It Was a Very Bad Year (3 page)

‘Abby, I'm going to do my best to help you,' I said, ‘but there are no guarantees.'

‘I know that, Eddie.'

‘You might want to go to the police.'

‘No!' I could feel her looking at me. ‘No police. I'll . . . I'll just wait and see what you can do.'

‘All right,' I said.

‘Please, Eddie.' She put her hand on my arm. ‘Don't go to the police.'

‘Hey,' I said, ‘I have no love for the cops, believe me. Besides, that would never be my place. If the police are going to be brought in, it'll be by you. OK?'

‘OK.' She dropped her hand. We pretty much rode the rest of the way in silence.

I escorted her into the lobby and watched as she walked to the elevators. Once she got on and the doors closed I went to an elevator myself.

It was well after hours; the Sands' office staff had gone home. The offices were locked, so when I got off on that floor I had my pick of any desk in the reception area. I commandeered one and took out my notebook.

The photographer who shot the photos of Abby was Barney Irwin. Twelve years ago he had an office on South Decatur, near Flamingo Road. I grabbed a nearby phone book. He was still there. Irwin Studios, the 3000 block of South Decatur. It was too late to call, too late to visit. I could drive by in the morning, but I had a shift starting very soon, so I had to trade in my detective hat and put on my pit boss hat.

The Sands casino floor was jumping at midnight, even though Tony Bennett was doing a midnight show in the Copa Room. When the show was over, the floor became even livelier.

The blackjack tables were teeming with regulars, tourists and celebrities. I saw Vic Damone, Jack Jones, Red Skelton, who were all playing other casinos, but gambling at the Sands.

And then I saw him, tall as a telephone pole, and wide as a freeway, coming my way.

‘What the hell—' I said.

‘Hey, Mr G.,' Jerry Epstein said.

He mauled my hand with his huge paw but gave it back to me not much the worse for wear. The last time I had seen my Brooklyn buddy Jerry was the year before, when we helped Bing Crosby out of a jam that involved horse racing. I didn't usually see Jerry unless there was trouble – and it was usually me in the hot water. I wondered if the tables had turned?

‘What are you doin' here?' I asked.

‘I'm here with my cousin.'

‘Your cousin?'

‘Well,' he said, ‘my cousin's kid, so I guess that makes him my second cousin. He just turned twenty-one and I told him when he did I'd take him to Vegas. So here we are!'

‘Where is he?'

‘Playin' craps,' Jerry said. ‘He learned all he could about it, developed a system, and now he says he's gonna put it to – what was it? – oh yeah, practical use.'

‘Great,' I said. ‘Vegas loves system players.'

‘I thought maybe you could get away for a drink.'

‘Sure thing.' I looked around, waved over a guy named Darrel to stand in for me. ‘I'll be in the lounge if something comes up.'

‘No problem, boss.'

We got a table in the lounge and ordered two beers. A few losers were sitting at the bar, drowning their sorrows, and a few winners were buying drinks at another table.

‘Where are you staying?' I asked.

‘Here,' Jerry said. ‘Billy and me are sharin' a room.'

‘Why didn't you call me?' I asked. ‘I would have got you a suite.'

‘I ain't lookin for a handout, Mr G.,' Jerry said. ‘I told the kid I'd take him to Vegas for his twenty-first birthday. I'm footin' the bill – my present.'

I had to admire him for that. He knew he could get freebies from me whenever he wanted – and he had never asked.

‘What're you doin', these days?' he asked me.

‘Well,' I said, ‘I was minding my own business, until today . . .'

I told him about Joey and Abby Dalton, and the photographer.

‘I seen her on
Hennessy
,' he said. ‘She's some dish.'

‘Yeah, she is.'

‘You gettin' some of that, Mr G.?'

‘No, Jerry, I'm not,' I said. ‘I'm just trying to help the lady out.'

‘How you gonna do that, exactly?'

‘Well, first I'm going to go and see the photographer,' I said. ‘He still has a studio in town.'

‘That so? When you goin'?'

‘Tomorrow morning.'

‘You want some company?'

‘What about your cousin?'

‘I'll leave him at the craps table,' he said. ‘Come on, Mr G. You know you'll get into trouble without me.'

