by John Hudson
I knew the answer but I asked the question anyway. "What would it take to get her to help me?"
Star gave me a look that could be best described as amused contempt, and said, "What else--money."
That, unfortunately, was one option I didn't have. I doubted her friend would get excited about the six dollars I had on me. Something else would have to motivate her. "How about survival, think she'd be interested in that?" I asked.
Star looked confused and said, "What do you mean by that?"
"It's simple. If Vinnie goes to prison, your friend's out hustling on the streets again. Do you think she'd like that?"
Star shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe, yes, maybe no, it all depends on how he treats her." She had a point. Maybe her friend would consider Vinnie's going to jail an improvement. I was praying she wouldn't.
Vinnie's girlfriend looked a little like Jean Harlow. She had the boyish body and over-bleached blonde hair, but Harlow's innocent sexuality was replaced by a hard overconfidence worn like a suit of armor.
Star introduced me to her. "Mary, this is Kelly O'Brien. He's the guy I told you about."
Mary extended her hand in the European manner with the palm down. I'd never mastered the art of hand kissing so I gently shook it. "I'm glad to meet you, Mary."
Mary threw her head back and said, "The feelings mutual." She put a cigarette in a long holder and waited for me to light it. She took a drag and formed her mouth into a red circle and blew a smoke ring. She flicked the ash on the carpet and glided toward the bar. "I'd like a drink," she said. "It's a long dusty drive out here." She ordered a champagne cocktail, and the bartender poured me a rum and water without being told. Mary took a sip and said, "Star tells me you have some information that could be of importance to a friend of mine. What is it?"
"Your friend should be made aware that a grand jury is investigating him, and a snitch is feeding them."
"Feeding them what?"
"All of his secrets."
Mary shrugged her shoulders and acted as if she didn't understand what I talking about. I couldn't tell if she really was that dumb or if she didn't care. She blew another smoke ring and said indifferently, "I don't see how that affects me."
Maybe Star was right. Maybe Mary didn't give a damn and the only way she'd cooperate was if I paid her. Still, I couldn't believe it was in her best interest for Vinnie to go to jail. "You tell me," I said. "How it would affect you if Vinnie went to jail."
That got her attention. She gave me a suspicious look and said, "Why would he be going to jail?"
"That would depend on what the snitch knows."
She pulled the cigarette out of the holder and ground out. She threw back the rest of her drink and said, "Who's this snitch you keep taking about?"
"I don't know who it is."
"Then how do you know he exists?"
She knew as much as I wanted her to know. "He exists and how I know I'll only tell Vinnie."
Mary tried to get me to tell her more by going into a pouty-little-girl routine. "You can tell me and I'll tell him," she purred.
I wasn't buying her act. "No, I'll tell Vinnie and only Vinnie."
Mary didn't like it but she said, "Okay. How can Vinnie get a hold of you?"
"He can't. Everything has to go through Billie and I won’t deal with him unless it's handled that way. Tell him the sooner the better too."
Mary let out a sigh and said, "Okay. I'll tell him...is there anything else?"
"That's all for now."
Mary minced off to talk to Star leaving me with some drunk who wanted to talk about plumbing supplies. It was time to go home. Billie was talking to some butter and egg guy across the room. I waited until he moved off and I walked over and said softly, "Thanks for all your help. I owe you."
Billie smiled and said, "I'll put it on your tab."
The night air felt wonderful. It was just cool enough to wake me up, and it cleared my lungs of stale cigarette smoke. There were a lot of if's and things that could go wrong, but at least I might have a fighting chance to keep from getting railroaded into prison. What happened during the next few days would make all the difference.
The part of this that really chapped my ass was both Dick and Ted Kemper not only thought I was a crook, but they thought I was a stupid crook. I'd have to be crazy to take a pay-off in public. It was the ultimate insult. Now, more than ever, I wanted to prove them wrong.
When I arrived home I saw what looked like an unmarked prowl-car parked across the street. I was tempted to ask what in the hell they thought they were doing. Fortunately I didn't, because the unmarked car turned out to be a kid making out with his date.
