Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) (24 page)

“You’re gonna be here longer than that, Eddie,” he said. “If you’ve got a date she’s gonna get stood up.”

“I’ve got a date all right,” I said, “but it’s not with a woman.”

“Woman, guy, it doesn’t matter,” he said, “you’re gonna miss it—but I didn’t think you went that way.”

“Goddammit, you don’t understand,” I said, “let me explain somethin’ to you—”

“Why don’t you start by tellin’ me what happened in your house?” he asked. “And what you have to do with four dead guys?”

“I didn’t—”

“And a set-up to make it look like they killed each other,” he went on. “That sounds like somethin’ your buddy Jerry brought with him from New York.”

I was getting frustrated, but there was no way I could admit to any involvement with the dead men. That would put Jerry in the shitter, and I couldn’t do that to him.

I sat forward and looked him in the eye.

“Hargrove,” I said, “somethin’ is gonna happen tonight that will impact—” I stopped short. Impact what? What could I tell him? The Presidency? I was supposed to be keeping that information to myself.

“Impact what?” he asked. “World peace?”

I was stuck for a reply.

“Sit tight,” he said, moving toward the door. “I’m gonna go talk to your buddy. Maybe he’ll give you up.”

“Hargrove wait—” I said, but he was out the door, and he didn’t return for almost an hour.

I knew Jerry wouldn’t give me up, but time was ticking away. We had to get out of there and make that meet, but how? Hargrove was right. Frank, or Dean, or Sammy couldn’t help me. It would take Jack Entratter a while to get a lawyer for us.

By the time Hargrove returned I had an idea.

“Am I under arrest?” I asked. “Are Jerry and I under arrest?”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “you are. Your only chance is to come clean—”

“I get a phone call,” I said. “I want my phone call.”

“A lawyer’s not gonna help you—”

“I’m not talkin’ to you until after my phone call,” I told him.

He glared at me. If he wanted to he could keep me away from a phone long enough to ruin everything, but I was counting on him being the letter-of-the-law kind of guy he was.

“Hargrove, I’ll talk to you,” I said, “but after my phone call.”

He frowned, then backed up and opened the door.

“Find me a room with a phone,” he told the cop just outside the door.

Hargrove took me into a room with a phone. I stared at him until he got the message and headed for the door.

“I’ll be right outside,” he said. “You’ve three minutes.”

As soon as the door closed I took a piece of paper out of my pocket and dialed the number on it.

A half hour later we were back in the other room and I was still trying to string Hargrove along. He was getting pissed.

“You haven’t told me a thing, Eddie,” he said. “You’re doin’ somethin’ for another high roller that you can’t talk about, and you don’t know anythin’ about bodies in a warehouse, or a bullet hole in your wall.”

“That’s it.”

“You’re wastin’ my time,” he said. “I think it’s time we put you and your friend in a cell—separate cells—and let you sweat it out overnight.”

I looked at the clock on the wall and he noticed.

“Yeah, you’re gonna miss your date, pal,” he said. “Let’s have your wallet, belt and shoes.” He’d already taken the envelopes of money.

If he put me in a cell that’d be the end of it. And if he went through my pockets thoroughly he’d find the photo, the one Sammy didn’t want anyone to see. Would Hargrove recognize the person in it, I wondered?

I was fishing my wallet out when there was a knock on the door and a cop stuck his head in.

“Detective? You better come out here.”

When he came back in he gave me an evil look.

“You think you’re pretty smart, Eddie.”

“Do I?”

“You really did it this time,” he said. “You went straight to the top to cover your ass. I wonder who and what you’re gonna have to pay for this?”

“I don’t get you.”

“You’re out.” He looked at my wallet and belt, which were on the table. He dug into his pocket, tossed the envelopes of money down reluctantly. “Put those away.”

“Look, Detective,” I said, “I didn’t have a choice, here …”

I looked at the clock. We had fifty minutes.

“This must be some pretty hot date,” he said. “You better enjoy it, because if I have anything to say about it, it’ll be your last.”

I put my wallet and the money away and slipped my belt back on.

“Can I go?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Your friend’s waitin’ outside.”

I started past him, but he grabbed my arm in a grip like a vice.

“How high do your friends go, Eddie?”

I didn’t answer.

“Pretty high, I think,” he went on. “You know, when you get that high there’s a heavy price to pay.”

