It Was a Very Bad Year

by Robert J. Randisi

‘He will if he wants his ten grand.’

  ‘Where is the big guy?’ Danny asked. ‘I know he wouldn’t let you come here alone.’

  ‘He’s around here somewhere,’ I said, ‘probably not wearing an ugly Hawaiian shirt.’

  ‘Ugly? Penny said this shirt had character.’

  ‘I think she meant it makes you look like a character.’

  ‘Ha-ha.’ He opened the car door. ‘My heap is around the corner. If you need me to do anything else, let me know.’

  ‘Thanks, Danny,’ I said. ‘I will.’

  I watched him walk down the street until he turned the corner. I was about to start the car when Jerry appeared at my elbow.

  ‘Shove over, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘I’ll drive.’

  Jerry said he wanted barbecue so I took him to a place I knew just a few blocks away.

  ‘I discovered ribs last year,’ he said, working on the first of two racks. ‘I had a job makin’ a pick-up from this Texan who thought he was gonna come to New York and score big. Well, he lost and introduced me to ribs just before I broke his arm and collected the debt.’

  I picked up a rib from my half rack and gnawed on it.

  ‘I mean, I knew what ribs was from, you know, Chinese food, but I was pretty much a steak, burger and hot dog guy until Bubba offered me some ribs.’

  ‘Chinese ribs are pork,’ I said. ‘These are beef.’

  ‘Well, that explains it then.’

  ‘So this guy Bubba, he offered you ribs not to hurt him?’

  ‘No, he pretty much knew I was gonna hurt him,’ Jerry said. ‘He was just bein’ polite. When I found him he was eatin’, so he offered me some.’

  ‘And you broke his arm, anyway?’

  ‘I was supposed to break his legs, but he was a nice guy, and he wanted to leave town so . . .’ He shrugged, ‘I figured I’d let him walk.’

  ‘OK.’ I dropped the last bone on to my plate.

  ‘How did it go in the bar?’

  I told him about the deal I’d made with Irwin for Abby’s pictures.

  ‘Ten grand?’ Jerry said. ‘You’re gonna give that asshole ten large?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I just told him that so he’d meet us somewhere.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Yeah, us. I’m going to give you your shot at Mr Irwin.’

  ‘I get to squeeze him?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but that doesn’t mean you get to break anything. At least, not till I say so.’

  ‘Yeah, well, your call, Mr G.’

  I started working on my fries. Jerry had dumped about half a bottle of ketchup and a pound of salt on his.

  ‘He didn’t show you any naked stuff?’ he asked.

  ‘No, just cheesecake. I think he’s holding the nudes back. If he is, you’re going to squeeze them out of him.’

  ‘Yeah, I am,’ Jerry said, with a barbecue-sauce-smeared grin.

  SEVENTEEN

  10.31 a.m., November 22, 1963

  Even before I entered the lobby of the Sands I knew something was wrong. I had eaten my breakfast that day without benefit of the TV or radio, and driven directly to the casino. I still needed to work out where Jerry and I would meet Barney Irwin in order to squeeze the Abby Dalton photos out of him. We would need someplace quiet, just in case it became necessary for Jerry to break something.

  As I entered the lobby, though, the climate was one of panic. People were running across the lobby, panicked, toward no apparent destination. One of the girls behind the counter was crying, and over by the pay phone a man was consoling another weeping woman. I looked around, expecting to see the cause of these reactions, but nothing was immediately evident. I scanned what was becoming a crowd in the lobby, looking for an employee I could ask, but finally had to walk to the front desk.

  The hysterical girl was the same one who had given me Barney Irwin’s message. I still hadn’t found out her name.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked her.

  ‘You don’t know? Oh, Mr Gianelli – Eddie, it’s terrible.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The President,’ she said. ‘Somebody shot the President.’

  ‘The President.’ Just for a moment I thought, President of what? ‘Wait . . . you mean . . . JFK?’

