Six
WATCHING SAMMY DAVIS JR. was an experience. That was the only way to describe it—and that wasn’t me talking, that was Frank. He actually leaned over to me during the show and said those words to me.
Sammy sang, danced, played instruments, did impressions. Frank described himself as a “saloon singer.” Sammy, he said, was an “entertainer.”
At the halfway point Sammy took the time to talk to the audience, introduce the band, and then he pointed into the crowd.
“There’s a very good friend of mine in the audience tonight. He is my friend, an amazing talent in his own right, the chairman of the board, the leader, Mr. Frank Sinatra, ladies and gentlemen.”
Frank stood to thunderous applause, waved at Sammy and then sat back down.
“Do you like your seat, Frank?” Sammy asked. “Can you see okay?”
“I can see fine,” Frank called out.
Sammy wiped his brow with his hand, as if Frank’s reply gave him great relief.
“Gotta make sure Frank is comfortable, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, milking the joke. “You never know who might come around later with Frank’s complaint.”
The audience laughed and Frank waved again and called out, “You’re safe, Sam.”
“Then let’s get on with the show,” Sammy said. “Here’s a tune my friend Dino let me borrow….”
“Hey, Eddie, man,” Sammy said, shaking my hand as Frank and I entered his dressing room. “Sorry I didn’t introduce you from the stage—”
“That’s okay, Sam,” I said. “What would you have told people about me?”
“Smokey,” Frank said, giving Sammy a big hug, “you brought the house down, as usual. I’m tired just from watchin’ you.”
“Thanks for coming, Frank,” Sammy said, returning the embrace.
“How’s May?” Frank asked.
“She’s good, Frank, good.”
“You got enough energy left to go out and get somethin’ to eat with us?” Frank asked.
“If we do it here in the hotel I do,” Sammy said. “I’m not up for a big night out, Frank.”
“Neither am I,” I said.
“Yeah, okay,” Frank said. “I’ll take it easy on you two Clydes. How’s the food here, Sam?”
“It’s good, Frank.”
“Good?”
Sammy smiled.
“It’s okay. They’ll feed us well. Hell, I remember the days when my dad, my uncle and me had to take our food out back and eat it at a picnic table behind the building.”
“They treatin’ you okay?” Frank asked.
“They’re treating me fine, Frank,” Sammy assured him, “just fine. Why don’t you two get out of here and let me get dressed, and then we’ll go and eat.”
“Okay, Charley,” Frank said, slapping Sammy on the shoulder. “Great show, as usual. Naw, even better than usual.”
“Thanks, Frank,” Sammy said. “That means a lot coming from you.”
“Let’s go, Eddie,” Frank said. “We’ll wait outside while Sam makes himself pretty.”
I wanted to say, “That’ll be a long wait,” or something as funny, but I really didn’t know how Sammy would take it. I wasn’t that “in” yet, was I?
Seven
HAVING DINNER WITH FRANK AND SAMMY was a little like dining with Joey Bishop and Buddy Hackett. The two of them were very funny together, telling stories that had me in stitches. Other diners in the Harrah’s Steak House stared over at us, putting their heads together and pointing. No one, however, walked over and interrupted us. There were stories about Frank and how he reacted to being interrupted in restaurants by autograph seekers. Apparently, the people in this restaurant had heard them.
Eventually the subject came around to the next Rat Pack movie, Sergeants 3. Frank, Dino and Peter were playing the soldiers, while Sammy had the Gunga Din part in this western spin-off of Kipling. Joey was apparently going to play a soldier who made life hard for the top three.
“Hey,” Sammy said, at one point, “you think there’s a part in the movie for Eddie, Frank?”
“Whataya think, pally?” Frank asked me. “Wanna be in a movie?”
I sat back, stunned.
“Just like that?” I asked. “I don’t have any experience. Don’t you have to check with somebody?”
“I don’t have to check with anybody,” Frank said. “Look, let me take a look at the script. I’ll find something small for you. Whataya think of that?”
“Come on, Eddie,” Sammy said. “It’ll be a gas.”
“I don’t know what to say.” It did sound like it could be fun, shooting a scene or two with these guys, but what if I got in way over my head?
“Come on, Eddie,” Frank said. “It’s got to be easier than some of the stuff you went through last year, and look how that turned out.”
“I almost got killed.”
“But you didn’t,” Frank said. “You came out on top, because that’s what you do.”
“Frank,” Sammy said, “you’re not forcing Eddie—”
I broke in before Frank could.
“He’s not forcing me into anything, Sam,” I said. “When I try to help you it’s because I want to. Okay?”
“Okay,” Sammy said.
“Sure it’s okay,” Frank said, putting one hand on my shoulder and the other on Sammy’s. “We’re all friends here, and friends help each other, right?”
Sammy and I agreed.
On our way out of the restaurant a husband and wife approached Sammy and Frank for an autograph. I had seen many demonstrations of the famed “Sinatra charm.” In fact, I’d been subjected to it many times, but I had only had a glimpse—maybe even a glimmer—of the “Sinatra temper.” As the couple approached us I was wondering if I was going to witness it, but instead both Frank and Sammy were charming and gracious and signed the autographs.
