“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, putting everything on Danny’s desk. I grabbed the coffee, opened the box and fished out a jelly donut. I decided to go ahead and tell him about the phone call.
“So you figure the sister is sending money?”
“That’s about all she can do, except for flying out here.”
“How would she send money?”
“Western Union.”
“That a hunch?”
“It’s about all I’ve got.”
He picked out a long cruller and bit off about half of it.
“So how many Western Union offices you got in this town?” he asked with his mouth full.
“I’m not sure.”
“We’d have to cover them all,” he said. “You, me, the P.I.—what if there’s more than three?”
“I guess we’ll just have to find out,” I said, but then I wondered how smart it would be for all of us to sit in a Western Union office. That would mean none of us was actually out looking for her.
Jerry and I both jumped when we heard a key in the lock and Danny came walking into the outer office.
“Don’t scare him,” I said to Jerry.
“Hey, Dick,” he shouted, “we’re in here!”
Danny came in carrying a container of coffee.
“Better be some donuts left,” he said as he entered the office. “I stopped across the street and they told me some guy as big as King Kong bought the last cruller.” He looked at Jerry. “I figured that had to be you, Gunsel.”
“I ate it,” he said, “but there’s plenty of other stuff in there.” Danny walked to the desk and snatched a donut with sprinkles. From the look on Jerry’s face that was going to be his next pick. If these two weren’t careful they were going to end up friends.
“You wanna let me have my desk?” Danny asked me.
“Be my guest.”
“What’re you guys doin’ here, anyway?” he asked, lowering himself into his chair.
“I had a call to make.”
“Knowin’ you it was long distance.”
I told him about Mary Clarke’s sister in Chicago, and the short, aborted conversation we had.
“Western Union, huh? Gotta be more than one in this burg. We can’t cover them all.”
“How about the one closest to here?” I asked.
“That’s gonna depend on whether she’s alone or not. If somebody’s helping her they’ll know their way around.”
“What’d you find out about that?”
“Three guys didn’t show up for work,” he said. “One was a kid valet who called in sick. I went to his house. He really is sick. His mother even let me look in on him sleeping in his room. Nice lady. She works at the Flamingo.”
“And?”
“Second guy was a bellman. He’d be a good bet because he could’ve met up with her in the lobby, or just the hallway.”
“Did you check him out?”
“That’s next,” he said.
“And the third guy?”
Danny scratched his nose, left a small glob of jelly there. He was a big boy, I thought, let him find out for himself.
“I thought maybe you and the palooka would want to check that one out.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Who’s a palooka?” Jerry demanded.
“Because,” Danny said, “the third guy who didn’t show up for work was our ol’ buddy Dave Lewis, the house dick.”
It was silent for a moment and then Jerry said, “Never did trust that prick.”
Thirty
AS DANNY HAD ASSUMED, Jerry and I took the Caddy and drove to Dave Lewis’ apartment on Decatur Street.
“He didn’t fit my profile,” Danny admitted, “but Dave’s a letch. When he’s not at work he spends all his time in strip clubs. He wouldn’t be able to resist a babe like this.”
“I didn’t like that guy from the start,” Jerry said again as we pulled up in front of the place.
Foot traffic was not heavy and we mounted the steps without running into anybody. There were six doorbells and Dave’s name was next to one.
“If we ring it we’ll warn him,” Jerry said.
“Or if the girl is there we’ll scare her,” I said. “Can you open this door?”
He gave me a look and said, “Mr. G.”
He leaned against the frame, did something I couldn’t see and the door popped open. I looked around, but there was no one. I stepped in behind him.
Dave Lewis had an apartment on the second of three floors. As we made our way up the creaking stairs I expected doors to open and tenants to peek out, but they never did. Apparently, Dave lived in a building where people had learned to mind their own business.
When we got to Dave’s apartment I knocked and we waited. Jerry pressed his ear to the door.
“If the girl’s in there she might be going out the fire escape,” he said.
I pounded on the door.
“Mary,” I shouted, “Mary, we’re here to help you. Mary, my name is Ed—”
Jerry grabbed my arm. He looked at me and shook his head.
He did his magic with the door again, popped it open, and we went in. The first thing I saw was a woman’s compact on the end table near the sofa. I pointed.
“Dave’s not married,” I said.
“Didn’t look like the type to have a broad stayin’ with him, either.”
“Dave,” I called out.
I was thinking—hoping—we’d find him in bed with the flu, or something. I never expected to find him on his bed, dead.
“Crap,” I said.
Jerry went to the bed, leaned over and touched Dave, who was fully dressed. I couldn’t see his head because it was hanging off the other side of the bed.
“Somebody clobbered him,” he said. “Lots of blood on the floor here.”
That was when the metallic smell hit me. My stomach got queasy.
“What the hell is goin’ on?” I demanded, angrily. “Is it us?”
“Us?” Jerry frowned.
