When Somebody Kills You Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  The Rat Pack Mysteries From Robert J. Randisi

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Epilogue

  The Rat Pack Mysteries from Robert J. Randisi

  EVERYBODY KILLS SOMEBODY SOMETIME

  LUCK BE A LADY, DON’T DIE

  HEY THERE (YOU WITH THE GUN IN YOUR HAND)

  YOU’RE NOBODY ’TIL SOMEBODY KILLS YOU

  I’M A FOOL TO KILL YOU *

  FLY ME TO THE MORGUE *

  IT WAS A VERY BAD YEAR *

  YOU MAKE ME FEEL SO DEAD *

  THE WAY YOU DIE TONIGHT *

  WHEN SOMEBODY KILLS YOU *

  * available from Severn House

  WHEN SOMEBODY KILLS YOU

  A Rat Pack Mystery

  Robert J. Randisi

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published 2015

  in Great Britain and the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

  Trade paperback edition first published 2015 in Great

  Britain and the USA by SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2015 by Robert Randisi.

  The right of Robert Randisi to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Randisi, Robert J. author.

  When somebody kills you. – (A Rat Pack mystery)

  1. Gianelli, Eddie (Fictitious character)–Fiction.

  2. Rat Pack (Entertainers)–Fiction. 3. Garland, Judy–Fiction.

  4. Murder for hire–Fiction. 5. Los Angeles (Calif.)–

  Fiction. 6. Detective and mystery stories.

  I. Title II. Series

  813.6-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8516-6 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-618-3 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-669-4 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,

  Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  To Marthayn,

  You kill me – but what a way to go.

  PROLOGUE

  March, 2008

  I was reading an article on mob ties, which had appeared in that morning’s edition of the Las Vegas Sun, when the doorbell rang. I put the paper down next to my morning coffee, took off my glasses and went to the door.

  ‘Hey, Mr Gianelli,’ my mailman said.

  ‘’Mornin’, Dennis.’

  ‘Got an express package for ya,’ he said, holding a flat envelope out to me. ‘Ya gotta sign.’

  I signed the small pink slip he gave me and handed it back.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, Dennis.’

  As he went back down the hall to the elevator, I closed the door and looked at the front of the flat, cardboard envelope. There was a return address – a PO Box in New York – but no one’s name.

  I sat back down on my sofa, picked up my glasses, perched them on my nose and took another look. Nope, no name, just the PO Box.

  I tore the envelope open and drew out a regular office-sized white envelope. It wasn’t sealed so I opened it easily. Inside was a ticket to a show – a tribute show to Judy Garland, which was taking place the next night.

  I had been hearing about this production over the past few weeks, and had considered going, but the date had gotten away from me. If some anonymous someone hadn’t sent me this ticket, I would’ve missed it.

  There was something else in the envelope. It was a plain white card, and on it was written: ‘See you there.’

  Obviously, my mysterious benefactor intended to be there, maybe in a seat next to me.

  I set the card and ticket down on the coffee table in front of me, next to the newspaper. The article covered the history of the mob in Las Vegas. It referred to the mob’s ‘heyday’ as being from 1950 to the early eighties, but there was stuff going on before and after that. It covered personalities such as Kenny Roselli, Tony Spilotro, Lefty Rosenthal and Momo Giancana – all men I had known very well.

  Looking at the newspaper next to the tickets reminded me of the time when the mob and Judy Garland were both a big part of
my life – a very specific part at a very specific time …

  ONE

  November, 1964

  ‘How do you like your new job?’ Dean Martin asked.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Why not?’ Dean flicked some ash from his ever-present cigarette into a glass ashtray on the bar.

  ‘Well, look at me,’ I said. ‘It’s the middle of the day and I’m sittin’ at the bar in the lounge not doin’ anythin’.’

  ‘And getting paid for it,’ Dino pointed out. ‘Sounds like a cushy gig to me.’

  ‘You work harder than anybody I know,’ I said. ‘This would drive you crazy.’

