‘We won’t need that,’ Joey said. ‘I’ll be leaving right after I finish my Coke.’
‘Si, signore,’ the waiter said, and took the extra setting away.
Joey looked at me. ‘I just wanted to get you two started, then I figured I’d leave you alone so Abby can tell you her troubles.’
Did this mean that Joey had promised her I’d help, even without knowing what the problem was?
‘Well then,’ I said, ‘you should probably leave so we can order.’
Joey drank half his Coke and said, ‘Oh, yeah, right.’ He stood up. ‘You’ll see that Abby gets back to the Sands?’
‘Of course I will,’ I said.
Joey put his hand on her shoulder and said, ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘OK, Joey,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
As Joey left I picked up a menu and handed it to her.
‘Let’s order, maybe get some wine,’ I said, ‘and then you can tell me what this is all about.’
‘All right,’ she said, ‘but I’ll be paying the check, since Joey tricked you into coming.’
‘I’ll pay the check, Abby,’ I said. ‘I consider that Joey did me a big favor by arranging for me to have dinner with you, instead of him.’
‘I can see I’m going to have to watch myself with you, Eddie,’ she said. ‘You seem to know all the right things to say.’
THREE
I had veal, Abby had chicken.
Once we had dinner in front of us, with a glass of red wine each, I asked Abby to tell me what the problem was.
‘I’m being . . . harassed.’
‘By who?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘What form is this harassment taking?’ I was already thinking that maybe she’d get more help from my private eye buddy, Danny Bardini.
‘Phone calls, mail—’
‘What did you get in the mail?’
She fidgeted in her chair.
‘Years ago, when I was first starting out, I had some . . . pictures taken,’ she said, nervously.
‘OK, let me stop you,’ I said, wanting to ease her discomfort. ‘I don’t need to know what kind of pictures, and I don’t need to see ’em.’
She breathed a sigh of relief and said, ‘You’re making this a lot easier.’
‘That was my intention.’
‘Thank you.’ She paused for a piece of chicken and I watched with pleasure as she chewed. I don’t usually enjoy watching people eat – it’s pretty ugly most of the time, people shoveling food into this big hole in their face – but hey, this was Abby Dalton.
‘Somebody – probably from my past – sent me a copy of the photo . . . photos. They then called and just sort of . . . gloated.’
‘No blackmail?’
‘No,’ she said, then after a pause, ‘not yet, anyway.’
‘But you are expecting a demand.’
‘Well . . . you tell me. Why else would somebody do this?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Just to scare you, maybe? I mean, if these photos got out they’d be . . . what? Embarrassing?’
‘At the very least.’
‘Why would someone do this now?’ I asked. ‘Because you’re a celebrity, and you’re on TV?’
‘I was on Hennessy for three years before doing Joey’s show,’ she said. ‘Why wouldn’t they have done it then?’
‘Could someone have found these photos, say, accidentally?’
‘I suppose . . .’
‘Who were they taken by?’
‘A professional photographer.’
‘And what does he have to say?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I . . . I haven’t spoken with him.’
We paused for a couple of bites each. It was a shame we weren’t paying attention to the food. It was very good.
‘Joey told me you helped Sammy a couple of years ago when he had a similar problem.’
I didn’t know how similar Sammy’s situation was, and I couldn’t really comment on it, but it did involve – in part – some photos of his wife, May Britt.
‘I know you can’t talk about that,’ she said, ‘but I was hoping you would be able to help me, too.’
‘Why would you ask me for help and not somebody in Los Angeles?’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I didn’t tell you. I was born here in Las Vegas, Eddie. The photos were taken here. I think that’s really why Joey thought of you.’
Well, that made sense.
After dinner we had dessert – cheesecake for me, a cannoli for her – and discussed the situation further.
‘So the photographer was also from here?’
‘Yes, he had a studio here. Eddie, I haven’t checked, or tried to get in touch with him. I can’t – I don’t want to—’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘if he’s still alive, and workin’, I can find him.’
