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Authors: Robert J. Randisi

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BOOK: Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

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T
HERE WAS A HUM in the audience. JFK was sitting in the mezzanine and everyone was aware of his presence. They had to be because of his bodyguards. They stuck out with their broad shoulders and their scowls.

Kennedy himself was all smiles as he sat with a few men, but no women. As much of a womanizer as the world and I would come to know him to be in coming years, he was discreet in public, back then.

At one point Frank stopped the show to introduce “the next President of the United States, John F. Kennedy.”

I had a front row seat on this night, and from what I could see it looked as if Dean wasn’t as thrilled with JFK’s presence as Frank was. At one point Dean approached the mike and asked Frank, “What did you say his name was again?”

Frank gave Dean a look, but laughed. I wondered if and when politics would come between these two good friends?

The jokes flew after that, all at Kennedy’s expense, and he seemed to love it. When JFK was elected Sammy was to become Ambassador to Israel. Frank would be Ambassador to Italy. Joey Bishop had a much less grandiose request—he just didn’t want to be drafted ever again.

The show was a huge success, as always, but on that night the applause
in the room was as much for John F. Kennedy as it was for the Rat Pack. Being Frank Sinatra’s friend was putting Kennedy over with the Everyman big time.

As it turned out, Dean didn’t deal blackjack that night. Frank had everybody up to his suite, including Kennedy. The champagne and booze flowed, and Sammy came in at one point with a bunch of showgirls in tow. Kennedy was in his element, smiling, back-slapping men and flirting with beautiful women.

At one point I saw Sinatra introducing Kennedy to Judith Campbell, a stunning brunette. I remembered how the other night Campbell was not too thrilled to have Bev back stage. She seemed very territorial when it came to Frank. Now Frank was pushing her toward Kennedy, who was only too happy to catch her.

“Look at ’im,” Dean Martin said, coming up alongside me.

“Frank, you mean?”

“He’s gonna help get Kennedy elected, you know,” Dean said. “And then he’s gonna find out the truth.”

“What truth?”

Dean looked at me.

“There’s no room in an Irish Catholic White House for wops, Eddie,” he said. “Frank thinks he’ll be a guest at the White House after the election.”

“And he won’t?”

“Not a chance,” Dean said. “Joe Kennedy will see to that. And you know what else? He’s gonna blame poor Peter.”

“When did Frank become so interested in politics?” I asked.

“He’s been a dedicated Democrat since he met FDR years ago. He was very impressed that a kid from Hoboken could actually end up shaking hands with the President.”

I studied Dean to see if he’d been drinking, but he looked stone sober.

“Look, Eddie,” he said, “I can see where this party’s goin’.”

He pointed to a showgirl who was taking one of the men with
Kennedy into a bedroom. I wasn’t sure if he was a politician or a bodyguard, but it was a safe bet he was going to get the blowjob of his life tonight. I looked around and saw another pairing being discussed in a dark corner.

“This could go on all night,” he said. “I’m gonna go to my room and catch a Roy Rogers movie on late TV.”

“I’ll come with you—”

“No, no,” he said, “you stay here, have fun. I’ll be fine. I’m not going to leave the hotel.”

“What about Frank?”

“You tell him where I went,” Dean said. “I’ll see you all tomorrow. We’re gonna be shooting at the Riviera and the Sahara.”

“Dean—”

He slapped my back and said, “Have fun, pally. Grab one of those cuties for yourself.”

I watched him walk to the door and let himself out. His suite was just down the hall, so I knew he’d be fine. Besides, Entratter had wanted me to watch Sinatra and Kennedy. I looked around, saw Frank, Kennedy and Judith deep in conversation. Kennedy had his arm around her waist, and she had her breasts pressed against him.

Dean was right. It was going to be a long night.

Everything became sort of a blur after that. More booze, even more showgirls, and at one point I found myself in a corner with Peter Lawford and Sammy Davis Jr.

“You fellas want to see what a million dollars in cash looks like?” Peter asked.

“You gonna pull it out of your pocket, Pete?” Sammy asked.

“It’s in a leather satchel in the closet of one of the bedrooms,” Peter said. “The hotel owners got together and are donating it to Jack’s campaign.”