“Something about our chemistry. We start working together and people die?”
“Mr. G., people are gonna die no matter what you and me are doin’.”
He was right, of course. I started to walk around the bed for a look but he stopped me with a firm hand against my chest.
“Ya don’t hafta see that. Somebody pounded him real good.”
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe she’s hiding.”
“Like in a closet? Under the bed?”
We looked in both places, and the bathroom. We found women’s toiletries there, and some items of clothing, but nothing else.
“She was here,” Jerry said, “but she’s gone.”
“The question is,” I added, “was she the one who killed him?”
“He was hit more than once,” Jerry said. “Couldn’t have been quiet. Wanna go door to door and see who heard somethin’?”
“Actually, I do,” I said, “but... are we gonna call the cops first?”
“We’ll get in lots of trouble, this time,” he said. “Your buddy Hargrove will have a shit fit.”
“Yeah, my buddy,” I said. “You’re the one he keeps haulin’ away in cuffs.”
“Right.”
“Quick look around again.”
“What are we looking for?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Something helpful. A note? A phone number? Something.”
“She ain’t cornin’ back here, is she?” Jerry asked.
“Nope,” I said, “I don’t think she’ll be coming back here.”
Thirty-One
WE COULDN'T CALL the police. We’d both end up behind bars. That would be bad for Mary Clarke. She was still out there running for her life, and who was left to help her but us?
And, of course, it would be really bad for the two of us.
We were almost out the door when I noticed a Yellow Pages on the floor. It looked as if it had been knocked off the table, landing face down and
spread open. When I picked it up I saw that it was open to the page for Financial Services. Someone had circled a Western Union location. I tore the page out and told Jerry, “Let’s get out of here.”
The hall was empty, and we didn’t encounter anyone on the stairs or out front. Once we were in the Caddy with Jerry driving I asked, “How long do you think he was dead?”
“I ain’t no detective, but there was still blood dripping from his head.”
“You notice how quiet it was? Nobody in the halls, or even poking their heads out?”
“They musta heard the commotion and decided to stay inside.” “Good for us,” I said. “We managed to get out of there without being seen.”
“We hope.”
I took the phone book page from my pocket.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Someone circled a Western Union office.”
“Think that’s where her sister’s sending money?”
“It’s the only lead we have.” I gave him directions. “Let’s check it out.”
What happened seemed clear—as mud. Somehow Dave Lewis got Mary Clarke out of the hotel and into his apartment. What happened after that was anybody’s guess, but it looked as if he’d tried to make her comfortable. Obviously, whoever was after her had somehow tracked her there. But as far as I could see there would have been no point in taking her. Why not just kill her along with Dave? So the fact that she was on the run again made her very resourceful—or lucky.
* * *
We pulled up across from the Western Union office and turned off the Caddy.
“Now what?” Jerry asked. “Should we go in and ask if she’s been there?”
I thought that over and said, “Why not?”
“You want me ta do it?”
“No,” I said, opening the door, “you stay here. Remember what she looks like?”
“I remember,” Jerry said. “You described her to me six times.”
I crossed the street and entered the Western Union office.
“I’m here to pick up a check for my girlfriend,” I told the clerk. “Mary Clarke?”
The clerk didn’t move.
“I can’t give that to anyone but her,” he said, with a bored expression.
“Shit,” I said, “I was trying to do her a favor.”
“Yeah,” the guy said. I wondered how many boyfriends he’d had trying to pick up a girl’s check—to keep it, cash it and take it to a casino.
“Well,” I said, “can you tell me if she picked it up yet?” The guy acted put out, but he looked it up.
“No, it’s still here.”
“Came in from Chicago, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” I said, “thanks.”
I left, trotted across the street and got back in the car. “The money is still there.”
“So we wait?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, “we wait.”
* * *
By the time they closed she still hadn’t shown up. We went back to Fremont Street to eat at Binion’s Horseshoe. From there I called Danny Bardini to come and join us.
Over hot roast beef sandwiches and fries we told Danny about Dave Lewis.
“Jesus,” he said, “what the hell is goin’ on?”
“Exactly,” I said.
“You guys did the right thing gettin’ out of there. Hargrove would have your asses.”
“That’s what we thought,” I said. “Thanks for backing us up.”
“There’s no tellin’ when his body’ll turn up,” Danny said. “Maybe an anonymous call to the cops is in order.”
“They’ll have to connect it to the missing girl,” I said. “It’s too much of a coincidence. Won’t they haul us in, anyway?”
“Maybe,” Danny said, “but you have alibis.”
“Each other?” I asked. “You think Hargrove will see it that way?”
“Weren’t you at the theater this morning talkin’ with Frank?”
“Yeah, but—”
“From what the gunsel here said, Dave’s body was pretty fresh. He was probably killed while you were with Frank.”
“I think the dick has a point,” Jerry said.
“Well,” I said, “there were a lot of other people in the theater.”