‘Then you’ll help me?’
‘Of course I’ll help you, Abby,’ I said. ‘I mean, I’ll do what I can, but you know I’m a pit boss, not a detective.’
She laughed, her eyes lighting up, and said, ‘Joey says you’re a hell of a detective.’
‘Well, I have a friend who is a real detective, and I’ll get him to help, too.’
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I feel a lot better. Lighter.’ She looked down at her dessert. ‘I think I’ll enjoy this.’
‘You should,’ I said. ‘It’s very good. You’re staying at the Sands?’
‘I am, for now,’ she said.
‘So how did you get started?’
‘I was a teen model,’ she said. ‘Did magazines and album covers until I started working for Roger Corman.’
‘You know,’ I said, ‘Stakeout on Dope Street and The Saga of the Viking Women and Their Voyage to the Waters of the Great Sea Serpent flies in the face of your wholesome image.’
‘Oh my God,’ she said, putting her hand to her mouth, ‘you saw those?’
‘I watch TV late at night, sometimes.’
‘You know, I hate being called wholesome,’ she said, wiping cream from the corner of her mouth with her forefinger. She didn’t look very wholesome at that moment. ‘And you know what I hate even more than that?’
‘What?’
She leaned forward and said, ‘I hate being called toothsome.’
‘Come on,’ I said, ‘they usually put the word “beauty” after that.’
‘“Toothsome beauty?”’ she said. ‘That sounds like a left-handed compliment.’
‘It’s no left-handed compliment to say that you’re beautiful.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, ‘but you didn’t think so the first time we met, in the Polo Lounge. If I remember correctly, you were with Ava Gardner.’
‘I was . . . helpin’ her with a situation.’
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘another damsel in distress. You’re actually Sir Eddie G., gallant knight.’
‘I like to do my part to keep beautiful women happy.’
‘Well,’ she said, sitting back, ‘you’ve made me a happy girl. A wonderful meal, and you’ve agreed to help me. I feel much better than I have in weeks.’
‘This has been going on for weeks?’
‘Eddie,’ she said, ‘this has been going on for months.’
FOUR
I made notes, specifically concerning the photographer’s name and address, and then some dates Abby gave me. After that I paid the bill and we walked out to my car. I opened the passenger-side door for her, watched as she got in with a flash of nylon-covered legs, then got behind the wheel and headed for the Sands.
‘How well do you know Joey?’ she asked.
‘I meet a lot of the celebrities who come to the Sands,’ I said. ‘Mostly I know them to say hello to, but Joey and I got along from the beginning. Then, a few years ago, he introduced me to Frank and Dean and the others. We became friends.’
‘Sounds to me like more than friends, from what Joey says.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ she sa
id, ‘he likes you a lot, says you’re a good friend and the guy to see in Vegas.’
‘Well, I do what I can to help.’
‘When I told him my problem,’ she said, ‘he told me not to worry, that you could fix it.’
I looked at her for a moment, then back to the road. She was staring straight ahead, and it wasn’t easy to pull my gaze away from her lovely profile.
‘Abby, I’m going to do my best to help you,’ I said, ‘but there are no guarantees.’
‘I know that, Eddie.’
‘You might want to go to the police.’
‘No!’ I could feel her looking at me. ‘No police. I’ll . . . I’ll just wait and see what you can do.’
‘All right,’ I said.
‘Please, Eddie.’ She put her hand on my arm. ‘Don’t go to the police.’
‘Hey,’ I said, ‘I have no love for the cops, believe me. Besides, that would never be my place. If the police are going to be brought in, it’ll be by you. OK?’
‘OK.’ She dropped her hand. We pretty much rode the rest of the way in silence.
I escorted her into the lobby and watched as she walked to the elevators. Once she got on and the doors closed I went to an elevator myself.
It was well after hours; the Sands’ office staff had gone home. The offices were locked, so when I got off on that floor I had my pick of any desk in the reception area. I commandeered one and took out my notebook.
