You're nobody 'til somebody kills you rp-4

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Look,” Dean said, putting his hand on my arm, “take it easy. Take care of family business and then come back. Everything will still be here. You comin’ in?”

  “No, I’m gonna go home.”

  “Billy’ll drive you. See you when you get back, Eddie. I won’t leave Vegas until Sunday.”

  “Okay, Dean. Thanks.”

  He slammed his door. The driver got back in, started the engine and pulled away. He turned on the radio. The sports report said Bob Feller and Jackie Robinson were being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame the next day.

  Ten

  I heard from Teddy Silver as I was scraping dried eggs off a plate into the garbage after breakfast. It was one of the few times I tried cooking for myself, penance for all the time I spent eating out.

  “Eddie?”

  “Hey, Teddy.”

  “Hey, man, we got nothin’,” he said. “She flew in here, and then on to Tahoe. A lot of us saw her, but there’s no way we can tell if she was being followed. Just too damn many people.”

  “Okay, Teddy,” I said. “That’s what I figured. Thanks for tryin’.”

  “Sure, man. Hey, you gonna get to meet her?”

  “Already have.”

  “Wow, man, that’s, like, crazy. Is she as gorgeous up close and in person?”

  “More, Teddy,” I said, “much more.”

  “Damn-” he said, but I hung up before I could hear the rest.

  Before I could make a move on my day the phone rang again.

  “Eddie?”

  “Hey, Danny.”

  “I’m here, man. She’s inside. She never left the room all night.” I heard him yawn.

  “How do you know for sure?”

  “I talked to a desk clerk, and took a peek in a window,” he said. “I saw her there. She looks so small … so sad.”

  Even Danny, I thought. Biggest hound I ever knew, and he could see it.

  “Okay, Danny. She’s headin’ home today, I think.”

  “You want me to go with her?”

  “All the way to L.A.?”

  “I thought you wanted her watched?”

  “Just see if anyone follows her as far as McCarron,” I said. “From there you can make up your own mind.”

  “Do you think she’s imaginin’ it?” Danny asked. “Or do you think it’s for real?”

  “I talked to her for a while yesterday,” I said. “I’m afraid she’s imaginin’ the whole thing, Danny.”

  “Maybe,” Danny said, “but it’s real to her, ya know?”

  “Yeah, pal,” I said, “I’m afraid I do know. Look, man, I think I’m gonna be flyin’ home for a few days.”

  “Home?” Danny asked. “You mean, Brooklyn? What for?”

  “My mother died.”

  Danny was quiet. He knew my mom when we were kids.

  “Eddie, I’m sorry … who called?”

  “My sister.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “Not yet. I’m gonna call her … well, probably when I hang up on you.”

  “This is a bummer, man. You and your family …”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Look, if you’re gonna be in New York you want me to follow Marilyn all the way home?”

  “That’ll cost,” I said. “A plane ticket, someplace to stay for a few days …”

  “That’s okay,” Danny said.

  “I’ll bill ya.” I hesitated, then said, “You know what? Yeah, okay, do it. Keep a close eye on her. I’m afraid she’s drinkin’, or worse.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay, Eddie,” Danny said. “I got your back, man.”

  “I know you do, Danny. You always do.”

  “Fuckin’ A.”

  After I hung up on Danny I made the call I’d been dreading since yesterday.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Angie.”

  I could hear my sister catch her breath. “Eddie?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. I got your message.”

  “I wasn’t sure-I didn’t think you’d call.”

  “Why’d you call me, then?”

  Angie hesitated, then said, “She was your mother, too.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “When did she die?”

  “Yesterday. I called right aw-as soon as I could.”

  “When’s the wake?”

  “The next two nights,” she said. “Then we’ll bury her on Thursday.”

  Two nights. Great.

  “You’re not comin’, are you?” she asked.

  “Again,” I said, “if you don’t want me to come, why did you call?”

  She became impatient with me, sounded like the sister I remembered.

