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

  “Where was that when we met?” I asked.

  “In my suitcase.”

  “Okay,” I said, “let’s go.”

  “Should we count it?”

  “They do that downstairs,” I answered, “and give you a receipt.”

  “And a line of credit in the casino?” she asked.

  I hesitated, then said, “Sure, why not?”

  As we went back down in the elevator I figured, stolen or not, why shouldn’t the Sands have a shot at all that cash?

  Forty-Seven

  WHEN I WOKE UP the next morning in Lily’s room, in her bed, with her, naked, it took me a while to reconstruct the events that had brought me there.

  We’d gone downstairs to put her money in the hotel safe. Then I arranged for her to have a modest line of credit, one that would at least keep her from blowing the whole wad in one day. After that we went to the lounge for another drink. Bev was there. She and Lily immediately stared daggers at each other. At that point Lily became amorous. We had a couple more drinks and I didn’t mind her draping herself all over me. It not only got the attention of Beverly, but of all the other men in the place. Lily was, after all, beautiful. She had the smoothest skin, which I discovered when she allowed me to stroke her thigh. Up close her perfume had an even headier scent—or maybe that was the booze, talking. I had graduated from beer to bourbon at some point. Maybe I was looking for an excuse to loosen up and Lily coming on to me was just the ticket—even if she was doing it to get Bev’s goat.

  The rest is kind of a blur, though I do remember staggering into her room and pulling each other’s clothes off. By that time it was no longer an act, we wanted each other and we went at it like—well, a couple of drunks. She scratched me, I bit her too hard on the breast—although

  I plead guilty to the fact that they were eminently bitable, and so I had no choice. I think we even bumped heads once, but then I remember attaining a sweet, matched rhythm that took us both where we wanted to go.

  I turned over and looked down at her. She was on her back, the sheet down to her waist. Her breasts were amazing, pale, smooth, firm and full; her whole body had a lushness her clothes were somehow able to disguise. My first hint had been when I’d put my hand on her thigh and found it not only smooth, but firm.

  I found myself wanting to lean down and kiss each pink nipple, but stopped myself because the whole night had been a mistake. We weren’t lovers waking in each other’s arms, eager to go at it again. We were two people who had gotten drunk and fallen into bed together.

  I was also afraid that if I woke her she’d scream.

  I pulled the sheet back and swung my feet to the floor. The clock next to the bed said it was 8:00 a.m. But before I could get up I felt her hand on my back.

  “Where are you goin’?” she asked, sleepily.

  I looked over my shoulder at her. Her eyes were open—bleary, but open.

  “I thought I should, uh, go,” I said, lamely.

  She licked her lips and asked, “Why?” Her mouth, now moist, was possibly the most erotic thing I’d seen in a while—and I’d just spent the night exploring her whole body.

  “Well, I thought you might, uh, I mean, I thought maybe—”

  “We made a mistake?”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  “I didn’t,” she said, smiling. “I wanted to lay you. Did you make a mistake?”

  “Well... I was drunk. ...”

  She stroked my back, her finger lingering right at the crack of my ass.

  “It sure didn’t feel like a mistake,” she said, and then stretched, her breasts going taut. “But if you want to go ... go.”

  “And if I want to stay?”

  “Then get over here, big boy,” she said. “I’m not done with you, yet. ”

  * * *

  I got downstairs at about ten-thirty, partly because I’d stopped off at my locker for some fresh clothes. When I hit the casino floor I was almost assaulted by Jerry.

  “Where the fuck you been, Mr. G.?” Outrage, tinged with respect. He really was an amazing guy.

  “I’m sorry, Jerry—”

  “I searched the broad’s room like you said, and then you disappeared.”

  “You been worried about me, Jerry?”

  “Damn right I been worried,” he said. “Somethin’ happens ta you I get in a lot of trouble, ya know?”

  “That the only reason?”

  He studied me for a moment, then took a step back.

  “You got laid last night,” he said, suddenly. “You sonofabitch.” He sniffed the air. “Drunk and laid.”

  I grabbed his arm and said, “Come ’ere,” and pulled him over to a closed blackjack table, where we each took a seat.

  “It was a mistake,” I said, “we both got drunk and—”

  “And she’s a looker,” he said. “Great tits, I bet, huh?”

  He had such an eager look on his face I couldn’t bear to disappoint him.

  “Yeah, Jerry, great tits.”

  “I knew it!”

  “What did you find in her room?”

  “Nothin’,” he said, “and I looked good—and I was neat. I mean, she was kinda messy, but I left the room the way I found it.”

  “I know,” I said. “I saw it. You did a good job, but there was nothing there?”

  “Well...”

  “Well what?”

  “I found a bundle of money under the bed,” he said. “Wrapped in brown paper.”

  “Jerry . .

  “I didn’t take any,” he said. “I ain’t no thief. I coulda, but I didn’t.”

  “Good,” I said. Actually, I remember now that when we counted it at the front desk the amount had not surprised her. We had put forty-two thousand in the vault.

  “So what happened?” he asked. “Did you get anything out of her—I mean, besides fuckin’ her?”