The photographer who shot the photos of Abby was Barney Irwin. Twelve years ago he had an office on South Decatur, near Flamingo Road. I grabbed a nearby phone book. He was still there. Irwin Studios, the 3000 block of South Decatur. It was too late to call, too late to visit. I could drive by in the morning, but I had a shift starting very soon, so I had to trade in my detective hat and put on my pit boss hat.
The Sands casino floor was jumping at midnight, even though Tony Bennett was doing a midnight show in the Copa Room. When the show was over, the floor became even livelier.
The blackjack tables were teeming with regulars, tourists and celebrities. I saw Vic Damone, Jack Jones, Red Skelton, who were all playing other casinos, but gambling at the Sands.
And then I saw him, tall as a telephone pole, and wide as a freeway, coming my way.
‘What the hell—’ I said.
‘Hey, Mr G.,’ Jerry Epstein said.
He mauled my hand with his huge paw but gave it back to me not much the worse for wear. The last time I had seen my Brooklyn buddy Jerry was the year before, when we helped Bing Crosby out of a jam that involved horse racing. I didn’t usually see Jerry unless there was trouble – and it was usually me in the hot water. I wondered if the tables had turned?
‘What are you doin’ here?’ I asked.
‘I’m here with my cousin.’
‘Your cousin?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘my cousin’s kid, so I guess that makes him my second cousin. He just turned twenty-one and I told him when he did I’d take him to Vegas. So here we are!’
‘Where is he?’
‘Playin’ craps,’ Jerry said. ‘He learned all he could about it, developed a system, and now he says he’s gonna put it to – what was it? – oh yeah, practical use.’
‘Great,’ I said. ‘Vegas loves system players.’
‘I thought maybe you could get away for a drink.’
‘Sure thing.’ I looked around, waved over a guy named Darrel to stand in for me. ‘I’ll be in the lounge if something comes up.’
‘No problem, boss.’
We got a table in the lounge and ordered two beers. A few losers were sitting at the bar, drowning their sorrows, and a few winners were buying drinks at another table.
‘Where are you staying?’ I asked.
‘Here,’ Jerry said. ‘Billy and me are sharin’ a room.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’ I asked. ‘I would have got you a suite.’
‘I ain’t lookin for a handout, Mr G.,’ Jerry said. ‘I told the kid I’d take him to Vegas for his twenty-first birthday. I’m footin’ the bill – my present.’
I had to admire him for that. He knew he could get freebies from me whenever he wanted – and he had never asked.
‘What’re you doin’, these days?’ he asked me.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I was minding my own business, until today . . .’
I told him about Joey and Abby Dalton, and the photographer.
‘I seen her on Hennessy,’ he said. ‘She’s some dish.’
‘Yeah, she is.’
‘You gettin’ some of that, Mr G.?’
‘No, Jerry, I’m not,’ I said. ‘I’m just trying to help the lady out.’
‘How you gonna do that, exactly?’
‘Well, first I’m going to go and see the photographer,’ I said. ‘He still has a studio in town.’
‘That so? When you goin’?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘You want some company?’
‘What about your cousin?’
‘I’ll leave him at the craps table,’ he said. ‘Come on, Mr G. You know you’ll get into trouble without me.’
I didn’t think that was true, but on the other hand he was already in town, and he had offered. So where was the harm in letting him ride shotgun?
‘OK, you’re on.’
‘First you gotta buy me some pancakes in the mornin’,’ Jerry said.
‘I knew this was gonna cost me,’ I said.
‘Not so much,’ he promised. ‘Just a coupla stacks.’
FIVE
We touched base some more, finished our beers, and then I had to get back to work.
‘I gotta check on the kid anyway, see how much dough he’s got left.’
He bought the drinks and then we walked back to the casino floor together.
‘Have you seen Mr S., Dino or any of the other guys lately?’ he asked.
‘Just Joey,’ I said. ‘Dino was here last month, but nobody since. Frank Jr.’s coming to Tahoe next month to play Harrahs. Frank will probably come in for a few nights.’