In the hotel lobby Frank gave Sammy another bone-crushing hug. I shook hands with Sammy and told him to call me as soon as he knew something.
“If I leave the Cal Neva, or Tahoe, I’ll let you know where to find me.”
“That’s cool, Eddie,” Sammy said. “Thanks.”
Frank and I walked back outside to his car and Henry started back to the Cal Neva.
“Look at this place,” Frank said. “First Harvey Gross opened his Wagon Wheel, then Bill Harrah came in and opened his place. For a few years there was a few casinos and ski lodges. Then last year the Winter Olympics came here, and now look at it. There’s been an explosion here, Eddie. Now if your business is skiing or gambling you can come here and get a license to print your own money. It’s a gold mine, and it’s only gonna keep gettin’ bigger.”
He turned his head and looked at me.
“Do you know you can literally park in California and gamble in Nevada? We’re actually in a place called Stateline, Nevada, although it’s not considered a city, or even a town.” He shook his head. “I can’t figure out if this place is gonna eventually be overrun by gamblers, or skiers.”
“I vote gamblers,” I said.
“Why?”
“There’s no gambling season.”
Frank laughed and said, “That’s a good point, Eddie.”
Frank dropped me at my cabin and put his hand on my arm before I could get out of the car.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” Frank said, “but I’ll be back at the end of the week. I’ve got to talk to some architects.”
“If I want to head back tomorrow? …”
“I’ll leave the copter, and the pilot’s phone number. Also, Henry will be here, in one of the cabins. Henry?”
“Cabin thirty, Mr. Sinatra.”
“You’ve got my number in Palm Springs, right?” Frank asked me.
I had it. I’d never used it up to that point, but it was written in my phone book.
“Yes.”
“Good, call me if anything comes up, otherwise I’ll talk to you or Sammy at the end of the week.”
“Gotcha.”
“Look, Eddie, Sammy may only want you to be a go-between, but be careful. More than likely nothin’ll go wrong, but …”
“If I learned anything last year, Frank, it’s to be careful.”
We shook hands and I said, “I’ll see you, Frank.”
“See ya, pally. Hang onto that key. Cabin’s yours whenever you want it.”
I got out and as I mounted the steps Henry pulled away. When I got to my door I saw a white envelope pinned to it.
I knew that already something had gone wrong.
Eight
I DROPPED THE NOTE on the table and said to Sammy, “This isn’t right.”
Sammy picked up the note, unfolded it and read it.
“How did they know?” he asked.
“That’s my question.”
He looked at it again then put it down.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “Only you, me and Frank knew you were going to help.”
“And I only agreed yesterday,” I said.
“I should call Frank—” he said, starting for the phone.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because we can control this,” I said. “Only you and I know about this. Let’s keep it that way.”
“But … we can trust Frank.”
“Sammy who did you tell about this?”
“Only Frank.”
“Nobody else?”
“I told you that yesterday,” he said. “Only Frank.”
“And we can trust Frank, right?”
“I thought … I thought we—” Sammy looked confused, then distressed.
“I’m not saying Frank gave it away,” I told him, “not deliberately, anyway.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“There’s the driver, the copter pilot, his man George,” I said, ticking them off on my fingers. “Who knows how many other people were around when he said something on the phone—”
“To who?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe Dean. I’m just making a point for us to keep this between ourselves. We can tell Frank that you were contacted, got a note with instructions. Just not where … not yet.”
“Okay,” he said, backing away from the phone. “So now what do we do?”
I walked to the table and picked up the note. Instructions were neatly typed.
“The meeting place is in Vegas,” I said, “so the first thing I have to do is go back. Can you get your hands on this much money?”
“I can arrange for you to pick it up from a bank in Vegas. I can have Silber call—”
“Can you do it yourself, Sam?”
“You mean I can’t even trust—”
“Just you and me for now, Sammy. Okay?”
“Well, okay,” he said. “I’ll make the call.”
“I’ll get Henry to take me to the helipad,” I said. “Today’s Tuesday and the meeting is set for Thursday. I want to get set up.”
“Set up … how?”
“Well,” I said, “all of a sudden I don’t think I want to do this alone.”
“But you just said, only you and me—”
“I know, but I think I have just the man for the job, and I’d only have to tell him so much.”
“Who?”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I think I’ll keep that little tidbit of information to myself.”
I turned to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to Vegas,” I said. “I’ve got some arrangements to make, and a call. How long are you booked here for?”
“Until the end of next week.”
“Good. I’ll call you from Vegas.”
“Call me when you get there,” Sammy said. “And before you go to the meeting—and after.”
“Sammy, relax,” I said. “Concentrate on your shows. I’ll take care of this.”
“Eddie, wait,” Sammy shouted as I opened the door.
He came up to me and said, “You’re gonna have to look at the picture when you pay for it.”
“That’s right,” I said. “How will I know it’s the right one unless you tell me?”
“You’ll know,” Sammy said. “Just—yeah, you’ll know when you see it. Just promise me something.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t show it to anyone else,” he said. “Not anyone, under any circumstances, understand?”
