‘Gotcha, boss.’
I gave him a five this time. Made him very happy.
After he left, I took four aspirin, then had my coffee and toast for breakfast. My first breakfast. I knew when I picked Jerry up he’d want food. He’d never be able to exist on hospital fare.
So I was only temporarily fortified when I left the bungalow, some of the stiffness gone, but not all. I got into the waiting cab and said, ‘Cedars-Sinai.’
At the hospital I found Jerry’s room and entered as he was getting dressed.
‘It’s about time,’ he said. ‘I’m starvin’. Do you know what they tried to feed me here?’
‘I can imagine,’ I said. ‘How are you?’
‘I jus’ told ya.’
He was fine.
‘Wait here, I’ll find the doctor and get you signed out. Also, I need to get some bandages for my leg, so I can change them myself. And yours, for that matter.’
‘OK, but hurry.’
Doctor Wyler wasn’t on duty, but there was a young doctor named Owen who was able to sign Jerry out. He also arranged for a nurse to change my bandage, and then supply me with some extra. By the time I got back to Jerry he was almost manic, seated on the bed but ready to spring.
‘Are we done?’
‘We’re done,’ I said, ‘but we need to check on Greg first.’
‘I did that,’ he said, standing.
‘You did?’
He nodded. ‘This mornin’. He’s still unconscious. I left the phone number at the cottage so they can call us if he wakes up.’
‘That was good thinkin’, Jerry.’
‘Well, I had to do somethin’ to get my mind off my hunger,’ he said. ‘Mr G., they wanted me to eat lime jello. For breakfast!’
‘Barbaric,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’
We grabbed a cab in front of the hospital and told him to take us to the nearest diner.
‘There’s one around the corner,’ the driver said. ‘You can walk.’
‘We’re a little beat up,’ I said. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘Suit yerself,’ he said, with a shrug.
When we were seated in the diner and Jerry had a stack of pancakes in front of him, I said, ‘Jerry, put your hand under the table.’
‘Huh?’
‘Under the table.’
‘Sure, Mr G.’
He stuck his big hands under the table and I handed him his .45 cannon, which had been burning a huge hole in my jacket pocket.
‘I wasn’t sure, but I thought you’d want that.’
‘You got that right, Mr G.’ He tucked the gun into his belt.
‘You sure you want to take the chance of carrying that around?’ I asked. ‘After all, the cops are gonna wanna talk to us again.’
‘I’ll take the chance,’ he said. ‘If somebody tries to blow us up again, they’re gonna get a big hole blown in ’em.’ He picked up his fork and asked, ‘What are we gonna do for a car now?’
‘We could call Frank,’ I said, ‘get another limo and driver, but we might just be puttin’ him in a position to get blown up, too.’
‘So we keep usin’ cabs?’
‘We keep usin’ cabs. Did the police come by to talk to you again?’
He shook his head and swallowed.
‘Not today.’
‘No, me neither,’ I said. ‘They’ll probably be lookin’ for us today.’
Jerry seemed unconcerned about that. ‘So, if they find us,’ he said, ‘we’ll talk to ’em, right?’
‘Yeah, right.’
He snagged a piece of bacon from my plate of bacon and eggs, moving faster than I’d ever seen him move before. I didn’t complain.
I figured I had that one coming.
THIRTY-THREE
We decided to proceed as if somebody hadn’t tried to kill us. It wasn’t easy, but there was nothing we could do about that. The police were investigating on our end, and Danny was doing his best in Vegas. We had to go back to doing what we were supposed to be doing: trying to help Judy Garland.
We picked up another cab outside the diner. It was a conscious decision on our part to use a different one each time, and not keep the meter running on the same car all the way. It was safer for the driver and cheaper for us.
We went back to Mark Herron’s apartment, this time without announcing ourselves ahead of time. When I knocked, the door was opened by a man who was not Mark Herron. He was handsome, in his early fifties. I was about to ask who he was when Jerry spoke first.
‘Hey, Gator Joe!’ he said.
