“On the sofa,” I suggested. “You’ll be more comfortable there.”
“Thank you.”
Her white blouse was soiled, but with something black, not red. She sat and her skirt rode up over her knees. I couldn’t see any bloodstains on her, and didn’t think she’d washed any off in the bathroom.
She pushed her hair back over her ears with one hand, first one side then the other. It was almost shoulder-length. She always managed to keep one hand on her purse. Remembering what her sister was carrying in hers I wondered, how much money was in there? And was it hers or Lily’s?
Jerry came back carrying a tray with the coffeepot and three mugs. He played host, poured her a cup, which she took black. He then put the tray on the coffee table and sat off to one side to observe. She sipped her coffee, regarding me over the rim of her mug.
“Mary ... what happened? What’s been happening?”
“First... why have you been looking for me? I don’t know you.”
“Frank asked me to see if you were okay.”
“You’re friends with Frank?”
For want of a better description of my relationship with Sinatra I said, “Yes.”
“He’s nice.”
“Yeah, he is.”
I waited, and then looked at Jerry, who just shrugged.
“Mary…”
She put the coffee cup down on the table, finally released the purse and covered her face with both hands. I thought she was crying, but when she lowered her hands her face was dry.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It wasn’t my idea. None of it.”
“None of what?”
“It was Lily,” she said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Lily’s big idea ...”
“For you to be with Frank?”
“What?” She looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time, then over at Jerry. He seemed to fascinate her.
“Frank? No, not Frank. I’m talking about Vito.”
I glanced at Jerry, but he was watching her.
“Who’s Vito?”
“Lily’s boss,” Mary said. “The man she worked for ...”
“. . . and was sleeping with?”
“Yes.”
She’d told me his name was Roger. Another lie.
“Vito . . . who?”
“Vito Balducci.”
This time when I glanced at Jerry he was looking back at me. “Chicago mob,” he said.
“What? Wait... the guy Lily ripped off is with the Mafia?”
“Of course,” Mary said. “She didn’t tell you?”
“All she told me was that she ripped off her boyfriend, who was married, and who couldn’t call the cops because it was already stolen money.”
“Mob money,” Mary said. “And he needs to get it back or he’s a dead man.”
“Jesus,” I said, “you stole from the mob. What the hell were you broads thinking?”
Before she could answer, the front door exploded inward, coming off one hinge. At the time I thought it was from dynamite or something. It turned out later to simply have been from a kick. But at that moment it didn’t matter how it had been opened, only that it had and
now men were pouring into my house with guns in their hands, and every intention of using them.
Jerry moved right away. He pulled his gun, reached for Mary, closed his big hand around her shoulder and pushed her to the floor. I was on my own while he was being chivalrous, so I hit the deck myself just as the lead started flying.
Fifty-Seven
JERRY HAD STARTED PULLING the trigger right away, his instincts for survival taking over immediately. I froze, just for a minute, wondering if these guys could be cops. But they never identified themselves, never said a word, and they obviously had bad intentions.
I looked at Jerry, who was leaning over Mary, shielding her with his body while he triggered his .45. The three men who had broken in ducked for cover and began firing their own weapons. I was close to one of them, prone on the floor. We were almost face to face so I grabbed a lamp with a heavy metal base and swung it, catching him on the chin before he could shoot. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell over, releasing his hold on his gun. I grabbed it. It was a revolver, and I knew he’d already fired a couple of shots. I didn’t know how many were left but I pointed the gun at the other two men and fired one shot, anyway. Next thing I knew, I was being grabbed from behind and dragged across the floor. Then I was in the kitchen with Jerry and Mary.
“Get her out the back,” Jerry said. “I’ll hold them off.”
I didn’t argue.
“You need this?”
He shook his head.
“I got plenty of ammo. Keep it. You might need it. Now go!”
I grabbed his arm and said, “I’ll meet you at the Sands.”
“I’ll be there, Mr. G.”
He turned and went back into the living room. That’s when I noticed the wound on his arm seeping blood. He’d already been shot once. I was tempted to go back in and help him. But at that moment Mary sagged against me. I wrapped my free arm around her and dragged her to the back door.
I got her out into the yard and stopped. I could still hear gunfire from inside the house. The Caddy was out front, but there was no way I was going to try for it. My best bet was to go through my neighbor’s yard and come out on the street behind us. From there we could get over to a main street, catch a cab to the Sands—and call the cops.
I looked at Mary, who was hanging onto me with one hand and to her purse with the other. Goddamn purse, I wanted to snatch it away from her and toss it into the bushes.
Instead I said, “Are you all right?”
“I—I think so. He—he dragged us both out of that room.”
“I know.”
“Will he be—”
“That, I don’t know,” I said, “but we better get out of here. If we get caught, or shot, he’s gonna be pissed.”
“Shouldn’t you help him?”
