Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime (13 page)

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Authors: Robert J. Randisi

BOOK: Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime
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“
T
HIS GUY’S AS GOOD as dead.”
We’d pulled up in front of a warehouse on Industrial Road when Jerry made his comment. In the dark the building looked like a huge black box—no windows and no lights.
“What are you talking about?”
“I seen enough movies to know what’s gonna happen,” Jerry said. “He’s dead.”
“This is real life, Jerry,” I said, “not a movie.”
“Hey,” the big man said, “you got two dead girls already, right? And you got beat up and threatened? Sounds pretty close to me.”
“Let’s go and find him.”
I started to open my door but Jerry put a big paw out to stop me.
“You heeled?”
“No, I’m not heeled,” I said, annoyed. “I don’t carry a gun. I’m not a cop, a P.I. or a hood.”
“Well, I am a hood,” he said, “and I’m carryin’, so let me go first.”
“Look, Jerry,” I said over the top of the car, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Shhh,” he said, waving a huge hand at me. In the other hand he
carried his .45; the big gun was still dwarfed by the size of his mitt. “Don’t say no more. Let’s find this guy.”
We approached the warehouse, with me close behind Jerry this time, instead of the other way around.
“Did this guy say where he was gonna be?”
“No,” I said, “he just gave me the address.”
“Let’s jus’ find an open door, then.”
I followed him around the building. We tried a couple of doors, found them locked and I started to get a bad feeling, like maybe he was right.
The building itself was unmarked. There was no way for us to tell what kind of business was using it, unless there was a sign we couldn’t see in the dark.
“I’m getting’ a bad feelin’,” Jerry said.
“I thought you had a bad feeling already?”
“It’s getting’ worse.” He turned to face me. “Look, Mr. Sinatra said I was to keep you safe. I think we better get outta here.”
“I think you’re right.”
We both saw it at the same time. A large trash bin out beside a loading dock. There was just enough moonlight for us to see a flash of red hanging over the edge.
“Your man wear red?” he asked.
“Not the last time I saw him.”
I didn’t know enough about Mike Borraco to know if red was a favorite color.
“Well, we’re here,” I said. “We might as well have a look.”
As we approached the trash bin I wished I had thought to bring a flashlight. At that moment Jerry reached his empty hand into his pocket and came out with a small pen light. He aimed it at the bin as we got closer. Sure enough, there was a tail end of a red shirt hanging out over the edge.
“You seen a dead body before?” he asked.
“Lots.”
He looked at me.”
“In the war.”
“Korea?”
I nodded.
“I couldn’t go,” he said. “Flat feet.”
“You didn’t miss much.”
“Want me to take a look, here?”
“No,” I said, “we’ll stay together.”
We walked to the bin and peered over the top. Jerry aimed his pen light inside. Sure enough, Mike Borraco was there, staring back up at us through sightless eyes. His red shirt was torn, the tail end of it having gotten caught on a sharp edge of the metal bin.
“That him?” he asked.
“That’s Mike.”
Jerry moved the light around. Parts of Mike were buried beneath the garbage.
“I don’t see no wound,” he said. “I can’t tell how he got killed.”
“This is crazy,” I said. “First the two girls, and now Mike.”
“What’s this got to do with Mr. Martin?” Jerry asked.
“Nothin’!” I replied. “That’s what I’m sayin’. This is all just a crazy coincidence.”
“The cops ain’t gonna think so, you finding another body. They don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Not call them?”
“I tol’ ya,” Jerry said. “Callin’ the cops ain’t never my first choice.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“I suggest we get the hell outta here. There’s a chance whoever killed this guy called the cops themselves, hopin’ to frame you.”
We started for the car and then Jerry stopped and said, “Wait a minute. How did this guy know your phone number?”
“I wrote it down for him. Why?”
He turned and ran back. I saw him reach in and it looked to me like he was rifling the corpse’s pockets.
“What are you doing?”
He withdrew his hands and came trotting back to me. He was remarkably light on his feet for such a big man. He handed me a slip of paper I recognized.
“It was in his shirt pocket. Now let’s go. We don’t want to get caught in the act.”
“In the act of what?”
Suddenly, we heard a siren in the distance. Jerry grabbed my shoulder and started pulling me along towards the car.
“In the act of gettin’ outta here!”
W
E MANAGED TO GET OFF of Industrial Road without running into the cops, but I was still uncomfortable about it.
“They’re gonna think I’m involved when they find out I was there.”
“They’re not gonna find out,” Jerry said. “That’s why I went back for that piece of paper with your number on it.”
At the moment that slip of paper was crumpled in one of my pockets where it would do a lot less damage.
“I appreciate what you did, Jerry,” I said. “Don’t think I don’t, but—”
“I was just doin’ my job.”
He was behind the wheel because I was a little too shaky to drive.
“Where we headed now?”
I checked my watch. It was early enough for us to catch Ravisi and Davis at the strip club, since a dead Mike Borraco had not taken up much of our time.
“I guess we better head back to the club,” I said. “At least we can catch up to the two goons who worked me over.”
“And then do what?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“When you find them, what’re you gonna do?”
“Well, I’m gonna …” I realized I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know.”
“Find out who they were workin’ for when they kicked the crap outta you?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And then what?”
“Jerry,” I said, “I haven’t—”
“I hope you’re not thinkin’ about turnin’ them over to the cops.”
“Well … yeah, the thought had crossed my mind.”
“But not before you find out who they was workin’ for, right?”
“Uh …”
“And how was you gonna do that, Mr. G? Work’em over yerself?”
“I gotta admit, Jerry,” I said, “I haven’t exactly thought this through.”
“You don’t gotta,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”
 
