Fly Me to the Morgue

by Robert J. Randisi

  ‘Go up in the hay loft and see if I can spot his dust.’

  ‘OK. I’ll pull the car over there.’

  I ran into the barn and up the ladder to the loft. When I looked out I spotted a cloud of dust in the distance. Jerry pulled the Caddy up right in front.

  ‘Anything?’ he shouted.

  ‘I’m comin’ down.’

  I considered jumping down into the seat from the loft, like in the movies, but in the end I chickened out. I hurried down from the loft by the ladder and got in the car.

  ‘Go!’ I said. ‘Maybe we can catch up to him.’

  He turned the Caddy in our own cloud of dust and took off down the road.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Jerry had the pedal to the metal and, from the look on his face, he was loving it.

  We were kicking up so much of our own dust it was hard to see any clouds ahead of us, even though we were leaving most of ours behind.

  ‘I think we’re gainin’ on him!’ Jerry shouted.

  He took his .45 out and put it in his lap.

  ‘We get close to him you might have to take the wheel, Mr G.’

  ‘If we kill him,’ I said, ‘we won’t be able to ask who sent him.’

  ‘So we’ll try not to kill ’im.’

  I stared ahead through the windshield, trying to see if we were catching up to him or not. Jerry had to run the windshield wipers from time to time to get the dirt off but it only seemed to be making it worse. I tried leaning my head out so I could look around the windshield, but I only ended up with sand in my eyes.

  ‘Jerry.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t think we’re gaining.’

  ‘We’ll be at the highway soon,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what happens then.’

  What happened when we got to Highway 159 was that we didn’t know which way he had gone. Jerry came to a stop and we looked both ways.

  ‘Pick one,’ he said. ‘Where do they each go?’

  ‘Either direction,’ I said, ‘takes you back to Vegas, eventually.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘then pick one.’

  ‘That way,’ I said, pointing to the direction we had come from town.

  He turned right and stepped on the gas.

  ‘Take it easy,’ I said. ‘We’ve got Highway patrol along here. The last thing we need is to get picked up by the cops.’

  ‘Yeah, OK.’

  By the time we came within sight of the city we had both long since given up the ghost.

  ‘Tell me why somebody would try to kill you,’ I said to Jerry.

  ‘Me? Why do you think they were tryin’ to kill me?’

  ‘He shot at you, right?’

  ‘Well . . . yeah, but maybe he thought I was you.’

  ‘Excuse me, Jerry, but you and me, we don’t look alike.’

  ‘Maybe through a kitchen window, we do.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ I said. ‘OK, so why would anyone want to kill either of us?’

  He shrugged. ‘I dunno.’

  ‘The only reason we’d be out there is if we were looking into Chris’s death,’ I said.

  ‘The shooter would hafta know we were comin’, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘He’d hafta be waitin’ there for us.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘So who knew we were goin’ out there?’

  ‘Well, the Vegas Dick and his girl.’

  ‘Danny and Penny, yeah,’ I said.

  ‘And who else?’ he asked.

  ‘Adrienne,’ I said. ‘She left us the key.’

  ‘So she set us up?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘That’s hard to believe,’ I said, ‘but what else can I believe?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘she told somebody.’

  I looked at him.

  ‘Like her brother?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘there’s only one way to find out.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘ask her.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Ask her.’

  FORTY-FIVE

  Back at the Sands I called Adrienne’s number from Jerry’s suite, but got no answer.

  ‘I’ll try her again, later,’ I said.

  ‘Do we know where she lives?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘She only told me she’d be staying at that house.’

  ‘So maybe she ain’t gone back, yet, and found the mess.’

  ‘She might think we’re dead.’

  ‘She ain’t gonna see no blood.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘whether she set us up or not, she’ll call when she gets back. Maybe to see if we’re dead, or to see if we’re all right.’

  I called the front desk, and told them where I was, told them to put through any calls for me to Jerry’s suite.

