Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) (19 page)

“Are they followin’ us?” Jerry asked.

“No,” I said, turning back around. “You can slow down before you kill us.”

He slowed, but not by much.

“Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

“I think that first guy we found in the warehouse was met and killed by somebody who was sent by the Kennedy family.”

“And the men we killed in your house?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Secret Service, CIA, or just hired muscle. Whichever, they were being directed by someone inside the administration.”

“Jesus,” Jerry said, “the President?”

“That’s the funny part,” I said. “I don’t think the President knows what’s goin’ on.”

We were back on the paved road to Reno when I told Jerry what Peter Lawford had told me.

“Somebody’s freelancin’,” he said when I was done.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean whoever was after Mr. Davis’s fifty G’s is not playin’ the game accordin’ to plan.”

“So while they’re trying to get big money from the Kennedy family,” I said, “somebody else decided to make a quick fifty grand on the side?”

“And got killed for it.”

“The guy in the warehouse,” I said.

“I still think his own people killed him,” Jerry said, “for pullin’ this stunt.”

“But I got another note after he was killed.”

“So he’s got friends,” Jerry said. “That dame who came to your room, and her boyfriend.”

“They might be dead, too.”

“If I was makin’ the big play,” he said, “I’d kill anybody who was pissin’ in my pot.”

“So we’ve got blackmailers killin’ blackmailers, and government hit men killin’ people,” I said. “All the more reason for us to just get out. I mean, look what just happened back there. If we’d gone there for a meet, we’d be dead.”

“Mr. G.,” he said, “if there are hitters in town—private or government—I might be able to find out.”

“I’m lookin’ to back out of this whole business, Jerry,” I said. “I don’t think I want you to make any calls. Let’s wait and see what happens after I talk to Sammy.”

We drove in silence until we saw the lights of Reno.

“You saved my ass again, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “Comin’ out there for me. I ain’t gonna forget it.”

“That’s okay, Jerry,” I said. “I think we’re about even.”

W
E WERE WALKING
through the casino in Harrah’s when I said, “I saw Marilyn Monroe in here earlier tonight.”

“Yer shittin’ me.”

“I shit you not.”

“What was she doin’ here?”

“She’s shootin’ a movie with Clark Gable,” I said.
“The Misfits.”

“Wow. She look good?”

I thought of the handkerchief in my pocket with her lipstick on it. “She looked great.”

We went up to our room to collect what few things we’d brought with us, which included Jerry’s back-up gun.

We packed up and he took out the .38 and showed it to me.

“Still don’t want it?” he asked.

“Considerin’ everything that’s happening,” I said, “I’ll take it.”

“You know how to use it?” he asked, handing it to me.

“I know.”

I tucked the gun into my belt, where it felt foreign, but comforting.

We had finished packing our bags and were heading out the door when the phone rang.

We looked at each other. The reason we were getting out was
because people knew where we were. We weren’t sure if Sloane and his two friends were in either of those cars, but it was a good bet.

“Gonna answer it?” Jerry asked.

“No,” I said. “They might just be checkin’ to see if we’re here. Let’s go!”

We left the room and hurried down the hall.

“Wait,” Jerry said, at the elevators. “There must be another way off this floor and to the lobby.”

“A freight elevator. If this place is anything like the Sands it’ll be this way.”

“What about a stairway?”

I looked on either side of the elevator and saw a door.

“That’d be it, but we’d come out right by the elevators. This way.”

I led him back up the hallway, past our room, to where I hoped we’d find the freight elevator. We had to go through a door, but we found it.

“We take this to the first floor and then we duck out the back,” I said.

The door opened and we got in. As the door closed Jerry eased his .45 from his shoulder holster.

“No harm bein’ ready,” he said.

I put my hand in my jacket pocket and closed it over the .38. I was very tense when the door opened, but relieved when there was no one there.

We came out into a hall. I got my bearings and said, “This way,” moving away from the casino toward the back of the building. We found a door that took us out to the parking lot.

When we reached the car and got in—me behind the wheel—Jerry slid his .45 back into holster and said, “Where are we goin’?”

“Tahoe.”

“Why not back to Vegas?”

