When Somebody Kills You

by Robert J. Randisi

  ‘OK, good,’ I said. ‘Put Judy on the line.’

  Jerry came over while I was waiting and handed me a cup of coffee.

  TWENTY-SIX

  ‘Eddie?’

  ‘You all right, Judy?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ she said. ‘I had a wonderful talk with that young man you left here earlier. He’s a big fan.’

  ‘You have lots of fans, Judy,’ I said. ‘I need him there to protect you.’

  ‘Well, he’s outside, doing just that. He’s kind of small, isn’t he? But, then, Mickey was also short, and he’s the biggest small man I ever met.’

  I knew she was referring to Mickey Rooney.

  ‘He’ll do,’ I said. ‘Judy, we talked with Mark Herron. I’m afraid he wasn’t very helpful.’

  ‘I–I’m sure he tried his best,’ she said. ‘Maybe if I talked to him …’

  ‘You go ahead and do that,’ I said, ‘and then Jerry and I will have another talk with him.’

  ‘All right. I’ll do that as soon as I hang up, Eddie.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What else are you doing?’

  ‘We’re going to keep lookin’, Judy.’

  ‘Come to the house for dinner again.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I’d already decided it would be a good idea to talk to her each night, until the matter was resolved … somehow.

  ‘Can that young man come in and eat?’ she asked, hopefully. ‘He reminds me of Mickey.’

  ‘Really?’ I didn’t see it, unless he had red hair beneath his fedora. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you and Jerry later. And I’ll call Mark right now.’

  ‘See you later,’ I said, and hung up.

  ‘What’s up?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘She likes Kenny Boyd.’

  ‘Really?’ Jerry thought a moment. ‘Probably because he reminds her of Mickey Rooney.’

  ‘What? You, too?’

  ‘Well, they’re both little guys.’

  ‘I don’t see it,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe he’s got red hair.’

  ‘We’ll find out tonight. She wants us all to come to dinner.’

  ‘That’s OK with me,’ Jerry said. ‘Her cook’s pretty good.’

  ‘Yeah, she is.’

  ‘What’s on your mind, Mr G.?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You look like somethin’s worryin’ ya.’

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ I said, ‘I’m just wonderin’ if we’re chasin’ our tail on this, while there are men out there tryin’ to figure out a way to kill me.’

  ‘You got Danny workin’ on it,’ Jerry said. ‘And maybe Mr Entratter.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘but the more we come up empty on Judy, the more I think we should be out there lookin’ for whoever put that contract out on me.’

  ‘Who do you think it could be?’

  ‘You know,’ I said, ‘for a few minutes I thought it might be Hargrove. Crazy, huh?’

  ‘He pretty much hates your guts,’ Jerry said, ‘but he hates mine, too. I think he’d put out a hit on both of us.’

  ‘You’re probably right. So not him. Then who?’

  ‘Who have you pissed off that much?’

  ‘I’ve lain awake in bed a few nights tryin’ to figure that one out,’ I said. ‘I’m not a cop, I haven’t put criminals away.’

  ‘You’ve helped Mr S. and Dino out over the past few years,’ he said. ‘Sammy Davis, too. Maybe somebody don’t like your relationship with them.’

  ‘You think this is jealousy?’

  Jerry shrugged. ‘If it’s somebody’s husband, it’s because of jealousy,’ he pointed out.

  ‘A husband would come after me himself.’

  ‘I’ve known jealous hubbies to hire hitmen.’

  ‘Maybe – but to put out an open contract? For that much money? That would have to be a rich husband, and I haven’t been with any rich women in the past – well, hardly ever! I think a husband is out.’

  He sat down across from me. ‘What about the Kennedys?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows. ‘They got the money.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve pissed off Joe Kennedy that much.’ Had I?

  ‘I don’t wanna say this but …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘You got mob connections, Mr G.’

  ‘You think Sam Giancana put out an open contract on me?’ I asked.

  Jerry shrugged. ‘Why don’t we ask him?’

  I was wondering if Jack Entratter had already done that, decided to call him and find out.

  ‘Have I what?’