I was too awake to go to bed. I had to find something to do or I'd drive myself crazy. I'd been putting off cleaning up my notes on the Del Rio case. I'd been stuffing them into my pockets then into a shoe box. I needed to consolidate all the information and get it into one notebook.
As I pulled out pieces of paper, I re-read them so I could put them into the right pile. After reviewing my notes, I had a feeling something was missing--but what? I was by now too tired to think. I fell into bed and quickly drifted off into a dreamless sleep. The arms of Morpheus were fractured at six-thirty by a ringing doorbell. I threw open the door and Rudy handed me a note.
Dear Kelly,
He wants to see you. He suggested a meeting at Hoover Dam. If that's okay, tell Rudy and I'll relay the message.
Billie
XXXXX
I wasn't totally awake and it took a few seconds to reply to the note. I mumbled, "I'll meet him there at four." Rudy started to leave and I said, "Did Billie say what I'm supposed to do once I get there?"
Rudy gave me a gap toothed grin and said, "She said take the tour of the dam and to have a damn good time." Rudy chucked at his joke as he walked away. It was nice some one found this amusing--I certainly didn’t.
The afternoon heat made the thirty-mile drive to Hoover Dam feel like it was much longer. The road twisted and turned and all I could see was Nevada desert until I crested a hill. Sitting below me was one of the greatest achievements of America--the Hoover Dam. It was breathtaking, and I slowed down to enjoy the majesty of the dam from afar.
A tour guide passed by at three-forty-five and said the next tour was in fifteen minutes. I bought my ticket and got in line. In front of me was a man, his wife, and several kids. He must have worked on the dam because the kids kept asking if he worked on this or that. He would answer, with justifiable pride, "yes" or "no" to their questions. The line started moving and the guide told us to step into the elevator. He kept telling more people to get in until we were packed in like sardines. He shut the door and announced we would be descending five-hundred and twenty-eight feet in twelve seconds. He pushed a button and the elevator plunged into the bowels of the dam. The door opened and it was a relief to move again. The guide told us to line up in a long hallway covered with black and white tiles. The walls were cool and a slight breeze blew down the hall. After we lined up, the guide started his spiel about the dam. "...construction started in nineteen twenty eight and four years later it was completed. Two years ahead of schedule..."
I didn't pay much attention to the guide. I was thinking about how Vinnie might contact me. I hope he'd be smart enough not to do it in public.
"If you'll follow me," the guide suggested. "I'll show you the generator gallery." We marched along the hallway and entered a huge room. On both sides of the room were huge cylinders sticking out of the floor. The guide pointed below us and announced. "There are seventeen generators producing two million kilowatts of electricity in this room. On the left, the generators are numbered with the prefix A for Arizona and on the right they are numbered with a N for Nevada. If you'll look at the top of the generator, you will notice a light. If the light is on, then the generator is working at the present time."
I felt a slight tug on my sleeve. I looked around and Vinnie's girlfriend, Mary, was standing behind me. She motioned for me to
follow her. We moved to the back of the group and waited until the tour moved off. She unsnapped a chain barring some stairs that led up to a louvered aluminum door. She opened the door and walked down a hallway with more aluminum doors on both sides. She opened the last door on the right and sitting behind a desk was Vinnie Costello. He looked at Mary and said, "Catch up with the tour and ride up with them. I'll meet you in the car." She wasn't pleased and slammed the door as a way of making her objection known.
Vinnie crossed his arms and said, "This better be good. I've gone to a lot of trouble arranging this meeting."
I had a hot flash for Vinnie I'd gone to a bit of trouble myself. "It wasn't all that easy for me either."
"Okay, so we both went to some trouble. What's this all about?"
"You got a snitch in your organization."
To my surprise Vinnie didn't even blink. "So, tell me something I don't know."
I told him about the film taken at the delicatessen and that it was known he'd offered me fifty twenty dollar chips. Vinnie looked bored, until I said, "They're going to charge you with bribery. Once they convict you they'll pull your gambling license. Then the Attorney General will try and force the sale of the Flamingo to a more acceptable group of owners."
