Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) (7 page)

“If the one that’s left still wants the money he’ll make contact again.”

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, Mr. G.,” he said. “Nobody knows nothin’.”

“I need a drink,” I said. “You want a drink?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s go.”

I got out of the Caddy and retrieved the gun and the envelope from the backseat. We opened the trunk and I put the gun—still holding it with the pen—underneath the spare. The envelope I put back in my pocket. Then we went inside to the Silver Queen Lounge and sat at the bar.

“Harry!” I called.

“Hey, Eddie. Hey, I know you, right?” Harry asked Jerry.

“Better if you didn’t,” Jerry said, and Harry nodded.

“Two bourbons, Harry,” I said.

“Make mine a beer,” Jerry said.

“Okay,” I said, “two beers, and a bourbon.”

“Comin’ up.”

“You okay, Mr. G.?” Jerry asked.

I held my hands out in front of me. They were shaking.

“Maybe not, Jerry.”

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Jerry said. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Yeah.”

Harry came with the drinks and backed away quickly. I wondered what it would be like to be Jerry, able to scare people with my size, or a look.

I took a sip of bourbon and chased it down with a swallow of beer.

“Mr. G., you gonna call the cops?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “I’ll have to talk to Sammy. He didn’t want the cops involved.”

“What about Mr. S.?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He won’t have any input. It’ll be up to Sammy.”

Jerry shrugged and swallowed half his beer in one gulp.

“Jerry, you can occupy yourself tonight and tomorrow morning until I talk to Sammy.”

“Where you goin’?”

“I’ll go home and call him from there.”

“I better come with you,” Jerry said.

“Jerry, you’ve got a great room here, and the whole casino to keep you entertained.”

“We found a dead body tonight, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “Somebody killed him. And that somebody is still out there.”

“Well, like you said at the warehouse, we don’t know that the killing has to do with the reason I was there.”

“No, we don’t,” Jerry said, “but how much do you believe in coincidence?”

“Not much.”

“So I better come with ya,” he said. “You still got the same sofa? That sofa’s pretty comfortable.”

“Yeah,” I said, “yeah, I’ve got the same sofa.”

“Mr. G., I know I’m your second choice, here,” the big man said. “I know you’d like to have yer buddy Bardini here. I may not figure out what’s going on, but I won’t let nothin’ happen ta ya.”

“I know that, Jerry,” I said. “Believe me, I appreciate that you came when I called.”

“Why wouldn’t I, Mr. G.?”

I
WAS TEMPTED TO TALK
to Jack Entratter first, but two things stopped me. First, I would’ve had to wake him and second, I really did owe it to Sammy to call him. After all, I was sure he’d be waiting to hear what happened.

We collected Jerry’s suitcase from his room and then drove to my house. I didn’t bother checking him out of the hotel. I figured we might have use for his room later on.

When we got to the house he went to check out the kitchen while I called Sammy.

“Eddie, goddamn, man, I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

“I know, Sammy, I’m sorry.”

“How did things go?”

“Not the way anyone planned, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

I told him the whole story, how nobody showed up and how we found a body inside the warehouse, shot to death.

“You had somebody with you?” he asked.

“Yeah, somebody I trust to watch my back,” I answered, “but I didn’t tell him why we were there. I mean, what we were supposed to be buying.”

“What about this dead guy? Did you know him?”

“Never saw him before.”

“Did you … I mean, I don’t know what you do when you find a body. Did you … search him? Try to find out who he was?”

I lowered my voice and said, “I just did a quick search to see if he had the … object on him.”

“And did he?”

“No,” I said, “but he had something else.”

“What?”

“A six-gun.”

“A what?”

“A six-shooter, Sammy,” I said. “Like the ones you had in your holster the other day.”

“My guns are here, Eddie.”

“Do you have any others, Sammy? At your house, maybe?”

“Well, yeah …”

“Can you call May and see if they’re all there?”

“Aw, I don’t want to do that, man,” he said. “That’ll just worry her.”

“It would help us to know if this was one of your guns, Sammy,” I said. “If it is then somebody tried to frame you for murder.”

“Man,” he said, “I was just tryin’ to buy back a photo. Why would someone want to frame me?”

