[Rat Pack 02] - Luck Be a Lady, Don't Die

by Robert J. Randisi

  “That guy,” Entratter said. “The big Jew from New York.”

  “That’s him.”

  “Is he gonna help you with the new thing you’re workin’ on?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  He pointed a thick forefinger at me and said, “You better keep him outta trouble, Eddie.”

  “Jack, I don’t have any control—”

  “In fact, you guys better keep each other outta trouble,” he said. “You’ve kept your nose clean since that whole magilla in February, but the Vegas cops don’t like you so much.”

  “Hey, nothing that happened was my fault!”

  “We know that,” he said. “They’re not so sure. So just don’t find any bodies this time. And if you do ...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be smart and walk away.”

  I thought of several answers to that, but finally just said, “Okay.”

  “Is that big torpedo stayin’ here?”

  “Yeah, Dean got him a suite—but he doesn’t like being called that.”

  “What? A torpedo? What is he, then?”

  “It doesn’t matter what he is,” I said, getting up, “he just doesn’t like being called that.”

  “Well, I’ll have ta watch my fuckin’ p’s and q’s around him, won’t I?”

  I didn’t say anything. Entratter and Jerry were almost the same size, but Jerry was a lot younger. If push came to shove I’d have to take Jerry, so that sounded like a good idea to me.

  “Now get outta here. I got work to do. This place is fuckin’ failin’ apart.”

  * * *

  Jerry was waiting for me down by the Silver Queen. He’d showered and changed, but he must have brought along some identical suits, because he looked the same, just without wrinkles. At his feet was a swollen duffle bag he had obviously stuffed with clothes.

  “Place looks the same,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said, “not much has changed in six months.”

  “That redhead you like is workin’,” he told me. “Stuck my head in the lounge to have a look.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You should talk ta her.”

  “Not right now, Jerry.”

  “She ain’t busy—”

  “It just wouldn’t be a good time,” I said, cutting him off, “believe me.

  He shrugged. “Suit yerself. What are we doin’ next?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, “but my instructions are to stay out of trouble and not find any bodies.”

  “We can do that.”

  Not if our history was any indication.

  Thirteen

  I DECIDED TO LET JERRY spend some time playing the horses. Our race book was located in a separate building and I left him there with the promise that I would not leave the casino without him. He was a regular at the track when he was in New York, and had impressed me last time with his handicapping ability. I figured he couldn’t get into trouble while he was doing what he enjoyed.

  I knew it wouldn’t do me any good to try to find Frank, so I went in search of Joey Bishop. I probably could have asked Entratter to put me in touch with Sinatra, but if Frank had wanted Jack’s help he would have asked for it. I decided to keep him out of it as long as I could.

  During my search for Joey I had some celebrity sightings, which was not unusual in Vegas, or at the Sands, in particular.

  I was about to walk past what would normally have been my station when John Kelly, one of the newer pit bosses, waved and called me over.

  “How’re you doin’, John?”

  “Listen, I know you’re off the clock and all,” he said, which told me that word had gotten around, “but Vic Damone wants to raise the table limit.”

  “You know how Entratter feels about his showbiz pals, John,” I said.

  ’’Then I should do it?”

  “How much does he want to play?”

  “Ten thousand a hand.”

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s his money.”

  “Okay, Boss,” he said, even though I wasn’t technically his boss. Vic Damone was headlining down the street at the Flamingo, but that afternoon he was playing blackjack in our place, which was what Entratter wanted. He didn’t care where they performed, but he liked them to gamble at the Sands.

  I also saw Danny Kaye shooting craps, figured he was in town for the opening of the movie. I waved and he waved back. Norman Fell and Buddy Lester, two of Ocean’s 11, walked by me. I knew who they were but we really hadn’t met formally. I started to wonder if Angie Dickinson was going to be in town. I had finally met her briefly toward the end of the filming back in February, but I knew if I had more time with her I could make her fall for me.

  Yeah, right.

  * * *

  After about an hour I was starting to think that maybe I should ask Entratter to find Joey for me when I heard the comic’s distinctive voice say, “You sonofagun,” his signature line. I came around a corner and found him standing in front of a bank of slot machines with a group of older women who seemed to be mesmerized by him. As usual every hair was in place, and he was resplendent in a dark suit and a narrow dark tie over a white shirt. I always thought Joey did the most with what he had of anyone I knew. I also thought that if he heard me say that out loud he might not take it as a compliment, which it truly was.

  “Eddie!” he said, with a big smile. He spread his hands. “Meet my fans.”

  The women all tittered, thanked Joey and moved on to put their nickels in the slots.

  “That line always gets ’em,” Joey said to me. “After Dean and Frank and even Peter, all I get are the old ladies, but I love ’em.”

  “What about Sammy?”

  “Everybody loves Sammy,” he said. “He’s got the smallest body and the biggest talent, the sonofagun.”

  A middled-aged woman walking by put her hand over her mouth and started to laugh.

  “See what I mean?”

  “She wasn’t so old,” I said.

  “Were you lookin’ for me?” he asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I was.”