“That’s probably where they’d expect us to go.”

“We gonna find the helicopter pilot—”

“Forget it,” I said. “We’ll drive. It’s only forty or fifty miles.”

“Can we check into a hotel then?” Jerry asked.

“No, we’ll go to the Cal Neva. Frank left me a key for the cabin whenever I wanted.”

“So what do we do when we get there?”

“I’m gonna talk to Sammy, tell him exactly what I think is goin’ on, and why I want out.”

“Mr. G.”

“Yeah?”

“What happens if they won’t let us out?” he asked.

“You’re out, Jerry,” I said. “We can get you back to Vegas and put you on a plane to New York.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll have to try to convince them that I haven’t seen any incriminating photos of the President, and I don’t want to.”

“How’re you gonna do that?”

“I’ll have to go through Peter Lawford, I guess. I don’t know if Frank can get to anybody in the administration.”

“What if you can’t get in touch?”

“I’ll have to, somehow,” I said. “Maybe Jack Entratter can help me.”

“I can still make those phone calls, you know,” he said. “Find out about the hitters?”

“Yeah, okay, do that when we get to Tahoe. You might come up with something I can use.”

We drove in silence for a while. I was tired, but so keyed up that my eyes were wide open.

“Mr. G.?”

“Yeah?”

“What about Mr. Giancana?”

“What about him?”

“He might be able to help you.”

“He’d never get to the Kennedys,” I said. “Maybe before Jack was President, but not now.”

“You never know if you don’t ask.”

I took a quick look at Jerry, then put my eyes back on the road.

“Why would he do that for me?” I asked.

“I think he liked you when he met you last year.”

“Have you seen or talked to him since then?”

“No.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to get in touch with him.”

“I got a number you could call.”

I hesitated, almost asked him if he’d make the call for me, but instead I said, “I’ll give it some thought.”

“You need to get some help wherever ya can, Mr. G.,” he said. “I know that, Jerry,” I said. “Okay, I’ll give it a lot of thought.”

W
E PHONED SAMMY
and woke him up when we got to the Cal Neva and let ourselves into cabin four. He invited us up to his suite but I wanted to go a different way.

“Why don’t you come over here?” I said. “I want to be able to talk without anyone knowin’ where we are.”

“Okay, man,” he said, “your call. Since you have no room service can I bring anythin’?”

“Coffee.”

“Unless you want something stronger?” he said.

“Coffee’s fine,” I said. “The way I’m feelin’ if I have a drink it might knock me right out.”

“Where’s your partner?”

“He’s here.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I hung up and walked to the window. I could see a portion of the lake from there.

“This ain’t what I expected when you said cabin,” Jerry observed.

“I know,” I said, “when I first came to see Frank I thought I’d find somethin’ more rustic.”

“Huh?”

“Somethin’ more … earthy, plain. Nothin’ this fancy.”

“Oh, yeah … rustic.”

“How about a hike while we’re here?” I asked.

“I was willin’ ta hike for you in Reno, Mr. G.,” he said. “Let’s don’t push it, huh.”

Sammy had a driver who had him at the cabin, with coffee, inside of half an hour. The driver carried the tray in—coffee and some donuts—while Sammy gave me and Jerry a big hug each. Jerry wasn’t used to that kind of demonstrative behavior, but he put up with it.

Sammy poured three cups of coffee, handed us each one, then sat down on the sofa. The driver went outside and waited in the car.

“My eyes used to get like yours when I was tired,” he said. “Now this one stays clear.” He pointed to the glass eye and laughed.

I noticed that his good eye was as red as both of mine.

“You want out, Eddie?” he asked.

“Sammy, I need—”

“No hard feelings,” he said. “I appreciate what you’ve done, especially when it came to the gun. You can walk away.”

“I need to explain this to you.”

He sat back on the sofa and said, “I’m all ears, pal.”

I told him what I knew, what I suspected, and what I thought. He listened without interrupting.

“Whataya think?” I asked when I was done.

“I don’t know, Eddie,” he said. “Hit men? Maybe from the CIA? Or Joe Kennedy?”

“Or Bobby.”

Sammy dry-washed his face with both hands, then sat forward and sipped some coffee.

