It Was a Very Bad Year

by Robert J. Randisi

  Rudin led us off the plane at the other end. The District Attorney was waiting for us, along with some local cops and two more FBI agents. He and Rudin shook hands, seemed to know each other, Rudin then introduced him to Frank. The rest of us didn’t rate.

  There were two cars waiting for us, and Jerry was standing beside one of them. I walked over to join him while Rudin and the DA talked.

  ‘Hey, Mr G.’

  ‘Hey, Jerry. Been here long?’

  ‘About fifteen minutes,’ the big guy said. ‘I’m starvin’.’

  ‘Have anything on the plane?’

  ‘Some coffee and donuts,’ Jerry said. ‘’Bout a dozen.’

  ‘You ate them all?’

  ‘I had a longer flight than you.’

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘I’m still hungry, though.’

  ‘We’ll get something.’

  ‘Where are we goin’?’

  ‘Mrs Sinatra’s house in Bel-Air.’

  ‘The ex?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Guess she must be worried.’

  ‘Out of her mind.’

  Entratter and Jilly walked over to us and said, ‘We’re in this car.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘You guys know Jerry, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Entratter said. ‘Hello, Jerry.’

  ‘Mr Entratter,’ Jerry said. ‘Hello, Mr Rizzo.’

  ‘Hey, Jerry. How you doin’?’

  ‘Good. Hungry.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘We’ll eat when we get to Nancy’s house,’ Entratter said. He looked at the driver. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Yessir.’

  We piled into the car, which, thankfully, had enough room for the three of us and Jerry. Oddly, Jerry was able to somehow make himself smaller and take up only a corner. I never knew how he did it, but the big boy rarely seemed to intrude. His size never became an issue when he was with friends.

  ‘Eddie, I told Jilly what happened last night between you and Raggio.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘What happened?’ Jerry asked.

  I told him.

  ‘Jilly and I feel it’s better if we don’t tell Frank,’ Jack said, after I was finished.

  ‘Makes sense,’ I said. ‘Why give him something else to worry about?’

  ‘Right,’ Jilly said.

  ‘And I made some calls,’ Jack said to me. ‘I think I made sure the local DA will stay off your back.’

  ‘That would be good.’

  ‘Rudin and the DA – Evans is his name – are tight. They play poker together. So we kept him out of it.’

  ‘Again,’ I said, ‘makes sense.’

  ‘OK,’ Jack said, looking at me, Jerry and then Jilly, ‘so we don’t mention this at all while we’re in Nancy’s house.’

  We all agreed.

  ‘What are we gonna eat when we get there?’ Jerry asked.

  Jilly laughed and said, ‘Don’t worry, Jerry. Whatever it is, you’ll get enough.’

  FORTY-SIX

  When we got to Nancy’s house she greeted us politely. Frank hugged her and took her off to talk in private.

  ‘There’s food in the kitchen,’ she told us.

  ‘Thank you, Nancy,’ Entratter said.

  We went to the kitchen, followed by the two FBI men, but they stopped at the door. The table was covered, buffet style, with plates filled with eggs, bacon, potatoes and – to Jerry’s delight – pancakes.

  Entratter, Jilly Rizzo, Jerry and I filled our plates, and then Jack turned to the FBI men and said, ‘Have at it, boys.’

  The two men exchanged glances. One of them said, ‘Thank you, sir.’

  We stood around eating and after a while the lawyer, Rudin, arrived with the DA and some technicians who were going to wire Nancy’s phone.

  ‘Is that smart?’ Entratter asked.

  ‘The kidnappers will expect it,’ Rudin said, ‘unless they’re hopeless amateurs.’

  That seemed likely to me, but I didn’t say anything.

  The DA and his techs went into the living room to wire the phones. Rudin grabbed a plate and had some breakfast.

  ‘Where are the girls?’ I asked Entratter.

  ‘Nancy and Tina are upstairs,’ Jack said. ‘They’re stayin’ out of the way.’

  ‘Anybody with them?’ I asked. ‘I mean, in case somebody tries to grab them, too?’

  ‘Frank’s got Ed Pucci and some other bodyguards on ’em,’ Jack said.

