[Rat Pack 11] - I Only Have Lies for You

by Robert J. Randisi

  “This isn’t Frank,” I said, “it’s a friend of his.”

  “What? Who?”

  “My name’s Eddie Gianelli, from Las Vegas. I was here with Frank last time he was in town. We were driven by Paul.”

  “Paul’s dead.”

  “I know that. Frank said if I ever came back I should call you for a car and driver.”

  “Would you mind if I checked with Mr. Sinatra about that?” the man asked.

  “Not at all,” I said, “but I’ll be paying for this service, myself.”

  The man hesitated.

  “Hello?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Phil,” he said, “Phil Herman.”

  “Phil, can I get a car and a driver?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Where are you?”

  “A place called the Pink Grotto,”

  “Wow,” he said, “what’re you doin’ there?”

  “Keepin’ a low profile.”

  “Then you don’t want a limo, do you?”

  “Ah, actually, no. Any kind of car would do.”

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ve got a Chevy, a Ford—“

  ”Chevy’s good.”

  “When do you want it?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Where’s your first stop gonna be?” he asked.

  “The Miami Beach Municipal Auditorium.”

  “Where they shoot the Gleason show?” he asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “So you know Gleason and Sinatra?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s okay, then,” he said. “The car will be there in fifteen minutes. The driver’s name is Esteban. He’s, uh, Cuban. Is that a problem?”

  “Does he speak English?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Then there’s no problem.”

  ***

  While we waited we talked about Philip Rossi.

  “Well, he was Italian,” Jerry said.

  “That doesn’t mean he’s connected,” I argued.

  “We asked around about a hitman,” Jerry said. “We didn’t ask about him.”

  “Good point,” I said. “After we talk with June, we should make some of those calls. Maybe something will come up. Somebody will know him. Although...”

  “Although what?”

  “The cops here must’ve checked him out.”

  “They’re just cops,” Jerry said. “On top of bein’ dumb, there are people who just won’t talk to them. But they’ll talk to us.”

  “To you, maybe.”

  “That’s just as good, then.”

  Jerry was right about that. His contact, if they knew who Rossi was, would tell him things they would never have told the cops, or me.

  “Let’s wait for the car outside.”

  ***

  A black, 4-door Chevy pulled up in front of the Pink Grotto 14 minutes later. From the driver’s side stepped a young man in a dark suit and chauffer’s cap. He had dark skin and looked decidedly Cuban.

  ”Mr. Gianelli?” he asked.

  “That’s right. Are you Esteban?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He looked about 25 years old, tall, slender and very spiffy in his dark clothes.

  “This is Jerry.”

  Esteban nodded.

  “Are you still going to the theater?’ he asked.

  “We are.”

  Esteban nodded again, turned, opened the back door, and waited. I got in first, so Jerry wouldn’t have to slide his bulk over. Esteban then closed the door, ran around and got behind the wheel. He took his hat off, started the car and pulled away.

  FIFTY

  Esteban stopped the car right in front of the main entrance to the theater. Donning his hat he got out of the car, ran around and opened the door for us.

  “Should I wait here, sir?”

  “Yes,” I said, “and don’t call me ‘sir.’ It’s Eddie.”

  “That wouldn’t be right, uh, sir.”

  Jerry put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Call him Mr. G.. That’s what I do.”

  Esteban smiled. “Okay, that’s what I’ll do... Mr. G..”

  “Fine,” I said. “Wait here. We’ll be out soon.”

  If we even got in.

  The security man at the door stopped us cold. He didn’t even open the door all the way.

  “Rehearsals goin’ on,” he said. “Are you with the show?”

  “No,” I said. “We need to talk with June Taylor.”

  “I can’t—“ he started, but I cut him off.

  “If you don’t tell her I’m here, there’ll be trouble,” I said. “None of us want that.”

  He frowned, then said, “Wait here.”

  “What if Mr. Gleason’s here?” Jerry said. “We don’t want him to know we’re in Miami, right?”

  “He won’t be here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You heard the guard,” I said. “They’re rehearsing. Gleason never rehearses. He only comes to do the show.”

  Security reappeared, opening the door fully for us.

  “You can come in.”

  “Thanks.”

  I looked back at Esteban and we exchanged a nod. Jerry and I went in.

  I remembered where the dressing rooms were, but that didn’t matter. June Taylor was waiting for us outside the doors to the theater.

  “Eddie,” she said. “What brings you back?”

  “June, this is my friend, Jerry. We need to talk somewhere private.”

  “My dressing room,” she said. She was wearing a gaudy red-and-yellow outfit with her long legs encased in dark nylon. As we followed her Jerry and I couldn’t take out eyes off her twitching butt.

  Inside the dressing room, she grabbed a robe from the back of the door and put it on, allowing us to concentrate on business.

  “Sit,” she said, seating herself in front of her dressing mirror. “What’s going on?”

  “Have you spoken with Jackie and your sister since they came back?” I asked.

