Yeah, and Danny’s keeping his ears open.’

  ‘That big Jew ain’t here, is he?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘Jerry’s in Brooklyn.’

  ‘Good. We don’t need him tearin’ through this town.’

  ‘Jerry’s got more finesse than you’d think, Jack,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said, taking a hit of his beer, then shoving it aside. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’

  I grabbed my beer and gave it a little more attention than he’d given his. A cute waitress came over and flashed me a smile. She was new, and reminded me that I still hadn’t learned the name of the new girl behind the desk in the hotel.

  So many pretty girls, so little time.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Barney Irwin disappeared.

  Into the first week of December the photographer still had not reappeared. With all the contacts we had — mine, Danny’s and Jack Entratter’s — we still received no word of him being spotted anywhere in Vegas.

  But, on the bright side, nobody had tried to frame me for murder again. Hargrove had come around one more time, but he’d done so a little more politely, possibly because Jack Entratter had sent him word not to harass me. He’d simply asked a few questions about Wayne and Barney Irwin, and then I didn’t see him again.