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

by Robert J. Randisi

  “I’m used to doing what Lily tells me to do, Eddie. After years and years of it.”

  “So, you are afraid of her?”

  “I suppose so,” she said. “Or it may just be a reflex. Do you have any brothers or sisters? Older ones?”

  “None,” I lied. That was a reflex, too—and another story.

  “Then you can’t know.”

  I had nothing to say to that.

  “I did as she told me, stayed in that hotel and waited.”

  “And?”

  She covered her face with her hands.

  “I’m so tired.” She dropped her hands and looked at me. “Can we finish tomorrow?”

  I wanted to force her to keep going, but I was bone tired myself, and worried about Jerry.

  “Okay,” I said. “We’re missing the movie tonight, and the show after it, but I’ll get to Frank and tell him you’re here—”

  “Please don’t,” she snapped.

  “Why not?”

  “I—Frank’s a nice man, and it was very flattering, and exciting, to get attention from him, but...”

  “But what?”

  “Well... he’s too old for me.”

  “And MoMo isn’t?”

  “Mr. Giancana?” she asked, her eyes wide. “I never—there was never anything between Mr. Giancana and me.”

  I studied her to see if she was telling the truth.

  “In fact... I’ve never even been to bed with Frank,” she added. Suddenly, I believed her. I had a picture of Sinatra and Giancana as two middle-aged men telling stories to each other about the sexy blond hat check girl. It wasn’t a particularly flattering picture.

  “I have to tell him you’re all right, Mary.”

  “But not the rest? Not about Lily and the money?”

  I thought a moment, then said, “I’m not sure. I’ll have to give it some thought, see where my responsibilities lie.”

  “It really doesn’t concern him, after all,” she said. “The stolen money, I mean.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I still have to think about it.”

  “All right.”

  “Now listen ... you can’t take off again,” I told her. “You have to stay here.”

  “Where am I going to go?” she asked. “But do you mean here, in this dressing room?”

  I nodded. “Until I come and get you.”

  “But the girls—”

  “The girls will watch over you. I’ve got to find out if Jerry’s all right.”

  “I hope he is.”

  “I’ll be back soon. Try to relax. You should be safe here. Later I’ll get you a room and you can get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll have to talk about finding your sister. I’m sure Balducci still wants his money back, and that still puts the two of you in danger.”

  “Thank you for your help, Eddie.”

  I decided Mona was my best bet. Sheila was a little too into herself, like a lot of the girls.

  “Mona, I’ve got to leave Mary here for a while.”

  “Your little girlfriend?”

  “She’s not—”

  “Relax, Eddie, I’m just kiddin’.”

  “I need you to keep an eye on her.”

  She turned away from the mirror. Her face was about as perfect as it could be. She was in her early thirties, and in daylight without makeup looked it. On stage, however, she was gorgeous. On stage they were all gorgeous in Vegas.

  “Keep an eye on her, as in, make sure she’s okay? Or as in, don’t let her leave?”

  “The second one.”

  “What’s this about, Eddie?”

  “Let me just say that Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin will be very appreciative.”

  “Dino,” she said, with a smile. “I love workin’ with him. One of them her boyfriend?”

  “No. Can you do this for me?”

  “Sure, Eddie.” She shrugged her bare shoulders. “Why not?”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I’m outta here in a couple of hours,” she warned.

  “If I can’t make it I’ll send somebody for her.”

  “Okay,” she said, again. “When I have to go onstage I’ll get one of the other girls to help me.”

  “Thanks, Mona,” I said. “I owe you.”

  “No kisses,” she said, covering up. “You’ll smudge my face.” “You’re the best.”

  I got out of there.

  Sixty

  SHE HAD ADMITTED to killing two men. I should have been on the phone to the police as soon as I left her. But if any part of her story was true, and she was one of those women who brought that out in men, then her self-defense story might hold up in each case. Certainly the first one.

  The other thing on my mind was letting Entratter know what was going on before he left for the Fremont Theatre. A check of my watch told me the movie was due to start in an hour. I had actually wanted to see it, but that was going to have to wait.

  The other reason I wanted to call Entratter was because of Jerry. If the cops responded to my house in time to find him there, it would fall to Jack Entratter to get him out of jail—again.

  If he was alive.

  I found a house phone and called Entratter’s suite. He told me he was getting dressed and to come on up.

  * * *

  “What the hell did you and that big Jew bastard do now?” he demanded as he opened the door of his suite to me. “Big Jew bastard” was almost an affectionate term coming from him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, first of all, look at you.”

  I was a mess, sure. I hadn’t had time to change since leaving my place.

  On the other hand, I had never seen Entratter looking so spiffy. He usually refused to wear a tuxedo, but he was in one now—all but the tie, which was hanging loose around his neck.

  “We had a little trouble—”

  “I heard,” he said, cutting me off.

  “From who?”

  “Jerry,” he said. “He called here all worried about you. I hadda tell him I didn’t know what was goin’ on, since I hadn’t heard from you.”