  I told him about the conversation I had with Lily and he started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Everybody’s always complainin’ about the mob,” he said, chuckling. “Here’s a guy stealin’ from his boss, and a girl stealin’ from her boss, who she’s fuckin’—who’s married! Ain’t it funny? How come that kinda crime don’t make the papers?”

  “You’re right,” I said, “and I don’t know the answer to that one.” “So where does this leave us, Mr G.?”

  “It leaves us with the premier tonight, and still no Mary Clarke,” I said.

  “Maybe she’ll show up there.”

  “If she’d show up there, why not come here? We could put her in a room and protect her.”

  “For how long?” he asked. “That wouldn’t tell ya who’s tryin’ ta kill ’er, or why. You gotta find that out before she can be safe.”

  “You’ve got a point there,” I said.

  “And what about the dead guys?” he asked. “Not countin’ the one I killed. Who killed them?”

  “That’s Hargrove’s job.”

  “What if it was her?” he asked. “You gonna protect her then?”

  “I guess that’d be up to Frank,” I said.

  “You mean if you knew she killed them guys you wouldn’t turn her in?”

  Suddenly, I didn’t want to disappoint Jerry with my answer. “Jerry,” I said, “I guess that would depend on why she killed them.” He gave me a light punch on the shoulder—light for him or I’d still be sporting a bruise from it—and said, “Like I always say, Mr. G. You’re a stand-up guy.”

  Forty-Eight

  JACK ENTRATTER LOOKED UP at me as I approached his desk.

  “You look like hell.”

  And despite having had sex the night before—and that morning— with a beautiful woman, I did feel like hell. It was only after I finally left Lily’s bed—with the promise to call her later—that I realized what a hangover I had.

  “Some aspirin would help,” I said, dropping myself into a chair.

  He used the intercom to tell his girl to bring some in. She handed them
to me with a glass of water and I said, “Thanks,” gratefully. She gave me a disapproving look and left.

  “What’s on your mind, kid?”

  I told him about Mary Clarke’s sister coming to Vegas and about putting her in a room. I didn’t bother telling him where I spent last night.

  “What’s she doin’ here?”

  “Looking for her sister,” I said, “but she also brought a bundle to play blackjack with.”

  “God, maybe we’ll make somethin’ from this deal, after all. What else?”

  “I gotta ask, did you put the screws to Hargrove so he wouldn’t ask about Frank?”

  “Not me. Why?”

  “He said he got the word not to ask.”

  “I don’t have that kind of pull with the Police Department,” he said. “Now the Sheriff’s Department, that’d be another story.”

  “Could Frank pull something like that off on his own?” I asked.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then who—”

  I stopped short and we both looked at each other.

  “MoMo,” I said.

  Entratter shrugged. “He’s in town, ain’t he?”

  “Why would he stick his neck out like that?”

  “He likes Frank.”

  “I know they’re friends, but—”

  “I didn’t say they was friends,” he corrected me. “I think even if you asked Frank that question he’d say they weren’t.”

  “Then what are they?”

  Entratter sat back in his chair.

  “I think they both just like having the other one’s phone number, you know?”

  “Well, whatever the reason,” I said, “if MoMo’s protecting Frank, that looks bad for him.”

  Entratter spread his hands.

  “Who’s gonna tell him that?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “That I’d like to see, kid,” he said. “You got anything more for me? I got work to do.”

  “The premier’s tonight,” I said.

  “You’re tellin’ me somethin’ I already know.”

  “Did you send your man back to the Western Union office this morning?”

  “I sent a man,” he said. “Not the same one, but with the same orders. She ain’t gonna show up, is she?”

  “No.”

  He spread his hands, as if to say, we’re done, but when I got to the door he called out, “Work the sister, kid. I’ll bet she knows more than she’s telling.”

  “You’re probably right, Jack,” I said. “Thanks for the advice.”

  * * *

  I had a bad feeling. Jerry was good to talk to, but the guy I needed right now was Danny.

  When I got back to the main floor I went straight to a phone and called his office. Luckily, I found him in and he agreed to meet me. “You want off the strip?” he asked.

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “How about the D.I? I gotta see a guy over there.”

  “Desert Inn it is,” I said.

  “Half an hour?”

  “You’re the best, Danny.”

  “Bring the Gunsel.”

  “He wouldn’t miss it.”

  * * *

  I found Jerry and told him we were going to see Danny at the Desert Inn.

  “He got somethin’ for us?”

  “I just have to talk to him,” I answered.

  “We drivin’?”

  We could have walked, but I wanted to have the car with us so I said, “Yeah, we’re drivin’.”

  When it came to driving the Caddy Jerry was like a big kid and I didn’t have the heart to take the keys away from him.

  Forty-Nine

  THE DESERT INN WAS built in 1950, the first Vegas strip hotel to come up with the idea of using dancing waters as an attraction. Wilbur Clark also moved away from the 1940’s-style rectangular swimming pool in the back that the El Rancho, Last Frontier, Flamingo and the Thunderbird still had and went with a more curved, modern shape. The D.I. was Clark’s attempt to bring Palm Springs to the desert.

