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

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Late night,” I said.

  “Sometimes I wonder about you, Mr. G.,” he said. “Ain’t no late nights in Vegas.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “You did.”

  “Pancakes?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, coming up off the sofa eagerly.

  I decided to take him to the Sands and feed him there. I just wanted some coffee.

  “You probably get a lotta free meals at the casino.” He sounded envious.

  “Some.”

  He drove the route confidently, since he knew the way now.

  “Jerry, you think Frank would want to know that MoMo’s on to him?”

  He thought a moment, then said, “I don’t think Mr. S. would like feelin’ stupid.”

  Frank had told me several times that he and Mary Clarke were being discreet. I wondered if he was doing that more for the public, Juliet Prowse, or MoMo Giancana?

  “You’re probably right,” I said. “Let’s keep it to ourselves.”

  “Gotcha.”

  * * *

  I had Jerry take a detour by the Western Union office. According to the clerk my “girlfriend” had not picked up her money yet, and I still could not do it for her. I gave him my card, a ten-dollar bill and asked him to call me when she came in.

  At the Sands I sat Jerry in front of the glass and brick partition that separated the diners from the cooks in the Garden Room Restaurant, instructed the waitress not to charge him, and got a coffee to go for myself.

  “You ain’t gonna leave the building, are ya?” he asked me.

  “Not without you, pal,” I promised, slapping his big shoulder.

  “ ’Cause I know you ain’t heeled,” he said.

  “I don’t need to carry a gun when I’ve got you, Jerry.”

  “You got that right.”

  He was tucking a napkin in his collar when I left him.

  * * *

  Jack Entratter was in his office. His girl let me go right in. She didn’t seem to approve of the fact that I had brought my own coffee. Or maybe it was that I hadn’t brought some for anyone else.

  “Jesus Christ, Eddie,” he said, “tell me you had nothin’ to do with Dave Lewis gettin’ murdered.”

  “Dave’s dead?”

  “You’ll need a better act than that for Detective Hargrove, my friend,” he warned me.

  “I’ll work on it.”

  I sat across from him and reported what had happened.

  “Sounds like you got a lead on your girl,” he said. “What are you doin’ here?”

  “Jack, you got a man you can put on that Western Union office for me?”

  “Why do you need a man?” he asked. “You got Jerry, don’t ya? And yourself?”

  “We’re going to be busy with something else.”

  He frowned.

  “What else is there for you to do?” he asked. “You’ve got to find that girl, Eddie.”

  “I know, I know . . . but I talked with MoMo last night.”

  He sat still in his chair, giving me the satisfaction of getting the very reaction I was after.

  “You what?”

  “Giancana sent for me last night.”

  “He’s in town?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes flicked around his desk for a moment, as if he was searching for some elusive memo.

  “What’d he want?”

  “To tell me what a great job I was doing,” I said. “Said he wants me to find the girl alive.”

  “Is he gonna give you some help?”

  “No, he said what you said, I’ve got Jerry.”

  “Does Frank know he’s here?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “He’s not comin’ to the premier, is he?”

  “He didn’t confide in me, Jack,” I said. “You know the kind of man MoMo is—”

  “Why are you callin’ him that?” he demanded.

  I gave him an innocent look and said, “Well... he asked me to.”

  He went very still for a second time.

  “He what?”

  “He asked me to call him MoMo.”

  “Asked you,” he said, “or told you?”

  “Oh no,” I said, “he definitely asked me to. Slapped me on the back, too. I think we’re pals, now.”

  Jack Entratter thought this all over for a moment, then said, “Well, we gotta try to give Mr. Giancana what he wants, right?”

  “That’s right, Jack. Now, do you have a man you can put on that office?”

  “I got somebody.”

  “And I want to be called as soon as she shows up. In fact, he can call here.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Good,” I said, “because Jerry and I have some other leads to follow.”

  I started to get up.

  “Hargrove wants to see you.”

  “When was he here?” I asked.

  “He called,” Jack said. “I arranged for you to go and see him. Better than him comin’ here, fearin’ the place up lookin’ for you.”

  “I agree. Uh, did he mention Jerry?”

  “He did. You better take him with you.”

  “Is he going to arrest us, do you think?”

  “Not unless he’s got a witness who saw you kill Dave Lewis.” He leaned forward. “There’s no such witness, is there, Eddie?”

  “Nope,” I said, “no witness.”

  “Good.”

  I turned to leave and he said, softly, “Eddie?”

  “Yeah, Jack.”

  “Mr. Giancana ... he didn’t say what he was doin’ in Vegas, exactly . . . did he?”

  “No, Jack,” I said, “he didn’t tell me that.”

  “Okay . . . thanks.”

  I left him sitting behind his desk, looking more worried than I’d ever seen him.

  Thirty-Six

  I TRULY BELIEVED that the only person Jack Entratter was afraid of was Sam Giancana. On a strictly physical level, of course, Jack could crush MoMo, but there was something much more going on.