  “Well, yes,” she said, “but mostly Jackie and I talked about the show.”

  “And Marilyn?”

  “She was upset, Eddie,” June said. “I don’t think their trip to Vegas accomplished what they wanted it to.”

  “And what was that?” I asked. “Do you know?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “Marilyn wasn’t even sure. She said Jackie told her they were going, so they went. He even flew, and he’s terrified of flying.”

  “It must’ve been important, then,” I said.

  “It had to be.”

  “What’s he been doing since they got back?”

  “Working.”

  “And Marilyn?”

  “She’s been working,” June said. “In fact, she’s here right now.”

  “She is?” I said. “Can you get her in here?”

  ”Sure,” she said, getting to her feet.

  As June left the dressing room, I said to Jerry, “Let’s see if Marilyn can shed any light on this.”

  “But she said we should talk to June.”

  “So now we’re talking to them both,” I said.

  June came back with Marilyn, who was wearing the same gaudy outfit and carrying a headdress.

  “Hello, Marilyn,” I said.

  “What’s up, Eddie?”

  “You two know Jackie better than anybody,” I said, deciding to go for the jugular. “What’s he hiding?”

  The sisters looked at each other.

  “Come on,” I said, “there’s something he’s not telling me. There’s something nobody is telling me, which has some bearing on this whole mess.”

  Marilyn bit her lower lip. June looked at the ceiling.

  “Marilyn,” I said, “in Vegas, you told Jerry to tell me to look deeper into the dead guy, Rossi. What am I gonna find?”

  “If I tell you...” she started and trailed off.

  “Look,” I
said, “June, you asked me for help, and then Marilyn came to Vegas with Jackie, and Jackie asked me. Everybody’s asking for help, but nobody’s helping me.”

  The two sisters looked at each other again, and then June finally spoke in a tone that made me think she had come to a decision.

  “Why don’t you go back to work,” she said, putting her hand on Marilyn’s shoulder, “that way you can say you didn’t know what happened here.”

  “But what if—“

  “Go ahead,” June said, cutting her sister off. “I’ll talk to Eddie.” She rubbed her sister’s arm. “I’ll tell him what he needs to know.”

  Marilyn bit her lip again, then left the dressing room.

  “Okay, boys,” she said, “have a seat.”

  FIFTY ONE

  “Jackie has a... belief that not many people know about.”

  “Okay,” I said, “so how many people do know about it?”

  “Well, there’s me, Marilyn... Philip Rossi apparently knew.”

  “Oh shit,” I said, “you’re telling me Jackie knew Rossi?”

  “Well... we all kind of knew Rossi.”

  “Wait, wait a minute,” I said, looking at Jerry, who shrugged. “You’re blowin’ my mind, here.”

  “His Brooklyn comes out when you blow his mind,” Jerry said, and I had heard it, too.

  “Look,” I said to June, who had once again sat down with her back to her dressing mirror. She looked up at me and I thought, in that moment, that she was really beautiful. For a moment, I got lost in those eyes.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “What are we talking about, here?”

  “Well...”

  “What’s this belief of Jackie’s?” I prompted. “Does Frank know about it?”

  “I actually can’t answer that second one,” she said. “Jackie doesn’t tell me what he confides in Frank about.”

  “Isn’t Frank his best male friend?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Who else would there be? Who else would he confide in?”

  She thought a moment, then said, “Art Carney.”

  “Norton?” Jerry said.

  “Yes,” she said, “Norton. They’re very close.”

  Carney played Ed Norton on The Honeymooners.

  “Okay, well,” I said, “clearly he’s close to you and Marilyn. So go ahead, shock me.”

  “Shock you?”

  “What’s this belief that nobody wants to tell me about?”

  She hesitated a moment, then said, “Occult... no wait... the supernatural... no, what did he call it? The paranormal.”

  “The what?” Jerry asked.

  “You mean... like... witchcraft?” I asked.

  “No, not witchcraft,” she said, “exactly. More like... palm readers, tarot cards...”

  “Fortune tellers!” I said.

  “Yes! Psychics.” she said, then, “Sort of... he also has some belief in... well... UFOs.”

  I hesitated, then said, “Well, okay, so he’s got some wonky beliefs. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “He doesn’t want the word to get out, Eddie,” she said. “He doesn’t want anyone to know he believes in those things.”

  “Are you saying... Jackie was being blackmailed?”

  “Yes,” she said, “but no.”

  “June,” I said, “you’re confusing me.”

  “I know,” she said, “it’s confusing to me, too. Look, Jackie has gone to see this... fortune teller, for want of a better phrase... a few times. She was predicting things for him, and he was believing that they were coming true.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the ratings of the show going up,” she said. “Like certain stars agreeing to appear.”

  “Why would anyone refuse?” I asked. “That’s the kind of prediction anyone could make.”

  “True, but Jackie was believing it.”

  “So?”

  “One day a man showed up at Jackie’s house.”

  “Rossi?”