  ‘I gotta take a shower, Mr G.,’ Jerry said, when I hung up. ‘I got sand in the crack of my ass.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’

  ‘You can take a shower after me,’ he said.

  I started to say I’d go downstairs and do that, and change, but remembered that I hadn’t replaced the clothes in my locker.

  ‘Yeah, OK.’

  ‘Sorry I ain’t got anything that would fit you, Mr G.’

  ‘That’s OK. I’ll just . . . shake the sand out of my clothes.’

  ‘I’ll be quick,’ he said, and went down the hall. The next moment I heard the shower.

  I went to the bar and poured myself a small bourbon. I was sipping it when the phone rang.

  ‘Yeah, hello?’

  ‘Mr Gianelli? Eddie?’

  ‘Oh, hello, Adrienne.’

  ‘What the hell happened out here?’ she asked. ‘There’s broken glass all over the kitchen, and what I think are . . . bullet holes? In the wall?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Jerry and I drove out, used your key to get in, and somebody took some shots at us.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, we’re fine.’

  ‘Did you . . . do you know who . . . why would anyone shoot at you?’ she stammered.

  ‘I don’t know, Adrienne,’ I said. ‘Jerry and I were talking about that on the way back. Only a few people knew we were gonna be out there.’

  ‘Including me, right?’

  ‘Adrienne,’ I said, ‘did you try to have me killed today?’

  ‘I did not,’ she said.

  ‘Did you tell anyone I’d be out there?’

  ‘You said you told somebody.’

  ‘I told my private detective friend,’ I said. ‘I don’t think he’d try to have me killed.’

  ‘What about his girl?’

  ‘She wouldn’t, either.’

  ‘Who else did you tell?’

  ‘Nobody,’ I said. ‘Who did you tell, Adrienne?’

  She hesitated then said, ‘I talked to my brother, Eric.’

  ‘Is he the accountant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In Las Vegas.’

  ‘His office is here in Vegas?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘Henderson.’

  ‘Where do you live, Adrienne?’

  ‘Henderson.’

  ‘Is that where you are now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want to talk to Eric.’

  ‘I can arrange that.’

  ‘Today.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I want you to be there.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If somebody tries to shoot me again I want to be able to hide behind you.’

  ‘Why would anyone—’

  ‘Let’s not go there again,’ I said, as Jerry came walking in, dressed in clean clothes. He made a sign to me that I took to mean ‘Is that her?’ and I nodded.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Give me your brother’s address.’

  ‘If we go there in the next three hours he’ll be in his office.’

  ‘That’s where I’d like to talk to him.’

  ‘A
ll right. One hour?’

  ‘Where is it?’

  She gave me the address.

  ‘Make it an hour and a half,’ I said. ‘I need to shower and change after driving out to Red Rock to get shot at.’

  ‘Eddie, I’m so sorry . . .’

  ‘If you didn’t shoot at us,’ I said, ‘or hire it done, you don’t need to be sorry.’

  ‘Nevertheless . . .’

  ‘Is there a place to have coffee near your brother’s office?’

  ‘Yes, right downstairs.’

  ‘Let’s meet there first,’ I said. ‘I want to talk to you before we go up.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I’ll see you soon, Adrienne.’

  ‘See you, Eddie.’

  I hung up.

  ‘If we get set up again we’ll know it’s her.’

  ‘I’m gonna take a quick shower,’ I said, ‘and then we’re gonna drive over there early.’

  FORTY-SIX

  Eric Arnold’s office building was on 7th Street and Bridger, a few blocks from the El Cortez Casino. I wondered if he was a gambler.

  I was sitting in the coffee shop downstairs when Adrienne came walking in.

  ‘What’ll you have?’ I asked.

  ‘Coffee and a Danish,’ she said, leaning over to put her purse on the floor by her feet.

  I waved the waitress over and ordered what she wanted, and asked for a warm up on mine.

  ‘Where’s your friend?’ she asked. ‘Jerry?’

  ‘He’s making sure nobody shoots at me.’