‘What?’
Jerry pointed and said, ‘This guy played Gator Joe on an episode of Bourbon Street Beat.’
‘You saw that, huh?’ the man asked, with a smile.
‘Sure did.’
‘What can I do for you fellas?’
‘Is Mark here?’ I asked.
‘Not right now,’ he said. ‘I’m Henry, Henry Brandon. Are you guys … producers?’
I had to admit, the guy did look familiar, like somebody I might have seen in a movie … maybe Vera Cruz?
‘No,’ I said.
‘Well, he’s working today.’
‘Workin’?’
‘On a commercial, actually. You know, making ends meet?’
He had a slight accent, maybe German.
‘Can we come in?’ I asked. ‘Maybe you can help us.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘Judy Garland.’
Suddenly, his face changed. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘her.’
‘Yes, her.’
‘You must be the fellas he talked to yesterday.’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘I’m Eddie Gianelli; this is Jerry Epstein.’
‘All right,’ he said, ‘I suppose you should come in.’
He backed away, then turned and moved into the apartment. We followed and Jerry closed the door behind us.
‘Do you live here?’ I asked. ‘With Mark?’
‘We’re roommates, yes,’ he said. ‘It’s rather hard paying rent when you’re not working steadily.’
‘I’m sure it is.’
‘I have some coffee on the stove,’ Brandon said. ‘Would either of you care for a cup?’
‘No, thanks,’ I said. Jerry just shook his head.
‘What can I do for you, then?’
‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘Did Mark talk to you about his recent trip with Judy?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Brandon said, ‘he talked about it a lot. “Judy this, and Judy that” … ad nauseam.’
He walked to the kitchen stove and poured himself a cup of coffee.
‘Just what was the “this and that” he talked about, Mr Brandon?’ I asked.
He looked as if he was about to answer, but then stopped himself.
‘I don’t think I should say,’ he said, finally. ‘I might paint an unkind picture of Mark’s blushing bride.’
‘Do you have a problem with Mark marrying Judy Garland?’ Jerry asked.
Brandon looked at Jerry and said, ‘You’re quite something, aren’t you?’
‘Huh?’
‘I’ll bet you could have a career in Hollywood if you stuck around.’
‘Me?’ Jerry said. ‘In the movies?’
‘Or TV.’
‘Like maybe Sunset Strip?’
‘When it was on, yes,’ Brandon said. ‘It’s too bad all those great Warner Brothers private eye shows have been canceled. You would have made a great hood.’
‘Jerry – a hood?’ I asked. ‘Whatever makes you think that?’
‘Well, look at him,’ Brandon said. ‘He’s magnificent.’
‘You better cut that out or you’ll give him a swelled head,’ I warned. ‘And you haven’t answered my question.’
‘About Judy Garland?’ Brandon said. ‘I prefer not to say anything unkind.’
‘So I’m assuming you won’t be attending the wedding?’ I asked.
‘Hardly.’
; ‘Well, then, just tell me if Mark mentioned anybody who may have been … stalking Judy on the trip.’
‘That story?’ Brandon asked. ‘Is she still telling that one?’
‘She is.’
‘It’s her imagination,’ Brandon said. ‘Even Mark thinks so.’
‘Any idea when he’ll be back?’
‘Not till late this afternoon,’ Brandon said. ‘You can try again then.’
‘Maybe we will,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your time.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay for a while?’ Brandon asked. ‘That leg looks painful. Some sort of … old wound?’
‘Some sort of new one, I’m afraid,’ I said. ‘No, thanks. We have to be going.’
‘How about you, Big Boy?’ Brandon asked.
‘Sorry,’ Jerry said. ‘I got to go with Mr G.’
‘Pity.’
We headed for the door, and then I turned back.
‘Did I see you in Vera Cruz?’
He brightened. ‘Yes, I played a French Army Captain in that. I also did The Searchers with John Wayne. But of late I’m doing a lot of television. In addition to Bourbon Street Beat, I’ve done a couple of Sunset Strips, a couple of episodes of Lawman, one of Maverick—’
‘Hey,’ Jerry said, ‘I saw you on Wagon Train.’
