“So who would send those guys out here from New York?” I asked.
He shrugged and said, “Somebody without the connections to get better talent, or somebody who didn’t want to use somebody inside. But I think a better question is who’d wanna whack some sweet kid?”
I studied him across the table, wondering if he knew that the sweet kid was not only Frank Sinatra’s girl, but MoMo Giancana’s, as well?
“Jerry, you don’t know this girl, do you?” I asked.
“I never seen her,” he said, “and I only know her name ’cause the cops told me.”
I remembered that Jerry had never seen the photo Frank had given me. I also remembered I hadn’t gotten it back from Danny.
“She’s a blonde, a real babe,” I said. “Pale skin, knockers, the works.”
“Like Marilyn?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, “like Marilyn.”
“Don’t make sense somebody would wanna put a dish like that down,” he said. “Unless ...”
“Unless what?”
“She’s been sleepin’ with the wrong guy.”
“I think we both know who she’s been sleeping with, Jerry.”
“You mean Mr. S.,” he said. “I don’t talk about his business.”
“I mean MoMo,” I said, watching his face. “She’s also sleepin’ with Giancana.”
Jerry hunched his shoulders.
“You ain’t supposed ta talk about Mr. Giancana, Eddie.”
“Maybe you’re not supposed to talk about him, but I can. See, I’m wondering if I’m caught between Frank and MoMo, here.”
“You think Mr. Giancana sent those two to kill the broad because she’s been sleepin’ with Mr. S.?”
“Well, he wouldn’t hit Frank would he?”
“Not over a broad,” he said, without missing a beat.
“So what do you think, Jerry?”
Jerry sopped up some syrup with the last forkful of pancakes. “Why you askin’ me?”
“Because you’re smarter than anybody gives you credit for,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Ain’t nobody ever said that to me before.”
“Come on, Jerry,” I said. “Give me your take on this.”
He ate the last forkful and then put the utensil down. He wiped his mouth with a napkin before he spoke.
“I don’t think Mr. Giancana would send no-talent bums like them to do a job,” he said. “He just wouldn’t do it. If he really wanted her dead he’s got pros who can do it with no problem. ”
“What if MoMo—Mr. Giancana—didn’t want it to look like him?”
“I’m tellin’ ya,” Jerry said. “He’s got men who woulda been in and out with no problem, leavin’ a dead broad behind.” He shook his big head. “It ain’t Mr. Giancana.”
“How about somebody trying to get at him by killing the girl?” Jerry sat back.
“She’s here ta see Mr. S., right?”
“Right.”
“And if they got it by Mr. Giancana, how could anybody else know?”
It seemed to me Jerry was saying that if MoMo didn’t know, nobody did.
“Well, somebody sent those guys.”
He shrugged.
“Maybe it ain’t got nothin’ ta do with Mr. Giancana at all. Maybe somebody else wants her dead.”
“I wonder,” I said, “if she’s got another guy on a string, somebody who’s not connected.”
“If he ain’t connected, how would he send those guys to kill ’er?”
“I’m just throwing stuff out here, Jerry,” I said, “trying to see what fits.”
He remained quiet for a moment, then said, “I don’t like talkin’ about Mr. Giancana. It ain’t respectful.”
“Okay, Jerry, then we won’t do it anymore. I think you’ve already helped me, anyway. I mean, besides keeping me alive.”
“I told ya I wouldn’t let nothin’ happen to ya.”
“Yep,” I said, “you told me that, and you’re a man of your word.”
* * *
We went out into the casino. I saw a guy at one of the roulette wheels who was a valet at the Riviera. He waved at me. At a blackjack table I spotted a girl who waited tables at the Palms. I got a smile. And at one point we passed a guy I knew who was a musician in one of the strip shows, who exchanged nods with me. I couldn’t think which. I had a better memory for faces than I did for names, unless the person was somebody I thought would be useful to me.
“You know a lot of people in Vegas,” Jerry said, “and not just celebrities, huh?”
“I like to know what’s going on in town.”
“You shoulda never left New York, Mr. G.,” he said. “You’d have that town wired, too.”
“Vegas is my town, Jerry,” I said. “I was born in New York, but I’m glad to be out of there.”
“Why’d ya leave—”
I cut him off. “You mind talking about those two dead hitters?”
“Naw,” he said, “them I’ll talk about, but I don’t know nothin’.”
“Just tell me why this guy would be sitting at one of my tables?” I asked, showing him the photo again.
“You still can’t remember what he said to you?”
“No.”
The time and date on the photo told me he’d been there the day before I talked to Frank. I mentioned that to Jerry. He took the photo and studied it.
“Maybe he was casin’ you.”
“Me?” I asked. “Why me? I wasn’t even involved yet.”
Jerry said, “Hey, Mr. G., I’m just throwin’ stuff out there. ...”
Twenty-Eight
I DECIDED JERRY WAS DOING more than cracking wise. Why else would Joey Favazza have been in the Sands if he wasn’t watching me? Coincidence? Then I did think of another possibility. Maybe he was tailing Frank, hoping he’d lead him to the girl.