“He’s in his element, Mary,” I said, “and I’m gonna take you to mine.”
* * *
We got lucky and flagged down a cab within a few minutes. I thought about telling him to take me to a pay phone, but instead just told him the Sands. When we got there I dragged Mary into the lobby with me to a phone and called the police. I gave them my address, told them I’d heard shots, and hung up without giving a name. I was going to have to come up with a good explanation for Hargrove about why my house got shot up.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing Mary’s arm. She was on her last legs and almost fell.
My intention was to put her in a room, maybe the same one as her sister, but at the last minute I changed my mind. Guys with guns seemed to be finding me wherever I went. I decided to try something new.
“Where are we going?” she asked as I pulled her along a hallway.
“You’ll see.”
We finally arrived in the backstage area behind the Copa Room stage. Dean had been replaced that night by another singer so he could attend the premier if he wanted to. Since the guy on stage did not have Dino’s voice or stage presence they were using a lot of girls. As I pulled Mary into the women’s dressing room it was deserted except for two girls. I knew both of them.
“Hey, Eddie,” Mona Rogers said. “Don’t you knock?” She was sitting in front of her dressing table, applying the finishing touches to her makeup.
“Hi, honey,” Sheila Robinson said. She had her foot up on a chair and was smoothing the stocking on an impossibly long leg.
“I’m sorry, ladies,” I said. “But I have a friend here who needs someplace to hide out.”
“Boyfriend troubles, hon?” Sheila asked Mary.
“The worst,” Mary said, playing along.
“Empty table in the back, Eddie,” Mona said. “The other girls’ll be in here soon, though.”
“I hope we’ll be gone by then. Thanks.”
I tugged Mary along and deposited her in a chair in front of a mirror with light bul
bs around it. The lights were off, but there was enough for Mary to catch sight of herself and gasp.
“We need to talk, Mary,” I said. “Right now.”
“Are we safe here?” she asked.
I had a quick flash of Jerry pulling me out into the hall and blasting Capistrello—or Favazza, whichever one it was. “Safe enough.”
“I really need a shower,” she said. “And some clean clothes.”
“I can supply the shower later,” I said, “and probably a robe.”
“Please,” she said, “a shower and a robe would be so wonderful. ...”
“Like I said, later.”
“I don’t suppose you could include some deodorant?”
Women.
Fifty-Eight
WE DON’T HAVE much time. What’s in your bag, Mary?” I asked.
She looked at me. Then down at the bag, clutched to her chest. “What?”
“The purse,” I said. “Even when we were being shot at you wouldn’t let it go. What’s in it?”
“It’s—it’s got my ... things.”
“Things?” I repeated “You mean, like money?”
“A few dollars.”
“Not fifty thousand, like your sister?”
“Lily ...”
“Where is Lily, by the way?”
“I told you, I don’t know. We ... split up.”
“Why?”
“We thought it would be safer.”
“Whose blood was in that hotel room?”
“Blood?”
“That fleabag hotel you were staying in. The desk clerk saw you leave, and when we went up, there was blood everywhere.”
She put her hands up to her face and said, “Lily?”
“We don’t know whose blood,” I said. “I thought you might.”
She dropped her hands.
“How would I know?”
“Look, Mary,” I said, “the truth has to come out some time. Just what were you and your sister trying to pull?”
“I told you, it was all her idea.”
“Stealing the money from Balducci?”
“Yes,” she said. “She met him at the Ambassador.”
“You were the one working there.”
“She used to come in with ... men.”
“You met a lot of men there,” I said. “Frank, Sam Giancana. Who met Balducci first?”
“I did,” she said, “but Sam was showing interest in me, and that scared Vito. Then I introduced him to Lily.”
“Wait,” I said, “I thought she was his bookkeeper.”
“He hired her after a few dates.”
“That’s not how I used to get my jobs.”
“You were a bookkeeper?” She looked surprised.
“A certified CPA, once upon a time, but that’s not important now. So Lily went to work for Balducci. Did she know he was mobbed up?”
“He just said he kept the books for them,” she said. “She didn’t think he was actually a mobster.”
“How long did she work for him before you two hatched this plan?”
“About three months, sleeping with him for two ... and it wasn’t my plan. It was hers. I told you that.”
“Yeah, you did,” I said. “But I’ve got to warn you, I’m gonna have a lot of trouble believing everything you tell me. Your sister started out lying to me, playing the innocent.”
“She does that with men.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t lie like her.”
“Who do you lie like?”
She firmed her chin and said, “I don’t lie a lot, the way she does.”
“You don’t lead men on?”
She squirmed.
“That’s not lying, not really.”
“What do you call it?”
“That’s the game,” she said. “The game men and women play. You don’t play games with women?”
“I tend to be brutally honest,” I said.
“You must not have a girlfriend.”