“I was gonna ask you that,” I replied. “Look, I’ll fly up there tomorrow and bring the gun.”

“You took it?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I couldn’t leave it there.”

“Eddie, man … you broke the law.”

“I know, Sammy, I know, but if it was yours …”

“I don’t know what to say, man,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “I’ll be there early tomorrow, or as soon as I can get ahold of Frank’s pilot.”

“I’ll call Frank first thing,” he said. “I’ll arrange it. A car will pick you up in the morning.”

“Good, Sammy, good.”

“Eddie … did you call the cops about the body?”

“No, Sam,” I said, “not yet. I was going to but … let’s wait until
you look at the gun. If it’s not yours, I can call the cops and report the body.”

“And if it is mine?”

“I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As I hung up, Jerry yelled from the kitchen, “You got some baloney. You want a sandwich?”

“No thanks.”

“I’m makin’ coffee,” he said.

“Good. I’ll have some of that.”

I left the phone and walked into the kitchen. Jerry had taken off his jacket, hung it over the back of a chair, and rolled up his sleeves. He was wearing his shoulder harness with his .45 under his left arm.

“You gotta stock your ice box with more stuff, Mr. G.,” he said.

“Yeah, now that you’re here, I’ll have to.”

“Geez, don’t you eat?”

“I eat out, Jerry … a lot.”

“Yeah, I know, but ya gotta have some food in the house, just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“Ya get hungry!”

“That’s not a ‘just in case’ with you, Jerry,” I said, “that’s an ‘all the time.’ ”

“Hey, I’m a big guy. I gotta eat.” He bit into his baloney sandwich and licked a glob of mustard from the corner of his mouth. I didn’t even know I had mustard. I never use it.

“So did you talk to Mr. Davis?”

“I did.”

“What are we doin’ tomorrow?”

“We’re flyin’ to Lake Tahoe in Frank’s helicopter.”

“Early, I bet.”

“A car will pick us up and take us to the airport,” I said.

“I’ll get up and make some eggs,” Jerry said. “I noticed you have eggs.”

I didn’t bother to tell him not to make breakfast. I knew it would be no use. Hell, if he had to eat I figured I might as well, too.

“I’ll get you a pillow and some sheets for the sofa.”

“Just a pillow’s good, Mr. G.” He patted the .45. “I got my baby to keep me warm.”

I liked the idea of having Jerry on my sofa with his .45. Once last year a couple of goons had broken into my house and worked me over. Another time, two gunnies kicked in the door only to find Jerry there. And still another time somebody had blown up my Caddy, hoping to find me in it. After finding that body in the warehouse I probably wouldn’t have slept in the house alone with no gun.

“I’m gonna turn in,” I said. “I’ll get up at the first smell of coffee.”

“I’ll get it goin’ good an’ early, Mr. G.,” Jerry promised.

E
VERYONE WHO TOOK US
to Tahoe was the same—the driver who picked us up at the house, the helicopter pilot, and then Henry, who drove us from the heliport to Harrah’s, rather than to the Cal Neva. I wasn’t figuring we’d stay overnight.

When we got to Harrah’s I considered making Jerry wait in the lobby, but if push came to shove Jerry’s neck would be on the line along with mine. He deserved better.

I knocked on Sammy’s door. When he opened it he looked as if he hadn’t slept. His eyes were red-rimmed and he had a cigarette in his mouth—one of many I was sure he’d gone through since we talked the night before. I wondered if the red eyes were only from lack of sleep, or if he’d been drinking, as well. I didn’t know Sammy’s habits, if he drank or did drugs, so I couldn’t really hazard a guess.

But he seemed steady as he said, “Come on in.”

We followed him in and Jerry closed the door behind us.

“This the cat you told me about?” Sammy asked when we reached the sofa. “The one you said you could trust?”

“Yes,” I said, “this is Jerry.”

“I know you, don’t I?” Sammy asked.

“Maybe,” Jerry said. “I was around a couple of times last year.”

“Sure, okay,” Sammy said. “You helped with Frank and Dean’s problems.”

“I helped Mr. G., yeah.”

Sammy leaned over, stubbed out the cigarette in a loaded ashtray, and immediately lit another one.

“You got it?” he asked, then. “You bring the gun?”