  I had heard Pucci’s name before, but never met him.

  ‘I’m glad he’s got them covered.’

  ‘He’s not about to let one of his girls get grabbed,’ Jilly said. ‘Not after what happened with Frankie.’

  The conversation stopped when Frank came into the kitchen.

  ‘You guys get enough to eat?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s plenty, Mr S.,’ Jerry said, piling his plate high with more pancakes. I stood next to him and took some food.

  ‘Mr G.?’ Jerry said, lowering his voice.

  ‘Yeah, Jerry?’

  ‘Can we find a corner alone?’ he asked. ‘I gotta tell you somethin’.’

  I looked at him with a joke on my lips, but I saw that he was serious.

  ‘It’s a big house,’ I said. ‘Got to be lots of corners.’

  We both added bacon to our plates, and left the kitchen. We found two chairs at the end of a hall and sat down.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘You know those two mugs who grabbed you in Reno?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Same thing happened to me in Brooklyn, after we talked.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yup,’ he said, ‘only there was three of ’em.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘What happened? Did you get hurt?’

  ‘Well,’ Jerry said, ‘I’ll tell you . . .’

  Jerry said they came for him right in his house. He got back from doing some grocery shopping, entered his house with two bags. They jumped him as soon as he got in the door.

  Something hit him from behind and he went sprawling, cans of vegetables and packages of meat flying everywhere.

  Jerry, being a pro, immediately rolled, avoiding the size-fourteen boot that tried to stomp him.

  He kept rolling and came to his feet at the other end of the room, holding the nearest thing he could grab. There were three of them facing him, and they had knives. All he had in his hand was a frozen whole chicken.

  Whether they were there to kill him or mess him up he didn’t know, but he treated it like he’d treat any attack – like it was deadly. So he wasn’t going to hold back.

  But they were pros. Jerry had seen lots of TV and movie fights where the hero was outnumbered, but the bad guys rushed him one at a time. In real life it didn’t work that way. Bad guys tended to use their superior numbers to their advantage.

  The three of them – all as big as rhinos – charged him.

  Jerry did the unexpected.

  He charged them, too, his arms outstretched. At the last moment he left his feet in a leap, crashed into the three of them, taking all four of them to the floor. This time he was ready. As he landed he swung his chicken, hitting one of them in the head. Jerry had swung with all his might, so when frozen chicken met guy’s head, the head cracked like a coconut.

  That left two.

  Jerry rolled away and came to his feet, again. He hadn’t had a chance to grab the downed hood’s knife, so he was still armed with his chicken.

  The other two scrambled to get to their feet. As they did one of them stepped on their fallen comrade’s foot. He staggered, and Jerry leaped at the chance to take advantage. Long ago Jerry had learned to use his size and weight to his advantage. He bulled into the other man with his shoulder, sending him staggering back, then swung his deadly chicken again.

  That left one.

  This time he bent over and picked up the man’s knife . . .

  ‘And?’ I asked.

  ‘I took care of the third
guy,’ he said.

  ‘All three? Dead?’

  ‘All three.’

  ‘How’d you avoid the cops?’

  ‘I called a cleaner.’

  A ‘cleaner’ was somebody who did just what the name implied – cleaned up a mess like that without cops getting involved.

  ‘So Irwin is so scared he sent goons to kill both of us,’ I said.

  ‘Guess maybe I didn’t scare him enough last time,’ Jerry said.

  ‘Or too much. When we get back to Vegas we’re gonna find his ass and ask him.’

  At that point Frank came down the hall toward us.

  ‘Let’s keep this between us for now,’ I said.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Eddie? Can I talk to you?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Sure.’ My plate was almost empty, anyway, so I set it down and followed Frank into the dining room, where he stopped and faced me.

  ‘I want you to meet the LA county DA,’ he said. ‘We’ll be working closely with him.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I mentioned your name to him, and he flinched,’ Frank said. ‘Plus, I know when there’s somethin’ that’s not bein’ told to me, get it?’

  ‘I get it, Frank.’

  ‘So what the hell’s goin’ on?’

  I told him about Raggio talking with Detective Hargrove, and then calling Evans.

