“Did you tell them that?”
“I did,” she said. “They asked me if I knew anybody who’d want to kill him.”
“What’d you tell ‘em?”
“I’d never seen the man before he started following me,” she said. “We never spoke, so I don’t know his name. How would I know who wanted to kill him?”
“Did you tell the police that you know Jackie?”
“I had to tell them I worked on his show, but that was all,” she said.
“Then there’s no reason for them to suspect him, or question him.”
“What about you, and Paul?”
“I’m pretty sure they suspected us, all right, but I think our stories matched,” I said. “What’d you tell ‘em, Paul?”
“That we were there to see Miss Taylor, just waitin’ for the elevator, and saw the body when it opened.”
“They ask you what you were doin’ drivin’ me?”
“I told them I work for Mr. Sinatra, and you’re his friend.” He looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Was that okay, Mr. G.?”
“That was perfect, Paul,” I said. “That’s why they let us go.”
“Why did you tell them you were coming to see me?” she asked.
“I told them I was watching the rehearsal, noticed you, thought you were beautiful and wanted to ask you out.”
“They believed that?” she asked.
“Why not? They saw you, didn’t they? It’s a believable story.”
She actually looked away, shyly, and I almost expected her to blush. Which was a surprise for someone who danced in those June Taylor costumes.
Paul pulled into the underground parking structure again, and this time I walked Marilyn to the elevator and up to her apartment while he waited downstairs.
“Keep an eye out,” I said, “see if anybody follows us.”
As we stepped into the elevator she moved all the way to one side to avoid the bloody floor. I did the same, going the opposite way.
“Have you told Jackie any of this?” I asked. “I mean, about being followed.”
“No,” she said. “If he knew he’d wrap me in plastic. Besides, he’s got enough on his mind.”
“Like what?”
“His life, his marriage, his show... he doesn’t need to take on my problems.”
“But you know he’d want to.”
“Oh yes,” she said, “definitely.”
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. I put my hand up to stop Marilyn from getting out, so I could exit first and make sure the way was clear.
“All right,” I said, and she came out.
We walked down the hall and entered her apartment. Again, I went in first, turned on some lights, determined it was safe for her to enter.
“Do you want a drink, Eddie?” she asked.
“I do, but I don’t want to make Paul wait downstairs.”
“What should I do, Eddie?” she asked. “Do you think I should tell Jackie?”
“I think you have to, Marilyn,” I said. “because you work for him, the cops might want to talk to him, ask some questions, maybe even see if he knows the man.”
“I suppose I should call him and June tonight,” she said. “No matter how late it is.”
I looked at my watch. “It’s after eleven p.m..”
“He’ll be awake,” she said. “He’s probably been trying to call me. June, too. We usually talk in the evening.”
“Then call ‘em,” I said. “Maybe one of them will come over and keep you company.”
She came toward me and put her hand on my arm.
“Thank you, Eddie.”
“For what?”
“Who knows what might have happened if you weren’t here?” she asked. “If you hadn’t followed me home. You got me to my door safely.”
“Well, then, thank June. She’s the one who sent me.”
She walked me to the door.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked.
“I’m bettin’ yes,” I said. “Jackie’s probably gonna want to talk to me.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll tell him you did all you could.”
“I hope that’s true,” I said and left.
FIFTEEN
I didn’t find out the dead man’s name until the next day when I read the Miami Herald.
When Paul drove me back to the hotel the night before I went directly to my room and to bed. I rose early, ordered a room service breakfast, which came with a copy of the newspaper.
His name was Philip Rossi. He had an address further north, in Orlando. That was all they printed, all the police had released, in case someone would come forward and claim the body. Nothing about what he did for a living, what he was doing in that building in Miami Beach.
I was halfway through my breakfast when someone knocked on my door. When I opened it I found Frank standing in the hall, a big smile on his face. He was wearing a loud, Hawaiian shirt and a big smile.
“’Mornin’, Pally,” he said, breezing past me. “I smell bacon. Got any coffee?”
“Help yourself, Frank.”
He walked across the room to the terrace and my breakfast cart then poured himself a cup of coffee.
“I had a helluva show last night,” he said. “I was fabulous. You missed it. But your friend, she had a good time.”
“Fiona?” I said. “Frank, you didn’t—‘”
“Naw, naw, Clyde, I’d never do that to you,” Frank said. “So, what happened to you last night?”
“Have a seat,” I said, “I’ve got a story to tell you.”
By the time I was done with my story we had both eaten all my bacon and gotten to the bottom of the coffee pot.
“Holy shit, whatta night you had!” Frank exclaimed. “And the cops let you go?”
“I’ve got no connection with this fella Rossi. Neither does Paul.”
“But what about Marilyn?”
“All she knows is that he’s been followin’ her for a while,” I said.
“So who do they think killed him?”
“They have no idea,” I said. “I’m hopin’ it’s not just another admirer of hers.”
“Jesus, is she gonna tell Jackie about this?”
“I think so,” I said. “I’m pretty sure she called him and June last night.”