  ‘Eddie,’ she said, ‘I didn’t have anything to do with that.’

  I stared at her for a few moments, then said, ‘I believe you. Can you say for sure that Eric didn’t?’

  ‘I . . . want to say no.’

  ‘But you can’t.’

  ‘Not for sure, no,’ she said. ‘I mean . . . there’s always a possibility, I guess.’

  ‘Your sister didn’t know anything about this, did she?’

  ‘About you going out to Red Rock? Why would I tell her?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why would you tell Eric?’

  ‘I was talking to him about Christopher, and about Philip,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘I guess I just told him that you were going out there.’

  ‘If Eric had a reason to send someone to shoot me,’ I said, ‘he’d have a reason not to want Chris’s killer caught.’

  ‘I don’t know what that reason would be.’

  ‘How do Philip and Eric get along?’

  ‘Like brothers. They loved each other, they fought.’

  ‘Does Philip bully Eric?’

  ‘He did, when we were kids,’ she said. ‘Not so much as adults . . . I guess.’

  Her breakfast and my warm up came. I looked out the window. Jerry actually was somewhere out there, making sure I didn’t get shot. Also checking to see if Adrienne had brought anyone with her.

  She ate her pastry like a man, no delicate little bites, no breaking off little pieces. She made it look good.

  We finished our coffee.

  ‘I’m gonna go up and see Eric now.’

  ‘OK,’ she said, reaching down for her purse, ‘let’s go.’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘you don’t have to come.’

  ‘You said—’

  ‘I changed my mind,’ I said. ‘Jerry’s gonna come up with me.’

  We went outside.

  ‘You sure you don’t want me to come up with you?’ she asked.

  ‘No, that’s OK.’

  ‘Is Jerry going to . . . knock him around?’ she asked.

  ‘What makes you think Jerry knocks people around?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘He’s big,’ she said, ‘and he handled my brother Philip rather easily.’

  ‘Adrienne,’ I said, ‘before you go, give me your home address and phone. I want to be able to reach you.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ She fished around in her purse and handed me a business card.

  ‘This building is pretty close to Fremont Street and all the casinos,’ I said. ‘Is Eric a gambler?’

  ‘Yes, he is. Blackjack, mostly.’

  ‘What about Chris and Philip?’

  ‘Chris, no, Philip, yes.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll call you.’

  ‘Um, Eddie? Don’t hurt Eric . . . any more than you have to?’

  ‘I’m hopin’ not to have to hurt him at all.’

  She nodded, then walked to her car, which was several store-fronts away. I watched her get in and drive away. When I looked around Jerry was crossing the street towards me.

  ‘She came alone,’ he said, joining me on the sidewalk. ‘Guess you let her go because you believed her?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You thinkin’ with your dick, Mr G?’

  ‘Jerry, the one thing I know about my dick,’ I said, ‘is that it never thinks.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I getcha. Mine, neither. We goin’ up?’

  I nodded.

  ‘We’re goin’ up.’

  FORTY-SEVEN

  According to the building directory, Eric Arnold, certified public accountant, had offices on the 7th floor. Also on his floor were two bail-bondsmen, an importer/exporter, and a private detective agency called All Night Eyes.

  ‘High class,’ Jerry said.

  When we entered his office, a pretty secretary or receptionist looked up at us. I’d forgotten to ask Adrienne if her brother had partners, or employees. Damn. Now this girl was going to be able to identify us.

  ‘Can I help you gentlemen?’ She had a high-pitched voice that was kind of cute.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘we have an appointment with Mr Arnold.’

  ‘Who shall I say is here?’

  ‘Mr Gianelli and Mr Epstein.’ I didn’t have a choice. ‘The appointment was arranged by his sister, Adrienne.’

  ‘I’ll tell him.’

  She stood up, walked to one of two doors behind her, knocked and entered.

  ‘Why didn’t she use her intercom thing?’ Jerry wondered.

  ‘Maybe it’s not workin’,’ I said.

