The Way You Die Tonight

by Robert Randisi

  ‘Goddamnit!’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.’

  The bartender had found a plastic bag, and had come out from behind the bar.

  ‘You still want me to collect the money?’ he asked.

  Nobody answered.

  I had the feeling Landry wanted a way out. I figured if I could give it to him, I wouldn’t get shot.

  ‘Landry.’ He didn’t hear me. He was looking inward at something only he could see. It was too far to make a grab for the gun, and the men at the table were too scared to do it.

  ‘Landry!’

  This time he looked at me.

  ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Put the gun down and walk out,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just put it down and walk out. Go.’

  Landry’s eye flicked around the room.

  ‘I can do that?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  ‘You won’t try to stop me?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But you have to go without the money. And you have to leave Vegas. Go back to LA.’

  ‘Back to work?’

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ I said. ‘Look, I’m trying to get all of us out of this room alive. That’s what’s important.’

  He wiped his hand over his face. It was slick with perspiration.

  ‘Back to work,’ he said, again.

  ‘That’s what you really want to do, isn’t it?’ I asked. ‘Work? You don’t want to rob anybody, do you?’

  ‘N-no.’

  ‘Then put the gun down on the table and walk out.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘OK.’ He started to put the gun down, stopped, then reached again and finally put it down. I watched the men at the table. Nobody wanted to pick it up.

  Landry circled the table, then stopped.

  ‘My money,’ he said. ‘The money I bought in with.’

  ‘Pick it up at the cashier cage downstairs,’ I said. ‘I think the quicker you leave this room the better, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said. ‘I get it.’

  He looked at the men at the table, the men on the floor, and walked out the door.

  ‘Jesus,’ the bartender said.

  ‘Kendrick!’ I said, leaning over the security man. ‘Wake up.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come on, get up,’ I said, hauling him to his feet.

  The two robbers were on the floor. One was still unconscious, the other was rocking back and forth, holding his burned face.

  ‘Keep an eye on them,’ I said. Still kind of stunned, he drew his gun and pointed it.

  I walked to the phone.

  ‘You really gonna let him leave Vegas?’ Devlin asked.

  ‘Hell, no!’ I said. ‘I’m gonna have his ass arrested when he gets to the cashier’s cage downstairs.’

  ‘You really think he’ll stop there?’ Sam Temple asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, dialing Entratter’s number, ‘I really do.’

  ‘Eddie,’ Dan Roburt said, ‘you must be a helluva poker player, because you sure bluffed the shit outta him!’

  THREE

  When I got home that night I sat on my sofa and shook for a while. What was I thinking, going after two men with guns – and then talking Landry out of his? Who did I think I was, Jerry Epstein? Well, my big Brooklyn buddy probably would have gone after the first two the way I did, but he never would have dealt with Landry the same way. He would have taken it away for sure, probably breaking Landry’s arm at the same time.

  Jack Entratter called me into his office the next day.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ he demanded.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You were there last night to keep the peace in the game,’ Entratter said, ‘not to go up against three hoods.’

  ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, but when I saw the security guy go down—’

  ‘The bartender told me that Kendrick opened the door, and you tried to stop him.’

  ‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘I thought we should check who it was, first.’

  ‘Well, at least that was good thinking,’ Entratter said. ‘Look, all the players were very impressed with you. They said you saved the game, saved all the money and – oh yeah, by the way – might have saved some lives.’

  ‘I was an idiot.’

  ‘No argument there,’ Entratter said. ‘I never said I pay you to get killed.’

  ‘What happened to the gunmen? And Landry?’

  ‘All under arrest,’ Entratter said. ‘And I fired Kendrick.’

  ‘Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said. ‘He was useless.’

  ‘That was quick thinking on your part, getting Landry to go to the cashier’s cage.’

  ‘He wasn’t thinking straight,’ I said. ‘That was obvious. Who were the two guys with him?’

  ‘Just two mugs he convinced to try to pull the job,’ Entratter said. ‘He promised ’em a cut.’

