Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) (9 page)

“Don’t worry,” he said, “somebody would have to find it in more than one place. I broke it down in pieces and sort of … spread it around.”

“Where did you put … You know what? I don’t want to know.”

Frank listened patiently. He knew he wasn’t getting all of it, but in the end he just told me, “Keep tryin’ to help him, Eddie. Sam’s already been through a lot. You know, it ain’t easy bein’ black and Jewish. He takes a lot of crap.”

“Don’t worry, Frank,” I assured him, “I’m doing my best.”

“I know you are, Eddie,” Frank said. “Listen, one other thing. Give big Jerry a pass tonight. I don’t think he’s real comfortable, but I also don’t think he’d say so.”

“I was having the same thought. I’ll go out and talk to him now while you wait for Dean.”

Frank nodded and I left. The Copa Room was empty and men were stacking chairs on top of the tables, so I went outside the front doors and found the guys waiting there. Joey and Buddy were arguing, or pretending to; Sammy’s head rocked left and right, like he was watching a tennis tournament. Jerry was standing off to the side with no expression on his face. I walked over to him.

“Hey, Mr. G.”

“Hey, Jerry,” I said, “you look a little tired.”

“Huh? Oh, I am, sorta—”

“Why don’t you go up and use your room to get some rest?” I asked. “Or go back to the house.”

“I’d hafta take the Caddy—”

“I’ll get a ride,” I assured him. “You don’t have to come out with these bozos if you don’t want to.”

“I was kinda thinkin’ about skippin’ it….”

“Sure, why not?” I said. “I’ll see you later at the house.”

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“These guys’ll be around me all night, and like I said, I’ll get a ride home.”

“Well, okay,” Jerry said, “but you be careful.”

“Go ahead,” I said, slapping him on one big shoulder. “Go home and get some rest.”

“Thanks, Mr. G.,” he said. “You’ll, uh, explain to everybody—”

“Sure, sure,” I said, “just go.”

He looked very pleased at having been given his release—or else he was just looking forward to driving the Caddy again.

I turned and went to see what Joey and Buddy were beefing to each other about.

W
HILE I WAS OUT BOOZING
and carousing with the boys, Jerry drove my Caddy back to my house. He said when he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine he could feel something was wrong. He didn’t know how to explain it. It was some kind of extra sense—Jerry knew nothing about a “sixth sense” at that time—that had served him well over the years and kept him alive.

It was dark. He had pulled into the driveway with the lights on, and then cut them.

I didn’t have a garage. At the time I bought the house I had managed to wrangle the price down because of that.

Jerry got out of the car, closed the door behind him, and stared at the house. The blinds on the front bay window were open, the way we had left them. He stared at the window, and then saw it. He must have spotted it out of the corner of his eye when he pulled in. A small pinpoint of light, like the glowing end of a cigarette when somebody draws on it.

Jerry had three choices: front door, back door, or get back in the car and leave. He had to decide fast, before whoever was inside decided to come out after him.

He moved around the car lazily, in no hurry, and when he was out of sight of the window he drew his gun and hurried around to the
back. He didn’t know what they’d do inside when he was out of sight. Maybe they’d come out to have a look. Or maybe they’d expect him to try the back.

He stopped at a side window, which he knew led to my bedroom. Jerry knew everything there was to know about my house. He made sure of that each of the other times he was there.

He hoped whoever was inside was watching the front and back doors, because he was going in through the bedroom. The locks on my window were for shit, which Jerry knew.

He jimmied the window open as quickly and quietly as he could, then climbed inside as silently as his bulk would allow him. At one point he feared his rear end had gotten wedged in the window, but then he slid through and was in the house.

Forty-five in hand he moved to the bedroom door. As he got closer to it and reached to pull it open, it suddenly slammed into him. He staggered back, kept hold of his gun, but there was a bright light in his face, blinding him.

“We’re not that stupid, friend,” a voice said. “Just drop the gun and let’s talk.”

We hit a few clubs, had some drinks and laughs, turned away many pretty ladies because it was “guy’s night out.” Eventually, we ended up at Frank’s booth in the Congo Room at the Sahara. It was late, but they put out a spread for Frank and his guests. I was sorry I had sent Jerry home. He would have loved it.

“Time for me to call it a night,” Dean announced.

“It’s still early,” Frank argued.