  ‘No,’ he said, with a grin, ‘it would drive me to the golf course – which, by the way, is where I’m headed.’

  Dean Martin was one of the few golfers I knew who wasn’t out on the links and ready to play at six a.m. That was because when you’re Dean Martin you can get any old tee time you want.

  He was dressed in his golf clothes – a striped, collared polo shirt, white pants and shoes, all of which cost more than my mortgage payment for the month.

  Dean had played the Sands in January, with Francis Brunn, the German juggler, opening for him. He’d made a bet with a friend that Brunn wouldn’t make one mistake on stage. Although the German never dropped anything, he did make a minor flub. The audience didn’t catch it, but Dino’s buddy did. And so Dean had to get his friend some time on the golf course, and this week was the first opportunity they had to get together to honor his wager. Dean would be playing the Sands on November twenty-third – with the Half Brothers – so coming in a few days early had been no hardship. Golfers were notorious for paying off their bets. He’d be going home to spend Thanksgiving with Jeannie and the kids after his show.

  ‘So tell Jack you don’t like the job,’ Dean said. ‘You want to go back in the pit.’

  ‘Ah, I can’t do that,’ I said. ‘He thinks of this as a promotion, a reward. Not takin’ it would be a slap in the face. Besides, I’m not sayin’ I don‘t like it. I’m just sayin’ I’m kind of antsy just sittin’ here.’

  ‘Well, I gotta go,’ he said, finishing his coffee and setting the cup down on the bar. ‘We on for dinner tonight?’

  ‘We are,’ I said. ‘I’ll come to your suite to pick you up, say, eight.’

  ‘See you then, pally.’ He slapped me on the back and headed for the door. All eyes followed him until he was gone, and then they looked at me, probably wondering how I rated having a drink with Dean Martin.

  I vaguely heard a phone ring, and then somebody poked me in the arm. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It’s for you, Eddie,’ the bartender said, holding the receiver out. ‘It’s the boss.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I took the phone. ‘Jack?’

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ Jack Entratter barked.

  ‘At the bar,’ I said. ‘You called me here.’

  ‘I didn’t give you this new job because of your good looks, you know,’ he said. ‘And I don’t pay you to sit at the bar.’

  ‘Whoa, whoa, hold your horses. What’s this about?’

  I heard Jack take a long breath.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I bit your head off. We’ve got a major whale in the house today. He just checked in, and already he’s got my goat. I hate the guy, but he drops a lot of money here.’

  ‘Harry Bennett?’

  ‘That’s the scumbag.’

  That much was true. Bennett was a scumbag, but he was a rich scumbag. And for some reason he looked down his nose at Jack.

  ‘You have to deal with him, Eddie,’ Jack said, ‘or I’ll kill him.’

  ‘OK, Jack,’ I said, ‘I’ll deal with him.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and hung up.

  ‘Trouble?’ the bartender asked.

  I handed him the phone and said, ‘Yeah, but the best kind. The millionaire kind.’

  ‘Wish I had that kind of trouble,’ he said.

  I just nodded, said, ‘Thanks,’ and left the lounge.

  Harry Bennett answered his door and exclaimed, ‘Hey, Jack Entratter’s favorite pit boss.’ He was holding a towel, wearing a white T-shirt and boxers, and his hair was wet.

  ‘Not a pit boss anymore, Mr Bennett,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a new job now.’

  ‘Oh yeah? What’s that?’

  ‘He’s calling me a casino host,’ I said. ‘It’s my job to get you and other guests playin’ what they want.’

  ‘Well, then, get your ass in here and we’ll start workin’ on that.’

  I followed him, closing the door behind me. He had one of the big suites, like the ones Frank and Dean rated.

  Bennett was in his fifties, thick around the middle – and in the head about most things, except his business. He was in real estate and knew his stuff. He lived in Boston, bought and sold up and down the East Coast. He came to Vegas several times a year to drop a couple of mil, most of it at the Sands.

