[Rat Pack 11] - I Only Have Lies for You Read online

  “Mr. Gleason had no bodyguard? No security?”

  “Oh, there’s security at the theater,” I said, then realized I was contradicting myself. “Yeah, okay, so he couldn’t have gotten to them there. But once they headed home, they were ripe for the picking, weren’t they?”

  “She is,” Jerry said. “Anybody can get into that underground parking lot you told me about, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “Her stalker got in there.”

  “So how do you figure to do this?” he asked, opening his door.

  “I don’t know,” I said, opening mine. “The idea just occurred to me.”

  We got in the car.

  “Well,” Jerry said, “you’d have to get rid of me. Then maybe go home, sit in your house, and wait.”

  I looked around. There was a man and a woman at the hot dog stand, a few passing cars, nobody on foot. In the distance were houses, and factories, some of them with three and four-story rooftops.

  “Well, there’s one good thing,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Being a blade man, he’s not gonna shoot me from a distance.”

  Jerry looked around, then started the car and said, “Nope.”

  FORTY TWO

  We finally had to head back to the Sands. There was simply no place else to go. Not until we came up with a plan.

  Several pit bosses rushed me when I appeared on the casino floor, and for the next few hours I was busy putting out fires, with Jerry right at my elbow.

  It was actually nice at that time to be doing casino work and not worrying about a hitman. I left that up to Jerry, who was keeping a wary eye out for anyone who looked “average.”

  Inside the Sands, it never mattered what time it was. In fact, the time didn’t matter much in Las Vegas, in general. Everybody did what they were going to do until they got tired.

  “I need a break,” I said to Jerry.

  “The Garden Room or the lounge?”

  “Let’s go next door.”

  “The Flamingo?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Why not?” he said. “Ain’t no hitman gonna look for you there.”

  Unless he follows us there, I thought, but I didn’t say it out loud.

  We left the Sands by the front door, made a left and walked to the Flamingo. It wasn’t exactly next door, but it was close enough.

  My face was known in the Flamingo, some of the dealers and girls nodded or waved as we went by on the way to the bar. To a lot of people, the place was known as “Bugsy’s Place.” Back when Bugsy Siegel opened it, though, it was more like Bugsy’s Folly. But the boys got rid of Benny Siegel and got the Flamingo on the right track.

  “Hey, Eddie,” the bartender said. “Whataya have?”

  I knew his face, but his name wasn’t coming to me.

  “A coupla beers, thanks.”

  “Comin’ up.”

  “This is a nice place,” Jerry said. “I always wonder when we come in here what Siegel did wrong?”

  “He wasn’t a businessman, Jerry,” I said. “The Flamingo closed soon after he opened it, in December forty-six. It reopened about three months later when the hotel was finished. Three months later Bugsy was gunned down in Virginia Hill’s house.”

  “It’s too bad,” Jerry said. “He was a Brooklyn boy from Williamsburg. He made good for a while. Too bad it went wrong for him.”

  “He did it to himself, Jerry,” I said. “He made enemies in the mob, and that’s not healthy.”

  “You said it,” Jerry said. “They ventilated him with an M-one. That’s overkill. That’s why you gotta like this hitman we’re lookin’ for.”

  “Like him?”

  “I mean, ya know, respect him,” he said, explaining himself. “I mean, he ain’t messy. He gets in close and does the job.”

  “He left a pretty good mess on the elevator floor in Miami Beach,” I pointed out. “There was a ton of blood. I’d call that a mess.”

  “Hey,” Jerry said, changing the subject, “weren’t you gonna call Mr. Martin?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I’ve been getting it straight in my head what I’m gonna say to him.”

  “Why not call him now?”

  “He’s home with Jeannie and the kids,” I said. “I’ll try and get him in the morning before he goes to the studio. If he’s even going to the studio. I know he hates to rehearse.”