“I should be able to explain this to you later….” I offered.

“Save it for your defense,” he said. “You’re gonna need it.”

He let go of my arm and I went out the door.

I
FOUND JERRY OUTSIDE
.

“Did you see anybody?” I asked. “Talk to anybody?”

“Nope,” he said. “They just let me go. What happened?”

“I made a phone call.”

“That number?” he asked.

“Yeah, that number,” I said. “Come on, we gotta get a cab.”

In the Sands parking lot minutes later, in my car, Jerry said, “We could call the cops and have them picked up.”

“Hargrove would never go for it.”

“There are other cops.”

“Picked up for what?” I asked. “The most they’d get them for would be carrying guns.”

“If we do this,” he said, “you’re gonna have to use that gun.”

“Unless we can talk them out of it.” Jerry shook his head.

“These bozos are tryin’ ta hold up the government,” he said. “You ain’t gonna talk them outta nothin’.”

“You’re probably right.”

“You ever killed anybody with a gun before, Mr. G.?” he asked.

“In the army.”

“Up close?”

“No.”

“I got your back, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “I gotta know that you got mine.”

I looked at him.

“You can ask me that after what happened in my house?”

“You didn’t have ta shoot nobody,” he said, “and you killed that guy by a fluke. Tonight ain’t gonna be no fluke.”

I took the gun out of my pocket and held it in my hand.

“Don’t worry, big guy,” I said, “I’ve got your back.”

We pulled into the same parking lot behind the same warehouse. It was the only place we could think of that would be away from people. At first we thought about having them meet us on our ground, in a casino, but with them being armed there was a possibility that innocent people could be hurt.

We got out of the car and walked to the same door we’d used to enter the warehouse the other two times. There was yellow crime scene tape across the door, but it had been broken. Either someone had gone inside previously, or they were in there now.

We looked around the lot. There was no light other than the headlights from my car.

“Let’s cut the car lights, Jerry,” I said. We both had flashlights this time.

He went to the car and turned off the lights. When he came back he had a flashlight in his left hand, and a gun in his right.

I took the gun out of my pocket, adopted the same position.

“Mr. G., you’re gonna do the talkin’, but you gotta let me have the lead on the action, okay?”

“Okay.”

“It would’ve been better if we coulda arranged for some backup,” he said. “Gettin’ picked up really fucked any chance for a plan.”

“I know,” I said. “I guess we should just go in and get it over with.”

“We don’t have ta do this, ya know,” he said. “You don’t have ta.”

“First, I’m not lettin’ you go in there alone,” I said. “That’s out. Second, yeah, I do have to do this, if just to get Hargrove off my back. Once he knows what was goin’ on maybe I’ll be off the hook for that bullet in my wall bein’ connected to a murder weapon.”

“Or not,” he said.

“Yeah, well, let’s be a little more optimistic here.”

“Okay, Mr. G. You ready?”

I took a deep breath. Was I ready?

No.

“Yes.”

W
E STEPPED INSIDE
and switched on our flashlights. It was quiet but then, in quick succession, other flashlights were turned on.

One … two … three …

… four and five.

“This ain’t good,” Jerry said in my ear. “There was only supposed to be three.”

I nodded, then said, “Yes,” because he probably couldn’t see me nod.

“Walter?” I shouted.

The five points of light came closer to us, but stayed spread out. Jerry and I played our lights across them, saw five guys in their thirties who, like us, were holding lights and guns.

“You’re outgunned,” someone said. “Put ’em down.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“We can put you down and take the money.”

“If we have the money on us,” I countered.

“You better have it on you.”

“Look, if you start shootin’ we’ll start shootin’. You might kill us, but some of you won’t leave this place alive. So why don’t we just do business?”

That was met with silence.

“Walter? Is that you doin’ the talkin’?”

More silence, then, “No, it’s me.” Then: “Jerry, is that you?”

The speaker shone his light on Jerry, who returned the favor. Jerry’s light showed a black-haired guy in his thirties.

“Hey, Angelo,” Jerry said. “What’re you doin’ with these amateurs?”

“Somebody killed the pros I was usin’,” he pointed at me, “left them all in here. I didn’t have any idea who killed them … up ta now …”

“That’s too bad,” Jerry said.

“What’re you doin’ with him?”

“Mr. G., this here’s Angelo DeLucca,” Jerry said. “Angelo, meet Eddie Gianelli. He’s a good friend of Mr. Sinatra’s.”