“I have to be on stage tomorrow night and do it all over again,” Dean said, “and this time without you bums. I need my rest.”

“Me, too, Frank,” Sammy said. “I need to get back to Tahoe early tomorrow to get ready for tomorrow night’s show.”

“You guys are workaholics,” Frank complained.

“Look at the pot callin’ the kettle black,” Dean said.

“What’d you say about black?” Sammy demanded.

“Oh no,” Dean said, “I’m not starting a routine with you.”

He stood up and put his hands on Frank’s shoulders from behind.

“Thanks for coming to the show, Frank.”

“You were great, Dino, as usual.”

“Anybody want to share a limo?” he asked.

“Yeah, me,” I said.

“Eddie!” Frank said, as if insulted.

“Sorry, Frank,” I said, “but I’ve got things to do in the morning.”

“I’ll come along,” Sammy said. He looked at Joey and Buddy. “I’ll see you cats. If you get a chance come to Harrah’s and catch my show.”

“A capital idea, Sam,” Buddy Hackett said.

“Capital,” Joey agreed, and the two nodded at each other.

“Let’s get another round of drinks, Frank,” Buddy said.

“See?” Frank said to those of us who were leaving. “These are my real friends!”

Dean laughed, because he knew who Frank considered his real friends, and Sammy and I followed him outside.

“Goin’ back to the Sands, Sammy?” Dean asked.

“I think I want to get some air,” Sammy said. “Eddie, what are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna get a ride to my house.”

“I’ve never seen your pad,” he said. “Mind if I tag along?”

“Sure, why not?”

We had been using two limos all night, so we all piled in one and left the other for Frank, Joey and Buddy. We dropped Dean off at the Sands first, and then had the driver take us to my house.

“Nice little neighborhood,” Sammy said as we drove down my block.

“Right here,” I said to the driver, and then suddenly I said, “no, keep goin’.”

“What’s the matter?” Sammy asked.

“Go to the corner,” I said to the driver. To Sammy I said, “I’m not sure. Jerry’s supposed to be there. My car’s in the driveway, but there’s no light in the house.”

“Maybe he’s asleep,” Sammy said. “It’s late.”

It was 2
A.M
.

“This is Vegas, Sammy,” I said, “it’s not that late.”

“Okay, so what do you wanna do?” Sammy asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Call the police?”

“No,” I said, “no cops.”

“What’s your name, driver?” Sammy asked.

“Thomas, Mr. Davis.”

“Thomas, you got anything in the car we could use as a weapon?” Thomas leaned forward, opened the glove compartment, and took out a wicked-looking automatic.

“Will this do?”

“Whoa,” Sammy said, reaching for the gun. “A German Luger? This is groovy.”

“I brought it back with me from Germany,” Thomas said. I hadn’t realized earlier that he was in his sixties.

“Do you have a permit for that?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Can I borrow it?” Sammy asked.

“Sam,” I said, “if you shoot somebody with that, not only are you gonna be in trouble, but so will Thomas.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sammy said, handing the gun back to the driver.

“You got a tire iron, or something?” I asked.

“If you gents are having a problem,” Thomas said, “maybe me and my Luger can help?”

T
HOMAS TURNED OUT
to be ex-Army Ranger Sergeant Thomas Thorpe. Out of the fifteen million men and women who served in the armed forces during World War II, only three thousand were Rangers. They were trained for surprise attacks, many of which took place at night—like this.

“What would you like me to do, sir?” Thomas asked as we approached the house.

“I think I’ll go in the front, Thomas, pretend there’s nothing wrong. Why don’t you go in the back—just in case something is wrong.”

“Sounds good,” he said.

“And me?” Sammy asked.

“I still think you should’ve stayed in the car, Sam.”

“No way,” Sammy said. “Whatever’s goin’ down is because of me. I want in.”

I was holding a tire iron. As we reached my car I decided to put it down in the grass.

“What are you doin’?” Sammy asked.

“Well, if I’m gonna walk in like nothing’s wrong I can’t very well be carrying a tire iron, can I?”

“I suggest you put it down your pants leg,” Thomas said. “You might need it.”

I thought that over, then decided an Army Ranger knew what he was talking about. I picked the iron up and put it down my left pants leg. It didn’t reach my knee, so I’d have no trouble walking.