  We parked out back but walked around to come in the front. We paused long enough for Jerry to stare at the fountain.

  The D.I. lounge was glass-enclosed on three sides and resembled an airport tower. It offered a very clear view of the desert. Danny and I had arranged to meet there, but we weren’t going in.

  “Let’s go to the pool,” I said. “We can get a drink there.”

  Jerry seemed disappointed at not being able to go into the lounge, but he followed Danny and me outside.

  The view around the pool was spectacular. It didn’t matter if the women were wearing one-piece bathing suits or bikinis, they were all gorgeous. We found three chaise lounges, ordered drinks and sat down. Danny took off his sports jacket and laid it over the back of his chair. Jerry couldn’t do it because of his shoulder holster. I was wearing a shirt and no jacket and a pair of jeans, my backup clothes from my locker.

  “Not used to seein’ you look so casual, pal,” Danny said to me. “And look at the Gunsel, sweatin’ in his jacket.”

  “Jerry, when your drink comes you can take it inside,” I told him. “No use you roasting out here.”

  And the August heat would have done just that to him. When the waiter came with our drinks Jerry said, “I’ll be just inside, where I can still see you.”

  “He takes his responsibility very seriously, doesn’t he?”

  “That he does.”

  “So if I, say, tried to throw you into the pool he’d come runnin’ out?”

  “Probably not,” I said, “but if you tried to shoot me he’d be here.”

  “I left my rod in my office.” He took a drink and loosened his shirt and tie. “What’s on your mind? I like the heat, but I’m not dressed for it.”

  “Wanna go to the lounge?”

  A girl in a bikini walked by, her peach-sized breasts barely confined, and he said, “You’re kiddin’, right?”

  “Okay,” I said. “I think maybe I’m being played.”

  He had to tear his eyes from the girl’s twitching butt.

  “By who?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “And why?”

  “Another one.”

  “Okay, let’s try this,” he said. “What makes you think you’re bein’ played?”

  “Nothing seems right,” I said. “Somebody’s keeping the cops from asking about Frank, and it’s not Entratter.”

  “Who then?”

  “I’m thinkin’ Giancana.”

  “If he was gonna do that, why not just have some of his men find the girl?”

  “Maybe he is,” I said. “Maybe he’s lyin’ about not caring about Frank and Mary.”

  “So he sends somebody to kill her?” Danny asked. “And protects Frank from the cops?”

  “The way I get it, MoMo likes having a movie star in his circle.”

  “And Frank?”

  “He likes havin’ a pet mobster.”

  “You really think he thinks Giancana’s his pet?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I like Frank, but he thinks JFK is his great friend. Maybe he actually thinks MoMo is his friend, too.”

  “So who else you think is playin’ you?”

  “How about the girl?”

  “Mary?”

  I shook my head.

  “Lily.”

  “Her? The prudish one?”

  “Turns out she’s not.”

  “She wouldn’t let me in her room.”

  “Well...”

  He turned his head sharply. “You didn’t.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

  “You did, didn’t you? You sonofabitch! How’d you do it?”

  I explained it to him, from finding her at the blackjack table to the drunken coupling in her room, and the morning after.

  “Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “She was good. She had me fooled.”

  “Me, too,” I said, “and if she’s that good, who’s to say s
he doesn’t still have me fooled?”

  “You think she’s involved, somehow?”

  “Somebody’s doin’ somethin’, Danny,” I said. “I mean ... somebody’s got to be pullin’ the strings here.”

  “Who gets your vote?”

  “Giancana,” I said. “I mean, he’s the one with the power. But maybe the sister ...” I shook my head.

  “I can run a check on her, Eddie,” he said. “I’ll make some calls and get back to you. But don’t overlook the possibility that it’s the other sister pullin’ the strings.”

  “Okay, Danny, I appreciate it,” I said. “If I could get some money out of this for you—”

  “Forget it.” Another woman went by, this one with a Jayne

  Mansfield figure packed into a one-piece suit cut low in front and back. We both watched until she was out of sight.

  “I can’t do a thing about MoMo, though,” he went on. “That’s got to be up to you.”

  “I know.”

  “Sorry I’m not much help.”

  “I just needed to say some of this stuff out loud, Danny.”

  “You couldn’t have said it to Jerry?”

  “Yeah, but you’re my pet P.I.”

  He was about to say something when a gorgeous Negro girl went by in some kind of Brazilian suit, her body gleaming in the sunlight, not an ounce of fat on her.

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ve had enough sun and cock-teasin’ for one day.”

  We both gulped down the rest of our drinks, although I didn’t really taste mine and couldn’t tell you today what it was.

  Jerry was holding a half-finished beer when we reached him.

  “A lot of pretty broads out there,” he said, staring out the window.

  “Jerry, my boy,” Danny said, slapping him on his broad back, “go to any pool in any hotel in Vegas and you’ll find the most beautiful women in the world just waitin’ for you.”

  “For you, maybe,” Jerry said.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Gunsel,” Danny said. “Lots of women like big, brawny men.”

  Jerry looked around for a surface to put his bottle down on and chose a windowsill.

  “We goin’?” he asked me.

  “Yep, we’re goin’.”