 
The place was called Club Diamond, a fancy name for what was pretty much a joint. It spoke to how low I’d sunk a few years back that I’d been a regular there.
“Don’t get out,” Jerry said, grabbing my arm.
“Why not?”
“It’s early,” he said. “Chances are they ain’t here yet. Let’s sit out here and see if we can spot ’em.”
“What if they
are
already inside?”
“Then we’ll catch ’em comin’ out. Look, they know you. If they see you inside they’re either gonna run, or try ta kill you.”
“You have a point.”
“And if they try ta kill you,” he went on, “I’m gonna have to waste their asses.”
“Christ, I don’t want you to do that!”
“I know,” he said, “but it’d be their choice, not mine.”
“So what do we do when they show up?”
“Watch,” he said, “wait, and then follow ’em. With a little luck they’ll take us home with ’em.”
“I really meant it when I said I didn’t want to kill them, Jerry.”
“I know it,” he said. “We’re just gonna ask them some questions, that’s all.”
I stared at his profile, noticed that his hands had tightened on the steering wheel. He noticed it, too, because suddenly he looked at them and let up on the wheel so that the color seeped back into his knuckles.
“This is a nice car,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Big enough for me.”
“What kind of car do you have at home?”
“I ain’t got a car,” he said. “I live in Manhattan. Don’t need one.”
“You must sometimes.”
“Oh sure, somebody gives me one when I need it,” he explained, “or I rent one.” He slid his hands around the wheel, this time lovingly. “Gonna rent one of these next time.”
“Jerry,” I asked. “What do you do in New York?”
“This and that,” he said. “Collections. A lot of collections.”
“For loan sharks?”
“Sure, loan sharks. I do pick ups, too. You know, for the boys? Sometimes I gotta get tough, ya know? Break an arm or a leg.”
“You like that kind of work?”
“Don’t nobody like that kind of work, Mr. G,” he said. “It’s a job.”
We sat quietly for a while, watching the front door of the club. Men came and went, sometimes a man went in with a woman. There were windows with beer signs in them, and above the door the name of the club in blue neon. Vegas was a town of neon, of lights, and it was somebody’s job to make sure all the bulbs were on all the time. I sometimes envied whoever had that job. It was so clear what they had to do, with no hidden agendas.
“You ain’t thinkin’ I’m a hitter, are ya?” Jerry asked, breaking into my reverie.
“What?”
“I ain’t no hit man, Mr. G,” he said, indignantly.
“I never thought you were, Jerry.”
“I’ve killed people,” he went on, “but never for money, and only when they had it comin’.”
“And who decided they had it coming?”
“Not me,” he said. “I don’t make that decision. Because somebody I trust tells me.”
I nodded and stared out the window.
“But I ain’t no hitter,” he said, after a moment.
“I know.”
Then he nodded, apparently satisfied that he’d made his point. I didn’t see the subtle difference between what he said he did and what he said he didn’t do, but that was okay. It worked for him, and that was all that mattered.
 
 
“There they are,” I said, about half an hour later.
I reached for the door handle and he stopped me again.
“Let them go inside.”
We watched as the two men who had broken into my place, beaten me up, kicked and threatened me went into the club.
“Let’s go!” I said, too anxious to sit still.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“I’ll go in. Like I said, they know you.”
“You think you can go unnoticed in there?” I asked. “You’re a big guy, Jerry.”
“With all kinds of tits and ass hangin’ out, yeah, I think I can pretty much go unnoticed, but there’s one guy I do want to notice me.”
“The bartender?”
He nodded.
“I just wanna make sure he keeps his mouth shut.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Just seein’ me’ll do that.” He smiled for the first time since I’d met him. “Like you said, I’m a big guy.”
L
ATER, JERRY TOLD ME what happened when he went inside … .
 