“Not at the moment, but we’re getting off the path again. Tell me what happened at the Golden Nugget, and what it has to do with your sister and Vito Balducci.”
“I was only supposed to come to Vegas to see Frank. My sister decided this was the time to hit Balducci for the money he kept in a safe in his office.”
“Fifty grand?”
She hesitated, then said, “A hundred.”
“He kept a hundred large of mob money in his safe? And she knew the combination?”
She nodded.
“He bragged about it in bed. Lily says men are so stupid.”
“Sounds to me like Lily’s right.”
“Lily’s always right.”
She said it in a toneless way that did not give away her meaning. I couldn’t tell if she really believed it or not.
“Keep going.”
She took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh.
“Lily stole the money. She gave me half.”
“Generous sister.”
“She wasn’t giving me half,” she said, correcting me. “She gave me half to hold for her. I was supposed to give it back to her here, in Vegas.”
“And?”
“And she didn’t show up at the Golden Nugget.”
“But somebody else did.”
“Yes. Two men. They said they were from Mr. Balducci, and they wanted his money. I told them I didn’t have it, but they wouldn’t believe me.”
“Did they look for it?”
“They were going to,” she said, “but one of them took off, leaving me with the other guy.”
“Why would they do that? Split up?”
She lifted her chin and looked at me.
“I believe he meant to rape me.”
“Oh.” I’ve never understood the relationship between rape and pillage. What is the mentality that tells a man to stop what he’s doing—especially if he’s pillaging—to rape a woman? That mentality is alien to me—and, hopefully, to most men.
“I wasn’t going to let him do that.”
“So you killed him?”
“I didn’t mean to,” she said. “I told him I had to go to the bathroom.”
“He followed you?”
“Not right away,” she said, “but I... called out to him and ... enticed him in.”
“And?”
“And I hit him with the top of the toilet tank.”
“That’s pretty heavy.”
“I told you, I was not about to be raped.”
“And then you replaced it?”
“Yes.”
“That was smart. I don’t think the cops have figured out what the murder weapon was, yet.”
“It was not murder,” she said. “It was self-defense.”
“And then you put him in the bathtub?”
She made a face and hugged herself, but said, “Yes. Then I got out of there before the other man came back.”
“And somebody helped you get out of the hotel without being seen,” I said. “Dave Lewis?”
“Yes, he said that was his name, and that he was the house detective. He said it was his job to help guests.” She paused a moment, then said, “I think he expected sex in return for his help.”
Yeah, I thought, that would be Dave.
“Did you tell him about the men?”
“I told him two men were after me,” she said. “I did not tell him I had killed one of them.”
“He must have been surprised when the body was found in the tub.”
“Yes,” she said, “he was very angry. He had taken me to his apartment to hide me. I was able to fend him off at first, but when he came back after the body was found he was mad and said I owed him.”
“And?”
She didn’t answer.
“Did you kill him too, Mary? What’d you bash him with?”
“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she said. “It was ... some sort of trophy he kept by the bed.”
“You gonna tell me it was self-defense?” I a
sked. “He was still dressed.”
“I was … undressing for him, and then he told me to undress him. He was a horrible little man, but he got me out of the hotel. I was actually ... considering having sex with him, but I couldn’t do it. When I told him that, he got angry and grabbed me.” She rolled up a sleeve so I could see bruises on her upper arm, then covered herself again. Those bruises could have gotten there any number of ways over the past few days, but I didn’t say anything.
“So I grabbed the first thing I could find, and I hit him.”
“I saw the body, Mary,” I told her. Small lie. “He had to have been hit more than once to have that much damage.”
“I—I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I only know that I hit him, and ran.”
“Ran where?” Is there another helpful man lying dead somewhere, I wondered?
“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t have much money.”
“You had fifty thousand dollars!”
She shook her head.
“That was Lily’s money. She would have killed me if I used it.”
Fifty-Nine
WAS SHE THAT AFRAID of her sister? If so then Lily really had me fooled.
“Okay, so what did you do?”
“I called her,” she said. “Collect.”
“And?”
“She got mad, said I was ruining everything. She told me to lay low until she got here.”
“Did she tell you why she was still at home?”
“She said she had some trouble with Vito, but she had handled it.”
I wondered what that meant.
“So I found a cheap hotel—that hotel you were talking about.” She shuddered. “The clerk thought I was a hooker. Tried to get me to pay with sex. What is it with men and sex?”
I didn’t know if she was really asking me, or if the question was rhetorical. Either way I didn’t have time to answer.
“She said she’d send me some money through Western Union that I could use.”
“What was wrong with the fifty grand?” I asked. “Was it marked?”
“I don’t know. I only know she told me not to use any, even if my life depended on it.”
“And you didn’t?”
Her head was down most of the time. Now she raised it and looked me in the eyes.
[Rat Pack 02] - Luck Be a Lady, Don't Die Page 19