He didn’t seem as happy about that. ‘Yes, six times, all playing Indians.’
‘Yeah, but usually a chief,’ Jerry pointed out.
Brandon straightened his back and said, ‘Well, yes, you have a point there.’
THIRTY-FOUR
‘Why didn’t you ask for his autograph?’ I asked Jerry when we got outside.
‘Damn,’ he said, ‘I didn’t think of it. He’s a real star, you know.’
‘Sounds more like a character actor,’ I said. ‘Maybe even a bit player.’
‘Well, I’ve seen him on TV a lot. And he said he worked with John Wayne.’
‘A lot of people worked with John Wayne.’
‘So you weren’t impressed?’
‘Jerry,’ I said, ‘you and I have had dinner with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Marilyn Monroe, Ava Gardner, and now Judy Garland. Why would I be impressed with Henry Brandon?’
He scowled. ‘You got a point there.’
‘He liked you, though.’
His scowl deepened. ‘Whataya mean by that?’
‘Just sayin’ …’
‘He asked you to stay a while, first.’
I looked up and down the street. ‘Let’s get a cab.’
In the cab Jerry fidgeted, trying to get comfortable.
‘You OK?’ I asked.
‘This bandage itches,’ he said, touching his shoulder.
‘How’s the head?’
‘Throbbing.’
‘I’ve got some aspirin.’
‘I don’t like pills.’
‘You didn’t need a bandage on your head?’
‘It was mostly a bump,’ he said, ‘just a small cut that didn’t even need stitches. What about your leg?’
‘It itches,’ I said, ‘and throbs – and I do like aspirin.’
‘That address you gave the driver,’ Jerry said, ‘it’s that Bagel guy’s office, ain’t it?’
‘Begelman,’ I said, ‘David Begelman.’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Yeah, well, I wanna talk to him about something Judy told me last night.’
‘You saw her last night?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I went to her house for … to tell her what happened. She was worried when she didn’t hear from us.’
‘What’d she tell you?’
I told him the story about the photo and the fifty thousand dollars.
‘Fifty G’s?’ Jerry said. ‘Did she see this picture herself?’
‘Nope,’ I said, ‘she never did. That’s what I want to talk to Begelman about. Also, I wanna know who he paid the money to.’
‘Maybe that’s the guy who’s been followin’ her,’ Jerry said. ‘And maybe he broke into her house lookin’ for somethin’ else he could sell back to her.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘if he even exists.’
‘You think it was a scam?’ Jerry asked. ‘The Bagel guy kept the money?’
‘That’s what I’d like to find out, Jerry.’
We rode in silence again for a few minutes, and then he asked, ‘You didn’t eat nothin’ with Miss Garland last night, didya?’
I was hoping he wouldn’t go there. ‘I just, uh, had a small snack, Jerry.’
He nodded, but after we drove in silence a few more miles he asked, ‘What didya eat?’
Damn it, he went there.
THIRTY-FIVE
When we arrived at Begelman’s office, we were told he wasn’t in. The pretty young woman at the reception desk wasn’t forthcoming about where he was until we mentioned Judy Garland.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I guess if it’s about Miss Garland, he’d want to talk to you.’
‘You got that right, sister,’ Jerry said. It also helped that she was obviously a little afraid of him.
‘H–He’s playing golf.’ She leaned away from him and spoke to me.
‘Where?’ I asked.
‘The Pine Ridge Country Club.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, feeling bad that she’d been frightened. ‘You’re a doll.’
She smiled at that and said, ‘Why, thank you.’ Then looked at Jerry and frowned.
‘Come on, you big meanie,’ I said to him.
On the way out he complained, ‘Hey Mr G., I wasn’t so mean …’
Another cab to Pine Ridge. Luckily, cabs were plentiful in Beverly Hills.