“I would’ve offered to carry it,” Sammy said with a grin, “but I’ve got short legs.”

Thomas laughed, then started around the house.

“So we just walk in?” Sammy asked.

“If somebody’s in there and they kill us they won’t get any money out of you, will they?” I asked.

“Then why would they be in there?” Sam asked.

“Probably to deliver a message.”

“For the next meeting?”

“Maybe.”

“Well then let’s go on in,” Sammy said. “That’s a message I’d like to get.”

I took my keys out of my pocket and said, “Okay, let’s go.”

We walked up to the door. I put the key in, turned it, and twisted the knob. Just inside on the wall was a light switch. I hit it and the living room lit up.

Jerry was sitting in my armchair—or, rather, he was duct-taped to it. There was so much silver tape around him he looked like the tin man from
The Wizard of Oz
. His eyes appeared very calm, though.

There were two other men in the room: one standing, one seated on the sofa. They both held guns in their hands, sort of casually, not really pointed at us. That was all they had in common that I could see. The standing one was fat, with smooth, sweaty cheeks even though it wasn’t that hot in the house. He looked young, like a big baby. The seated one was slender, with hollowed-out cheeks. He could’ve been anywhere from forty to fifty.

“Well, about time you came home,” the seated one said. “And you brought a distinguished guest.”

“That’s Sammy Davis Jr.,” the other man said. “Wow!”

“Thanks, man,” Sammy said. “I’m flattered by the review.”

I hoped neither of them noticed I was holding my left hand tight to my side so the tire iron wouldn’t slide down.

“You okay Jerry?”

The big guy did his best to nod.

“Oh, he’s fine,” the seated man said. “We didn’t hurt him none. We caught him comin’ in the window of your bedroom. We thought maybe he was plannin’ on stealin’ somethin’ so we decided to hold him for you. Maybe you wanna talk to him after we finish our business.”

“And what business do we have?” I asked.

“I think you know,” the man with the hollow cheeks said.

I looked at Sammy, who shrugged, playing it cool.

“I think you’re gonna have to spell it out for us, pal,” I said, “but first, why don’t you two gents put the guns away?”

“These,” Hollow Cheeks said, “are just a precaution. We didn’t want you overreacting when you found us here.”

“I’m a goddamned pit boss,” I said. “How could I overreact? Ban you from the tables?”

Hollow Cheeks laughed, and the Big Baby took that as his cue to laugh as well. I looked beyond them through the kitchen door, wondering if Thomas was moving around in the dark.

“Hey, cats,” Sammy said, “ain’t your business with me?”

Big Baby slapped Hollow Cheeks on the shoulder and, grinning broadly, said, “Sammy Davis Jr.! Geez.”

“Relax,” said Hollow Cheeks, “don’t get so excited over a little nigger.”

I didn’t know how that made Sammy feel, but it sure as hell pissed me off.

“Why don’t you two bums get the hell out of my house?”

“Aw, did I say something to offend you?” Hollow Cheeks asked. “Or your little friend?”

“Just get to it,” I said. “I want to cut my friend outta that tape.”

“Oh, he’s a friend of yours? Then he must’ve been coming through the window to do us some harm.” He pointed the gun at Jerry. “Maybe I should take care of him.”

“And maybe you should put the gun down, sir,” Thomas said from the kitchen doorway.

“Benny?” Hollow Cheeks said.

Benny, the big baby, said, “Guy with a gun, Lee.”

“Pointed at me?” He was looking at us, not the doorway.

“Yep.”

Lee looked at me, keeping his gun pointed at Jerry.

“Looks like we got a Mexican standoff.”

“I don’t speak Spanish,” I said. “You speak Spanish, Sammy?”

“Nada.”

“Thomas?” I asked.

“A little German, but no Spanish, sir.”

“Wise guy,” Lee said.

“Put the gun down, state your business, and get out,” I said.

“We only came to deliver a message,” Lee said. “There’s no reason for all this.”

I knew if this turned into a shoot-out it would be a bloodbath I’d have to explain to the cops. If I came out of it alive.

“Then let’s all put down the guns,” I said.

“Your man first.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “My house, my rules. You and your buddy Benny first.”

Lee seemed to be thinking it over.

“My friend Thomas is an ex–Army Ranger,” I said. “He’ll hardly miss from the doorway.”