  ‘Asked Momo if he put out a contract on me?’

  ‘You think I can just call Sam and ask him that?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jack,’ I said. ‘Can you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you think, Eddie, but Momo and I aren’t asshole buddies. I’ve put the word out where I can, and I’m waitin’ to hear, but nothin’ yet.’

  ‘OK, Jack.’

  ‘Eddie!’ he said, before I could hang up.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘If things get really bad,’ he said, ‘maybe you could get Frank to ask him.’

  ‘I haven’t told Frank a thing about this, Jack,’ I said, ‘but you’re right. If things get real bad, I’ll ask Frank.’

  I hung up, thinking that somebody had put up a butt load of money for an open contract on my life. How much worse could things get?

  We talked it over a bit more, and then I decided to call it quits. Jerry went into his bedroom for a nap; I turned on the TV and made some coffee. We’d talked to both of Judy’s managers and her husband-to-be. Who was left?

  When Jerry came back out a couple of hours later, rubbing his eyes, the TV was off and I was just staring at the wall.

  ‘Sid Luft,’ I said.

  ‘Mr G., you think Sid Luft put a hit out on you?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m thinkin’ about Judy’s problem now. We have to talk to the ex-husband.’

  ‘All of ’em?’

  ‘Nope,’ I said, ‘just the last one. Sid Luft.’

  ‘Where do we find him?’

  ‘That’s what we’ll ask Judy tonight,’ I replied. ‘Also, we should probably talk to someone at the CBS studio, and her record label.’

  ‘All good ideas, Mr G., but right now I’m kinda hungry.’

  ‘For once,’ I said, ‘I’m with you, Jerry. Let’s go.’

  We went out to the front of the hotel and saw the limo sitting there, Greg behind the wheel. He must have been watching for us because he popped out immediately to open the door. Before coming around to our side, he slammed the driver’s side door …

  And the car went up in a ball of flames.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  We were approaching the car, and were close enough to be thrown off our feet by the explosion. As we were lying on the pavement, flaming pieces of metal and broken glass began to rain down on and around us. Before I knew it, Jerry had covered me with his big body.

  ‘Jerry,’ I yelled, ‘get off me!’

  He didn’t respond immediately.

  ‘Jerry?’

  When he didn’t move, I struggled out from beneath his weight. That’s when I saw that a piece of metal had imbedded itself in his left shoulder. If he hadn’t covered me, it would have been sticking out of my back.

  People came streaming out of the hotel.

  ‘Call an ambulance!’ I shouted.

  ‘For him,’ somebody asked, ‘or for you?’

  I frowned, went to stand up and fell on to my back again, pain shooting through my leg. I looked down and saw a shard of glass sticking out of my thigh.

  I passed out after that …

  I woke in a hospital. It was easy to tell from the smells, even with my eyes closed. But I opened them anyway, just to make sure. All the people in white were the clincher.

  ‘Hey?’ I said.

  A nurse stopped in mid-run and turned to look at me.

  ‘You’ll be all right,
sir,’ she said. ‘Just don’t move. There’s an emergency right now.’

  ‘What,’ I called out, as she turned away, ‘what emergency?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ a man said. ‘It’s not your friend.’

  I turned my head in the other direction, saw a man in a cheap suit standing there.

  ‘Cop?’ I asked.

  He nodded, arms folded.

  ‘Where is my friend?’

  ‘A few beds down,’ he said. ‘Resting comfortably, they tell me. They got that piece of metal out of his shoulder. It wasn’t too bad.’

  ‘But … he was out.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘another piece hit him on the head and knocked him out. He’s got a nasty lump, maybe a concussion. But he’ll be all right. And so will you. They bandaged your leg. The glass missed your femoral artery.’

  ‘You know a lot,’ I said.

  ‘I got here fast,’ he said. ‘The name’s Detective Lynn Franklin.’

  ‘Don’t you usually work in pairs?’

  ‘My partner’s still at the scene.’

  ‘The scene …’ I tried to sit up suddenly, which was a bad idea. Pain shot through my leg. I fell back on to my elbows. ‘The driver?’