“Are you sure you’re not … overreacting?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, Sam. You know that you took some photos when Jack Kennedy was around. We talked about this as a possibility.”

“Well, yeah,” he agreed, “but nothing anybody would kill for.”

“That you know of.”

“I’ve wracked my brain, Eddie,” Sammy said. “If I caught JFK with his pants down, I don’t know it.”

“Maybe it wasn’t so much his pants down as his hand out.”

“A payoff?” Sammy asked. “Making one or paying one?”

“What about that million dollars Peter wanted to show us last year? Remember?” I asked. “Didn’t he say the hotel owners wanted to donate it to JFK’s campaign?”

“Yeah, but there’s nothin’ illegal about a campaign contribution.”

“Well, if you can’t figure it out, I sure can’t,” I said. “My only move now is to try and get out of this alive.”

“There’s still the photo
I’m
tryin’ to buy back,” he said.

“I’m thinkin’ that might be a dead issue, Sammy. And I do mean dead.”

“You mean you think whoever was tryin’ to sell me the photo is dead?”

“My theory is, they went out on a limb, tried to make some extra money on the side, and got slapped down for it.”

“But if I hear from them again …”

Yeah, what if he did hear from them again. What if Caitlin and her boyfriend were still after their fifty grand? Could I just walk out on him?

“If you get another note let me know,” I said. “But if they call this time, because notes don’t seem to be working, then you tell them to call me personally. Tell ’em that’s the only way you’ll do it.”

“But what if that’s not what they wanna do. What if they just release the photo—”

“They don’t make any money that way, Sam,” I said. “These are greedy people. They could sell it to a tabloid, but not for as much. They’ll do whatever it takes to get that money. Just play hardball with them. Tell them I’m the go-between and they have to discuss the details with me. Tell ’em that’s the only way you’ll do it.”

“And what phone number do I give them?” he asked. “You’re not goin’ home, are you?”

“No, I can’t go home until I clear this up,” I said. “They tried something there once, already. Gimme a minute to think.”

I poured myself some coffee while I thought the situation over. Sammy just sat on the sofa and stared out the window at the sky.

“Okay,” I said, “if they call just arrange a time for them to call here.”

“How do I get in touch with you?”

“Same thing, I’ll be here,” I said. “Also, if you can’t get me call Jerry.” I didn’t have to send Jerry back to New York just yet. The big guy looked at me and nodded his okay.

We stood up and Sammy walked me to the door.

“I hope you’re wrong about all this, Eddie,” Sammy said. “I mean, I hope this isn’t some big conspiracy….”

“This country was built on conspiracies, Sammy,” I said.

“That may be, but I don’t need ’em in my life. I got enough grief.”

“I hear ya,” I said, and he left.

“Jerry,” I said, “after what happened in Reno why don’t you go with Sammy? Watch out for him.”

“For how long?”

“I have a feelin’ they’re gonna move fast on this,” I said. “I’d just feel better if you were with him for a while. We don’t know what those Feds from Reno—if they are Feds—will pull.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “I’ve got your other gun. Get goin’.”

“Gotcha, Mr. G.”

T
HERE WAS A KNOCK
at the door about ten minutes later. I opened it, thinking it was Jerry.

“What’d you forget—”

It wasn’t Jerry. It was two men with guns.

“Eddie Gianelli?” one of the men asked.

“You know that already, or you wouldn’t be here,” I said, with a calm that surprised even me.

I said they had guns, I didn’t say the weapons were in their hands. No, one had a gun on his belt, the other in a shoulder holster. They stood with their hands on their hips, so that the weapons were displayed.

“Are you Eddie Gianelli?” the older one asked. He had about ten years on his partner. He stood up straight, the younger one slouched. Sometimes I think that’s the definition of experience.

“The man asked you a question,” the young one said, “twice. Don’t you think it would be polite to answer him?”

“You’re probably right,” I said. I looked at the older one. Forties, I thought, like me. “Yes, I’m Eddie Gianelli.”

“The one they call ‘Eddie G’?”

“Well, I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but yes, that’s a nickname of mine.”

“Well, Eddie G,” the older one said, “somebody wants to see you.”