  “You really think he’ll help?” Jerry asked. “Talk to Mr. S. for you? Get Mr. S. to talk about Mr. Gleason?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “That friendship between him and Frank, it’s an odd one. I mean, I really think Dino could take it or leave it. It’s Frank who wants Dino to be his best buddy. Dino just figures, fine, let him have what he wants. It’s no skin off his nose for everybody to think of Frank as the leader, the Chairman of the Board. Dean Martin’s got no ego when it comes to all that.”

  “I always thought they were best buds.”

  “They are,” I said. “Frank wants it that way, and Dino goes along for the ride.”

  “So that’s why you think he’ll help you?”

  “He’ll help me,” I said, “because I’ve helped them many, many times over the years, and haven’t asked for anything in return.”

  “Didn’t Mr. Martin save your neck that time in the Sands parking lot—“

  “I don’t make a habit of asking for help!” I said, cutting him off. “From them, that is. I do make a habit of asking you, though.”

  “Now that’s because we’re best buds,” Jerry said, then frowned and stared at me. “Ain’t we?”

  “Definitely, Jerry,” I responded. “Nothing could be more true.”

  FORTY THREE

  When we returned to the Sands we went right up to the suite. Jerry turned the T.V. on and started watching some old Western, but I decided to get some sleep. By morning I hoped to have a better idea of what I should do.

  When I came out in the morning Jerry was still sitting on the sofa, but this time he was drinking coffee.

  “Did you get any sleep at all?” I asked.

  “Enough,” he said. “I had room service send up coffee. It’s on the bar.”

  I walked over to the bar and poured myself a cup, then sat on a stool.

  “What are we doin’ today?” he asked.

  “I’m gonna guess and say you’re hungry,” I said. Before he could follow his nod with a verbal agreement I went on. “I thought we’d go downstairs for breakfast.”

  “Sounds good to me. Now?”

  We were both dressed so I nodded and said, “Now.” He jumped up from the sofa, I gulped down half my coffee and got off the stool. At that point, the phone rang.

  “Yeah?” Jerry said, answering it. “Oh, yeah. Hang on.” He looked at me. “It’s that Miami cop.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  I walked to him and took the receiver from his hand.

  “Winter?”

  “Is this Garden Room any good?” the detective asked.

  “It’s very good,” I said. “In fact, we were just on our way down for breakfast.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “How’s five minutes?”

  “See you in five,” he said and hung up.

  “We got company for breakfast?” Jerry asked.

  “We do.”

  We left the room and went down to the lobby. It was check-out time so guests were leaving. In a few hours, it would be check-in time, and the new ones would be lining up.

  We crossed the casino floor to the Garden Room and found Detective Winter sitting in a booth.

  “You must eat here a lot,” he commented.

  “Too much,” I said, sliding in across from him, “but it’s good and convenient.”

  We all ordered breakfast from Coco, the waitress, and then Jerry said to Winter, “I’m glad to see you’re still alive.”

  “We’re talkin’ about a blade man,” Winter said. “If he wants me he has to get in
real close. I welcome that.”

  Winter did not look like a man in the greatest shape. He’d been on the job too long, eaten too many free meals and donuts.

  “I assume you’re armed?” I asked.

  “Right here,” he said, patting his armpit area. “Anybody who gets too close gets a bullet, and I’ll explain later.”

  “You tell that to Hargrove?” I asked.

  “Hey, I’m a cop, he’s a cop, and my partner was killed. Hargrove knows the score, even if he is a dick.”

  “How did that conversation go?”

  “He’s got nothing,” Winter said. “He thinks I’m making a mistake, and that I’m hanging myself out to dry.”

  Jerry nudged me, indicating he was thinking the same thing, but he didn’t say a word.

  “Look,” Winter said, “I know the score in Vegas, and I know who owns this place. I’m thinking you’ve got connections.”

  “We’ve made calls,” I said, “nobody knows anything about this blade man.”

  “New York, Chicago,” Jerry said, “and Philly, and some other places, they use guys with heaters. Using a blade man, there’s too much room for a fuck-up. Takin’ a guy out from a distance is the easiest way to go.”

  Winter looked at Jerry and seemed to take his time studying him. Then, as if he’d committed the big guy to memory, he nodded to himself, thinking he had Jerry pegged.