  ‘He’s not as lucky,’ Franklin said.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No,’ Franklin said, ‘but he’s unconscious. We assume he was outside the car—’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘And that probably saved him – that and the fact that the bomb was underneath the rear of the car, the passenger section.’

  ‘That would put it near the gas tank, right?’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Somebody screwed up. If they meant to kill a person in the back seat, they forgot to allow for the gas tank, and … blooey.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, sourly, falling on to my back again, ‘blooey.’

  Franklin approached the emergency-room bed I was lying on. ‘We got you and your buddy’s names.’ He took out a notebook. ‘Eddie Gianelli from Las Vegas, and Jerry Epstein from Brooklyn.’

  ‘And you’re Detective Lynn Franklin from LA?’

  ‘Beverly Hills, actually.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘I know that name. Franklin. You’re the guy who pulled over Bobby Kennedy’s car after Marilyn was … died.’

  ‘Actually, Peter Lawford was drivin’, but yeah, that’s me.’ He shrugged. ‘I was still on patrol then. Lawford was drivin’ erratically. I didn’t know Kennedy was in it.’

  ‘And that doctor – Greenberg – he was in it, too.’

  ‘It was Dr Greenson, but that’s right.’ He frowned at me. ‘How come you know so much?’

  ‘I was friends with Marilyn.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘And are you friends with Bobby Kennedy?’

  ‘Bobby’s no friend of mine,’ I said.

  ‘Well, then,’ Franklin said, ‘maybe we’ll get along.’

  ‘And do we have to get along?’

  ‘I’m investigatin’ this explosion, Mr Gianelli,’ Franklin said. ‘I’ll need to speak with you, and your friend, as well as the driver … if and when he wakes up.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I need to know,’ Franklin went on, ‘which of you this bomb might have been meant for.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Not the driver, I’m guessing. Besides, the bomb was under the passenger section. I guess that means it was meant for the passengers. Or … one of them in particular?’

  I wasn’t at all sure how to handle the situation and was about to plead a headache – or something – when a doctor appeared.

  ‘Hey, Doc!’ I said. I didn’t remember the man, but was really glad to see him. He was bald, but young, with wire-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Mr Gianelli,’ he said. ‘Am I … interrupting?’

  ‘Huh? Oh, no,’ I said. ‘No, I, uh, I’m havin’ a lot of pain. In my, uh, leg. Is there anythin’ you can do for that? Like, now?’

  The doctor looked at Franklin.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ the detective said. ‘Mr Gianelli, we’ll talk again. Soon.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, ‘sure. I just need to, you know, clear my head.’

  ‘Sure,’ Franklin said, ‘sure. Where are you stayin’ while you’re in Beverly Hills?’

  ‘Actually, we’re at the Beverly Hills Hotel. One of the bungalows.’

  ‘Right,’ Franklin said, ‘right. Must be all that casino money, huh?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘that’s right.’

  ‘I’ll need you to go now, Detective,’ the doctor said.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  As Franklin withdrew, the doctor looked at me and said, ‘Now, about that pain.’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘Never mind about the pain, Doc,’ I said. ‘How’s my friend? Jerry Epstein?’

  ‘I just came from him,’ he said. ‘I bandaged his shoulder. We’d like to keep him overnight, though, to be sure about the head injury.’

  ‘That’s OK.’

  ‘Is it? He says he can’t stay overnight.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘he’ll stay. Uh, what’s your name?’

  ‘Wyler, Dr Wyler.’

  ‘Well, Doc, my friend can be very stubborn, but I’ll make sure he stays put. Now, what about me?’

  ‘I was going to say we could release you as long as you can walk, but you mentioned the pain—’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ I said. ‘That was for the cop’s benefit.’

  ‘Ah, I see. So there’s no pain?’

  ‘Well, there is,’ I said, ‘but I assume some aspirin will take care of that?’

  ‘It should, yes,’ he said. ‘Unless it gets worse and you want something stronger.’

  ‘No, no,’ I said, ‘somethin’ stronger would knock me out, wouldn’t it?’

  He grinned. ‘It would certainly take the starch out of you.’