  She nodded, held a handkerchief to her nose and began to sob.

  I knew I’d get nothing else coherent out of her, so I made for the elevators, figured I’d go somewhere I knew there’d be a television.

  When I got to Entratter’s office I found his girl at her desk, in much the same condition as the girl at the front desk. She even neglected to sneer at me.

  I entered Jack’s office, found him standing in front of a large color TV in his wall. Color TV’s were still not in everyone’s home at that time, but the appearance of The Wonderful World of Disney as a weekly series in 1961 sure sent a lot of people scurrying for them.

  ‘What’s goin’ on?’ I asked.

  He looked at me over his shoulder, then back at the TV. He was standing with his back straight, his arms folded.

  ‘No word yet on his condition,’ he said. ‘We just know he was shot while in his motorcade.’

  ‘In the car? What about the first lady?’

  ‘Nobody said anything about her.’

  I joined him in front of the TV.

  ‘Jesus,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘It’s a madhouse downstairs.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything until I walked in.’

  ‘It’s all over the TV and radio.’

  ‘I didn’t turn either of them on this morning.’

  It was all very surreal, the panic in the lobby, and the coverage on the TV. The usually stolid Walter Cronkite appeared shaken up. Cronkite was like everybody’s uncle. To see him upset just added to the unsettling feeling of it all.

  We stood side by side for quite a while, just watching the reports. After the fact that Kennedy had been shot it was all supposition, but a lot of people were doing the supposing.

  After a few minutes I asked, ‘Do we know where Frank is?’

  Entratter let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it for a long time. ‘I think he’s home, in Palm Springs.’

  ‘He must be taking this hard.’

  From the outer office we could hear the sound of Jack’s girl, blubbering.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said.

  He walked out and I heard him tell the girl to go home, they weren’t going to get much work done that day. She didn’t argue. When he came back in he picked up his phone and called the hotel room service and ordered some coffee.

  ‘You want something to eat?’ he asked, before hanging up.

  ‘See if they can send some pastries with it.’

  He told them to send whatever they had in the way of pastries or donuts, then hung up and rejoined me in front of the TV.

  ‘This is unreal,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  We were still standing there when a bellman carrying a tray appeared at the door.

  ‘Mr Entratter?’

  ‘Just put it on the desk.’

  The young man did so, then looked at the TV.

  ‘Anything new?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Jack told him, ‘they still don’t know his condition. Or they’re not sayin’.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Jack nodded and the young man left.

  ‘Why don’t we sit down?’ Jack suggested.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ I said.

  We went to his desk and sat. Entratter was a good host, poured coffee for both of us, removed the covering from the plate of pastries.

  ‘Is Joey still in town?’ I asked.

  ‘Actually,’ Entratter said, ‘he left this morning. He probably heard the news on the plane.’

  ‘That’ll be a somber flight.’

  ‘Maybe we should call Frank?’ I asked. ‘See how he’s doing?’

  ‘No,’ Entratter said. ‘Let’s wait and see what else w
e can learn before we do that. He’s probably making a lot of calls of his own. He’s a lot more personally –’ he groped for the word, finally came up with it – ‘invested in this than we are.’

  ‘I guess you’re right.’

  ‘So,’ Jack said, picking up his coffee.

  ‘So,’ I said, grabbing a pastry.

  At 1.33 CST time – an hour and three minutes after he was shot – President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was pronounced dead at Parkland Hospital, in Dallas, Texas.

  EIGHTEEN

  After Kennedy was pronounced dead we graduated from coffee to bourbon. Jack and I had our own private wake for a while, and then his phone began to ring.

  ‘Not now,’ he said into the phone half a dozen times before he finally covered the mouthpiece and said, ‘I better take this one.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, getting up, ‘I’ve got things to do.’ I staggered a moment before righting myself.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah, Jack, I’m OK.’

  ‘You wanna go home or work?’ he asked, and then didn’t wait for me to respond. ‘It’s up to you.’

