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

by Robert J. Randisi

  “One more thing,” I said, at the door.

  “What?”

  “Is the room still sealed? The girl’s room?”

  “It’s a fucking crime scene,” he said. “Yeah, it’s sealed.”

  “Are the girl’s belonging inside?”

  “No, the cops took ’em.”

  “Thanks, Dave,” I said. “I won’t bother you with this anymore.”

  Nineteen

  I FOUND DANNY AND JERRY on the casino floor. The big guy was looking around like a kid at Disneyland.

  “This place is huge,” he said.

  “The Nugget is special,” Danny said.

  From where we stood we could hear nickels hitting the coin trays of the slots, shooters rattling the bones in their hands before rolling, blackjack dealers calling out the buy-ins at their tables—“Changing a hundred!”—to their pit bosses. Also, I could pick out the distinctive sound of the little white ball bouncing around on the roulette wheel before it came to a stop on a number, and the moans of losers drowning out the elated cries of the winner—all of them everyday sounds to me.

  “What’s next?” Jerry asked.

  Danny looked at me.

  “Can you get your high roller to voluntarily talk to the police?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I could ask him, but that would put me in Dutch with Entratter.”

  “Your ass is on the line, Eddie, with more than just your boss,” Danny said. “Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t. Did you get a chance to talk to the doormen, valets and drivers to see if any of them saw the girl?”

  “Didn’t get the chance,” Danny said. “Finding a body kinda put a crimp in my plans. I’ll get on it now. What about you and Jerry?”

  I scratched my head.

  “I’m not sure, Danny.”

  “What about the body?” Jerry asked.

  We both looked at him.

  “What?” I asked.

  “We could go to the morgue and take a look,” Jerry said. “If he’s a made guy I might know who he is.”

  “Danny? You didn’t recognize him, did you?”

  “If he’s mobbed up he ain’t local,” Danny said, shaking his head. “If he’s imported, maybe the big guy has a point. He might know him.”

  “The cops did ask Entratter to send someone to the morgue.” I looked at Jerry. “If you go, Hargrove might recognize you while you’re lookin’ at the body. That okay with you?”

  Jerry shrugged.

  “What can he do to me? I ain’t done nothin’.”

  “He could try to make your life miserable.”

  Jerry laughed shortly. “Lots of people already beat him to it.”

  “I’ll have to call Jack, see if he sent somebody down there already.”

  “Nah,” Danny said, “just go and tell the attendant you’re there to take a look. He won’t care. That way, you might miss bein’ seen by Hargrove.”

  I slapped Jerry on the back.

  “That’s what we’re gonna do,” I said. “If you know the guy maybe that’ll tell us something.”

  “Maybe,” Jerry said. He still had my Caddy keys in his pocket and jingled them.

  “Let’s check in later and compare notes,” Danny said, as we all walked to the door. “And think about that lawyer.”

  “I’ll talk to Jack,” I said. “The Sands has lawyers up the ass.”

  “All you need is one,” he said.

  Twenty

  I SHIVERED AS WE walked out of the elevator into the hospital basement.

  “Never been down to a morgue before?” Jerry asked.

  “No.”

  “Scared?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s just ... givin’ me the creeps. And it’s cold.”

  “That’s so the stiffs don’t stink—”

  “I know that, Jerry.”

  After a few more steps he muttered, “Sorry.”

  “Forget it,” I said. “I’m ... just forget it.”

  When we got to the reception desk I told them I had been sent there by the Sands hotel to try to identify a body.

  “Both of you?” the attendant asked.

  “That’s right,” I said. “My boss figured one of us might know him.”

  “Hey,” the man said, “no skin off my nose. I just need ya both to sign in.”

  He pushed a clipboard toward us, then turned his back. I thought he was kind of young to have that big of a bald spot on the crown of his head.

  I leaned over and whispered, “Don’t give your real name.”

  Jerry nodded and wrote, “Mike Mazurki.”

  I took the pen and signed my name.

  “We’re ready,” I said.

  The attendant looked at the clipboard, then glanced quickly at Jerry. “Hey, really nice to meet ya,” he said, grabbing Jerry’s hand. “I enjoy your work.”

  “Thanks,” Jerry said.

  “Workin’ for the Sands now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, come this way,” he said. “He’s on a slab waitin’ for ya.” We followed him through double swinging doors and into a room that was even colder than outside. Without any warning he whipped a sheet off the body, which was on a slab, naked.

  “Take your time,” he said. “I’ll be outside.”

  Jerry walked up to the body and looked down at him. He took his time, studied the face closely, then stepped back next to me.

  “I don’t know the stiff.”

  “Then he’s not imported talent?” I asked.

  “Not from New York,” Jerry said, “ ’cause if he was I’d know ’im.”

  “Great,” I said, “that only leaves forty-nine other states.”

  “You gonna take a look?”

  “What?”

  “You know,” he said, “see if you know the guy?”

  “Hey, if Danny didn’t know him, I’m not gonna know him,” I reasoned.