Admittedly, no one had actually said that but it was a fairly good guess and it got Vinnie's attention. Losing his gambling license was something he could ill afford. He'd be banned for life from even entering a casino, let alone running one. I doubted the guys who really owned the Flamingo would like that. Bugsy Siegel found out how those guys took business setbacks, and Vinnie worked for the same guys.
Vinnie started fiddling with his shirt collar and asked, "Who's the snitch?"
"I don't know, but it has to be someone who knew you offered me fifty twenty‑dollar chips. That should narrow down the field." I was getting nervous and I said, "I'd better go. I've got to catch up with the tour."
He motioned for me to sit. "Relax," he said. "They're long gone, and the next tour isn't going to be here for five minutes."
I was curious about something. "How did you get access to this office?"
Vinnie giggled like a little kid, and said, "The guy who works in this office is a customer of mine and he gets a little late with his loan payments sometimes. So I made him a deal."
Vinnie pulled out a huge cigar and lit it. From behind a haze of blue smoke he said, "Now it's my turn to ask a question. I understand that you recently went to California to check out some guy who works for Cohen that might have whacked Johnny. What did you find out?"
I was on thin ice here. While I needed Vinnie's help, I didn't want to get into bed with him. "I don't think I should say anything about that."
Vinnie laughed and said, "You got some stones. Here you come to me wanting my help but you don't offer any."
He had a point and it really didn't make much difference if he knew about what happened in California. "We couldn't find a connection between Mickey Cohen and either Johnny or Tony's death."
Vinnie flicked an ash off his cigar and said, "I wouldn't worry about Tony too much. His and Johnny's death are not related--take my word for it."
"What do you mean they're not related?"
Vinnie shook his head and replied, "I give one you give one. If I answered that, I'd be giving two. Anyway I hear your tour coming." Vinnie opened the door and said, "I'll keep in touch."
I had to hurry to catch up with the tour. Fortunately, no one noticed me and I blended into the back of the group.
Exiting the dam was like being reborn. Suddenly from the confined depths of the dam it was all open spaces and light. I hoped that in all that light and space there wasn't someone waiting and watching.
Chapter Twelve
Dancing in the Desert
The day drug into night and with each passing car, I'd wonder if I was going to hear a knock on my door and the declaration that my meeting with Vinnie had been discovered. I was slowly driving myself crazy. I laid out my new old suit and looked at myself in the mirror. Billie was right. I needed a new suit. I looked like a Fuller Brush salesman. I straightened my tie and headed downtown.
The sun was fading and it was getting hard to see. I switched on my headlights and the radio. I picked up a Los Angeles be-bop station. Stick McGee was singing about, "...drinkin' wine, Spo-Dee-O-Dee...Drinkin'...wine, wine, wine..." I drummed the rhythm on the steering wheel with my fingers as I drove to a local watering hole on the west side called Benny's Wigwam Club. I was going there for two reasons. One, Southside Sammy’s one weakness was prizefighting. Since there were no local fights of any significance, Sammy had to watch them on television and the only place in town that had a television was Benny's Wigwam Club. My second reason was one of my old sparring partners Polo Martinez was fighting in the main event tonight.
Benny made the most out of having a television. He'd double the prices and insist on a two drink minimum. But if you wanted to see the “Gillette Cavalcade of Sports”, you paid Benny's price. Seeing was a bit of an overstatement since the television signal had to be imported 275 miles from Los Angeles, and the reception wasn't exactly terrific. It would have been nonexistent except Benny paid an engineer at KLAV radio to jury-rig up some kind of antenna and signal-booster which made a picture almost viewable.
You had to get to the Wigwam club early since the only place the picture could actually be seen from was within fifteen feet of the set. Anyone who'd been here before knew that, and the good seats filled up fast. If you came late, you would have to use your imagination to a greater or lesser degree, depending upon where you could find a seat. I snagged a close-in seat and ordered a beer. The waitress sat down a half-full glass of beer and asked for a dollar. I reluctantly paid her and waited for the television to be switched on. Benny made sure it was turned on just before show time. He didn't want people to know just how bad the picture was until he had to.