  The door opened again and she reappeared. She leaned against the open door with her hands behind her back. The position made her pert breasts even perter. And she knew it.

  ‘You can go in,’ she said, looking Jerry up and down. ‘You’re big,’ she said, as we passed her.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ducking his head, as if that would make him smaller.

  She closed the door behind us.

  Eric Arnold stood up from behind his desk. He was tall, like his sister, but slender, a little younger. Bore no resemblance to the hulking Philip. He was wearing a blue suit, white shirt, blue-and-red tie.

  ‘Mr Gianelli?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Adrienne said you’d be by,’ he said, putting out his hand. ‘And this is your friend?’

  ‘Jerry Epstein,’ I said, shaking the accountant’s hand.

  He didn’t shake Jerry’s hand.

  ‘You’re the guy who found my brother,’ Eric said.

  ‘Yes,’ Jerry said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Hey, I’m glad you found him,’ Eric said. ‘Have a seat. Tell me what I can do for you. Adrienne didn’t say. Do you need legal advice?’

  ‘No, Mr Arnold,’ I said, ‘that’s not what we’re here for.’

  Eric spread his arms expansively and asked, ‘Well, what then?’

  ‘Adrienne said you might be able to tell us something about your brother Philip.’

  ‘My brother Philip?’ he said. ‘What could I tell you . . .’

  ‘Something about his business practices.’

  He frowned.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, looking back and forth at us. ‘Why would I tell the two of you anything about my brother?’

  ‘Let me put this another way, Mr Arnold,’ I said. ‘We drove out to Red Rock earlier today to have a look around, see if we could find out anything about your b
rother Chris’s death. While we were there somebody took some shots at us.’

  ‘You’re not the police,’ he said. ‘Why would you be looking into my brother’s death? I really don’t have to talk to you.’

  ‘Yeah, you do,’ Jerry said.

  ‘Oh? Why’s that?’ Eric asked, looking at Jerry.

  ‘Because we’re not the cops.’

  Eric Arnold looked at me, a helpless expression on his face.

  ‘What is he talking about?’

  ‘I think he means since we’re not the cops we can do what we want,’ I said. ‘We don’t have any bosses to answer to.’

  The accountant swallowed and asked, ‘Whataya mean, you can do anything?’

  ‘I think Jerry’s referring to the fact that he could break one of your arms or legs if you don’t talk to us,’ I said, ‘and beat you to death with it, and nobody could stop him.’

  ‘What?’ Arnold asked, shrinking back in his chair. ‘What?’

  ‘Adrienne told you we were going out to Red Rock,’ I said. ‘I don’t think she sent somebody out there to shoot us. That leaves you, and maybe anybody that you told.’ I leaned forward in my chair. Jerry was sitting relaxed in his, one leg crossed over the other knee. ‘Who did you tell, Eric?’

  ‘I didn’t tell anybody!’

  ‘Then you sent the shooter out there to try to kill us.’

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘it’s one or the other.’

  Jerry put his leg down and leaned forward.

  ‘Wait, wait—’ Eric said.

  ‘I’m thinking Adrienne asked you for help with Philip, who’s trying to queer the deal with Bing Crosby to buy your dead brother’s horse,’ I said. ‘Only I don’t think she knows that you and Philip are workin’ together. Am I close?’

  ‘Philip’s my brother,’ Eric said. ‘Sometimes I help him with . . . with his books . . .’

  ‘And what else?’ I asked.

  ‘Look . . . wait . . .’ Eric stammered. ‘I’ve gotta think.’

  ‘We need less thinkin’,’ Jerry said, ‘and more talkin’.’

  Eric had a heavy oak desk, and Jerry wanted to make an impression on him. He put his right hand on the edge of the desk and, in one motion, shoved the heavy piece of furniture across the room, like it weighed nothing. That left space between Eric and us. The move even impressed me.

  ‘Jesus!’ Eric said, his eyes wide as the only buffer between him and Jerry disappeared.

  ‘Start talkin’,’ Jerry said.