When Somebody Kills You

by Robert J. Randisi

  ‘You didn’t ask him why he was doin’ that?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to,’ I said. ‘That’s when I passed out for real.’

  ‘So where is this guy?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘but he’s got your gun. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘He did us a favor, Mr G.,’ Jerry said. ‘I woulda had to explain that cannon.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘and now we only have to explain why somebody tried to kill us.’

  ‘We could play dumb.’

  ‘We could, but why?’ I asked. ‘What’s the point? Somebody’s tryin’ to kill me – or us. We don’t know who or why. And that’s the truth. Where’s the harm in tellin’ it that way?’

  ‘I see your point.’

  ‘Besides,’ I said, ‘if they decided to check with the Vegas police, they’ll find out for themselves. And then they’ll wanna know why we didn’t speak up.’

  ‘So, OK,’ Jerry said, ‘we tell the truth.’

  ‘I’ll tell ’em,’ I said, ‘the next time Detective Franklin shows up. Meanwhile, you take it easy and relax. I’ll come back and get you tomorrow.’

  ‘An’ you don’t want me to tell it?’

  ‘Only if they press you,’ I said. ‘It’s probably better if I’m the one who talks to them. After all, it started with me.’

  ‘OK, Mr G.,’ he said, settling back. ‘You’re the boss.’

  ‘You wait here and they’ll take you to a room,’ I said. ‘It’s all on the Sands, so you’ll be in a private one. Meanwhile, I’ll go and check on Greg.’ I started away, then stopped. ‘You guys had a meal together. Did he talk about any family?’

  ‘Only to say he didn’t have any.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure the cops went through his pockets. If there’s somebody to notify, they’ll know.’ I patted his foot. ‘Do me a favor, Jerry. When they get you a room, stay put so I’ll know where to find you.’

  ‘OK, Mr G.’

  Greg was hooked up to some beeping machines and was wrapped in bandages.

  ‘How is he, Doc?’ I asked.

  ‘Mr Coleman is in pretty bad shape, Mr Gianelli,’ Doc Wyler said. ‘He’s got a concussion, several broken ribs, several deep lacerations from flying glass and debris … but it’s the head wound I’m worried about. If he doesn’t wake up soon, he might never wake up.’

  ‘Has anybody been notified about his injuries?’

  ‘The police would know about that,’ Wyler said, ‘but I could check with billing.’

  ‘If you don’t find out anything from them, make sure they send his bills to the Sands Casino in Vegas.’

  ‘Him, too? Like your other friend?’

  ‘Like my other friend,’ I said.

  ‘It sounds to me like you’re a good man to know, Mr Gianelli.’

  Considering both Jerry and Greg were in the hospital because they knew me, I said, ‘Not necessarily, Doc.’

  THIRTY

  I took a cab to Judy’s, went through the gate and up the drive, keeping my eyes peeled for Kenny Boyd. When I knocked, it was Boyd who answered the door. He wasn’t wearing his hat, and his hair was, indeed, ginger. So maybe I could see how he’d remind Judy of her friend Mickey Rooney. He was in shirt sleeves, with a .38 in a shoulder holster.

  ‘You’re late for dinner,’ he started, then stopped. ‘Say, what happened to you?’

  ‘Somebody put a bomb in my limo,’ I said.

  ‘Anybody killed?’

  ‘The driver’s pretty bad. He might not pull through.’

  ‘And the big guy?’

  ‘He’ll be in the hospital overnight,’ I said. ‘Can I come in and sit down? My leg’s killin’ me. I caught a piece of glass in my thigh and it took a few stitches to close it.’

  ‘Sure, sure,’ Boyd said, ‘come on in. Judy’s got the cook holdin’ food for you.’

  I followed Kenny to the living room, where Judy was sitting. She noticed my limp immediately.

  ‘Oh, what happened?’

  I sat down heavily in a chair and told her the same thing I’d told Boyd.