“Jerry,” I asked, “can you get me in to see Frank?”
“When?”
“Today.”
“He likes me to check in,” Jerry said. “I’ll ask him.”
“That’s what I’d like you to do.”
“Now?”
“There’s a house phone right over there,” I said. “Just pick it up and ask for his suite.”
“Okay, Mr. G.”
I watched as the big guy went to the phone, picked it up and spoke into it. It took a few minutes for the call to connect and then I assumed he was talking to Frank. This way I didn’t have to go and find Joey Bishop, or call Jack Entratter.
While Jerry was on the phone I walked over to the blackjack tables and watched some of the action. It wasn’t my pit but I did recognize some of the players. The pit boss on duty was a guy named Barney Crane. He was an arrogant sonofabitch who nobody liked except, for some reason, Jack Entratter. I watched some of the hands being dealt, and I watched Barney, who didn’t see me standing there.
When Jerry came back to join me I asked, “What’s the word?”
“He said he has to go to the Fremont Theatre to rehearse with Mr. Martin and the others,” Jerry said. “We can meet him there.”
“When?”
“Now. He’s takin’ a limo over.”
“Let’s give him some time to get there,” I suggested.
“What do we do until then?”
“We’re gonna stand here and watch,” I said.
“Watch what?”
“See that guy over there ...”
* * *
We parked the Caddy behind the theater and walked around to the front. There was security on the door to keep the public out but I knew one of the guys—he had a marker at the Sands—and they let us in. We walked through the lobby to the theater and stood in the back for a while to watch.
Up on stage were Frank, Dino, Sammy Davis Jr., Joey Bishop and Peter Fawford. There were musicians in the pit, and some other people—men and women—standing around watching. Presumably, they all had reasons to be there, even if they were just Rat Pack hangers on.
They did a few numbers, checked the microphones to see if they were working; Joey did some jokes, the guys laughed, joked back. There actually wasn’t much rehearsal to be done. While Joey Bishop did write a lot of the jokes, much of the shtick they pulled on stage was spontaneous. All of these guys were smart, funny, and had been on stage many times. Even Peter Lawford. Since the last time I met him I’d learned that before getting on stage with the Clan he had performed with Jimmy Durante. I’d always assumed he was just a pretty boy actor who wanted to hang around with Frank and Dean. Maybe I’d been wrong about him. He seemed to be able to carry his weight on stage.
Didn’t mean I liked him any better, though.
We moved down one of the aisles so that Frank and the others could see us. That was when Frank told everyone to take five which, to Frank, meant about fifteen or twenty.
Dean waved at me from the stage and said, “Hey, pally.” I felt a kind of ridiculous pride and sent a friendly wave back.
“What’s up, Eddie?” Frank asked. “Jerry said you wanted to see me.”
A look passed between him and Jerry and the big guy faded away. He didn’t join the others by the stage, but moved several aisles away and sat down—uncomfortably, because the theater seats could not fully accommodate his bulk.
“We had some excitement last night,” I said, and told him what happened.
“Jesus,” Frank said, “every time I ask you to help somebody tries to kill you.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You want to pull out? No hard feelin’s?”
“You know I don’t, Frank,” I said.
“Yeah, I do know, Eddie. You’re a stand-up guy.”
“And I’d like to stay that way.”
“Whataya want me to do?”
“You ever hear of Joey Favazza or Frank Capistrello?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Those the two guys?”
“That’s them.”
He gave it another moment’s thought, then said, “Sorry, neither of those names ring a bell.”
“Do you think Giancana knows about you and Mary?”
“No,” Frank said.
“You’re that sure?”
“I told you, we’ve been discreet,” he said. “MoMo doesn’t know, Juliet doesn’t know. ...”
“And the rest of the guys?”
He shook his head.
“Nobody.”
“Dean?”
He smiled. “Dino wouldn’t approve.”
“Frank,” I said, “somebody sent two hit men to kill Mary.”
“That doesn’t make sense, pal,” he said. “She’s a sweet kid, never hurt anybody.”
“Well, it’s pretty damn sure she’s on the run now, or hidin’ out. Has she tried to call you?”
“I told her not to call me at the Sands.”
“If she was in trouble she wouldn’t do it anyway?” I asked.
“You don’t know ’er,” he said. “She’d cut off her right arm first.”
“She’s that loyal?”
“I told you, she’s special.”
“But loyal to you? Not MoMo?”
“She wants to get away from him.”
“And you’re gonna help her? Go against Giancana?”
He pursed his lips, stroked them with a thumb and forefinger. “I’m not gonna discuss that with you, Eddie. That okay?”
“For now, Frank,” I said.
I thought he looked at me with new respect and felt another surge of silly pride.
“What else can I do?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Frank,” I said. “I really don’t.”
“What can you do?”
“I’m doing all I can. Look, one of these guys was in the casino the day before you and I talked.”
“That’s strange.”
“He must have known you were gonna ask me for help,” I said. “Who’d you tell?”