  Jerry gave me a disappointed look, then said, “Suit yerself.”

  “Wait,” I said, as he started for the door. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t look. All I said was I probably wouldn’t know him.”

  I stepped forward, steeled myself and took a look at the dead guy’s face. The rest of his body was unmarked—obviously, no autopsy had been done yet—but his head was severely damaged. However, his face was also unmarked, and as I stared down at him I realized I did know him.

  “Christ,” I said.

  “What?”

  I turned to Jerry. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Twenty-One

  WHAT HAPPENED IN THERE?" Jerry asked when we had the car on the road again.

  “I knew that guy.”

  “Oh. Was he a friend of yours?”

  “No, no,” I said. “I mean, I knew him, but I didn’t really know him. Understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure,” he said, with a shrug. “You know him, but you don’t know his name.”

  “Exactly!”

  “So where do you know him from?”

  “I’ve seen him,” I said, “but I can’t remember where, or when.”

  “That won’t be real helpful to the cops.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I said. “I’m gonna have to rack my brain to try and figure this one out.”

  “Maybe I can help.”

  “How?”

  “I dunno. You could just talk ta me, maybe somethin’ will click.”

  “Like a sounding board?”

  “I don’t know what that is,” Jerry said, “but yeah, if it’ll work.”

  “Maybe it was at the casino.”

  “Like at the tables?” he asked. “Like those other players that you see every day?”

  “Not a regular.” I shook my head. “I’d know him if he was a regular.”

  “Maybe he was just passin’ through.”

  “Or hanging around ... waiting.”

  “What for?”

  “That’s the question.”

 
“Maybe he was watchin’ you.”

  “Me?” I didn’t like the sound of that. “Why would he do that?”

  “Hopin’ you’d lead him to the girl.”

  “But she was already missing.”

  “Maybe he was supposed to find ’er and kill ’er,” he suggested.

  “But why?” I asked. “And does it have anything to do with Frank?” Jerry shrugged.

  “I’ve got to figure this out,” I said, “and when I do I’ll have to go to the cops.”

  “They won’t appreciate it,” Jerry warned.

  “Probably not,” I agreed, thinking of Detective Hargrove.

  “Hey, if that guy was in Vegas to kill the girl,” Jerry said, “then that contract is still open.”

  “Contract? On a young girl?”

  “That kinda stuff don’t care nothin’ about age,” Jerry replied. “If she got on somebody’s wrong side ...”

  “The poor kid. She’s probably out there somewhere, scared shitless.”

  “Or,” Jerry said, “maybe she’s dead.”

  “What do you mean? If he was a hit man and he ended up dead—”

  “Sometimes those guys travel in pairs,” he said, “so if there’s another one out there you’re racin’ him to the girl.”

  “Oh, great, so now I’m chasing after a hit man.”

  Jerry was silent, but it felt to me like he had something to say. “What?”

  He looked at me.

  “Could be he’s chasing after you.”

  Twenty-Two

  WE WENT BACK to the Sands. I stopped bouncing things off of Jerry after he said the hit man might be chasing me. I didn’t want to hear any more. I didn’t need to be thinking about some guy whose business was killing being on my trail. All I was supposed to do was find a girl who had gotten lost—not dead.

  Jerry left his extra bag in my car, in case we went back home that night. After my conversation with him, I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. I had access to a room at the Sands anytime I wanted it, and that was my thought.

  “What do we do now?” he asked as we entered through a back door.

  “I want to see if Jack sent anyone over to the morgue to view the body,” I said. “If he did maybe that person recognized him.”

  “The guy at the morgue didn’t say nothin’ about nobody bein’ there already.”

  “Maybe they got there after we left,” I said. “If not. I’ll ask Jack to send somebody from security, like he said he would.”

  The area above the ceiling over the casino floor was a maze of cat-walks and one-way mirrors the casino used to observe the table games, looking for cheaters. I wondered if somebody up there would recognize this guy.

  In any case, Entratter should be made aware that I knew the guy, possibly from the casino.

  “Can I watch some more blackjack while you talk to him?” Jerry asked.

  “Jerry,” I said, “you can watch all the blackjack you want.”

  * * *

  I left Jerry at one of my tables and told the guy on the pit to keep an eye on him. Then I went to Entratter’s office to tell him the news.

  “First of all,” he asked, “what the hell were you doin’ down there? Didn’t I say I was gonna send somebody?”

  “I just wanted to see if I knew the guy, for my own benefit. Also, I thought Jerry might know him.”

  “What made you think that?”

  “Somebody killed the guy. He must’ve gone there with bad intentions.”

  “So it was you who recognized him, and not the torpedo?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll send somebody.”

  “I also want to talk to whoever was the eye in the sky yesterday,” I said, “see if maybe they saw something, or knew the guy.”

  “You go upstairs and I’ll call ahead,” he said. “Larry’ll tell you whatever you want.”

  Larry Bigbee was second-in-command in Security. He and I had played poker a time or two in some private games.

  “Okay, Jack, thanks.”

  “Glad to help.”