  I was initially impressed with Frank and Dino because of their celebrity. Later, I became more impressed with them because of their loyalty to each other. I could’ve been afraid of Jerry simply because of his size, but he had proven to me more than once that he was about much more than size. I felt that we were friends.

  Sam Giancana scared me. Why? Because on his word alone my friend Jerry would probably take me out. That made him—not Jerry—the frightening one. On his say-so Jerry would probably even take out Frank Sinatra. One man shouldn’t have that much power. The power to frighten somebody like Jack Entratter, or to snuff out lives like Frank Sinatra, or just me.

  On the other hand, what had MoMo shown me by saying he didn’t care if Frank was sleeping with Mary? Was he a man void of petty jealousy, or were women just not that important to him? And if so, why did he care what was happening to her now?

  To get to the casino I had to take the elevator down and pass the front desk. On my way I heard somebody call my name. I turned and saw Charlie Slater, one of the concierges, waving me over to his desk.

  “Yeah, Charlie?”

  “There was a girl here lookin’ for you earlier, Eddie,” he said.

  “A girl?”

  “Well, a woman,” he said. “A looker, too.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She asked if a man named Eddie Gianelli worked here. I said you worked in the casino.”

  “Did she check in?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “When was this?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “I’ll be in the building for another hour or so,” I said. “In the casino. If she comes back, page me.”

  “You got it.”

  “Thanks.”

  I went to find Jerry. He was just outside the Garden Room, watching the blackjack players. I hoped he wasn’t going to get hooked. He wa
s a very good handicapper of horses but I didn’t know how he’d handle having his twenty beaten so many times by the dealer’s twenty-one. That takes a special kind of temperament. From my pit I’ve seen gamblers who were very good at other games—craps, roulette—have meltdowns at the blackjack table.

  I sidled up next to him and asked, “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “About blackjack?”

  He seemed to give it some thought, then said, “I think I’ll stick to horses.”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  He looked at me.

  “You think I ain’t smart enough?”

  “Smart’s got nothing to do with it,” I said. “I’m one of your biggest fans, Jerry. No, I just think you’re better suited for the horses. And you’re good at it. If you try to learn blackjack and become good at that, it could mess you up for the horses.”

  “Cards ain’t for me,” Jerry said, “but it’s interestin’ to watch.”

  I didn’t think much of blackjack as a spectator sport. Poker maybe, but not blackjack.

  “So what’s goin’ on?” he asked.

  I told him I’d gotten Jack Entratter to send someone to the Western Union office to watch for the girl.

  “He won’t know what to look for.”

  “A hot blonde,” I said. “That’s all he needs to know.”

  “And if she shows up? Will he grab her?”

  “He’ll call Jack.”

  “He should follow her.”

  I mentally kicked myself for not having suggested that.

  “Wait here,” I said.

  I went to a house phone and called Jack.

  “Some detective,” he said, when I told him. “You should get lessons from your friend Bardini. I already sent Franco, told him to follow her if she shows up and then call in.”

  I hung up, feeling properly chastised, and went back to Jerry. “Taken care of,” I told him.

  “So what are we gonna do?”

  “We have to go talk to Detective Hargrove.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes,” I said. “If you don’t he’ll put out a dragnet for you.”

  “I don’t like police stations.” He made a face and actually shivered.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said. “We’ll look better going in willingly.” “Now?”

  “No,” I said, “not now. I heard there’s a woman here looking for me.”

  “What for?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but I’m wondering . . .”

  “Wondering what? If she’s involved?”

  “Maybe it’s her,” I said. “The concierge said she was a looker.”

  “A blond looker?”

  “He didn’t say. I just want to stick around another hour or so, see if she finds me.”

  Jerry shrugged and said, “Okay.”

  “You want to play the horses while we’re waiting?”

  “Why not?”

  He knew how to get to the race and sports book, so he went off alone.

  Thirty-Seven

  I HAD SECOND THOUGHTS about the identity of the woman looking for me being Mary Clarke. Why would she come to the Sands asking for Eddie Gianelli? I just couldn’t buy that this girl who was on the run, who had probably escaped death at least twice, would still strive for discretion and not try to get in touch with Frank.

  Then I thought about Frank’s man, George Jacobs. Could he have intercepted a message from the girl and kept it from Frank?

  “Eddie?”

  I turned at the sound of my name. I hadn’t moved from the spot where I’d been standing with Jerry. A bellmen stood patiently by. I tried to bring his name to mind but couldn’t so I just raised my eyebrows at him.

  “Uh, Charlie said for me to tell you that woman is back?”

  “The one looking for me?”

  He shrugged. “That’s the message he gave me.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  He went off to deliver another message somewhere else and I headed for the lobby. As I arrived I saw Charlie lean over and speak to a woman who was standing by his desk. She turned her head to observe my progress across the floor to her.