  He waved and went back to his call. I returned the wave and left his office.

  When I got back to the lobby little had changed, except the pace. There were still people there, crying, slack-faced, but they were moving much slower. Some of them even seemed to be sleepwalking.

  The casino floor was much the same. Even where people were gambling they were doing it – both the gamblers and the dealers – with little interest. I wasn’t needed there. As I was trying to make up my mind what to do I saw Jerry’s cousin, Billy, shooting craps. He towered over the table, throwing the dice with enthusiasm. He either hadn’t heard about the assassination, or he didn’t care.

  My face felt tight, my eyes gritty, and suddenly I had to get off the casino floor. I went to a house phone and called Jerry’s room.

  ‘What’re you doin’?’ I asked.

  ‘Just hangin’ around,’ he said. ‘Watchin’ the reports on TV. You wanna come up?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I’ll be right there.’

  Jerry had left the door ajar, so I knocked and walked in. He was sitting on the large sofa, in front of the color TV.

  ‘I thought you didn’t have a suite?’ I asked, looking around.

  ‘So did I,’ he said. ‘Billy was all excited, said a bellhop came up, told him we had to move, so he followed the guy here. I thought you arranged it.’

  ‘Not me,’ I said. ‘It must’ve been Jack.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t have the heart to drag Billy outta here,’ Jerry said. ‘He thought I pulled some strings, and was real impressed.’

  I walked over, stood next to the sofa and looked at the TV.

  ‘Anything new?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘the Governor of Texas was in the car. He got shot, but he’s alive.’

  ‘Is he going to stay that way?’

  ‘Don’t know, yet.’

  I looked over at the bar.

  ‘You want a drink?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll take a beer.’

  ‘Any in the frig?’

  ‘I ain’t looked.’

  I checked, got him a can of Piels. I briefly considered some more bourbon, but in the end took a can of beer for myself, too.

  I joined him on the leather sofa and handed him a can.

  ‘Some shit, huh?’ he asked, indicating the TV.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He was a good man,’ Jerry said. ‘A good president.’

  I didn’t respond. I knew more about Kennedy the ladies’ man than I did about Kennedy the politician. But I didn’t think he handled the Bay of Pigs or the Cuban Missile Crisis the way an American president should have. The former turned out to be a fiasco, and he gave up too much in the latter. But of course we didn’t learn all the details until years later.

  ‘You don’t think so?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘I’ve met him a time or two,’ I said. ‘He seemed like a good guy.’

  ‘Mr S. thinks he’s a fucking great president.’

  ‘Yeah, I know he does.’

  I could feel Jerry looking at me, but I kept my eyes on the TV. I didn’t want to start talking politics with him. It wasn’t something we had ever done before. And I wouldn’t have been able to explain why I wasn’t feeling much of what everyone else seemed to be feeling. Maybe I was in shock.

  We ended up sitting there, staring at the TV, drinking beer, and before long we got around to business.

  NINETEEN

  ‘So what are we gonna do?’ he asked.

  I considered the question, coming as it did about three hours after JFK had been shot. Was that all the President of the United States was worth, three hours of our time? The truth was the nation would be mourning for weeks, maybe months. Even though the nation itself got back to business when Lyndon Baines Johnson had to be sworn in as the President of the United States aboard Air Force One at Love Field Airport, only two hours and eight minutes after JFK’s death.

  ‘I’m gonna call Danny, see if he’s come up with someplace quiet for us to take Irwin, so we can talk to him properly.’

  ‘Yeah, but first we got to get him to meet us,’ Jerry said. ‘Where’s that gonna be?’

  ‘I’m thinking one of those strip clubs on either side of his house.’

  ‘Don’t you think that’ll be suspicious?’ Jerry asked. ‘He won’t think that’s a coincidence, us wanting to meet him right near his house?’

  ‘I expect he already knows we were in his house, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ Jerry said, ‘once he sees those photos missin’ he’s gonna think of you right away.’