  “But you’re not lookin’ for me, right? You wanna talk to the Leader.”

  “I do have to talk to Frank, yeah, Joey, but—”

  He put his hand out and said, “Hey, don’t worry about it. I know who my audience is, and I play to them.”

  “Everybody loves you, Joey. You’re a funny man.”

  He slapped me on the back. “When do you want to see Frank?”

  “Today, if I can.”

  “I’ll talk to him. You gonna be around?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be here for a while.”

  “I’ll see what I can.” He closed his fist and tapped me on the jaw with it. “You sonofagun.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.

  Fourteen

  I MAY HAVE BEEN OFF the clock but the fact that I was in the building meant people—like John Kelly—sought me out to ask questions. Most of the employees at the Sands thought I was more important than I was. Part of it was because I seemed to have Jack Entratter’s ear, but I knew that another part was because I was thought of as being friends with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and other celebrities.

  So I fielded some inquiries and handled them as best as I could. If it was something I couldn’t answer, or a decision I couldn’t make, I told them to call Jack Entratter, or to find their real boss. Some of the actual pit bosses they should have been reporting to, or floor managers, resented the amount of respect I seemed to get. That used to bother me, too, but eventually I figured it wasn’t my problem, it was theirs, if they couldn’t command the same level of regard, for some reason.

  I was starting to wonder about Joey when he appeared, coming out of one of the elevators. He spotted me and waved and we met midfloor.

  “Frank’s in the steam, but he won’t be there for long,” he said.

  “Does he want me to come down?”

  “No,” Joey said, “wait half an hour then go up to his suite.”
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  I’d never been to Frank’s suite. We’d always met in the steam, or in a limo. One time at my place and another on the set of the movie.

  “You know where it is?”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “Thanks, Joey.”

  He looked past me and said, “I see some of the boys are here.”

  I thought he meant some of the “boys” but when I looked over my shoulder I saw he was referring to Buddy Lester and Norman Fell, who had been joined now by Henry Silva.

  “I’ll see you later, Eddie.”

  “Yeah, thanks again, Joey.”

  He went to join his Ocean’s 11 cohorts. I stood where I was for a few moments, because his comment about the “boys”—or my misunderstanding of it—had made me think of something.

  Since Frank and Sam Giancana were friends, was the mob boss coming to the premier?

  * * *

  “Come in,” Frank’s man, George Jacobs, said. “Mr. Sinatra will be with you in a minute or two.”

  “Thank you.”

  He closed the door behind us and disappeared into the suite. Frank’s suite was almost identical to Dean’s, except that it seemed to me to be a little larger. I wondered if that was a matter of ego with him? He was the Leader, he had top billing in the movie, maybe he wanted to be sure he had the larger suite. I knew it didn’t matter to Dino, but to my mind Dean was a little less insecure than Sinatra seemed to be.

  I hadn’t been invited to help myself to a drink, so I just walked over to the bar and sat on a stool to wait.

  Frank came out about five minutes later and approached me with his hand out.

  “I’m sorry, Eddie,” he said. “I was on the phone with Ava.”

  “Ava Gardner?” I couldn’t help myself from asking.

  “That’s right,” he said. “Drink?” He went around behind the bar.

  “Uh, sure, bourbon.”

  “Rocks?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ava and me,” he said, preparing two drinks, “we may be divorced, but we’re still connected, you know?”

  “She’s a beautiful woman,” was all I could think to say.

  “Oh, she’s more than that, Eddie,” he said, handing me my drink, “much more than that, but you’re not here to talk about Ava, are you?”

  He picked up his own drink and faced me. He was wearing gray slacks and a white button-down shirt, open at the collar. On his feet he wore loafers, but no socks.

  “No, I’m not,” I said. “I went to the Golden Nugget, checked out Mary Clarke’s room. It looks like she started to unpack, but didn’t get to finish.”

  He stopped with his glass almost to his mouth and eyed me over the rim.

  “Didn’t get to—you mean, somebody stopped her?”

  “Something stopped her,” I said. “Her toiletries were in the bathroom, but she didn’t unpack her clothes, and she didn’t sleep in the bed.”

  “Anyone see her?”

  I nodded. “When she checked in, but not after that. She didn’t make any long distance calls and they can’t tell if she made any calls locally.”

  “I called her,” Frank said. ”I doubt she made any calls on her own.”

  “But you can’t be sure.”

  “No,” he said, “all I’m sure of is that she didn’t call me.”

  “Frank,” I said, “is Giancana comin’ to town for the premier?”

  “No, why?”

  “I was just wondering.”

  “He would, but he’d be hassled.”

  “Is he sending anyone?”

  “Yeah,” Frank said, “he’s sending one of his men, out of respect.”

  “You know the man?”

  “Sure,” he said, “but that’s not important. You don’t need to know that.”

  “I might at some point.”

  “If it comes to that I’ll tell you who he is,” Frank promised. “What are you doin’ to find out where Mary is?”

  “I’m doin’ all I can, Frank,” I said. “I promise. I’ve got eyes and ears all over town.”