Jerry had offered to carry the gun and I’d let him. He was so big it made less of a bulge in his belt. He reached behind his back and took it out, wrapped in a cloth. Neither of us had touched it with our bare hands.

I put it down on the table and unwrapped it.

“Examine it without touching it,” I told Sammy.

“I don’t have to examine it,” he said. “It’s one of mine.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“A man knows his own guns,” he said.

“He’s right, Mr. G.,” Jerry offered.

“That’s just great,” I said. “I need a drink. Anybody else?”

“Sure,” Sammy said.

“I’ll get ’em,” Jerry said.

“Here.” Sammy picked up a glass from the table next to the sofa and handed it to Jerry. “Bourbon, rocks.”

“Me, too, Jerry.”

Jerry went to the bar and built three drinks while I stayed where I was and watched Sammy, who actually crouched down and stared at the gun.

“Do we know for sure the cat was killed with this gun?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “but it seems pretty obvious somebody wanted you to get the blame.”

He used one finger to move the gun, just touching the cloth. Jerry came over, handed me my drink and put Sammy’s down on the table.

“Is that gun registered to you?” I asked Sammy.

“No,” he said, “none of them are registered. They’re all supposed to be collector’s pieces.”

“Does that mean they’re not supposed to fire?”

“Right,” Sammy said. He grabbed his drink and stood up. “Most of them are plugged, like the two you saw yesterday.”

“But this one actually works?”

“Yes.”

“Who knew that?” I asked. “Who knows about your guns?”

“Just a few people,” Sammy said, “but I trust them. May, Silber, my dad …”

There was an overstuffed armchair behind me and I decided to sit down. Jerry sat in an identical chair a few feet away. Sammy remained standing, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, and it looked to me like he was swaying.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you sit down?”

He stared at me for a moment, then seemed to process what I said and sat on the sofa.

“Somethin’s wrong here,” I said. “You’re not tellin’ me everything.”

He hesitated.

“Come on, Sam. One of your guns goes missin’ and you don’t know it? I don’t buy that.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry, man. Yeah, the gun was taken the same time the photos were.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not sure I know the answer to that, Eddie,” he replied. “Maybe I didn’t think you’d help me if you knew about the gun.”

“You never reported it missing?”

“I told you, none of them are registered.”

I thought a minute, then said, “Okay. Forget it. It doesn’t change anything right now. We still have to deal with this.”

“You still haven’t called the police?” Sammy asked.

“No,” I said, “and as far as we know a body hasn’t been found. At least, it wasn’t on the news this morning.”

“But you’re gonna call ’em?”

I looked at Jerry, who looked away. I knew his thoughts on the subject.

“I feel like I have to.”

“Of course.”

“It’s gonna be found sooner or later,” I reasoned.

Sammy nodded, added another stubbed-out butt to the ashtray and lit up a fresh cigarette.

“What about this?” he asked. “What are we gonna do with this?”

We all stared at the gun.

“Well, it’s yours.” Jerry and I still hadn’t touched it.

“But it may have killed someone.”

“We don’t know that, but yeah, it may have.”

“Get rid of it,” Jerry said.

Sammy and I both looked at him.

“Throw it in the lake.”

Sammy looked at me.

“I do that, we’ll never know,” Sammy said.

“What’s the difference?” I asked. “The guy’s dead.”

“If we throw away the murder weapon, how will they ever find out who the killer was?” he asked.

“If you don’t get rid of it,” Jerry said, “they could use it to prove you did it.”

Sammy looked at me and I shrugged.

“Jerry knows more about this stuff than either one of us.” I looked over at the big guy. “Keep going, Jerry.”

“If the dead guy is one of the blackmailers,” Jerry said, “who cares who killed ’im? You didn’t, right?”

“Of course not,” Sammy said. “I was here—I was on stage last night.”

“We don’t need an alibi, Sam,” I said.

“It’s more likely the blackmailers got into it and one of them shot the other one.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Sammy asked.

“Like I said, get rid of the gun,” Jerry answered. “Then sit and wait for somebody to get in touch with you.”

He sat back in his chair.

“He’s more than just muscle, huh?” Sammy asked.

“And he can cook,” I said.