  ‘Hollywood must’ve really chewed him up and spat him out,’ I said.

  ‘Looks that way,’ Entratter said. ‘His last three pictures tanked at the box office. No studio will work with him, anymore.’

  ‘He shouldn’t have come here to try and solve his problem.’ I started to stand up. ‘I’m going back to my pit.’

  ‘Sit down,’ Entratter said, ‘I wanna talk to you about that.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Your job.’

  I froze halfway out of my seat.

  ‘Siddown, Eddie,’ he said. ‘I’m not firin’ you.’

  I sat down, relieved.

  ‘But I am thinkin’ about makin’ a change.’

  ‘What kind of change?’

  ‘Somethin’ that would free you up a little more for special jobs.’

  ‘Are you taking me out of the pit?’

  ‘Would that be so bad?’ he asked.

  ‘Kinda.’ I had always liked my job.

  ‘It seems like I need you more out of the pit than in it, these days,’ Entratter said. ‘For instance, you know this poker movie Steve McQueen’s doin’ with Eddie Robinson?’

  ‘Yeah, they talked about it at the table last night.’

  ‘Well, I heard from Frank,’ he said. ‘He’d like you to show Eddie around, and help him do some research into the poker playin’ end of it.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Later this week.’

  ‘I can do that,’ I said. ‘I’ve never met him. That would be great.’ Edward G. Robinson was one of the greatest actors of all time, as far as I was concerned. I wouldn’t mind helping him research his role. ‘But what’s that got to do with taking me out of the pit?’

  ‘I told you,’ Jack said, ‘it’s just something I’ve been thinkin’ about. Maybe we could create a new job title for you. You know, somethin’ like … a freelancer. Or a … host.’

  ‘Freelancer?’ I said. ‘Would that be a promotion? With a raise?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ Jack said. ‘I’m just wingin’ it here, Eddie.’

  ‘Well, until you make up your mind can I go back to my pit?’

  ‘Sure,’ Entratter said. ‘I’ll confirm Robinson’s arrival date and let you know.’

  ‘OK.’

  I stood up and this time he didn’t stop me.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘what’s wrong with your girl?’

  ‘Whataya mean?’

  ‘When I walked in she didn’t look like she wanted to spit,’ I said. ‘In fact, she hardly looked at me at all.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Entratter said. ‘She hasn’t been herself lately. Might be that time of the month. She’s doin’ her job, though. That’s all I care about.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’ll go and do mine.’

  Entratter waved me out and turned his attention to something on his desk.

  When I got down to my pit I was only there an hour when one of the younger bell hops came over. His name tag sai
d ‘Bobby’ but I didn’t need that to identify him. I remembered his baby face.

  The slot machines around us were ‘dinging’ as coins struck the coin trays and ladies screamed over their nickel hits. People nodded to me as they went by, some regular customers, others celebrities who came and went from month to month. On this night it was Jack Jones, who had completed his run at the Sands’ Copa Room and was leaving the next day, and Steve & Eydie, who were coming in to replace him.

  ‘Got a message for you, Eddie.’

  ‘Thanks, Bobby.’

  He handed me a message slip, gave me a salute and hurried back to the hotel. At that moment one of the dealers came over, reporting that a player wanted to raise his limit. I pocketed the message to read later.

  FOUR

  I had a typical day in the pit: okayed two players who wanted their limit raised, turned down another one who got nasty about it, so I had him escorted off the premises. I don’t have to check with anyone before making a decision. It’s my pit, and I usually know the players. If it’s someone unfamiliar, I observe them for a while, see what kind of player they are. Find out if they’re registered, maybe get some guidance from the hotel staff on what kind of money they’re flashing.

  I was finished with my shift before dinner, so I had the option of eating in the casino or heading out and getting something on the way home. I was single at that time, not seeing anyone in particular, so I had nobody else’s wants or needs to consider. My friend Danny Bardini was out of town, and he was the only one I might have had dinner with. So I decided to head home, stop along the way for some Chinese take-out, and eat in my own kitchen.