  ‘Why would somebody do such a thing?’ Judy asked.

  ‘There’s something I should have told you earlier, Judy.’ I looked at Boyd. ‘I should have told Hiller, too, Kenny. There were a couple of attempts on my life in Las Vegas. When Frank asked me to come and help you, Judy, I thought I was leaving that bad business behind.’

  ‘So who’s after you?’ Boyd asked.

  I looked at him, wishing he hadn’t asked that. I didn’t want to tell the whole truth in front of Judy. It would only serve to frighten her more than she already was. But it was probably unfair of me to keep it from her. If I was in danger, then so was she just by virtue of the fact she’d be close to me. The same went for Boyd, so I decided to tell him about it later.

  ‘I don’t know who it was,’ I said, ‘but I’ve got somebody workin’ on findin’ out.’

  ‘Who?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘A friend of mine from Vegas,’ I said. ‘Danny Bardini.’

  ‘I know Bardini’s rep,’ Boyd said. ‘He’s good.’ He looked at Judy. ‘He a PI.’

  ‘And a friend of mine.’

  ‘You must be starved,’ Judy said to me. ‘And in shock.’

  ‘Starved for sure,’ I said. ‘I don’t know about the shock.’

  ‘Harrington,’ Judy said. I turned and saw him standing in the doorway. It bothered me that I hadn’t noticed him before that.

  ‘Yes, Miss Garland?’

  ‘Have Cook put out some food in the dining room for Eddie.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Come on, Eddie,’ Judy said, standing. ‘I’ll sit with you while you eat. Kenny?’

  ‘I better get back outside,’ Kenny said to her. ‘I think more than ever I should keep my eyes peeled out there.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, ‘but come in if you need anything.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He looked at me. ‘I’ll see you on your way out.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘We’ll talk.’

  As Kenny grabbed his hat and jacket and headed for the door, Judy and I walked to the dining room. She was careful to walk at my pace.

  Judy was right about one thing. My close call with death had somehow made me ravenous. While I consumed the feast her cook had laid out – one I wouldn’t tell Jerry about, because he’d hate to hear what he missed – Judy and I talked about her problem, not mine.

  ‘I spoke with Mark,’ she said. ‘He insists he told you all he could.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘I just had the feelin’ he was holdin’ somethin’ back. Jerry felt the same way.’

  ‘I don’t know what that could be, Eddie,’ she said. ‘Mark loves me; he’s willing to help all he can.’

  ‘Is he willin’ to talk to us again?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Tell me somethin’ more about your managers.’

  She bit her lip and stared across the table at me.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘I – I don’t quite trust them, Eddie.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘From the beginning, my ex-husband, Sid Luft, has had his doubts – about David specifically – so he had an independent audit done of David and Freddie and their handling of my business. Sid thinks David has been stealing, not passing on to me all the money I’ve been paid.’

  ‘In the casino biz, we call that skimming.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, pointing at me, ‘that’s the word Sid used. He said David was skimming.’

  ‘Did you confront David?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And he’s still representing you?’

  ‘David and Freddie were very involved with the CBS deal,’ she said. ‘To split with them or sue them at that time would have been disastrous.’

  I finished the chicken on my plate and cut into the steak. ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’ Judy asked.

 
‘I have the feeling there’s somethin’ else.’

  I could see that there was, and it was something she didn’t want to talk about.

  ‘Judy,’ I said, ‘if I’m gonna help you, I need to know everything.’

  She sat back in her chair, looked down at her hands, and then looked at me with an expression of abject misery. ‘While we were negotiating with CBS, David came to me and said there was a photo of me …’ She stopped.

  ‘Judy? You can tell me anything.’

  ‘There was a photo of me, partially nude, having my stomach pumped in a hospital.’

  ‘A photo?’ I said. ‘Somebody was blackmailing you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘David said they wanted fifty thousand dollars.’

  ‘And did you pay?’

  ‘Yes.’ she said. ‘I could scarcely afford for a photo like that to come out.’