  “I was just tryin’ to do the right thing, Eddie.”

  “Did you tell him you called me?”

  “Hell, no,” she said. “I didn’t tell nobody, not even Tony.”

  Tony was her husband, my asshole brother-in-law. My family was always such a cliche.

  “Not Joey?” My brother, another a-hole.

  “No.”

  “Okay, Ang,” I said.

  “That’s all you gotta say?”

  “Yeah, right now,” I said. “Thanks for lettin’ me know.”

  “You wanna know what she died of?”

  “Sure.”

  “Cancer,” my sister said. “It ate her up.”

  I rubbed my forehead. My father would say she died of a broken heart, and it was my fault. See what I mean? Cliche. An Italian family is an Italian family.

  “I’ll see you, Ang,” I said.

  “Are you comin’-” she started to say, but I hung up.

  Eleven

  Talking with my sister had been … unsettling. Unpleasant, even, but then it always had been. Same with the rest of my family. That’s what happens when you’re the only sane member.

  But I still had to go back and for that I needed a plane ticket. Trying to get a ticket to fly the same day would cost an arm and a leg. I needed help getting one on the cheap, especially since Danny had probably already blown a wad, and was going to bill me for it.

  I went to the Sands, waved at Jack’s girl in passing and entered his office.

  “Eddie-”

  “I need your help, Jack. I’ve got to fly to New York today.”

  “Not in the chopper-”

  “No, I don’t need the chopper, I need a plane ticket-a cheap plane ticket. So could you pick up the phone and do what you do?”

  “Do what I do?”

  “You know, that Entratter stuff you do. Exert your influence, bully people … whatever.”

  “Bully people?”

  “Yeah, you bully people, Jack … sometimes.”

  He stared at me, then said, “Yeah, you’re right.” He picked up the phone. “When do you wanna leave?”

  Jack let me make one call before I left to go to McCarran to catch my flight.

  Luckily, they had flights going to New York almost every hour. I had packed a light bag that morning and carried it with me when I got to La Guardia.

  My ride was waiting at the terminal. He hadn’t been hard to spot. He was wearing a black-and-white checkerboard sports jacket, black slacks, a white shirt and a matching checked tie. The tops of his black shoes also had checks on them.

  “Hey, Mr. G.,” Jerry greeted me.

  “Thanks for pickin’ me up, Jerry.”

  “What’re friends for? Lemme get that.” He took my bag. “My car’s this way.”

  As I followed him I realized this was the first time he’d ever referred to us as friends. It was nice, but I still wasn’t sure he wouldn’t whack me in a minute on Frank Sinatra or MoMo Giancana’s say-so.

  A snazzy-looking ‘59 Caddy was parked in a No Parking Zone. I didn’t bother asking how he got away with that.

  “Nice car,” I said.

  “Thanks, but it ain’t as nice as yours.” He dumped my bag in the backseat.

  Mine was a ‘53 in mint condition, a
replacement for my ‘52 that had been blown up with me inside. But that story’s been told.

  “Where to, Mr. G.?”

  Where to stay? I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  “I don’t know yet, Jerry. Let’s just drive.”

  “Sure thing.”

  As he blew through traffic, getting out of the airport, he asked, “What brings you to New York, Mr. G.? You didn’t say on the phone.”

  “A funeral, Jerry.”

  “Whose?”

  “My mother’s.”

  “Aw, geez, Mr. G. Sorry.”

  “Hey, Jerry.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Since we’re friends, and we’ve known each other two years now, do you think you could start callin’ me Eddie?”

  He thought a moment, then said, “I dunno, Mr. G. I’ll have to give it some thought.”

  “Okay, big guy,” I said. “You do that.”

  We approached the highway as he asked, “Can you tell me if we’re goin’ to Manhattan or Brooklyn?”

  “The funeral’s in Brooklyn, but I’m still not sure where I’m stayin’.”

  “You ain’t stayin’ with your family?”