  ‘I get it,’ he said, ‘I get it. That Raggio, he’s an ignorant SOB.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘let’s go and talk to the DA, see what he’s got to say.’

  ‘OK.’

  Frank put his arm around me.

  ‘We all gotta work together to get Frankie home,’ he said, ‘and it ain’t gonna work if we don’t trust each other.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ I said, ‘tell that to the DA.’

  ‘I am,’ he said. ‘Right now. Let’s go.’

  FORTY-SEVEN

  ‘Eddie,’ Frank said, when we got to the living room, ‘this is District Attorney Douglas Evans.’

  Evans was a smooth-faced man in his forties, with a perfect haircut and an expensive suit. He put his hand out and after a moment I shook it.

  ‘This is Eddie Gianelli, Doug,’ Frank said. ‘He’s gonna make the delivery for me.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Eddie,’ Evans said.

  ‘I think you’ve heard of Eddie before, haven’t you, Doug?’ Frank asked.

  Evans blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I said you’ve heard Eddie’s name before,’ Frank said.

  Evans looked over at the lawyer, Rudin, who just shrugged.

  ‘Yeah,’ Frank said, ‘Raggio, from Nevada, he called you about Eddie. Told you some things that I think may not be true.’

  ‘I usually make my own decisions and opinions, Mr Sinatra,’ Evans said, smoothly. ‘If my Nevada counterpart did call me, I’m sure he was just trying to be helpful.’

  ‘I just want you to know I trust this man completely,’ Frank said, pointing at me. ‘I trust him to do the right thing.’

  ‘That’s good enough for me, Mr Sinatra,’ Evans said. ‘My priority is to get your son back safely. I’m sure Mr Gianelli intends to do everything he can to make sure that happens.’

  ‘I do,’ I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I didn’t find Evans to be as distasteful or stupid as the Nevada DA, Raggio, but I was leaving room for error on my part.

  ‘Mr Sinatra—’ Evans said.

  ‘Just call me Frank, Doug,’ Frank said. ‘It’ll make things easier.’

  ‘Frank, we’ll need you to stay here by the phone—’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Frank said, ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  But he was.

  A call came in an hour later, and the voice – according to Frank the same voice as the other calls – told him to go to a pay phone somewhere in LA and make a call.

  We were all sitting around at that point, so we heard Frank’s end of the conversation.

  ‘I’ll send a man with you, Frank—’ Evans said, but Frank cut him off.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’ll take Eddie.’

  ‘He’s not a cop,’ Evans said, ‘and I assume he’s not armed—’

  ‘And I don’t have the money on me,’ Frank said. ‘They’re not gonna try anythin’ funny. They just want to run me around a little. I’m willing to do anything for Frankie.’

  Evans didn’t like it, but Frank was adamant.

  ‘What about me, Mr S.?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘I appreciate the offer, Jerry, but I’ll just take Eddie.’ He looked at me. ‘You ready?’

  Obviously, somebody had brought Frank’s black-on-black Ghia L6.4.

  ‘You drive,’ he said, tossing me the key. The Ghia was a powerful sports car, and the engine growled when I turned the key. Under other circumstances I would have enjoyed driving that car.

  ‘In case anybody’s watching,’ he said to me as we started out, ‘I’ll say you’re my driver.’

  ‘OK, Frank.’

  He had the roll of dimes in his left hand, flexing and unflexing around it. He had to direct me, since I didn’t know my way around.

  They had told Frank to go to a pay phone on North Beverly Glen Boulevard. When we got there it was obvious why. It was sitting out in the open along the side of the road, surrounded by hills. Anyone could keep watch from a distance without being seen.

  ‘Stay in the car,’ he told me.

  I watched him take a dime from his pocket and drop it in the phone. It did not come from the roll of dimes. He still held that in his left hand.

  He dialed, waited, spoke briefly, then hung up. When he came back he was scowling.

  ‘They’re playin’ games,’ he said. ‘Drive.’

  I drove.

  ‘They sound like amateurs, Frank.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ he said. ‘With pros I’d be fairly confident about gettin’ Frankie back safe. But now, with these guys . . . Eddie, I just don’t know.’