I didn't think that was true, but on the other hand he was already in town, and he had offered. So where was the harm in letting him ride shotgun?

‘OK, you're on.'

‘First you gotta buy me some pancakes in the mornin',' Jerry said.

‘I knew this was gonna cost me,' I said.

‘Not so much,' he promised. ‘Just a coupla stacks.'

W
e touched base some more, finished our beers, and then I had to get back to work.

‘I gotta check on the kid anyway, see how much dough he's got left.'

He bought the drinks and then we walked back to the casino floor together.

‘Have you seen Mr S., Dino or any of the other guys lately?' he asked.

‘Just Joey,' I said. ‘Dino was here last month, but nobody since. Frank Jr.'s coming to Tahoe next month to play Harrahs. Frank will probably come in for a few nights.'

We split up at my pit and he asked me what time I was working till.

‘Four a.m.'

‘Goin' home after that?'

‘I'll spend the night here, so I can meet you down here early. Like nine?'

‘Good,' he said. ‘I'll be hungry by then. You mind if I bring the kid?'

‘No, I'd like to meet him,' I said. ‘I've always wondered if your size runs in the family.'

‘Guess you'll find out tomorrow,' Jerry said. ‘'Night, Mr G.'

‘Good-night, Jerry.'

I spent the night in a room I had used before, when staying over was necessary. In the morning I changed into the clean jeans and T-shirt I kept in my locker. When I got downstairs for breakfast Jerry and his cousin were already there, drinking coffee.

‘You're impatient,' I said.

‘I'm hungry,' Jerry said. ‘Mr G., this is my cousin, Billy.'

Billy was a big boy for twenty-one – not as big as Jerry, but that would probably come with time and age.

‘Billy, this is Eddie Gianelli. I told you about him.'

‘Yeah, you did,' Billy said. He looked at me with sullen eyes from beneath a shock of wild black hair. ‘Hey.'

‘Hello,' I said, sitting down. That was the signal for the waitress to come over, a pretty girl I recognized.

‘Hello, Ivy.'

‘Hey Eddie,' she said, ‘they told me they were waiting for you.'

‘We're ready,' I said. ‘Jerry?'

He ordered a double stack of pancakes, a side of bacon, and more coffee. Billy ordered the same, but he wanted eggs sunny side up, as well. I ordered ham and eggs, toast and coffee.

‘Home fries?' she asked.

‘Of course,' I said.

‘Me, too,' Billy chimed in.

She looked at Jerry.

‘Sure, why not?'

‘Comin' up,' Ivy said, and hurried away. We all watched.

‘Jerry says you have a craps system,' I said to Billy. ‘How'd you do last night?'

‘I lost,' Billy said, ‘but that's part of the system.'

‘Losing ain't part of no system I'd trust,' Jerry said.

‘It is this one.'

He went on to bend our ear about this system until Ivy came and covered the table with food. Every so often I'd catch Jerry's eyes and he'd give them a roll.

‘I wish you luck,' I said to Billy after he'd finished his tutorial. ‘We love system players.'

‘That's what all the casinos say,' Billy replied. ‘That's because you don't think a system can beat you, but this one can.'

‘Like I said, good luck.'

He ate like a vacuum cleaner, finishing faster even than Jerry. They both ate two bites to my one.

‘I gotta go,' Billy said, when he was done. He jumped up, almost upsetting the table.

‘Hey!' Jerry yelled.

‘Sorry,' Billy said. ‘I gotta get to the tables.'

‘Remember what I said,' Jerry told him. ‘Don't leave this casino.'

‘I won't.' He started away, then stopped short and looked at me. ‘Thanks for the breakfast, Mr G.'

‘You're welcome,' I said, but he was gone.

Jerry snagged a piece of bacon Billy had left on his plate, then ate the last of his pancakes.

I set the last of my eggs on a piece of toast, added the last of the ham, and shoveled it into my mouth. I still had some potatoes left, and Jerry watched while I ate them with my last slice of toast.

‘You ready to go?' he asked.

‘Almost,' I said. ‘Let me finish my coffee.'

‘How do you wanna play this?' he asked. ‘Good cop, bad cop? Want me to rough him up?'

‘No cops, no roughing up,' I said. ‘I just want to talk to 'im.'