“So what?” Angelo said, looking unimpressed.

“Does Handsome Johnny know what you’re up to, Angelo?” Jerry asked.

I knew “Handsome Johnny” was Johnny Roselli, who represented Sam Giancana in Vegas, as well as Hollywood. In fact, some folks said Roselli was employed by Monogram Studios as a producer.

I did the math in my head: DeLucca/Roselli, Roselli/Giancana, Giancana/Sinatra, Sinatra/Sammy Davis, not to mention Sinatra/JFK and it wasn’t hard to figure out how this Angelo might know about Sammy’s photos. It wouldn’t take much for DeLucca to have someone creep into Sammy’s house for the film.

“Just tryin’ to do some business on the side, Jerry,” Angelo said. “You know how that is.”

“I do know, Angelo,” Jerry said, “but I’d never cross Mr. Giancana this way.”

“I ain’t crossin’ MoMo,” Angelo said. “This dough ain’t comin’ outta his pocket.”

“Yeah, you tell him that,” Jerry said. “You tell him how you used his connection to Mr. Sinatra to not only hold up Sammy Davis Jr., but President Kennedy.”

“Hey, that wasn’t me tryin’ ta squeeze the nigger,” Angelo said. “That was Ernie and his girl, and Walter’s idiot brother.”

“Where’s Tony?” a voice asked. I assumed it was Walter.

“I’m not sure, Walter,” I said. “Up to half an hour ago the cops had him.”

“The cops?”

“I told you,” DeLucca said, wearily, “I told you to keep that idiot away from us.”

“I didn’t—”

DeLucca turned and fired one shot. One of the flashlights fell to the floor. That was the end of Walter.

“Easy,” DeLucca said, as we all jumped at the sound of his shot. “Just doin’ some housecleanin’.”

And cutting the odds for us, I thought. Two to one, now.

“Too bad,” DeLucca said, looking back at Jerry and me. “He was a waiter at the Sands last year when JFK came to see the Rat Pack.”

“Ah,” I said, “so he spotted Sammy takin’ a picture, saw somethin’ in the background that would be worth money, if it was played right.”

“He was always hangin’ around me,” DeLucca said, “wantin’ a job. When he came to me with this I knew how to play it.”

“Right,” I said, “sit on it until JFK got comfortable in the Presidency.”

“Right,” DeLucca said, “but he was actually as big an idiot as his brother. He kept that six-gun he took when he creeped the nigger Jew’s house.”

“He did the house?” Jerry asked.

“He went with one of my men,” Angelo said. “Spotted the guns, decided to take one.”

“So why did you leave it on the body?” I asked.

“Why not? I knew Walter had it on him, so after I killed Ernie I took it from him and left it there. Give the cops somethin’ ta think about.”

“But why frame—”

“Where’s the fuckin’ money?” DeLucca demanded, cutting me off.

I wondered if we could cut the odds down a little more.

“You guys see that?” I asked. “That’s what he’s got in mind for all of you.”

“Shut up,” Angelo DeLucca said. “Shut yer friend up, Jerry.”

“Why, Angelo?” Jerry asked. “He’s right, ain’t he? You ain’t gonna share any of the money with these bozos. I’ll bet they was all brought into the game by Walter, right? And now you shot their friend down right in front of them.”

“A four-way split is better than five,” DeLucca announced to his cohorts.

“And a one way split is the best of all,” I said. “Come on, guys, Angelo here is a pro. He knows how to tie up loose ends, and you guys are all loose ends.”

“You’re the biggest loose end,” Angelo said to me. “I should take care of you right now.”

He extended his gun toward me.

“Don’t Ang—” Jerry said, but he had no time to finish. He had no choice but to fire. The shot lit up the room. The bullet hit Angelo dead center. He spasmed, pulled the trigger of his own gun, firing a round wild and lighting the darkness again.

That left three of them and two of us.

“Drop ’em, boys,” Jerry said. “It’s all over.”

We played our lights over them. They were all nervous, jittery, sweating and biting their lips, wondering what to do because the two men who were their leaders were gone. If they panicked and started shooting it wasn’t going to go well.

Suddenly, we heard what sounded like a bolt being thrown and the sliding metal door to the bay slid up. The glare of several sets of headlights lit the interior of the warehouse and nearly a dozen men came charging in with guns.