  ‘Judy,’ I asked, ‘did you see the photo yourself?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘David saw it.’

  ‘He never showed it to you?’

  She closed her eyes and held her hands out in front of her, as if warding something off.

  ‘I didn’t want to see it.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘but tell me somethin’ else … did somethin’ like that happen?’

  She hesitated before answering, and I thought she was steeling herself to say ‘yes’, but instead she said, ‘Eddie, I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I may have … blacked out,’ she said. ‘I may have been taken to a hospital and had my stomach pumped. I mean, it’s happened before. Did it happen that time? Was my stomach pumped and a photo taken? I don’t remember.’

  ‘But Begelman told you it did and there was a picture?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you mind if I talk to him about this incident?’

  ‘It’s in the past,’ she said. ‘Why would you want to dredge it up?’

  ‘Well, for one thing,’ I said, ‘I’d like to know if it actually happened. Wouldn’t you?’

  THIRTY-ONE

  As soon as I stepped out of Judy’s house, Kenny Boyd appeared at my elbow.

  ‘So, OK,’ he said, ‘what didn’t you want to say in front of Judy?’

  ‘Judy? You’re on first-name terms?’

  ‘She told me to call her that,’ he said. ‘She says I remind her of Mickey Rooney. I don’t see it because, he’s, ya know, short.’

  ‘Yeah, he is,’ I said. ‘Look, a few days ago I found out there’s an open contract out on me.’

  ‘And you didn’t think Nat Hiller should know that?’

  ‘Actually, no, I didn’t,’ I said. ‘I thought I was dealin’ with two separate things. I thought the hitters would keep lookin’ for me in Vegas.’

  ‘It seems at least one found you here, huh?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘at least one, and he was an amateur.’ I told him about how sloppy the bomb was, going off too early and being placed too close to the gas tank.

  ‘This ain’t good news, you know?’ he said.

  ‘Believe me, I know.’

  ‘No, I mean if amateurs are comin’ out of the woodwork to cash in on this contract, it must be a lot of money.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I gotta tell Hiller about this, you know.’

  ‘I do know,’ I said. ‘I hope he’s not too mad.’

  ‘Me, too,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t like him when he’s mad.’

  I limped through the hotel lobby, eager to get back to my bungalow and swallow a few aspirin.

  ‘Mr Gianelli!’

  I turned and looked at the front desk, where the young clerk was waving at me. With a sigh, I limped to the desk.

  ‘Sir, are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘What have you got for me? Messages?’

  ‘I have one, actually,’ he said, handing me a message slip, ‘and there’s a gentleman waiting for you in the Polo Lounge.’

  ‘A gentleman?’ I asked. ‘The same one as last time?’

  ‘I believe so,’ he said. ‘He didn’t give a name either time, but if it’s him, then he’s not wearing the same suit. I, uh, tend to remember how people dress.’

  I assumed, in his job, he saw so many faces that he found it easier to remember clothes.

  ‘Do you have any aspirin?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t,’ he said, apologetically, ‘but I’m sure the bartender will.’

  When I entered the Polo Lounge it was almost midnight, but Hollywood – though not to the extent of Las Vegas – was an insomniac’s heaven. There were still people in the room ‘meeting’ and ‘concepting’.

  I kept my eyes peeled for a familiar face, or anyone paying particular attention to me. A woman across the room waved and it took me a moment to realize it was Ruta Lee. Ruta was a beautiful blonde actress who was sort of an honorary member of the Rat Pack. I waved back. Luckily, she was seated with a man who was either her agent or a producer, so I didn’t have to walk over.

  A further study of the room revealed Henry Silva in another corner, sitting with two disreputable-looking men – probably producers. He gave me a nod, which for Henry was the equivalent of standing up and waving his arms.

  When I turned my eyes to the bar, I saw Amico sitting there, this time in a more subtle, subdued-but-still-expensive suit. He waved at the bartender as I approached, and when I reached him there was a glass of bourbon on the bar.