  “Where is he?” I demanded. “How is he? I thought he caught a bullet—”

  “He did,” Entratter said. “I sent him to a doctor—a special doctor.” A mob doctor who would treat him without reporting it.

  “What about my house?”

  “Shot to pieces, apparently,” he said. “The cops are lookin’ for you to ask you about it.”

  “Hargrove?”

  He nodded, fiddling with his tie with his sausage-like fingers.

  “He didn’t catch the squeal, but when he heard about it he bought in.”

  “Great.”

  “You goin’ to the premier?”

  “That was my original plan.”

  “What’s keepin’ ya?”

  “I found the girl.”

  He’d been standing in front of a mirror, still fighting with his tie, and now he turned and stared at me.

  “What?”

  “Jerry didn’t tell you?”

  “He didn’t tell me nothin’ except you and him were in your house, some goons broke in and started shootin’.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I think you better tell me what the fuck is goin’ on.”

  “Well...”

  “So there’s two broads? Sisters?” he asked after hearing me out.

  “And we got one of ’em. Frank’s girl.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And the two of them ripped off a mob bookkeeper from Chicago.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Right.”

  He shrugged and turned back to the mirror.

  “Are you gonna tell—”

  “Tell who? And what? Some Chicago family got careless with their dough. It ain’t MoMo, so it’s no skin off my nose. You gonna find this other one? The sister?”

  “Tomorrow, hopefully.”

  “And alive, h
opefully,” he added.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, well, go get dressed.”

  “What for?”

  “You’re cornin’ ta the show.”

  “I don’t have time—”

  “You got time to make the show after, maybe even some of the movie. Frank and Dean want you there, and I want you there.”

  “Jack,” I said, “I’ve got to talk to Jerry, find Lily—”

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “All tomorrow. Tonight we make nice to Frank, Dean and the guys.”

  This was crazy. An hour ago I was getting shot at, and now I was supposed to go to the movies?

  “You still got the suite,” he said. “Take a shower, get dressed and meet me at the theater.”

  “Jack-”

  “Don’t screw with me, Eddie,” he said. “I ain’t in the mood.” He dropped his hands again, turned to me and shouted, “And can you tie this fuckin’ tie?”

  Sixty-One

  MY TUX WAS IN my locker. I took it to the suite with me, showered and started to dress. I was doing my cuffs when the phone rang.

  “Mr. G.? You okay?”

  “Jerry? Hey, big man, it’s great to hear your voice. You saved my life again tonight.”

  “Just doin’ my job.”

  “Yeah, right. How are you?”

  “Not bad. Bullet grazed me, but it’s just a scratch. I’ve had worse. How’s the girl?”

  “She’s okay.”

  “Get anythin’ outta her?”

  “Enough.” I gave him a rundown. “I’ll get the rest tomorrow.” “What about the rest of tonight?”

  “Tonight,” I said, “I’m going to the movies.”

  “Can I still come?”

  Why not, I thought? I asked him his tux size—he didn’t know until I said suit size—and told him I’d have one sent up.

  When Jerry appeared in the lobby I was shocked. The way his suit fit I was expecting the worst—someone who looked even more uncomfortable in a tux than Jack Entratter.

  Jerry looked great.

  “What?” he asked.

  I told him.

  “Really? I feel funny.”

  “Have you ever worn a tuxedo before?”

  “No.”

  I stepped back and looked him up and down.

  “You look good, Jerry.”

  “So do you, Mr. G.”

  Then I realized what was bothering me. “Who tied your tie?”

  “The maid.”

  I’d made one call and the hotel had sent him the works—shirt, tie, shoes, tux complete with cummerbund—and somebody to tie his tie. “Shoes okay?”

  “Fine,” he said.

  “How’s your arm?”

  “Okay. Don’t worry about it, Mr. G. Come on, let’s go to the movies.”

  I couldn’t believe it but the big guy was embarrassed.

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  “The Caddy?”

  “Let’s take a cab,” I suggested. “A man in a tux shouldn’t drive.” One of the valets outside got us a cab and I told the driver to take us to the Fremont Theatre. I had decided to call Danny from there and have him go and get the girl. At that moment two doors opened and two men got into the cab with us. I didn’t protest because they were holding guns. One got in the back next to me, the other in the front.

  The one in the front pointed his gun at Jerry.

  “Out.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll kill you right here, Mac.”

  “I ain’t gettin’ out.”

  “Somebody wants to see you,” the second man said. He was holding his gun on me. “But they don’t want to see him.”

  “If he don’t get out he’s dead,” the first man said.

  “Jerry, get out of the car.”

  “Mr. G.—”

  “Just do it!” I said.

  “These guys might kill you.”

  “They might kill me,” I agreed, “but they’ll definitely kill you if you don’t get out.”

  “But—”

  “Do it,” I ordered.

  I could see Jerry’s mind racing. He was figuring the angles, wondering if he could take both of these guys out without getting me killed. He was thinking about his own safety second.

  I put my hand on his arm and said, “Get out, Jerry.”