We split up at my pit and he asked me what time I was working till.
‘Four a.m.’
‘Goin’ home after that?’
‘I’ll spend the night here, so I can meet you down here early. Like nine?’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll be hungry by then. You mind if I bring the kid?’
‘No, I’d like to meet him,’ I said. ‘I’ve always wondered if your size runs in the family.’
‘Guess you’ll find out tomorrow,’ Jerry said. ‘’Night, Mr G.’
‘Good-night, Jerry.’
I spent the night in a room I had used before, when staying over was necessary. In the morning I changed into the clean jeans and T-shirt I kept in my locker. When I got downstairs for breakfast Jerry and his cousin were already there, drinking coffee.
‘You’re impatient,’ I said.
‘I’m hungry,’ Jerry said. ‘Mr G., this is my cousin, Billy.’
Billy was a big boy for twenty-one – not as big as Jerry, but that would probably come with time and age.
‘Billy, this is Eddie Gianelli. I told you about him.’
‘Yeah, you did,’ Billy said. He looked at me with sullen eyes from beneath a shock of wild black hair. ‘Hey.’
‘Hello,’ I said, sitting down. That was the signal for the waitress to come over, a pretty girl I recognized.
‘Hello, Ivy.’
‘Hey Eddie,’ she said, ‘they told me they were waiting for you.’
‘We’re ready,’ I said. ‘Jerry?’
He ordered a double stack of pancakes, a side of bacon, and more coffee. Billy ordered the same, but he wanted eggs sunny side up, as well. I ordered ham and eggs, toast and coffee.
‘Home fries?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘Me, too,’ Billy chimed in.
She looked at Jerry.
‘Sure, why not?’
‘Comin’ up,’ Ivy said,
and hurried away. We all watched.
‘Jerry says you have a craps system,’ I said to Billy. ‘How’d you do last night?’
‘I lost,’ Billy said, ‘but that’s part of the system.’
‘Losing ain’t part of no system I’d trust,’ Jerry said.
‘It is this one.’
He went on to bend our ear about this system until Ivy came and covered the table with food. Every so often I’d catch Jerry’s eyes and he’d give them a roll.
‘I wish you luck,’ I said to Billy after he’d finished his tutorial. ‘We love system players.’
‘That’s what all the casinos say,’ Billy replied. ‘That’s because you don’t think a system can beat you, but this one can.’
‘Like I said, good luck.’
He ate like a vacuum cleaner, finishing faster even than Jerry. They both ate two bites to my one.
‘I gotta go,’ Billy said, when he was done. He jumped up, almost upsetting the table.
‘Hey!’ Jerry yelled.
‘Sorry,’ Billy said. ‘I gotta get to the tables.’
‘Remember what I said,’ Jerry told him. ‘Don’t leave this casino.’
‘I won’t.’ He started away, then stopped short and looked at me. ‘Thanks for the breakfast, Mr G.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I said, but he was gone.
Jerry snagged a piece of bacon Billy had left on his plate, then ate the last of his pancakes.
I set the last of my eggs on a piece of toast, added the last of the ham, and shoveled it into my mouth. I still had some potatoes left, and Jerry watched while I ate them with my last slice of toast.
‘You ready to go?’ he asked.
‘Almost,’ I said. ‘Let me finish my coffee.’
‘How do you wanna play this?’ he asked. ‘Good cop, bad cop? Want me to rough him up?’
‘No cops, no roughing up,’ I said. ‘I just want to talk to ’im.’
‘You think he’ll remember Miss Dalton?’
‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘How many of the people he’s taken pictures of over the years do you think went on to become television stars? And why wouldn’t he remember a babe as beautiful as her?’
‘I dunno,’ Jerry said. ‘Maybe he took pictures of lots of pretty girls. Maybe he’s a pervert. I hate freaks like that!’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’ll talk to him first, and if he turns out to be a pervert, then you can rough him up.’
It Was a Very Bad Year Page 2