  Coco brought the plates and handed them out, refilled all our coffees.

  “So what’s your plan?” I asked. “Just hang out around that hotel and wait for the guy to come at you?”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “I’ve still got a friend of mine working some local angles,” I said. “We’ll have to see what he gets. But if he comes up empty, I’ve been thinking that maybe we should just wait for the guy to come after me.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” Winter said. “You’re an amateur, you wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “My local guy is not an amateur,” I pointed out.

  “And neither am I,” Jerry chimed in.

  “And neither are you,” I added. “Maybe the four of us can bring this guy out of hiding, and take him down.”

  “You think he’s hiding?” Winter asked. “That’s a word I wouldn’t use for him. Somebody who likes to work in close has an ego. That’s what I think is going to trip this guy up.”

  “Okay,” I said, “let’s play to that ego.”

  Winter chewed, swallowed, and put down his fork.

  “Why would you want to do this?” he asked. “What do you stand to gain?”

  “Piece of mind, for one thing,” I said. “I won’t have to be lookin’ over my shoulder, anymore. Also, I don’t like that this guy killed Eisman. I didn’t know him like you did, but I liked him.”

  “Yeah,” Winter said, “he was a good guy.” He picked his fork up again. “So, okay, what do you propose?”

  “Gleason and Marilyn Taylor are probably flying home today,” I said. “If the guy stays here, then he’s likely after me, not them.”

  “And how will we know if he stays or goes?” Winter asked.

  “Good question,” I said. “This sonofabitch is like the wind.”

  “That’s real poetic,” Winter said, “but true. The only way we’re going to get him is if he comes after you.”

  “I guess.”

  “And you’re willing to be bait.”

  “I guess,” I said, again, but with less feeling.

  “What about this other pro you say you’ve got,” Winter said. “Who’s he?”

  “Danny Bardini,” I said. “A local private eye I grew up with in Brooklyn.”

  “He any good?”

  “Plenty good,” Jerry said.

  Winter looked at Jerry. “Are you any good?”

  Jerry smiled, and it wasn’t pretty. “Better.”

  “Okay,” Winter said, shifting his attention to me, “I’ll take you up on your earlier offer of a room here at the Sands. Makes sense if we’re going to work together.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’ll take you up—“

  “I’ve got to go back to my hotel, get my things, and check out.” He pushed his plate away. “I’ll meet you here in an hour.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Make it out in the lobby.”

  Winter nodded, slid out of the booth, stood and left the Garden Room.

  “Think he’s on the level?” Jerry asked.

  “Why not?”

  Jerry shrugged.

  “He’s a cop.”

  FORTY FOUR

  After Winter left I made the call to Dino. It was later than I planned, but I hoped to find him home.

  “Oh, hello, Eddie,” his wife, Jeannie, said.

  “Hi, Jeannie. How are you?”

  “Oh, you know, getting by.”

  I didn’t think being married to Dean Martin was the definition of “getting by.”

  “Is he around, or is he at the studio?”

  “Doing what? Rehearsing?” She laughed. “Hold on, I’ll get him.”

  After a few moments, Dino came on the line.

  “Hey, Eddie, how you doin’, Pally?”

  “Hope I’m not buggin’ you, Dean.”

  “Nah,” he said, “I was workin’ with my kid on his new song, ‘I’m a Fool’ that he’s recording with Dino, Desi & Billy.”

  I remembered that Dean’s teenage son had formed a rock group with Desi Arnaz Jr. (Lucy and Desi’s son) and their friend, Billy Hinsche. Dino had gotten them an audition with Frank at his Reprise Records, and they’d been signed. I knew they’d had a song out in ’64 that didn’t chart so well, which was probably why Dean was helping them with this one.

  “I hope it’s a hit for them, Dino.”

  “These kids,” Dean said, ”they’re not even fifteen, yet. I’m real proud of ‘em. Anyway, what’s on your mind?”

  “Frank.”

  “What’d he do now?” he asked, with both affection and amusement in his tone.