  She nodded.

  “He told Jackie he knew about his beliefs, but that a certain amount of money would keep them from being revealed.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “Rossi said it was an investment.”

  “And Jackie paid him?”

  “No,” June said, “he kicked him out.”

  “And what happened?

  “Rossi started following Marilyn. He never did anything, he just followed her, but it scared Marilyn.”

  “So did Jackie pay then?”

  “No,” she said, “he went to his fortune teller and asked about Rossi, but she claimed not to know anyone by that name.”

  “And he believed her?”

  “She convinced him,” June said. “But I didn’t. That was why I came to you.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me everything?”

  “I couldn’t,” she said “Jackie would’ve been... furious. But even though I didn’t tell you everything, you agreed to help, and you followed Marilyn. When you found Rossi dead, we thought it was over.”

  “But... we didn’t find out who killed him.”

  “It didn’t really matter,” June said. “Jackie said as long as he was dead, that was all he cared about.”

  “And then what?”

  “Some time passed, and then... somebody called Jackie, and made the demand again for money.”

  “Who called?”

  “Another man.”

  “Did he go back to the fortune teller again?”

  “Yes,” June said, “but she was gone.”

  “At that point why didn’t Jackie tell me the truth?”

  “Jackie wants everyone to think he’s always in control,” she said. “But... I think he decided to tell you, that was why he and Marilyn went to Vegas.”

  “But he didn’t tell me.”

  “I think, at the last minute, he decided to just pay. Now, he’s waiting for the next call.”

  “Then we have time,” I said.

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “No,” I said. “We thought that a hit man killed Rossi, but now we’ve decided it wasn’t a professional. That means it has to be someone connected to the fortune teller.”

  “Why would she have Rossi killed if she was involved?” June asked.

  “Maybe they had a falling out,” I said. “Rossi was going to make Jackie pay, and not cut the woman in. So she found herself another man to take care of him.”

  “What about the Miami policeman who was killed in Vegas?” she asked. “Jackie told me about him.”

  “He might’ve been getting too close. And now his partner’s missing, too.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “June,” I said, “what’s the woman’s name?”

  “If I tell you that, Jackie will have my head.”

  “Do you think Jackie will tell me?”

  “Never.”

  “Then you have to,” I said. “You or Marilyn.”

  “Marilyn never would.”

  “Okay, then,” I said, “it’s up to you.”

  June bit her lip, reminding me of her sister.

  “It’s the only way we’re gonna find out anythin’,” Jerry told her.

  “Her name,” she said, slowly, “was Madame Merlina.”

  “Really?” I said. “Is that her real name?”

  “That’s the name Jackie knows her by,” June said.

  I looked at Jerry. He’d been quiet for most of the conversation, and now he just shrugged.

  “Okay,” I said, “Madame Merlina. Where was she located?”

  “A place called Cassadaga.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Somewhere between Daytona Beach and Orlando.”

  “Do we have to fly there?”

  “If you fly to either place you’ll still have to drive. Jackie had his driver take him there from here. But remember, he hates flying.”

  “Wait a minute,” I s
aid. “I remember reading in the paper that Rossi lived in Orlando.”

  “So we can kill two birds with one stick,” Jerry said.

  “Stone,” I said. “Two birds with one stone, but I know what you mean. Check out Madame Merlina, and Rossi in one trip.”

  “Why Rossi?” June asked. “I mean, he obviously worked for Merlina.”

  “Then who killed him?” I asked. “And why? We need to find that out.” I looked at Jerry. “We’re going to Orlando and Cassadaga.”

  FIFTY TWO

  Jerry and I agreed not to tell Jackie Gleason or Marilyn Taylor what we were doing. And June went along with it.

  “When will you tell Jackie what you’ve done?” she asked.

  “When we find the killer,” I said, “and everybody is safe.”

  “Will you tell him that I told you about the psychic?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  “Then who would you say told you about her?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll figure out something.”

  “No,” she said, then, “I should tell him, and let the chips fall where they may.”

  “That’ll be up to you.”

  She brightened slightly. “Where are you staying?”

  “A place called The Pink Grotto.”

  “I know that place,” she said. “It’s a hot sheet hotel, where hookers take their johns.”

  “We haven’t spent a night there, yet,” I said. “I guess we would have found that out tonight.”

  “You can’t sleep there,” she said. “Come home with me.”

  “Home?” Jerry asked.

  “I have a house and plenty of room. It’s too late for you to drive to Orlando today. You can get an early start in the morning. Do you have a car?”

  “A car and driver,” I said.

  “Stick around here for about another hour,” she said. “You can take me home, and I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  I looked at Jerry. “Sounds better than the Pink Grotto,” he said.

  “Okay, then,” I said. “We’ll go to the hotel and get our things, then pick you up.”

  “Good.” She put her hand on my arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Eddie.”

  We left her dressing room. She went back to work, and we went back to the car.

  ***

  Esteban pulled up in front of the Pink Grotto.