  ‘You got any aspirin?’ I asked the bartender.

  ‘Yessir, how many?’

  ‘Three will do.’

  ‘Yessir.’

  I sat and took a sip of my drink while the bartender fetched my painkillers.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to be out of hospital so soon,’ Amico said.

  ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Then why are you here?’

  He laughed. ‘You’re right, of course,’ he said. ‘I figured you were not only tough but stubborn, too. But where’s your big friend?’

  ‘They’re keepin’ him overnight for observation.’

  ‘Probably a good thing,’ he commented. ‘He took a nasty knock on the head.’

  ‘You stood there and watched?’ I asked.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I was watchin’, and I did what I could do after the explosion. Speakin’ of which, do you want the piece back?’

  ‘Not here,’ I said.

  ‘No, of course not. Later.’

  The bartender returned with the three aspirin and gave me a glass of water so I wouldn’t have to take them with the alcohol.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, and downed the little white pills. My leg was throbbing.

  Amico was right about one thing: I had gotten out of that emergency room pretty quickly. I needed to be lying down somewhere as soon as possible.

  ‘You got somethin’ on your mind?’ I asked, sipping the bourbon.

  ‘I really just wanted to see if you were OK, and give you back the big guy’s piece.’ He moved his hand to his waist, as if he was going to produce it.

  ‘Do you have it on you?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then we better go outside so you can give it to me in private.’

  ‘Why not in your cottage?’

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ I said, ‘I’m not in the mood for visitors, right now.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you are.’ He tossed back the rest of his drink, stood up and buttoned his jacket. ‘Shall we go?’

  I took another sip, set my unfinished drink down on the bar and eased off my stool.

  ‘By all means.’

  THIRTY-TWO

  I had decided that if Amico had intended to kill me, he could have done it already. So there was no danger going outside with him, alone.

  We went out the exit that left us nearest to the path leading to the cottages. A match flared in the dark as Amico took the time to light a cigarette.

  ‘The gun?’ I said, hoping I was right about him.

  ‘Of course.’ He removed it from
the back of his belt and handed it to me, butt first. I dropped it into my jacket pocket. A gun in my belt never felt comfortable to me.

  ‘You got any more information for me?’ I asked.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like who sent you to be my guardian angel?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Amico said. ‘Not at liberty to say, at the moment.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘you were at least helpful in keepin’ Jerry out of a prison hospital, which is probably where he’d be if the cops had found that gun on him. Thanks for that.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ He dropped the cigarette on to the path and ground it out with the toe of his shoe. ‘I’ll be seein’ you around, Eddie.’

  I watched him walk away, wondering if he’d been sent by Frank or Jack Entratter – or somebody else entirely – to help, or just watch. But then he was gone, and I had other problems, like not being able to stand for very much longer.

  I went to the bungalow.

  I woke up the next morning stiff and in pain. Sitting up and putting my feet on the floor was a chore. I probably should have stayed in the hospital myself over night, but Amico was right about one thing: I was stubborn.

  I got up, tried stretching, walked into the kitchen. Moving around helped a bit, but I knew what would help more. I called room service.

  ‘Coffee, toast and aspirin,’ I told them. ‘Lots of aspirin.’

  ‘Yessir,’ the room service voice said, ‘right away.’

  I could have made some coffee, since Jerry still had the makings in the kitchen, but I decided to spend my time showering and getting dressed. I tried my best not to get my bandage wet, but figured I could get it changed when I went to the hospital to pick up Jerry.

  By the time I had struggled into a pair of trousers, there was a knock at the door. If it was a hitman, I knew I was dead. But it was room service.

  ‘Here you go, sir,’ he said, carrying a tray in.

  ‘Just set it on the table.’ I gave him a couple of bucks.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m Chris. Let me know if you need anything else.’

  ‘Actually, I do need something,’ I said. ‘In half an hour. A cab, right out front.’