  ‘Make me a drink, will ya? Bourbon rocks. I’m gonna finish washin’ up.’

  ‘Comin’ up.’

  I got behind the bar and fixed him his drink. When he came back into the room, his hair was combed and he was wearing a button-down blue shirt and black slacks.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, grabbing the drink from the bar. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Too early.’

  ‘For Vegas?’

  ‘I stay up late,’ I said. ‘I start drinkin’ now, I’ll be drunk by lunch.’

  ‘Drunk by lunch sounds good to me.’

  ‘Is there anythin’ else I can get you?’

  ‘Not right now, Eddie,’ Bennett said. ‘I’m gonna drift a while, try my luck at some tables, but later I’ll be lookin’ for a big game – and a woman.’

  ‘I can help you with both, Mr Bennett.’

  ‘Good lad. I’ll be in the Garden Room for dinner at seven. Check with me then. For now, I wanna be on my own.’

  ‘You got it, sir.’ I came around the bar and headed for the door.

  ‘By the way,’ Bennett said, ‘will I be seein’ Jack while I’m here?’

  ‘I’m sure you will, Mr Bennett,’ I said, and then thought, unless he sees you first.

  TWO

  I had a dinner appointment with Dean at eight, so there was no trouble meeting Bennett in the Garden Room. He told me he was very satisfied with the action he had found that day, but he’d like a private game the next night. I told him I’d set it up. Then he said he also wanted a blonde, and I said I’d set that up, too.

  I was in front of Dino’s door at seven fifty-five, and knocked.

  ‘Come on in, pally,’ he said, ‘I’m on the phone.’

  I nodded and entered the room while he hurried back to his call. He picked up the receiver and pointed at the bar.

  ‘Yes, Jeannie,’ he said, ‘I paid back the bet and was all set to come home tomorrow when Frank called. He wants me to hang around because he’s coming to town … No, he’s not performing … No, I don’t know why … Yes, I’ll let you know. Give the girls my love.’

  By the time he hung up, I was behind the bar with a short bourbon – my first of the day.

  ‘You ready for dinner?’ he asked.

  ‘I am,’ I said. ‘What about you?’

  ‘A tie and a jacket and I’m all set.’

  ‘What’s this about Frank comin’ to town?’

  ‘He wanted me to tell you,’ he said, heading for the bedroom. ‘I’ll do that at dinner!’

  As usual, Dean had a car waiting out front. When we had dinner away from the Sands and off the strip, it was usually at the Bootlegger, an Italian place that Frank had introduced us to.

  We were seated, got drinks and ordered before Dean brought up Frank again.

  ‘Frank’s comin’ in tomorrow,’ he said. ‘He’s got somethin’ he wants to talk to you about.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Dean said. ‘And he asked me to stick around, said I might be interested, too.’

  ‘Any idea wh
at it is?’

  ‘None,’ Dean said. ‘He was mum on the subject, said he’d tell us when he sees us.’

  The waiter came over with the antipasto platter we’d ordered as an appetizer. I didn’t like everything on it – the mushrooms and anchovies – but I attacked the meats, cheeses and olives. Dino, on the other hand, took a little bit of everything, including the artichoke hearts, something else I skipped.

  We talked shop – his and mine. He talked about his last gig, his next one, and I mentioned Harry Bennett coming to town.

  ‘He’s an asshole, isn’t he?’ Dean asked. ‘Doesn’t Jack hate him?’

  ‘He does. That’s why I’m handling him.’

  ‘Ah, as part of your new job.’

  ‘Right.’

  We finished off the antipasto in time for our main courses – lasagna for me, linguine with clams for Dino.

  ‘So how do you like bein’ a – what’s Jack callin’ you?’

  ‘A casino host.’

  ‘Doesn’t have the same ring to it as pit boss, does it?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ I said.

  ‘Well,’ Dino suggested, ‘do the job for a few weeks, then tell Jack you want back in the pit.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to see how it goes. If I start feelin’ like a pimp, that’s just what I’ll do.’