  “Okay, Eddie, okay,” Frank said, “I believe you. It’s just ... she’s a sweet kid, you know?”

  “I know, Frank,” I said. Then, “well, I don’t know, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I hope you can find her before the opening tomorrow night.”

  “She wasn’t going to go to that, was she?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, “we’re not that stupid. We’re keeping this very discreet. Besides, Juliet will be there.” I gave him a look. He shrugged. “I couldn’t talk her out of it.”

  He had a beautiful kid like Mary Clarke on a string, plus Juliet Prowse, and Ava Gardner was still in his life. How long would it be before I heard about him going out with Marilyn Monroe? I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be Frank Sinatra.

  “Okay, Frank, I better get moving.”

  He walked me to the door with his hand on my back. When we got there I remembered something.

  “Oh, here.”

  He looked at me while I pulled his photo out of my pocket and gave it to him. He unfolded it and stared.

  “I don’t know who’s going to end up in that room,” I said. “I didn’t think you wanted anyone to find that, so I glommed it.”

  “Good thinkin’, Eddie.” He tried to smooth it out.

  “You can give her another one when we find her,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, giving up, “you’re right.”

  I left him there, holding the crumpled photo in his hands.

  Fifteen

  ON THE ONE HAND, I was relieved that Sam Giancana was not coming to Vegas. On the other, he was sending a representative. Then it hit me. If I wanted to know about Giancana I had a source—Jerry. He worked for Sinatra, but that was because MoMo told him to work for Sinatra.

  I wasn’t sure how willing Jerry would be to talk about Giancana or any other mob boss, but the only way to find out was to ask.

  By the time I got him away from the ponies Jerry was ahead fifteen hundred.

  “Pancakes are on me tomorrow,” he said, as we reentered the casino.

  “How about drinks now?” I asked.

  “You’re on.”

  As we went into the lounge I was relieved to see that Bev had either left for the day or was on her break. We grabbed a table. A waitress named Lisa—cute, short, brunette—brought us our drinks and caught Jerry’s eye.

  “Wow,” he said, watching her sashay back to the bar.

  “Want me to introduce you?”

  He turned his head and stared at me with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

  “I wouldn’t know what to say,” he answered. “I like hookers. Ya don’t have to talk ta them, ya know?”

  Well, I couldn’t argue with him on that.

  “Whorin’s legal out here, ain’t it?”

  “Sure is.”

  He thought a moment, but before he went too far astray thinking about whores I brought him back.

  “Jerry, how well do you know Sam Giancana?”

  “Mr. Giancana?” he looked surprised. “I know him, but he don’t mix with the likes of me.”

  “Too low on the totem pole?”

  “Too Jewish,” Jerry said. “I work for one of the New York families.”

  “Not Giancana?”

  “Not directly.”

  “I thought you met Frank through him.”

  He sipped his beer and said, “Kinda.”

  “What’s kinda mean?”

  “It means it came down from Mr. Giancana,” he said, “but I never talked to him direct.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ya look disappointed,” Jerry said.

  “Not disappointed.” I realized he thought I was disappointed in him. “No, I was just curious, that’s all.”

  “Did you talk to Mr. S.?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “So what’re we doin’ next?”

  “Right now we’re going to finish our drinks and—” I stopped w
hen I saw the bartender waving at me, a phone receiver in his hand. “Excuse me a minute.”

  I walked over and Harry handed me the phone.

  “Eddie, I’ve been tryin’ to track you down all mornin’,” Danny said.

  “What’s up?”

  “Remember I asked you if you looked in the bathtub when you were at the Nugget?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “You should’ve.”

  “Why?” I asked, with a cold feeling.

  “Because there’s a dead body in it.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “Is it her?”

  “No, it’s some guy,” he said, “probably dead since the night she got here.”

  “Jesus, how?”

  “I didn’t look real close, but I think he was clubbed to death. We got a lot of blood, here.”

  “I didn’t see any blood in the room.”

  “It’s all in the tub.”

  “How could that be?”

  “Beats me, but it’s not my job to figure it out.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in Dave Lewis’ office. He’s shiftin’ bricks here. We’ve got to call the cops, and we have to tell ’em somethin’ about how we came to be lookin’ for the girl and found a body.” His tone became very apologetic. “I can’t keep you out of it, ol’ buddy, and even if I could I doubt that Dave could.”

  I put my hand to my forehead and looked over at big Jerry. We had a history of bodies and we had just added to it.

  “Okay,” I said, “okay, thanks for the heads up, Danny. I’m sorry I got you into this.”

  “Hey, all I’ve got to do is call the cops and tell ’em what I know,” he said. “I’ve got the easy part. Good luck, buddy.”

  I handed the phone back to Harry. I had a few hours at least before the cops came looking for me. I had to use that time to get my story straight with Jerry, Jack Entratter, and with Frank.

  Sixteen

  I HAD TO GET TO FRANK in a hurry so we went right to his suite. I figured he’d still be there, since it wasn’t long since we had talked. His man, George, answered the door and frowned at me.