“So who makes the call?” Danny asked.
We all looked at each other.
“None of us,” I said, then. “Somebody in that building will call.”
“What makes you say that?” Danny asked.
“It was too quiet,” I said. “Somebody must’ve heard us knocking but nobody opened their door to look. I’ll bet after we left somebody got brave and called the cops.”
“Well,” Danny said, “I can find out if that happened. I’ll be right back.”
He got up, then looked at Jerry.
“I know how many fries I have left.”
Jerry gave him the finger.
“You and him are getting along,” I said.
“Don’t tell the dick I said this, but he’s okay.”
“Yeah, I think so, too.”
I didn’t have many friends outside of my job. In fact, I didn’t have much of a social life. That’s not a complaint. There are few things I enjoy as much as my job. But when I did get away from the Sands, it was usually in Danny’s company, which I enjoyed.
After a moment, Jerry eyed Danny’s plate and asked, “Do you really think he counted his fries?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “He’d do that. He hates sharing his food.” Jerry thought about that for a while, then reached over and took two fries from Danny’s plate, despite the fact that he still had plenty of his own.
When Danny came back he said, “I got a contact at the paper. He says they sent a guy out on a story of a dead man found in his apartment on Decatur.” He sat down and looked at me. “So you were right. It’s been called in. Hargrove should be cornin’ for you guys soon.”
“Let him try and find us,” I said. We had to go back to the Sands, though. He’d probably be waiting for us there.
Danny started to eat, then looked at Jerry, stuck his hand out and said, “You owe me two fries, Gunsel.”
The big guy looked at me, but I just shrugged. He took two fries from his plate and handed them to Danny.
Thirty-Two
JERRY MADE A SUGGESTION on the way home and I entertained it.
“If the cops are gonna look for us at the Sands why don’t we go to your place?”
“They’ll look there, too, eventually,” I said. “And what about another hit man or two coming after me?”
“I can protect you better at your house. The hotel’s too big.”
He had a point.
“Okay,” I said. He still had a bag with his things in the backseat. “Let’s go to my place.”
“Can we get somethin’ ta eat on the way?”
“You’re still hungry?”
He gave me a look of disbelief and said, “I only had one sandwich.”
“Fine,” I said. “What do you want to pick up? We’ll take it home.”
“Chinks.”
“As it happens,” I said, “I do know a place that has good Chinese.”
We pulled up in my driveway with two greasy bags of take-out cartons and two six-packs of Piels. Waiting for our order at the restaurant had made me hungry, as well. Being around Jerry was a bad influence on me. I figured by the time this was over I’d probably gain twenty pounds—or be dead. Might as well go ahead and eat.
We sat at the kitchen table and opened all the cartons. Jerry knew where I kept the plates and grabbed a few. Finally he cracked open two beers and put the rest in the freezer to get colder faster.
I filled my plate with fried rice, beef with broccoli, and lo mein and said, “You know, I’m just a pit boss. I don’t know how you get used to the death.”
“You askin’ me if I’m used to it?”
“I guess I just assumed you were.”
He chewed some shrimp, crunching
the crispy noodles he’d crushed over it, and seemed to think over the comment.
“You either got to get used to it,” he said, “or get to the point where you don’t mind it.”
“Aren’t those the same thing?”
“Naw,” Jerry said, “there’s a little difference. You can get used to anything, even if ya mind it.”
“And which point are you at?”
He shrugged. “I guess I’m used to it. People got to die sooner or later.”
“Dave Lewis didn’t die of natural causes, though,” I said. “And he didn’t choose to die.”
“Maybe he did,” Jerry said. “Maybe by helpin’ the girl he chose it.”
“That’s pretty deep, Jerry.”
“I ain’t deep, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “I just see things the way they are.
“Maybe that’s what deep means,” I offered.
He crushed more noodles onto his plate.
* * *
Three beers each later the doorbell rang. Jerry put his hand in his coat and came out with his .45.
“The cops,” I said.
“Maybe.”
We stood up.
“Just keep that thing out of sight.”
We left the kitchen and went to the front door. I looked out my window. Two bulky forms stood on my porch. I turned on the light and saw two guys who didn’t look anything like cops.
“You know them?” I asked him.
We switched places and he took a look.
“Never seen ’em before,” he said, “but they ain’t cops. Their coats cost too much.”
“And why are they wearing coats in Vegas?” I asked. August in Vegas, I could only think of one thing overcoats could be used for.
“They’re carryin’,” he said. “We can go out the back.”
“What if we just answer the door and find out who they are?” I asked. “You can get the drop on them, right?”
“If that’s what you want, sure.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll open the door and you . . . you do what you do.”
“Okay.”
“Just don’t shoot them.”
“Not if I don’t have to.”
The bell rang again as I was opening the door.
[Rat Pack 02] - Luck Be a Lady, Don't Die Page 10