“I understand, Sammy.”
“Give me your word.”
“I promise,” I said. “No one sees that photo except me.”
“Thanks, man,” Sammy said. “You’re solid.”
“I’ll talk to you, soon.”
I went back to Henry and the car, waiting for me outside of Harrah’s.
“Henry,” I asked, “can you call the copter pilot and take me to the helipad? I want to get back to Vegas right away.”
“We’ll have to stop back at the Cal Neva, sir.”
“You can call him from there?”
“He’s also in one of the cabins. We’ll just pick him up.”
“Good man.”
I sat back in the seat, took out the note and studied it again. The meet was set for a neighborhood that wasn’t normally one I’d go to alone. Since somebody already knew I was the go-between, that just added to my trepidation about doing this alone.
Normally, I would have called my buddy Danny Bardini, a Las
Vegas private eye with an office on Fremont Street, but I knew Danny was out of town on a case. That left me with only one other option, one other person I felt I could trust.
I only hoped he’d be able to get to Vegas from New York on such short notice.
Nine
ALL DURING THE DRIVE to the helipad, and then the flight to Vegas, I kept wondering if either Henry or the copter pilot—“Skip”— had anything to do with the word leaking out? Then I had to wonder how much damage the leak might have done. Maybe Sammy should have switched to someone else, but it was too late to do anything about it.
When I got back to my house in Vegas I took a few minutes to shower and get a beer from the refrigerator. Then I sat down in my living room and made the phone call. I had to look the number up, because this was the first time I’d ever dialed it.
“Yeah?” the voice at the other end asked.
“Jerry?”
A pause, then, “Who wants ta know?”
“It’s Eddie, Jerry,” I said. “Eddie Gianelli, from Vegas.”
“Hey, Mr. G.!” His tone changed completely. “Whataya say?”
I didn’t know what to say. Exchange pleasantries with my friend, the Brooklyn hood? Or just tell him I needed his help? Wasn’t I doing to him what I once thought Frank and Dino were doing to me? Just using me when it was convenient?
“How you doin’, Jerry?”
“Good, Mr. G., good. How’s the Caddy?”
“Safe and sound, buddy.”
“I love drivin’ that car, ya know?”
“Yeah, I do know, Jerry,” I said. “How’d you like to drive it again?”
“Sure. When?”
“How’s tomorrow?”
Now there was a long pause.
“Whataya sayin’, Mr. G.? Ya need my help?”
“I guess that’s what I’m sayin’, Jerry,” I admitted. “I’ve got a situation, here.”
“This have to do with Mr. S.?”
“Yeah, it does, kind of.”
“Tell me about it.”
So I did. I told him everything except where we found the note with the instructions and what Sammy was buying. Actually, that second one wasn’t hard, because I didn’t really know what Sammy was buying.
“Sounds like there’s a fink somewheres,” Jerry said.
“That’s what I was thinkin’,” I said. “I was gonna ask Danny to go with me, but he’s out of town—”
“You don’t need the keyhole peeper, Mr. G.,” Jerry said, “ya got me. When does this exchange gotta take place?”
“Thursday night,”
I said. “Can you get here by Thursday?”
“Mr. G.,” Jerry said, “that’s me on the next plane ta Vegas….”
I called work and did a late shift in the pit at the Sands. I thought I was too late to see Jack Entratter, but in he walked just a little after midnight. Jack didn’t usually stop to talk to individual pit bosses, but he and I had kind of a different relationship—especially since I’d started doing favors for Frank, Dean and the guys. And after the most recent one, last year, I think even MoMo Giancana ended up kind of liking me.
So if Frank and MoMo liked me, I was in even more with Jack.
“Hey, kid,” he said, “I heard you were back.” He meant back in the pit, not back in Vegas. He already knew that.
“Can’t stay away,” I said. “Oh, by the way, I’ll need Thursday off.”
“This got anything to do with Sammy?” he asked. “Yes.”
When I didn’t go any further he said, “Ah hell, okay. I’ll get somebody to fill in for you.”
“Thanks.”
He walked away, then turned and said, “You’re not gonna find any bodies this time, are you?”
“I hope not.”
He gave me the eye. “That doesn’t sound very encouraging.”
“Oh, I’ll need a room tomorrow.”
“For who?”
“A friend of mine.”
“You want a free room you’re gonna have to tell me more than that.”
“Jerry,” I said.
“Lewis?” he asked, hopefully?
“Epstein.”
“Him? Why’s he comin’ here?”
“I asked him to.”
He walked back to me.
“Are you expecting trouble?”
“I … just want to make sure if there is trouble I’ll be ready.”
“And you wouldn’t be ready alone?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “The last time … I’m not a detective, you know. Or a made guy. I don’t carry a gun.”
“Why would you need a gun?” he demanded. “What are you not tellin’ me, Eddie?”
“Jack,” I said, “I’ve told you all I can. I just want Jerry here for a little backup. Can I have a room?”
“Hell, kid, sure,” he said. “It’s just that guy—”
Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) Page 3