  “Noooo,” I said, very definitely.

  “Okay, then,” he said, taking the ramp to Brooklyn, “yer stayin’ with me.”

  “Hey, Jerry, you don’t have to do-”

  Cutting me off, he said, “It gives us someplace ta go, and you can change yer mind later if ya want. Besides, I got plenty of room.”

  “Okay, Jerry, thanks.”

  “And how about we get a pizza on the way?” he asked. “Bet you ain’t had Brooklyn pizza in years.”

  “Jerry,” I said, “that sounds like a damn good idea.”

  Twelve

  We stopped off for pizza and a couple of six-packs of Ballantine beer, then drove to Jerry’s apartment, which was in Sheepshead Bay.

  We parked in a carport behind the building and went up a flight of stairs.

  “I got the whole top floor,” he said, as he unlocked the door. “You can smell the water from here, and you can see the bay from the roof. It’s only a couple of blocks away.”

  Sheepshead Bay was home to fishing boats that went out every morning and came back every evening with their catch, as well as shops and restaurants that depended on the fishing. I’d spent a lot of time there as a teenager, and enjoyed many meals in Lundy’s, a Brooklyn landmark that seated as many as 2,400 people, as well as Randazzo’s Clam Bar, the best place for clams in Brooklyn.

  We entered through the kitchen, put the pizza and beer down on a yellow Formica-topped table.

  “It ain’t fancy,” Jerry said. “Just a living room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom, but it’s enough for me.”

  “I don’t want to crowd you, Jerry …”

  “I got a big sofa, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “You don’t mind sleepin’ on it, you ain’t gonna crowd me.”

  He retrieved two mismatched plates from a cabinet, set them on the table, and opened both pizza boxes. One was plain cheese, the way I liked it, the other pepperoni, for Jerry. We sat, popped the tops on some beers, and dug in. Jerry was right, it had been years since I’d had Brooklyn pizza. It was even better than I remembered.

  “I was surprised when you called, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “Ain’t nobody in your family got a car?”

  “I don’t get along so well with my family, Jerry,” I said. “Haven’t for a very long time. That’s why I called you. I just … needed somebody I could count on. You’re the only person in New York who fit the bill.”

  “Wow,” Jerry said. “That’s, like … okay, Mr. G. You know you can count on me. You want me to drive you to the funeral home?”

  I took a second slice of pizza.

  “That’s what I was thinkin’, Jerry, but now I’m not so sure I want to go. Not tonight.”

  “Okay, so, tomorrow, then?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “I mean … you flew all the way here, and not to go?”

  “I’ll go Thursday,” I said. “For the actual burial, but the wake-you know, that’s just a bunch of people who haven’t seen each other since the last funeral.”

  “Ya know,” Jerry said, “sometimes I think those wakes-people use them as family reunions.”

  “Exactly,” I said, “only it’s a bunch of people gathered together who don’t really want to see one another, other than at funerals.”

  “I know what ya mean, Mr. G.,” Jerry said.

  I grabbed a third piece while Jerry had a fourth, a second beer while he had a third.

  “Jerry, we’ve never talked about your family,” I said.

  “Ain’t got one, Mr. G. I spent time in foster homes, then boys’ homes, reform schools, then prison. But I been on my own now for twenty years.”

  “You were never adopted?”

  “I was too bad to be adopted,” Jerry said. “I knew that. I never took it personal when they sent me back to the home.”

  “Maybe you were better off,” I said. “You didn’t have crazy parents playin’ with your head.”

  “That’s what happened to you?”

  “Me, my brother, my sister.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know you had no brother an’ sister, Mr. G.”

  “Yeah, but they didn’t make it out like I did,” I said. “They’re as crazy as the people who raised us.”

  “Your father,” Jerry asked. “Is he still alive?”

  “Oh, yeah …”

  “So you’ll see him at the funeral.”

  “Yes.”