  Sure you are, I thought as I left. You hang my ass out to dry and you’re only too happy to help me try to save it, as long as you don’t have to get too hands-on about it.

  * * *

  Larry didn’t know the guy I was talking about, but he surprised me with something.

  “I’ve been takin’ a camera up there with me.”

  “What for?”

  He shrugged.

  “Just to take some pictures, maybe start a file on blackjack players. I’m thinkin’ this may be somethin’ I want to start up when I make it to the number one spot.”

  Larry was always talking about innovations he’d like to make when he got to be head of Security. This one sounded good to me.

  “Can you show me some of the film you shot?”

  “Sure thing.”

  He pulled out the black-and-white shots he’d taken over the last few days and spread them out on his desk.

  “That’s him.”

  Larry said, “I’ll make you a copy of this photo.”

  “Is he in any others?”

  We both went through them again, but there was only one shot of the guy. He was playing blackjack at a low-limit table. There was a time and date written on the bottom of the photo.

  “I’ll talk to Gabe Daniels,” Larry promised. “He was on the cat-walk during that shift, also. Maybe he spotted your guy.”

  “Thanks, Larry.”

  “Where should I send the copy of the photo?”

  “Send it to Jack’s girl. I’ll pick it up from her later this evening.”

  “You got it.”

  We shook hands and I left.

  * * *

  “What happened?” Jerry asked.

  “We’ve got a photo of him,” I said. “He was sitting at one of my tables.” I pointed. “That one.” There were two little old ladies and a guy in a loud shirt sitting there now.

  “Want me to check out the guy?”

  “No,” I said. “I know him. He comes in all the time.”

  “And the old ladies?”

  “Probably tourists.”

  “Want me to check them out?”

  “No, Jerry,” I said. “Leave the little old ladies alone.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Let’s hit the buffet.”

  * * *

  I left Jerry at the buffet and used a house phone to let Jack’s girl know she’d be getting a photo for me. She told me that if I didn’t come for it by the end of her work day she’d leave it in her unlocked desk drawer. I thanked her and joined Jerry at the buffet. He had left me barely enough room at the table for my one plate.

  “You can go back, you know,” I said.

  “I know,” he replied. “This is just my first course.”

  “You’ve got enough fried chicken there to feed an army.”

  “I grew up poor,” he said. “If you didn’t grab what you wanted right away, it wasn’t there no more.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, “I didn’t grow up poor, but it was pretty much that way in my family, too.”

  Poor, middle class, there was still a food budget in the house. Jerry was so busy eating he had no room for conversation, which was okay by me. I had some serious thinking to do.

  Twenty-Three

  DID I WANT TO BE involved with a hit man? No. Did I want to disappoint Frank Sinatra? No. Did I want that poor girl to end up dead if she wasn’t already? No. Did I want to back out of this whole business? Hell, yeah. But would I?

  “Ain’t you goin’ back?” Jerry asked after his second assault at the buffet.

  “No,” I said. “I had enough.”

  “I’m goin’ for dessert.” He stood up. “Want somethin’?”

  “Will you be able to carry it back for me?” I asked.

  He glowered down at me. “My mama used ta say nobody likes a wisenheimer.”

  “Okay, bring me back a piece of cherry pie, the
n.”

  As I watched Jerry walk to the dessert station I recalled hearing that it was Herb McDonald—a well-known promoter in Vegas—who was credited with inventing the concept of the buffet almost fifteen years ago at the El Rancho Vegas, the very first of the Vegas Casinos—even predating Bugsy’s Flamingo. The story goes Herb was hungry one night and asked the kitchen to bring some cold meats, cheeses and bread out to the bar. Some gamblers came walking by, said they were hungry and the buffet was born. The original was called the “Midnight Chuckwagon” and the cost was $1.25.

  The buffet’s popularity had been growing by leaps and bounds ever since. I wondered how many Jerry Epsteins it would take to run them out of business?

  Jerry came back with my cherry pie and several slices of cakes and pies for himself, all balanced up and down his arms.

  “Used ta wait tables when I was a kid,” he said, sitting down.

  “Very impressive.”

  He got us some coffee and we ate our desserts. Despite the amount of food he devoured, Jerry had good table manners. He was full of surprises, this mountain of a man. He could be very brutal—I’d seen it firsthand—and yet he was well-mannered most of the time. I was willing to bet he had been raised alone by his mother.

  I decided not to ask, though.

  * * *

  We got to Jack’s Entratter’s office late. True to her word, his girl had left the photo in the middle drawer of her desk, the only one that was unlocked. Jerry checked them all.

  “Old habit,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “Thought she might have some gum.”

  I showed him the photo by the light of the green-shaded desk lamp. “I still don’t know him.”

  “Damn it, neither do I, but there he is in black and white.”

  “Maybe that’s the only time you ever saw him,” Jerry suggested. “No reason why you should remember. He don’t look like much.”

  “His face stuck in my mind for some reason.” I sat down in the desk chair.

  “Did you talk to him?”

  I stared at the photo, trying to remember.