  I took the time to look her over and I liked what I saw. She could have gotten a job in any of the casino shows based on her looks alone.

  When I reached her, her lips parted slightly. The bottom one trembled before she could catch it. She was wearing a purple suit that was wrinkled, as if she’d traveled a long way in it—which she probably had. If she’d had blond hair she would have been a double for her sister.

  “Miss D’Angeli?”

  She seemed taken aback.

  “H-how did you know?”

  “You resemble your sister.”

  “She’s a year younger,” she replied, “but yes, we look alike. Are you the Mr. Gianelli I spoke to on the phone?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You got here quickly.”

  “And expensively,” she said. “Can we talk?”

  “Of course,” I said, “but first. . . where are you staying?”

  “I—I don’t know. I came straight here from the airport. I—I checked my bag, but—”

  “Come with me,” I said. “We’ll get you a room.”

  “I can’t afford to stay here—” she said, as I took her arm.

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t—”

  “We don’t have time to argue, Miss D’Angeli,” I said. “We’ll get you a room and then we’ll talk. No arguments.”

  “I—well, all right.”

  I took her to the desk and had them put her in one of the rooms the Sands kept open for employees, like me. Not a suite, but a decent room. Then we retrieved her bag and I took her upstairs. I carried her bag into the room, leaving the door open.

  “Would you like to freshen up?” I asked.

  “Do I have time?”

  “You can take a few minutes,” I said. “I’ll wait out in the hall - Are you hungry? We could talk in the coffee shop.”

  “Well—yes, I’m very hungry. You’re very . . . kind.”

  “Not what you expected?”

  “I—I didn’t expect—”

  “Never mind,” I said. “I’ll wait outside.” I backed out and closed he door softly.

  * * *

  “After I hung up on you,” she said, later, “I realized I might have just hung up on the only person who could help me—help Mary. I—I’m sorry I did that.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You didn’t know who I was.”

  I paused while the waitress placed a salad in front of Lily D’Angeli. Instead of taking her to the coffee shop I chose the Terrace Room, one of the better restaurants in the building. In addition to the classy ambience it had a view of the pool.

  “You’re not having anything?” she asked. She had a Chicago accent, though not a broad one.

  “I’m not hungry,” I said. “Go ahead, eat.”

  I had a cup of coffee in front of me and the waitress refilled it. I thanked her.

  “Have you heard from my sister?” she asked.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  “Not since she called and I sent her that money,” she replied.

  “She hasn’t picked it up yet.”

  She stared at me, chewing slowly, a dab of French dressing at the corner of her full lips.

  “How could you know that?” she asked. “I mean, how could you know where I sent the money?”

  “We found where your sister was hiding, at least for a while. There was a Yellow Pages there with the location circled.”

  I didn’t bother telling her that there was a dead man there, as well.

  “I’ve got someone watching the place, waiting for her.”

  “To do what?”

  “To help her,” I said. “To bring her in and put her somewhere safe. Someone’s trying to kill her, Miss D’Angeli. I don’t want to see that happen.”

  “Why not
?” she asked. “Are you being paid? You’re not a detective, are you?”

  “No,” I said, “as I told you on the phone I work here. I’m a pit boss.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Maybe I’ll tell you later,” I said. “Right now I need to know why you came out here, Miss—”

  “Please,” she said, “after all you’ve done, please call me Lily.”

  “Okay, Lily,” I said. “I’m Eddie. What I want to know is, what are you doing here in Vegas?”

  “I came to help.”

  “How?”

  She stared at me for a moment. The dressing was still there, but as if she’d caught me looking, her tongue flicked out and nabbed it.

  “I don’t really know,” she said. “After I hung up on you ... rudely ... I just reacted. I went to the airport, bought a ticket on standby and here I am.”

  She had a beautiful, clear complexion that was drawn now, etched with fine lines and some darkness beneath her eyes. She’d obviously spent the night at the airport.

  “I’ve only seen a photo of your sister,” I said, “but if you bleached your hair—”

  “I wouldn’t,” she said, touching her brown locks. “She asked me to go with her and get it done at the same time but I said no. That was right after she got the job at that. . . that place.”

  “The Ambassador East?”

  She nodded.

  “Where all the gangsters go.”

  “And movie stars.”

  “To her they were the same.”

  A lot of people felt that way.

  “She took that job, said she was going to meet a rich man.”

  “I’ll bet she met plenty.”

  “Yes,” she said, “and she . . . she took money from them.”

  Not just for checking their hats, she meant.

  “And I told her not to come out here when that. . . that singer invited her.”

  That singer?

  “You don’t like him?”

  “I don’t like his type,” she said. “I’m not a big fan of people who think they’re powerful.”

  “Like show business people?”

  She nodded. “And gangsters, politicians . . . they’re all the same.”

  “Do you want something else?”