  Looking like he wanted to cry he opened the door and stepped out slowly. I had to reach out and close it myself.

  The cab driver, who’d been quiet up to this point, asked, “What’s goin’ on?” He was starting to become alarmed.

  The man in the front said, “We’re playin’ a joke on our friend, here.”

  “We still goin’ to the Fremont Theatre?”

  “No,” the man said, “but we are goin’ downtown. Just drive. I’ll tell you where to stop.”

  “Yes sir.”

  I looked at the guy in the back seat with me and slid over to put some space between us. The gunman sitting in front had what looked like a boil on the back of his neck. The one sitting with me had the greasiest black hair I’d ever seen.

  “Are you takin’ me to see Giancana?” I asked.

  “Just sit back and shut up,” Greasy Hair said. “You’ll find out when we get there.”

  We weren’t driving out to the desert, where many bodies have been lost and found, so they apparently really were taking me to talk to someone. I saw no harm in sitting back and doing as I was told.

  Sixty-Two

  FREMONT STREET WAS CROWDED. If there had ever been a movie premier there before, I didn’t know about it. There had certainly never been one with Frank, Dean and the rest of the guys in it. It was a big night, especially since they were going to perform afterwards.

  “We’re going to miss the movie,” I said.

  “Funny guy,” Boil said.

  “Stop tryin’ to be funny,” Greasy Hair said.

  “It’s a mob scene down here,” the cabbie complained.

  “We’re goin’ ta the other end of Fremont,” Boil said. “Just keep goin’.”

  While the El Rancho was the first property to open on the Strip in 1941, the El Cortez opened at the same time downtown. It stood at Sixth and Fremont, about four or five blocks from the Fremont Theatre. Boil told the cabbie to pull around behind the El Cortez. I wondered how much longer the cab driver had to live? Of course, that depended on whether or not they intended to kill me. If that was the case they couldn’t afford to let him go. If I showed up dead tomorrow—or next week, or next month—he’d talk to the cops.

  If they let the cabbie go, there was a good chance I’d survive the night.

  As we pulled up behind the El Cortez, the headlights briefly illuminated a man standing there. Most of the action was at the other end of the street, at the Fremont Theatre, so it was pretty deserted where we were. Anyone entering the building would be doing so from the front.

  The cab pulled to a stop and Greasy said, “Get out.”

  I opened the door on my side as he opened his. Boil remained in the front. This did not make me or the cabbie very happy. We were both hoping he’d be sent on his way.

  We walked to the man, who was now shrouded in the shadows. As we got closer he stepped forward, into the light cast by a nearby lamppost.

  “Did you frisk him?” he asked.

  “Yeah, we did,” Greasy said, which was a lie. He forgot to frisk me and was afraid to admit it. That meant that these were not top boys.

  “You the one they call Eddie G?” the man asked.

  “That’s me.”

  “My name’s Balducci,” he said. “They tell me you got this town wired.”

  “I know some people.”

  “Yeah, I know you do,” Balducci said. “You’re supposed to be down the street at that premier, ain’tcha?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well,” Balducci said, “there’s a chance you won’t make it.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  He touched his nose. It was a John Barrymore nos
e. He had the kind of looks most broads went for. That must have been why Lily was able to take him. He was probably shocked that she’d been able to resist his looks and, instead, ripped him off.

  “Look where you are, sport.”

  He may have been handsome, but he wasn’t intimidating, and after what I had already dealt with that week, neither were his two boys, Greasy and Boil. Besides, they’d not only forgotten to search me, they never looked behind us to see if Jerry was following.

  “I know where I am ... sport,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “You’ve been getting in my way.”

  “And now you want me out?”

  “No,” Balducci said. “You’re gonna help me.”

  “Help you what?”

  “Get my money back.”

  “Your money?”

  He looked me up and down, then looked past me at Greasy.

  “Let the cabbie go,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And give him a real good tip.”

  Greasy turned, waved at Boil, then rubbed his thumb, forefinger and middle finger together in that universal gesture.

  “Mr. Gianelli,” Balducci said, “will you join me inside for a drink before you go to the premier?”

  “Why not?” I asked. “I’m a little dry after my cab ride.”

  “Wait out here,” Balducci said to his men as the cabbie peeled rubber. “Both of you.”

  “Yeah,” I said, tossing a look over my shoulder as I followed Balducci inside. “Both of you.”

  Sixty-Three

  WHERE DID YOU GET those jerks?” I asked, as he led me to a booth in the coffee shop.

  “They got you here, didn’t they?”

  We had passed a cashier’s cage along the way and Balducci had flinched when the man behind the bars called out to me by name. I waved back.

  “Guess you know lots of people,” he said. I wondered why he was impressed that I was known to a cashier?

  “What’s to stop me from just walking out the front door?”

  He stopped, turned and looked at me.

  “I checked you out, Eddie,” he said. “You’re not a hard guy.”

  “Neither are you,” I said. “You’re a bookkeeper.”

  “A bookkeeper who’s got two guys with guns covering the front and the back.”