 
He might have thought he could go unnoticed, but that would only be by men. The place was busier than it had been the first time we were there, and there were girls working the floor. A big, healthy-but-tired-looking brunette in a filmy negligee spotted him as soon as he went in and sidled up to him. From the way she moved and looked she was more than a little tipsy.
“Jesus,” she said, licking her lips, “you’re a big one, aren’t you?”
Jerry had heard that a million times before, and since his preference in woman ran to smaller ones he was going to brush her off, but then he thought that would bring him some unwanted attention.
“You’re kinda big yerself,” he said.
“Double-Ds baby,” she said. She pulled down the top of her negligee so that those babies popped out in all their glory. But even the smooth skin and large brown nipples couldn’t distract Jerry from what he was there to do. “Listen, we got a room in the back—”
“What’s your name, sweetie?” he asked her.
“Catalina.”
He knew it wasn’t her real name, but that didn’t matter.
“They call you Cat?”
“Sometimes.” She tucked her tits back in. “You can call me whatever you want.”
“Listen, Cat,” he said, “I really need a drink. I was thinkin’ of goin’ to the bar. How about you and me get together a little later?”
To soften the blow he tucked a ten dollar bill into the soft, smooth valley between her breasts.
“You’re on, handsome,” she said. “Don’t forget about me, though. You’ll never know what you missed.”
“I won’t forget,” he lied. “I promise.”
I learned that when Jerry was working he had a one-track mind. He just couldn’t help it. As soon as he walked away from Catalina and headed for the bar he did just what she asked him not to. He forgot all about her.
But the bartender had not forgotten about him. As he approached the bar the man looked at him and started, as if he thought Jerry might reach across the bar for him. In fact, he backed up a step.
“Where’s your partner?”
“Don’t matter,” Jerry said. “I’m the one you gotta answer to.”
“Hey,” the man said, “they just came in the door. I ain’t said a word to them.”
Jerry turned his head and saw the two men sitting at a table, deep in conversation. He knew what they were as soon as he saw him. Two-bitters. They wouldn’t last a day in New York.
“They’re waitin’ for Iris to come out.”
“And when does she do that?”
“’Bout ten minutes. It’ll be her last set.”
“And then what?”
The man shrugged.
“Then they leave together.”
“And go where?”
“Beats me. Her place, their place?”
“Those two live together?”
The bartender snorted.
“Those two do just about everything together—and maybe more, if you know what I mean.”
Jerry preferred not to think about what the bartender was talking about.
“Okay,” he said. “Keep your nose clean and you won’t ever have ta see me again.”
“That suits me fine.”
Jerry gave him one last look for good measure, then turned and started for the door. Ravisi and Davis had suspended their conversation and were looking at the skinny girl who was finishing up on stage. The big man might have made it out of the place without being seen by them, but at that moment Catalina spotted him heading for the door. She took offense and wasn’t shy about letting everybody in the place know it.
“Hey! Big fella! What’re ya doin’?” she shouted. “You ain’t leavin’, are ya? Hey, I’m talkin’ to you. I showed you my tits. Nobody leaves after I show ’em my tits.”
Jerry thought about simply going out the door as heads turned toward him but then Catalina asked loudly, “What are ya, a faggot or somethin’?”
Well, it wasn’t that he got insulted or anything, but he noticed that Ravisi and Davis were among the men looking at him, grinning all the while, and if he just walked out the door after she called him a faggot it wouldn’t look right. It would look suspicious.
So what did he do? He walked across the room, put his big hand right up against Catalina’s face and shoved her. She went flying, arms pinwheeling, legs going faster and faster as they tried to catch up with her momentum, but to no avail. She slammed into an empty table and both she and the table went to the floor.
“Yeah, big man!” Buzzy Ravisi shouted. “She had it comin’.”
Jerry turned and walked out of the club … .
 
 
“So they saw me,” he finished.
“So what?” I asked. “They don’t know you were lookin’ for them.”
“It was just an edge we had that we don’t have no more,” he said.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” I said, hoping I was right.
“No,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he was in total agreement with me.
 
 
About an hour later Ravisi and Davis came out with the blonde, Iris, between them. Even from where we were I could see she was wearing a short skirt and a low-cut top that she was almost falling out of. They walked to a car, an old Chrysler that belched exhaust when they started it.
“They’re not gonna be hard to tail,” Jerry said, starting the engine. “Hang on.”
He waited for them to pull out before putting the Caddy in drive.
“These two are small-timers,” he said, as we followed them, “but that don’t mean they’ll be easy to handle. You sure you don’t wanna gun?”
“I’m positive.”
“Okay,” he said, “but this is what I do, okay? You gotta do what I say when I say it.”
“I understand. Just remember, all I want from them is information.”
“You’ll get it.”
“I don’t want them killed.”
I didn’t like the pregnant pause before he said, “I don’t kill nobody who ain’t got it comin’.”
We drove along in silence for a while, following their exhaust cloud, and then Jerry mumbled, “If I was Italian I’d be a made guy, by now.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.

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