  I used a napkin to clean grease from my chin, then drank some beer. Pizza and beer, such simple pleasures, reminding me of the good parts of my youth in Brooklyn.

  “I’m not lookin’ forward to it.”

  “But you gotta do it, right?” Jerry asked. “Because she was your mother?”

  “That’s the only reason I flew here,” I said. “Because I had to.”

  That reminded me. I had to call the Sands, let them know how to get in touch with me.

  “Can I use your phone to call Vegas?”

  “Sure, Mr. G. It’s right there.”

  Jack’s girl made me wait, but finally put me through to him.

  “I’m at this number, Jack,” I said, reading the digits off the dial.

  “What hotel is that?”

  “I’m … stayin’ with a friend.”

  “Not family?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Okay, Eddie,” Entratter said. “I hope it’s not all too … bad for you.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I’m sure I’ll be back by Friday.”

  “Okay.”

  Next I called Danny’s office, got Penny, his secretary.

  “Eddie, where have you been?” she asked.

  “Busy. Is he around?”

  “No, he’s in L.A.”

  “He is? Still?”

  “Well, you gave him permission to tail Marilyn Monroe. I think he’s taking full advantage of it.”

  “Is somethin’ wrong?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Okay, if he wants to talk to me he can get me here.” Once again, I read the number off the center of the dial.

  “What hotel is that?”

  “Why does everybody want me to spend money on a hotel?” I asked. “I’m stayin’ with a friend.”

  “Not family?”

  “Good-bye, Penny.”

  I looked at Jerry, who had one slice of pizza left in his box. There were four still in mine. I went over and picked one up.

  “Startin’ already, huh?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “All the questions.”

  “Questions I don’t want to answer.”

  “I know,” Jerry said. “People used ta ask me about my family all the time. They wuz always shocked to find out I didn’t have one. Guineas, they got so many family members, ya know? Oops, sorry, Mr. G.”

  “That’s okay, Jerry,” I said. “I know Italian families are l
arge.

  Nothin’ I can do about that. All I can do is steer clear of the crazy.”

  “So you moved to Vegas,” Jerry said. “No crazy there, right?”

  I bit into my pizza. “At least I’m not related to it.”

  Thirteen

  I spent the first day of the wake in front of Jerry’s TV.

  After we finished most of the pizza and all of the beer he asked me what I wanted to do. I told him I didn’t want to hold him up, that if he had business he needed to take care of, go ahead.

  “I got nothin’ doin’, Mr. G.,” he said. “I’m pretty much free and clear for a coupla days, at least.”

  “Well, you don’t have to entertain me, Jerry.”

  “You just lost yer mother, so I feel kinda, ya know, obligated ta at least sit with ya.”

  “Well, that’s nice but-”

  “I think I got a bottle of bourbon around here, someplace,” he said. “We could watch some TV.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said. “Sort of our own private wake right here-at least, for a while.”

  So we drank bourbon-Jack Daniel’s-and watched television. I was having a much better time than I would have had at the funeral parlor, trying to defend my life to my family.

  Next thing I knew it was morning, and I was sprawled on the couch. There was a pillow under my head, and a blanket draped over me. I could smell coffee and bacon. I sat up, bumping into a coffee table that stood right in front of the sofa.

  “You got time to jump inta the shower, Mr. G. I put fresh towels in there for ya. I’m makin’ omelets. Ya want toast with yours?”

  God, he sounded perky-not a word I would have previously associated with Big Jerry. If I didn’t know better I’d think he was happy to have the company.

  “Toast would be good,” I said. “I’ll be quick.”

  I grabbed my toiletries from my bag and stumbled into the bathroom. It was small, stark, very white. It smelled as if it had recently been cleaned. In the shower I found a fresh bar of soap next to a bottle of shampoo. There was also a bottle of something that seemed to be for the treatment of thinning hair. Was Jerry concerned about a receding hairline?

  Used the soap, my own shampoo, got dressed and shuffled to the kitchen with damp hair.