  ‘Look, Frank,’ I said, ‘let’s do what they tell us to do. Whatever, to get Frankie back. That’s all we’ve got.’

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ Frank said. ‘Drive.’

  He directed me to the next phone booth.

  They ran us around to three more phone booths. Eventually, Frank had to crack his roll of dimes. Finally, they told us to go back to the house. I guess they had satisfied themselves that we didn’t have cops following us wherever we went.

  As we drove to Bel-Air I asked, ‘How did they have the phone number of the house in Bel-Air in the first place?’

  ‘I gave it to them,’ Frank said, ‘the last call in Reno.’

  ‘So they’re gonna call you there again?’

  Frank nodded.

  ‘That’s when they’ll tell me where to bring the money,’ he said.

  ‘And that’s what we’ll do,’ I said. ‘But we’ll need a bigger car.’

  Frank frowned at me.

  ‘No way is Jerry gonna fit in the trunk of this one.’

  Frank actually laughed.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  When we got back to the house I let Frank brief the others on what we’d been doing. Somebody handed me a bottle of beer, which I appreciated.

  ‘Was anybody watching you?’ Evans asked.

  Frank looked at me.

  ‘I didn’t see anybody, but I’d say yeah. I mean, otherwise what was the point of running us from phone to phone?’

  ‘Good point,’ Evans said.

  I looked around the room. There were more people there than when we left. More cops. More FBI. I found out later there were better than a hundred cops and two dozen FBI agents out looking for Frankie.

  ‘OK,’ Evans said, ‘so we’re back to waiting for a call.’

  ‘I don’t want it traced,’ Frank said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stop trying to trace the calls,’ Frank said. ‘I just want to pay the money and get my kid.’

  ‘Mr Sinatra,’ Evans said, ‘we’re
very experienced at this—’

  ‘That’s why I think I’ll go with payin’,’ Frank said.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Really?’ Frank asked. ‘Jerry understands, don’t you, Jerry?’

  Jerry had been standing to the side. Now he stepped up, and suddenly he seemed to fill the room.

  ‘You’re all pros,’ he said, ‘used to dealin’ with pros. These guys are amateurs. They ain’t doin’ what you expect ’em to do.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Frank said.

  ‘Makes sense,’ Rudin said.

  ‘Send your men home, Mr Evans,’ Frank said. ‘You can stay if you want, keep as many men here as you want. Send the wire men home. I’m gonna pay.’

  ‘Mr Sinatra—’

  ‘It’s my kid,’ Frank said, ‘and my call.’

  The room got quiet. We all turned our eyes to the doorway, where Nancy was standing. She’d heard everything Frank said.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Frank walked to Nancy and they went into another room.

  ‘All right, boys,’ DA Evans said, ‘let’s pack it all up.’

  Jerry looked at me. I jerked my head for him to follow me and we went to the kitchen. A new spread had been put out for lunch.

  ‘That’s real turkey,’ Jerry said. He started building himself a sandwich. After all the running around with Frank, I was ready for one, too.

  ‘I don’t know how this happened, Jerry,’ I said, ‘but this is gonna fall to you and me.’

  ‘I know, Mr G.’

  ‘Are you ready?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m always ready, Mr G.,’ he said, ‘you know that.’ He added cheese to his sandwich, lettuce, mayo, pickles, built it higher than my mouth would have been able to handle. Mine was half the size.

  He took a bite.

  ‘I know you are, Jerry,’ I said.

  ‘So are you, Mr G.,’ Jerry said. ‘I know that, so does Mr S. You gotta believe it, is all.’

  He was right. I took a bite of my sandwich.

  FORTY-NINE

  If we had been at Frank’s house we probably would have all just sacked out on the floor, or a sofa, or some kind of chair. But we were at Nancy’s place, so Frank gave Jerry and me a car and told us where the nearest motel was.

  ‘You’ll be able to get here in five minutes,’ he assured us.

  He actually gave us one of the limos, which Jerry drove to the Bel-Air Motor Court. We decided just to go ahead and get one room with two double beds, so that when the call came in we’d both know it.