I looked around the room but Sammy was no where to be seen. Just before eight, the television was switched on, and a ghostly image flickered on the screen. The engineer started fiddling with the set. After a few minutes, the picture was as good as it was going to get, and the engineer received a small round of applause for his efforts. The program started with a cartoon about the sponsor's product. A silly parrot wearing a hat dancing around singing, "Look sharp...Feel sharp...Be sharp...and listen mister how are you fixed for blades?"
Then there was a picture of an empty ring and an off-camera announcer said; "Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen, and welcome to an evening of boxing from the fabulous Forum in Los Angeles California. Tonight on “The Gillette Cavalcade of Sports” our main event will be top contenders in the middleweight division. Let's go to the ring announcer for the introductions."
The ring announcer wearing a tuxedo got a big smile in his voice and said; "And now here's what you've been waiting for...the main event! In the red corner weighing in at one-hundred and sixty-six pounds from Paterson, New Jersey, with a record of twelve wins, three losses and one draw, is the fighting Irishman Jerry-eee Down-eeeee."
The Forum gave him a nice round of applause. Then the announcer re-claimed the audience's attention when he said; "In the blue corner weighing one-hundred and sixty-four pounds from Oakland, California, with a record of fifty-five wins, ten loses and four draws is the number three contender in the world...Poe-low Martin-ezzz."
The Forum erupted in applause. They had to bang the bell several times to get the crowd calmed down. The referee called the fighters to the center of the ring and gave instructions neither one acknowledged. By this time the only thing on your mind was hurting the guy standing in front of you. They touched gloves and went to their corners.
The first four rounds weren't much. Both guys traded a few jabs and probed for a weakness in the other fighter. Halfway through the forth Polo landed a hard shot and Downey's knees buckled. Polo pressed the attack and pounded Downey on the ropes. In desperation, Downey lunged forward and butted Polo with his head. Polo was cut
and I was on my feet yelling that the ref should give the fight to Polo. The butt was intentional and Downey should have been disqualified. But the ref let the fight go on. Blood ran into Polo's left eye and he couldn't see. Downey hit him with everything he had. Polo tried to stay away from him but Downey kept slugging away. Just before the round ended, Polo lashed out and connected with a vicious left hook. Downey crumpled like an old dish rag. Polo moved to a neutral corner, but the bell rang after the count reached three. Downey's corner men drug him to his corner. The ring doctor examined Polo and stopped the fight because of the cut.
They literally carried Downey to the middle of the ring to hold up his hand in victory. Polo won but it didn't matter. The guy they wanted to win--won. Maybe it was arranged or maybe it just happened. Either way Polo lost, and with it went his chance at the title. At his age he didn't have time to work his way back through all the bums to regain his ranking. I felt for him and wished I was in Los Angeles to tell him.
They hastily threw two other kids into the ring for a four-rounder to fill out the program. In the second round, the picture dissolved into a series of jagged lines. The engineer tried to fix the picture. After a few minutes, he gave up and switched off the set.
I stood up and was looking for Sammy when someone pulled on my sleeve. I turned around and Al Bernstein's houseboy Julio handed me a piece of paper. He smiled and said, "Mister Kelly, this is for you."
The note said; "I'd like to suggest you do your road work out on Blue Diamond Road tomorrow morning--park by the old barn about seven." It was signed with a capital "A".
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around expecting to see Julio, but it was Danny Daily. "Hey, Kelly, you see the fight?" he asked.
"Yeah, I saw the fight."
"Well, then, take heart me boy-o. One of us from the old sod won and a fine victory it was."
I wanted to tell Danny I didn't think Jerry Downey could whip cream let alone Polo Martinez but I didn't. "Yeah, it was a wonderful victory. Too bad they had to prop him up like that to hold up his hand. It took a little of the thrill off the victory."