“Pally,” he said, rubbing his chin, “I think Jackie might be callin’ you today.”
“If he does, I can’t tell him anymore than I already told the cops.”
“Well, he still might wanna hear it from you,” Frank said.
“If he does, I’ll be around.”
“Well, I gotta go down and rehearse with the guys,” Frank said, getting to his feet. “There were a coupla blips last night.”
“I thought you said it was fabulous?”
He spread his arms. “I was fabulous, but the band needs some work. In fact, I might be firing somebody today.”
“Riddle?”
“Nelson’s not here,” Frank said. “He and I are sort of... driftin’. I’ve got a new guy I’m tryin’ out because Don Costa wasn’t available. Will you be there tonight?”
“I promise,” I said, then added, “if nobody else gets murdered.”
“If it ain’t you, you better be there, Pally.” He slapped me on the back and was gone.
After Frank left I got dressed, intending to head out to find Fiona the divorcee and try to make amends, but before I could leave my room the phone rang. When I discovered who was on the other end, I thought Frank might have been psychic.
“Eddie G.? It’s Jackie G.”
I knew from his voice that it was, and nobody was trying to play a joke on me.
“Hardy har har,” he said, “I just got that. Hey, pal, I wanna buy you lunch.”
“Well, that’s nice, but—“
“No,” he said, cutting me off, “I mean I am buyin’ you lunch. Meet me out front.”
“Now?”
“It’s an early lunch,” he said
and hung up.
***
Out in front of the Fountainbleu, I found a limo waiting. As I approached it the driver got out and opened the back door for me. As he did, a cloud of smoke escaped. I looked in and Jackie Gleason smiled at me.
“Come on, get in, pal,” he said. “We got lots to talk about.”
“We do?”
“Yup.”
I got in, sat next to him as the driver closed the door. When he got into the driver’s seat Jackie said, “Louie, take us to that Chinese place I like.”
“I dunno if they’re open this early, Boss,” Louie said.
“I called ‘em and told ‘em we’re comin’,” Jackie said. “They’ll be open.”
Jackie lit a new cigarette from the one he’d been holding, then stubbed that one out in an ashtray.
“Eddie, I heard what happened last night,” he said. “Boy, did I hear about it.”
“From Marilyn?”
“From Marilyn, from June, from the cops. Those detectives came to see me early.”
“I thought they might... just as Marilyn’s employer.”
“Yeah, well they ain’t stupid,” he said, “but that’s the way the sisters and I played it.”
“Jackie listen, I didn’t—“
“Now relax,” he said, holding up his hand, “I ain’t mad at ya. You did a favor for June, and you were there for Marilyn last night. I appreciate that. I thank you for it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I wanna talk about it all,” he said, “in detail, but let’s wait until we get to the Chink’s—what the hell’s the name of that place, Louie?”
I thought Louie said Ah Choo, but I wasn’t sure.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Jackie said. “Some fried rice, some chow mein, and then we can talk.”
“It’s your show,” I said.
“It’s always my show, kid,” Jackie said. Louie hadn’t started the car yet, so Jackie sat forward, slapped his palm on the divider. “And away we go!”
SIXTEEN
Over another Chinese meal with Jackie, I went through the events of the previous night. By this time I believed that both Marilyn and June Taylor had already told him everything. And I figured by pumping me, he was finding out for himself if they had left anything out.
The restaurant was empty except for us, and the two waiters who kept bringing food. Louie, the driver, was outside. I had no idea if Gleason was sending food out to him.
“The cops talked to me early this morning,” he said when I was done. “Showed me a picture of the bum who got killed, the one who was following Marilyn. I didn’t know him, but if she had told me about him...”
I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t.
“It was just as well she didn’t,” I said. “You’re legit when you tell the cops you weren’t involved.”
“Yeah, but you ain’t,” Jackie said, “that’s what worries me. What if they think you—or worse, Marilyn—had somethin’ to do with it?”
“I don’t think they do,” I said. “I’ve been questioned by cops before, and I think they bought everythin’ we told them... mostly because it was the truth—sort of. The only thing I didn’t tell them was that I was following Marilyn because June asked me to.”
“And that kept June out of it,” he said, “and my show. If both sisters were involved they’d have to think it had somethin’ to do with the show—and me.” He picked up his glass of bourbon and held it up to me. “I salute you, Eddie. You kept us all out of it.”
“Well, they’re still gonna be interested in anybody who’s interested in Marilyn,” I warned him. “If I was you guys I’d keep a low profile, for a while, ‘til things die down.”
“Or until they find out who killed him,” Jackie said. “It’s probably got somethin’ to do with him and his life, and nothin’ to do with ours.”
“Just a coincidence that it happened in Marilyn’s buildin’, on the night I was there?” I shook my head. “I don’t know if even I buy that.”
“What’re you sayin’?” he asked. “That they’re gonna be after Marilyn?”
“I think they’ll probably watch Marilyn to see if anybody else is watchin’ or followin’ her,” I said. “So, like I said, keep a low profile.”
“That’s hard for me, you know?” he said. “I’m pretty much a high profile kinda guy.”