  ‘I kinda need all the starch I can get, so I’ll make do with aspirin.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ Wyler said. ‘I’ll sign you out.’

  ‘Can you tell me where Jerry is?’

  ‘I’ll take you to him.’

  ‘Great.’

  I moved to the edge of the bed, eased myself to the floor gingerly. When I put my weight on my leg, it wasn’t too bad. Well, it was a little worse than I let on, what with the doctor watching me and all, but it wasn’t unbearable.

  ‘Lead the way,’ I said.

  Jerry looked up at me when the doctor pulled the curtain aside.

  ‘Thanks, Doc.’

  ‘I’ll arrange for a room,’ he said.

  ‘A private room,’ I said. ‘Charge it to the Sands Casino in Las Vegas.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Hey, Mr G.,’ Jerry asked, ‘you OK?’

  ‘Thanks to you, I am,’ I said. ‘Although you almost crushed me with your weight.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I just meant to, you know …’

  ‘Yeah, I know. How are you feelin’?’

  ‘Just fine. Ready to get out of here?’

  ‘I am,’ I said. ‘You’re not.’

  He was bare-chested, except for a swathe of bandage around his left shoulder.

  ‘Whataya mean?’

  ‘They’re gonna keep you overnight to make sure your head injury isn’t too bad.’

  ‘My head’s fine.’

  ‘Got a headache?’

  ‘A little one.’

  ‘Yeah, well, we wanna make sure it ain’t a big one.’

  ‘Mr G.,’ Jerry said, lowering his voice, ‘I can’t stay here while somebody’s gunnin’ for ya.’

  ‘You won’t do me any good if you can’t even stand, Jerry.’

  ‘I can stand.’ As if to prove it, he moved to the edge of the bed, put his feet to the floor and then stood. Almost immediately he went white and I saw his eyes go out of focus. When he swayed, I moved fast, despite my leg, and eased him back on to the bed.

  ‘Sure you can,�
�� I said.

  ‘I’ll just have to do it slower.’

  ‘Jerry,’ I said, ‘it’s just gonna be overnight.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll be fine. I can look after myself for one night.’

  ‘Yeah, but’ – he lowered his voice again – ‘they tried to blow ya up.’

  ‘They blew us up,’ I said.

  ‘Geez,’ he said, ‘how’s Greg?’

  ‘He’s … not awake. They said the fact that he was out of the car may have saved him. The bomb was under the passenger section.’

  ‘Meant for you,’ he said.

  ‘Or us.’

  ‘So somebody tried to cash in.’

  ‘But they were sloppy about it,’ I said. ‘The bomb was too close to the gas tank, and it probably shouldn’t have gone off when Greg slammed his door.’

  ‘Is that what happened?’

  ‘That’s sure what it looked like to me. Have the police talked to you?’

  ‘Yeah, some dick named Franklin. I pretended I couldn’t think. Ya know, the head wound?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But there’s one other thing that might be a problem, Mr G.’

  ‘What’s that, Jerry?’

  He dropped his voice to a new low. And looked around to make sure we were alone. ‘Do you know what happened to my rod?’

  ‘Your forty-five?’ I said. ‘You had it on you?’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ he said. ‘How else was I gonna protect you?’

  ‘The cops don’t have it?’ I asked.

  ‘The detective didn’t say nothin’ about it.’

  ‘What about the doctor? The nurse? Maybe they took it off you when they brought you in?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘They probably woulda turned it over to the cops.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  There was something – a memory, but fuzzy. As I concentrated harder, it sort of came into focus.

  ‘Jerry,’ I said, ‘I think I may know what happened to your gun.’

  TWENTY-NINE

  ‘Just before I passed out,’ I told him, ‘I saw the guy – what did he call himself? Amica?’

  ‘Friend,’ Jerry said.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Same blue suit.’

  ‘Did he set the bomb?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘he crouched over me, asked me if I had a gun. Then he asked if you had one. I said you probably did. He frisked you and came up with your forty-five. “You don’t want the cops findin’ this on him,” Amico said. “I’ll hold the piece for him until he’s ready.”’