“Nobody,” he said, an edge to his voice. “I told you, I didn’t tell anybody about this.”
We both knew he told Dino, who called Jerry. It was odd, though, how we both trusted the big lug.
“Well, somebody told somebody,” I said.
He stared at me for a few moments, then said, “Mary? You think she told somebody?”
“Maybe she hasn’t been as discreet as you,” I told him.
“Nah—”
“A sister? A best friend?”
He pursed his lips, did the thing with his fingers again, thinking. “What?”
“She’s got a sister.”
“Where?”
“In Chicago.”
“Younger or older?”
“Older.”
“They talk?”
“Well, yeah, they’re sisters.”
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Now wait a minute,” he said. “I don’t wanna bring her sister into this.”
“If she’s on the run, Frank, and she won’t call you, who do you think she’ll call for help?”
He hesitated, then said, “Lily.”
“The sister?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me her phone number, her address, any place that I can reach her.”
He was wearing a sports jacket, no tie, like the rest of the guys on the stage. He took a pen from his inside pocket, but we had nothing to write on. Before either of us could move Jerry’s big paw appeared with a small pad of paper.
“Thanks, Jerry,” I said.
Frank wrote down what he knew and handed the pad back to me. I tore the sheet loose and handed the rest back to Jerry.
“I—I’ve got to get back to rehearsal,” Frank said. It was the most upset I’d ever seen him. His Sinatra cool had been shaken.
“One more thing, Frank. Where does Giancana live?”
“MoMo has lots of places, but he’s usually in Chicago.”
“That’s where he met Mary?”
“Yeah.”
“And you, too.”
“Yeah, at the Ambassador East. She was the hat check girl.”
MoMo Giancana and Frank Sinatra sharing a hat check girl. Party girls like Judith Campbell and stars like Phyllis McGuire weren’t enough.
“Do what you can for her, Eddie,” Frank said. “Find her. Keep her alive.”
“That’s what I intend to do, Frank.”
Frank went back to the stage. I started up the aisle and Jerry caught up.
“Everything okay?”
“Like what?”
“I mean, between you and Mr. S.?”
I stopped and looked at Jerry, who went ahead a few steps before also stopping.
“What?” he asked.
I wondered what would happen if I told Jerry that everything wasn’t all right between me and Frank? What would he do?
I didn’t want to find out.
“Yeah, Jerry,” I said, “everything is fine with me and Frank, just fine.”
Twenty-Nine
I NEEDED ACCESS TO A PHONE I could use to make a long distance call. The nearest place to the Fremont Theatre was Danny Bardini’s office. I figured he wouldn’t be in—and he wasn’t—but I knew where he kept a spare key.
“He won’t be mad?” Jerry asked as I let us in.
“No, he won’t be mad,” I said. I was suddenly leery of Jerry, uncomfortable, even. “Jerry, why don’t you go across the street and get us some coffee.”
“And donuts?”
“Sure,” I said, “get us some donuts, too.”
“Okay, Mr. G.”
I went to the window and watched the big guy cross Fremont Street. I was probably being silly. What could ever happen between me and Frank that would cause Jerry to have to take sides?
I went to the phone, f
ished out Lily Clarke’s phone number and dialed it. It was picked up on the second ring.
“Mary?” I could hear in that one word how frantic she was.
“Lily?”
Silence from the other end, and then, “Who is this?”
“My name is Eddie Gianelli, Lily,” I said. “I’m calling from Las Vegas.”
“Are . . . are you with the police?”
“No,” I said. “I’m not with anyone. I’m just trying to find your sister and help her.”
“I—I—”
“Have you heard from her?”
“I—I don’t know you,” she said. “I should hang up.”
“Yes, you could,” I said, “but you might be lousing up the only chance your sister has.”
More silence, then she whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Lily ... is it Lily Clarke?”
“No,” she said, “Lily D’Angeli. I was—I’m divorced.”
“Can I call you Lily?”
“Mister—if you can help my sister you can call me anything you want.”
“I’m trying to help her, but to do that I’ve got to find her.”
“Do you know—have you been involved—”
“Are you asking me if I know what’s going on out here?”
“Yes.”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t,” I said. “I was asked to find her, and I walked straight into a mess. Two men are dead.”
“Two?”
“Did she tell you about one?”
“She said—she said he tried to kill her.”
“And she killed him?”
She didn’t answer.
“Lily?”
“I think—I’m supposed to send some—I think I’ve said too much.”
“Lily, remember my name,” I said, speaking quickly so I could say what I wanted to say before she hung up. “I work at the Sands here in Vegas, tell her she can contact me there—”
There was a click and the line went dead. I thought about calling back but decided she probably wouldn’t answer.
What had she said, “I think—I’m supposed to send some—” Send some what? Money? How? Western Union, maybe?
Jerry came in at that moment carrying two containers of coffee and a box of donuts. From the amount of powdered sugar on his face and chest he’d eaten one already.
[Rat Pack 02] - Luck Be a Lady, Don't Die Page 9