We had to invoke Begelman’s name in order to be admitted to the club, claiming we were from his office and had some business to conduct that involved Judy Garland. Before long we were in a golf cart – Jerry behind the wheel – driving across the course looking for David Begelman, who was supposedly in a foursome playing somewhere on the back nine.
We found the front nine easily enough, but Jerry got turned around a couple of times before we finally found ourselves on the back.
‘OK, so where is he?’ Jerry asked, as we passed another foursome who hurled curses at us.
‘Let’s just keep goin’ until we find him,’ I said.
‘Suits me,’ he said. ‘I like drivin’ this thing. Hey, Mr G., you ever played golf?’
‘A time or two,’ I said. ‘It’s not my game.’
‘I don’t understand it,’ Jerry said. ‘Chasin’ a little white ball around in the sun for hours. It ain’t somethin’ I’d do, and it sure as hell ain’t somethin’ I’d wanna watch. Gimme a good baseball game, any day.’
‘OK, there’s four guys,’ I said. ‘Let’s check them.’
‘Look at how silly they’re dressed,’ Jerry said. ‘Get a load of those pants.’
I didn’t know if he meant the stripes or the checks, but Begelman himself was wearing a pair of lime-green pants that should have been against the law. Made him easy to spot, though.
‘There he is,’ I said. ‘Green pants.’
‘Yikes,’ Jerry said.
He drove the cart right up to the four men, who turned and stared in surprise, which turned to awe when they saw Jerry emerge from the cart. Begelman’s shoulders slumped.
When I got out, Begelman turned to his friends – or clients, whatever – said something and then came walking over.
‘Gents,’ he said, ‘this must be important for you to come out here and … interrupt me.’
‘Nothin’ important, I hope, Mr Begelman,’ I said.
‘Actually, I’m working on rather a big deal with these gentlemen—’
‘Big?’ I asked. ‘You mean like fifty-thousand big?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘bigger than that … What made you come up with that figure?’
‘That seems to be the amount you paid someone for a certain picture of Judy—’
‘Shh, whoa,’ he said, grabbing my elbow and pulli
ng me further from the other three. ‘Keep your voice down about that, will you?’
Jerry didn’t move. He remained positioned between us and the other three men. He was staring at them, as if fascinated by their gaudy golf pants. For their part, the three men – of various sizes and ages – all seemed disconcerted by Jerry’s attention.
‘Why would you bring that up here?’ Begelman asked me.
‘I’m interested, Mr Begelman,’ I said. ‘That’s the reason we drove out here.’
‘To ask me about that picture?’
‘That’s right,’ I said.
‘I assume Judy told you about it?’
‘Right again.’
‘What do you want to know about it?’
‘Why didn’t you ever show the actual photo to Judy?’
‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’ he asked. ‘It would have only upset her more.’
‘It would have proved to her that the photo really existed,’ I offered.
‘As far as I know, she never doubted it,’ Begelman said. ‘Until now, that is, Mr Gianelli. You have to understand how delicate Judy is. She has to be … well, handled with care.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘You manage her affairs – is that correct?’
‘Freddie Fields and I, yes.’
‘And that means her money, as well?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Then why wouldn’t you have just paid the man and never let Judy know about the photo in the first place?’ I asked. ‘It seems to me that would have been handling her.’
‘You expect me to just pay out fifty thousand dollars of Judy Garland’s money without consulting her first? That’s the kind of thing that can get a fella fired, you know. Or arrested, for that matter.’
‘Then why not sugar-coat it – tell her the money was for something else?’
‘By sugar-coat, you mean lie, of course. I don’t know what you think, Mr Gianelli, but I don’t lie to my clients. Least of all to Judy.’ He seemed genuinely insulted by the suggestion, but then again we were in a town where people lied for a living. Whether they were actors or not, they tended to become very good at it.
‘OK,’ I said, ‘let me go at this a different way, then.’
‘Is it going to take much longer?’ he asked. ‘I only have these gentlemen for a finite period of time.’
‘It’ll take as long as it takes, Begelman,’ I said.
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