‘You think he'll remember Miss Dalton?'

‘Why not?' I asked. ‘How many of the people he's taken pictures of over the years do you think went on to become television stars? And why wouldn't he remember a babe as beautiful as her?'

‘I dunno,' Jerry said. ‘Maybe he took pictures of lots of pretty girls. Maybe he's a pervert. I hate freaks like that!'

‘Well,' I said, ‘I'll talk to him first, and if he turns out to be a pervert, then you can rough him up.'

‘Good.'

I settled the bill and tipped Ivy generously.

‘Thanks, Eddie.'

As we walked out Jerry asked, ‘She's pretty. You gettin' some of that, Mr G.?'

‘Don't be so interested in my love life, Jerry,' I said.

J
erry drove my Caddy. I'd never seen his big hands be as gentle with anything else as he was with the steering wheel of my car.

We parked down the street from the studio and walked to it. It had a glass front, with a single glass door. In the windows were dozens of photos, presumably taken by Barney Irwin. And smack in the middle was a framed photo of a young Abby Dalton.

‘I guess that answers the question of whether or not he'll remember her,' I said, pointing.

Jerry leaned in to look closer at the photo that almost looked like it belonged in a yearbook. Her hair piled up on her head, her long neck leading down to bare shoulders.

‘I think she looks better now,' Jerry said, straightening up.

‘I agree.'

We went to the door of Irwin Studios and pushed it open.

The inside had a musty smell, and a thin layer of dust on everything. Apparently, Irwin Studios didn't do much business anymore. Come to think of it, all the photos in the window had an aged look to them.

‘What a dump,' Jerry said.

I looked around. It hadn't always been a dump. I could see the rug had cost a pretty penny in its day. Also the wall paneling. There were different size and style picture frames on shelves, but some of them were tarnished.

There was a curtained doorway leading to either a back room or a hallway. The curtain was faded, red and threadbare.

‘Is there a bell for us to ring?' Jerry asked.

‘I don't see one, but why don't we just take a peek behind curtain number three and see what we find?'

Jerry looked around and said, ‘There's only one curtain.'

‘Jerry—'

‘I‘m kiddin' ya, Mr G.,' he said. ‘You of all people know I ain't that dumb.'

‘Yeah, I do know that. Come on.'

We went to the curtain and I pushed it aside to see a hallway.

I led the way, with Jerry's bulk crowding behind me. About halfway back we began to hear a voice.

‘That's it sweetie, that's it,' a man said. ‘Now stick it out. Yeah! That's it. Work it! Work it for daddy!' At the end of the hall we could see flashes of light coming from another doorway.

We got to the end of the hall, found another threadbare curtain, this one blue. I parted it just enough to look inside. We saw a thickset bald man with a camera, clicking off shots of a naked girl on a small stage. After each shot a spent flash bulb would pop from the camera and hit the floor, and he'd load a new one. She was busty and blonde, showgirl material, and at the moment she was working it for daddy, pushing out her chubby boobs and butt. I always wondered how women could do that without breaking their backs.

‘How do they do that—' Jerry started to whisper.

‘I know!'

‘Whataya wanna do?'

‘Follow my lead.'

‘OK.'

I pushed the curtain aside and walked through. Jerry was so close behind me that he clipped my heels.

‘Sorry,' he whispered.

‘Oh!' the girl said when she saw us, but did nothing to try to cover up. Instead, she seemed to appreciate the audience, and Jerry appreciated the show.

‘Nice tits,' he said.

‘Thank you.'

The photographer turned around. He was in his sixties, with a gleaming bald head. His once powerful physique had gone to seed, but still had powerful shoulders, while his belly hung over his belt. He was wearing a yellow polo shirt, powder blue trousers, with a white belt and shoes.

‘Who are you?' he demanded.

‘My name's Eddie Gianelli,' I said. ‘I'm from the Sands.'

‘Oh,' the girl said, again. ‘Is this the guy you told me about, Barney?' she asked, in a baby doll voice.

‘Huh?' Barney Irwin said. ‘Oh, no, baby, he ain't the guy.'

He must have already promised her she'd meet a guy who would give her a job. Sorry, I thought, not me.

‘Whataya want?' he asked me, but he was looking past me, at Jerry.