“Well,” I said, “keep bein’ Jackie Gleason, the Great One. Just don’t be seen with Marilyn for a while.”
“That’ll be kinda hard,” he said. “I was sorta figurin’ to keep her under my thumb, for a while. You know, watch out for her. I was gonna have her move into my house, temporarily.”
“I wouldn’t do that. If you want to keep an eye on her, have somebody do it for you,” I suggested.
“You mean, hire a bodyguard for her?”
“Why not?” I said. “Even if the cops spot him and suss him out, it’ll make sense to them.”
“You know anybody?”
I thought about my buddy, Danny Bardini, but he was a P.I. in Vegas and wasn’t licensed to work in Florida. Then something else occurred to me.
“Make it somebody local,” I said. “That way the cops’ll recognize him, and know he’s a legit bodyguard. They might even think Marilyn hired him, herself. In fact—“
“I getcha,” he said, cutting me off. “Have her do it.”
“Right.”
“She can hire him, but I’ll be givin’ her the money to foot the bill.”
“That’s between you and her,” I said. “Nobody else has to know that.”
“June’ll know,” Jackie said, “and you, but that’s it.”
“That’s enough.”
“Eddie,” Jackie said, toasting me again, “now I know why Frank calls you ‘the guy.’”
I returned the toast with my green bottle of Tsingtao beer.
***
When we got back to the limo, Louie the driver was working on his teeth with a toothpick, so I assumed he’d eaten, probably almost as well as we had.
“We’ll drop you back at the hotel, Eddie,” Jackie said, as we got in, “then I gotta go to the theater and meet with Dino. He should be landin’ just about now.”
“It should be a hell of a show, Jackie,” I said. “What I saw in rehearsal was real good—and it’ll be even better with you and Dino playin’ your own parts.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, “Dean and me, we’ll work good together. Neither one of us likes rehearsin’. But we’ll both know our lines.”
As we drove back down Collins Avenue I said, “You know, Jackie, you were incredible in The Hustler. Why haven’t you made more movies?”
“The right part’s gotta come along,” he said, “and I tend to want to be in charge. Lots of directors don’t like that.”
“I know that from watchin’ Frank work on some sets,” I said. I’d seen how Frank ran the show on Oceans 11 and Robin and the 7 Hoods. He’d even flexed his muscles on the latter enough to give me a small role.
“Well yeah,” Jackie said, “but he’s Frank.”
He sat back, with his hands clasped in front of him, as if to say “’Nuff said.”
SEVENTEEN
I couldn’t attend Jackie’s show that night because I had to go to Frank’s. After all, it was what he’d flown me to Miami to do. But I had a conversation with Dean on the phone.
“I understand why you choose Frank over me, Pally,” Dino said. “After all, he’s the Leader.”
Dean was kidding.
I thought.
I knew for a fact that Dean only referred to Frank as the Leader because he knew Frank liked it. It was no skin off Dino’s nose if people thought so. Dean Martin’s ego needed no massaging—not ever. Frank’s was a little different story.
I spent some time looking for my divorcee friend, Fiona, and she wasn’t on the beach, she wasn’t in the lobby, and she wasn’t in any of the restaurants or shops. Of course, I wasn’t paranoid enough to think she was avoiding me after kno
wing me only one day. She was simply never where I was.
I did spend most of the day around the hotel, so that if anyone was looking for me—Jackie, the Taylor sisters, even the police—they’d be able to find me, easily. Fortunately, nobody seemed to need me in relation to the murder. Maybe I was in the clear. I would’ve hated it if the police kept me from leaving Miami and going back to Vegas. But I was still expecting to hear from Detective Eisman before leaving town.
In any case, I made it to Frank’s second show that night. If there were any kinks the first night, it seemed like he’d managed to work them out.
When the show was over and he had done a couple of encores he shouted to the crowd, “Come on back tomorrow night, my pal Dino’s gonna be here!” and the crowd went crazy. I thought that was a sure way to get people to come back a second time.
I went backstage to congratulate Frank, found him mobbed by critics and friends, and some special attendees whose ticket price included a stop backstage. At one point he waved at me and shrugged, so we sort of wordlessly agreed to meet up later on, and I left.
I went to the lounge for an after dinner, after show drink. As I sat at the bar and worked on a bourbon rocks a man came over and sat next to me.
“I’ll have what he’s havin’,” he said to the bartender.
It took me a moment to realize he was talking about me.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hello.” I barely looked at him, at that point.
The bartender brought him his drink. ”Thanks. Put it on my friend’s tab.”
Now I knew he was talking to me, and I started to turn toward him, an objection on my lips.
“No, don’t turn,” he said, putting his hand on my arm. “I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it here.”
I froze. There was a mirror behind the bar, but there were also shelves of bottles there, blocking my view of him—which suited me, at that moment.
“What’s goin’ on?” I asked.
“You’re payin’ for my drink, right?”
“You got it,” I said. “Have two.”
“No, one’s enough, but thank you.”
[Rat Pack 11] - I Only Have Lies for You Page 5