  I reminded Dean what had happened in Miami and then brought him up to date on things.

  “So you think Jackie knows something he’s not tellin’,” he said, when I was done, “and that Frank knows what it is.”

  “I’m hoping Frank knows what it is,” I said, “and that he’ll tell me... if you ask him to.”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I have,” I said. “He’s been friends with Jackie longer than with me, so that’s where his loyalty lies.”

  “Hell, he’s known Jackie longer than me, too,” he pointed out. “What makes you think he’d tell me?”

  “Because you’re his best buddy, Dino,” I said. “Look, we’ve got a dead cop here, and I may be next on the list. I need whatever information I can get.”

  Suddenly, Dean got serious.

  “Okay, Pally,” he said. “We can’t have to bein’ next on the list, can we? I’ll talk to Frank and get back to you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate this, Dean.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said and hung up.

  I hung up the phone, signaled to Wendy that she could take it, and looked across the table at Jerry.

  “He’s gonna do it?” he asked.

  “He’s gonna do what he can,” I said.

  “And whatta we do til then?”

  “We hang out here and wait for Winter to come back.”

  ***

  Winter never came back.

  “I knew he shouldn’ta gone,” Jerry said.

  I called him at the hotel, but there was no answer. I spoke to the desk clerk, who said the guest hadn’t checked out.

  “Whataya think?” Jerry asked, later in the day.

  “I don’t wanna say what I think,” I answered. We were standing in the casino, watching the live poker tables.

  “You think he’s dead?”

  “He was being careful,” I said. “If he’s dead then this guy is real good.”

  “Do you wanna go out and look for him?” Jerr
y asked.

  “Where? We better wait for Danny. He can use his local contact to do it.”

  “When is Danny supposed to get here?”

  I looked at Jerry. “He should’ve been here by now, He’s supposed to check in with us.”

  “So now we gotta worry about him, too?”

  “At this point,” I said, “we’ve gotta worry about everybody.”

  ***

  At midday, Jackie and Marilyn came down in the elevator. Jackie sent a bellboy into the casino for me. When I came out they were standing in the lobby with their luggage.

  “We gotta get goin’,” he said, as I reached them. “You know any reason why we shouldn’t go home?”

  I grabbed his arm and said, “Lemme talk to you a sec. Excuse us.” I steered him away from Marilyn. Jerry stood halfway between us.

  “What’s goin’ on Jackie?” I asked.

  “Whataya mean, pal?”

  “I mean you’re keepin’ somethin’ from me,” I told him. With him heading out to the front door I couldn’t afford to wait for Dean to get Frank to talk to me.

  But when Jackie’s face went cold I knew I was going to have to wait.

  “Look, Eddie, you’re a pal of Frank’s. That’s swell. But you and me, we just met. That means you ain’t my confidante. I don’t have to tell you nothin’.”

  “Hey,” I said, “you came to me for help.”

  “And maybe that was a mistake,” he said. “We’re headin’ home, now. If you’re pissed off, have the hotel send me a bill. I can afford it.”

  He turned and walked away, grabbed Marilyn’s arm and marched her out the front door.

  I walked over and stood next to Jerry.

  “Nothin’?” he asked.

  “Nothin’ but attitude.”

  “Well,” Jerry said, “let’s go siddown somewhere and I’ll tell you what the lady just told me.”

  FORTY FIVE

  Rather than go back to the Garden Room, or into the lounge we took a short walk. I opened a door and we stepped into the empty Copa Room. Empty, that is except for the Copa Girls, who were on stage being put through their paces by Antonio Morelli, who directed the girls during the 50’s and 60’s. The Copa Room had been home to many of the biggest acts of that time, not the least of which was the Summit — Frank, Dean, Sammy, Joey and Peter Lawford, referred to by the newspapers as the “Rat Pack.” Frank actually hated the name — probably because it brought back memories of a time when he was a member of the Rat Pack that used to meet at the home of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Since then Frank and Bacall had almost gotten married, but the ceremony never came off, and Bacall now openly loathed him.