  ‘So I might as well call him and see where we can set up a meet,’ I said.

  ‘If he still wants to do it.’

  ‘He’s going to be pissed,’ I said, ‘but he’s also gonna want his ten grand. I’ll give him a call at his studio.’

  I walked to the phone. Jerry got up and lowered the volume on the TV.

  The phone in the studio rang almost eight times. I started to think maybe Irwin was home watching television like everybody else, but right at the start of that eighth ring he picked up.

  ‘Irwin Studios.’

  ‘It’s Eddie Gianelli, Barney,’ I said.

  ‘You sonofabitch!’ he spat. ‘You robbed my house.’

  I could have pointed out that we didn’t steal his house, we simply broke into it, but decided he was already pissed off enough.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I know it was you who swiped my pictures. I want ’em back!’

  ‘We made a deal for the Abby Dalton photos, Barney,’ I said. ‘That’s what I’m calling about. If you lost some others I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘I didn’t lose nothin’,’ he said. ‘You stole ’em.’

  ‘Do you want your ten grand or not?’

  There was a moment of silence and then he said grudgingly, ‘Yeah, I want the money.’

  ‘All right, so let’s meet.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Not Clipper’s.’

  ‘Well, I ain’t lettin’ you pick the place,’ Irwin said.

  ‘You been watching the TV, Barney? Anyplace we go is gonna be in an uproar. We need someplace quiet.’

  ‘Then come here.’

  ‘Your studio?’

  ‘I’ll put the closed sign out. There won’t be nobody here.’

  ‘No photo shoot today?’

  ‘I had a couple, but they both canceled because of the President.’ He sounded miffed that JFK had ruined his day.

  ‘OK, what time?’

  He thought a moment, then said, ‘Six.’

  ‘No earlier?’

  ‘I said six.’

  ‘Yeah, OK, fine. I’ll be there at six.’

  ‘Come alone,’ he said, and hung up.

  ‘When?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘Six.’

  ‘That gives h
im hours to come up with some back-up,’ Jerry said.

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘And he wants you to come alone, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jerry said, ‘I’m gonna have to pick the lock on that back door again.

  ‘Can you do it quicker, this time?’

  ‘Sure,’ Jerry said, ‘now that I done it once, I should be better.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘I’ll go in the front and start talking up the exchange.’

  ‘I’ll come in the back door, take out his back-up, and then we can squeeze him.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  And like all plans, it just had to go off without a hitch . . .

  TWENTY

  We hung out in Jerry’s room the rest of the day, followed the day’s progress on the screen. The Governor had been shot in the back, but survived his surgery. His wife and the first lady had been unharmed. By the time we left at five thirty we had no news about who had fired the shots.

  I called Danny before we left, told him we’d settled on a meeting place.

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘I’ve got somewhere for you to take him.’ He gave me the address. ‘Do you want me to meet you at the studio?’

  ‘No, Jerry and I can handle that. We’ll meet you later.’

  ‘OK, but be careful.’

  By the time we parked around the corner from Irwin’s studio it was five fifty-three.

  ‘Gimme ten minutes to get in the back door,’ Jerry said, ‘then go in.’

  ‘Gotcha.’

  He went down the alley that led behind Irwin’s studio. I waited a full ten minutes and then walked around the corner and went in the front door. I had the money on me that Abby had given me, five grand.

  I entered the studio, found it as musty and filthy as the last time. I decided not to go walking down the hall, looking for Irwin. Instead, I called out to him.

  ‘Irwin! Where are you?’

  I suddenly found myself hoping we weren’t going to find a dead body. Jerry and I had found more than our share during the time we’d known each other.

  ‘Hey, Barney.’

  ‘Back here,’ Irwin’s voice called.

  OK, so I would have to go down the hall. If Irwin did, indeed, have back-up with him I wondered if they’d be armed. Then I wondered if Jerry was armed. I hadn’t asked him. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to know.