  Laying out containers on the table made me think of Jerry Epstein, my buddy from Brooklyn. I remembered having Chinese with him a time or two, and his share left less room on the table. Jerry’s appetite was prodigious. While he was a big man, he managed to burn off most of what he ate and not get fat. I envied him that. I stayed in pretty good shape, but every once in a while I’d have to change the size of my belt and have to start cutting back on the booze and burgers. A girl once told me that the size of a belt was determined by the middle hole, so I used that to gauge my weight. As long as I was in the middle, I was doing OK.

  While I was eating out of the containers – instead of dirtying my plates – I emptied my pockets onto the table, and came across the message slip Bobby had given me. I washed down some pork lo mein with a sip of cold Piels and unfolded the slip so I could read it. It was a request for me to call someone named Robert Maheu. He’d left a phone number. At the bottom another word was written and underlined. It said, ‘Personal’.

  I put the slip down and picked up a spare rib. The name Maheu sounded familiar to me, but I just wasn’t placing it. I was on my second rib when the phone rang. I wiped my hands on a napkin and answered it.

  ‘Hey Eddie, what are you doin’ home?’ Danny asked.

  ‘What are you doing callin’ me if you didn’t expect me to be here?’

  ‘I called the Sands, they said you weren’t there. I didn’t know where else to call, even though you’re hardly ever home.’

  ‘That’s why I decided to eat here,’ I said.

  ‘Whatayagot?’

  ‘Chinks.’

  ‘Enough for two?’

  ‘You back?’

  ‘Just got back.’

  ‘Come on over, then. It’ll keep in the containers. And bring some beer.’

  ‘On my way …’

  Danny Bardini had been my brother’s friend when we were all kids in Brooklyn. After my brother was killed in a gang war, we became friends. And after I moved to Vegas, he followed, hung his PI shingle on Freemont Street, down from the Horseshoe.

  He held up a six pack of Piels and said, ‘Enough?’

  ‘It’ll do.’

  He followed me into the kitchen, where we sat together and dug into the containers. This time I provided plates. We both used forks, never having mastered the art of chopsticks.

  Danny told me about the case he’d settled in Los Angeles, and I told him about the robbery attempt at the poker game.

  ‘Sounds like you made a pretty foolish move at the hold-up,’ Danny said.

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

  He reached for a napkin, picked up the message slip instead, glanced at it.

  ‘Maheu?’

  ‘You know him?’ I asked. ‘The name’s familiar, but I can’t place it.’

  ‘He’s got a PI ticket, ran his own shop in LA until Howard Hughes hired him.’

  I snapped my fingers as it came back to me.

  ‘That’s it! Hughes’ right-hand man, right?’

  ‘Right,’ Danny said. ‘When Maheu speaks, it’s the same as Hughes speakin’. What’s he want with you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I haven’t had time to call him back.’

  He frowned at the slip. ‘No area code. Must be a local number. Call ’im,’ he urged, holding the slip out to me. ‘Let’s find out.’

  It was almost eight p.m., but time didn’t mean much in Las Vegas.

  I wiped my hands again and picked up the phone.

  FIVE

  I agreed to meet Maheu the next afternoon in a restaurant in Henderson, the next city over from Vegas, but I had to clear the decks first.

  Danny wanted to come. He’d listened to my end of the conversation the night before, which hadn’t gone on too long.

  ‘I have some person business here in Vegas that I need some help with, Mr Gianelli, and I’m told you’re the man to talk to.’

  ‘Is this your business, Mr Maheu,’ I’d asked, ‘or Mr Hughes’?’

  ‘There’s really no difference, Mr Gianelli.’

  Hughes had made his fortune as an aviator, aerospace engineer, and film-maker. Of late he hadn’t been seen much in public, preferring to speak through Robert Maheu. I was curious about what he was doing in Vegas, so I agreed to meet.

  I told Danny he couldn’t come with me, but promised to tell him what it was all about. I called Jack Entratter the next morning, finding a dried smear of rib sauce on the phone I must have left there the night before.

  ‘Robert Maheu?’ he said. ‘What’s he want?’

  ‘Right now all I know is he wants to talk to me.’

  ‘He’s gotta be actin’ for Hughes,’ Entratter said. ‘Find out what it’s about, Eddie. We don’t need Hughes stickin’ his nose in Vegas.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘but I’ll be in late.’

  ‘I’ll put somebody in to cover your pit,’ he said. ‘What else is new?’

  As I hung up the irony of that comment was not lost on me, given the conversation we’d had the day before.

  The restaurant Maheu had chosen turned out to be a greasy spoon. I guess he’d figured nobody would be looking for Howard Hughes’ man in a place like that. Luckily, I liked greasy spoon food.

  Our meet was set for eleven a.m. The breakfast crowd had cleared out and the lunch crowd hadn’t come in yet. I picked Maheu out pretty easily, as he was wearing a suit that cost more than the clothes of everyone else in the place combined.

  I walked to the booth he was seated in and said, ‘Mr Maheu?’

  ‘Mr Gianelli?’

  He stood to shake hands, invited me to sit. I got the side of the booth with the cracked leather seat.

  Maheu was unremarkable in appearance, mid-forties, with the look of a businessman – which he basically was. According to Danny, though, a lot of that business had been dirty business in the past. He had done some work for both the FBI and CIA before hanging out his own shingle, and eventually going to work for Howard Hughes.

  The safest thing to order in a greasy spoon was breakfast, so I had bacon and eggs and Maheu ordered a Spanish omelet. We both had coffee.

  ‘You said this was personal,’ I said, as we started to eat, ‘but isn’t everything Mr Hughes does business?’

  ‘Mr Hughes doesn’t differentiate between business and pleasure. It’s all the same to him
, so I was being only slightly disingenuous with my message in order to get you to call me back. I apologize.’

  ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘I’m getting a free breakfast out of it, right?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Maheu was dry, with no hint of humor. But with everything Danny had told me about him I was sure he’d lie, cheat or steal for Hughes.

  ‘Why don’t we get down to … it,’ I said. I almost said ‘business’. ‘What do you need from me?’

  ‘Actually,’ Maheu said, ‘my sole purpose for seeing you is to convince you to meet with Mr Hughes.’

  That shocked me. Nobody got in to see Hughes. In fact, years later I discovered that in all the time Maheu worked for him, he never saw the man. All of their contact was through messages and telephone.

  ‘Me? To see Mr Hughes?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Right here, in Vegas.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘At your convenience.’

  ‘Where is Mr Hughes staying?’

  ‘That you will find out the day you see him,’ Maheu said. ‘We will send a car for you.’

  ‘Do you know what this meeting is about?’

  ‘Nobody knows everything Mr Hughes is thinking but Mr Hughes.’

  I drank some coffee, lifted my cup to the waiter to indicate I wanted more. One thing about a greasy spoon, the waiter and waitress practically walk around with a coffee pot glued to their hands. Maheu also accepted a refill.

  ‘How long has Mr Hughes been in Vegas?’ I asked.

  ‘Not very long.’

  ‘Is Mrs Hughes with him?’ Hughes was married to the actress Jean Peters at that time. She was one in a long line of beautiful women he’d been involved with, an impressive list that included Jane Russell, Terry Moore, and Ava Gardner, who I also had some history with.

  ‘No, she chose to remain behind in Hollywood.’

  I took a moment to pick my words carefully.

  ‘What kind of shape is Mr Hughes in?’ I asked. No, that didn’t come out right. ‘I mean, how is his health?’

  ‘I think I know what you’re asking, Mr Gianelli.’

  ‘Please, just call me Eddie.’

  ‘Eddie,’ Maheu said, ‘if and when you agree to see Mr Hughes, there will be some things you’ll need to know before you actually meet with him.’