I lost track of both of them and never knew if they’d gone in to look at the money. I didn’t. I’d been behind the cages and in the counting rooms of the Sands. I’d seen a million dollars in cash and more before.

I felt something warm and smooth press against me and turned into it. Using my hands I discovered that it was a naked ass, and a very nice one, at that. Firm and round, just the way I like ’em.

I opened my eyes and looked around. My own bedroom, and my own bed. The girl had clear, smooth, pale skin and a mass of black hair. That was all I could see. I didn’t remember getting there, and I sure didn’t remember bringing a dame with me. I wondered which of the showgirls had managed to snag me.

I hate forgetting women’s names, but in this case I just couldn’t dredge it up. I had a hangover, so I knew that I had started drinking after Dean left the party. The headache wasn’t that bad, though, and I did have a warm and presumably willing woman in bed with me. Between us my dick had started crawling up the crack in her butt and there’s wasn’t much I could do but go with it.

“Ooh, baby,” she said, reaching behind her to take hold of me. “What a nice way to wake up.”

“Roll over,” I said into her ear, “and I’ll show you a nicer way.”

“Mmm, an invitation I can’t refuse.”

She rolled onto her back and the first thing I saw were her breasts, big and firm, with dark brown nipples. Okay, so I’m a pig. I looked at her face second, and was stunned.

“What are you waiting for, lover?” Judith Campbell asked me with a dazzling smile.

Fifty-one

F
IRST CAME THE SEX, because I’m only human. I wasn’t about to kick a naked Judy Campbell out of my bed. We went at it like teenagers and I thoroughly enjoyed her and didn’t wonder until later if I had slept with Frank Sinatra’s girl, John F. Kennedy’s girl, or—according to some rumors I’d heard—Sam Giancana’s girl. When a broad is naked in your bed, nothing else matters at that moment.

“You really don’t remember?” she asked later, over coffee.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but a lot of last night is missing.”

“That’s not something a girl likes to hear, Eddie.”

“Hey,” I said, “I was thoroughly conscious this morning.”

“Yes,” she said, “I did notice an improvement in your performance over last night.”

“That’s not somethin’ a guy likes to hear, Judy,” I complained.

She laughed and said, “Forget it. I’m, just kiddin’ you. We were both so tired and drunk last night that we went right to bed—to sleep.”

“Okay,” I said, “but what I’m wonderin’ is … how did you come to be with me?”

“If I remember correctly,” she said, “you invited me home.”

“Yeah, but … you were with Frank and Kennedy.”

“Frank doesn’t care who I fuck,” she said, “as long as he gets to fuck me when he wants.”

“And Kennedy?”

“Well, there were some sparks,” she said, “but nothing’s happened yet. It will, though.”

“And us?”

“Us?” She laughed again, but this time I had the feeling it was at me. “Eddie, this was just for fun. One night. No strings.”

“Oh,” I said, “suits me.”

She reached across the table and put her hand on mine. She was wearing a white shirt she’d taken from my closet. I’ve always thought a woman wearin’ a man’s shirt like that is sexy as hell. Judith Campbell wearin’ a man’s shirt like that was even sexier.

“You don’t seem as happy to hear that as most men would.”

“Well, face it, Judy,” I said. “You’re gorgeous. What man wouldn’t want you?”

“A lot of men want me,” she said, “just not for very long.”

“Why is that, do you think?”

She shrugged.

“I’m a party girl, Eddie,” she said. “I’m not ready to settle down with one man, so it doesn’t concern me.”

“You sure know who you are and exactly what you want,” I said. “I’ve got to admire that.”

She reached out with both hands now, grabbing mine, and said, “Right now I want you to do more than admire me.”

I squeezed her hands and asked, “What happened to just one night?”

“This is morning,” she said, “an extension of the night before. Don’t tell me you don’t want to lay me one more time? For old time’s sake?”

My answer was to drag her into the bedroom.

I called a cab for Judith and she went back to the Sands, to a room Frank had arranged for her. I’d been with a lot of women before Judith
Campbell, but never with anyone quite like her. I hoped she’d get what she wanted when the time came.

Once she was gone I showered, got dressed and had some more coffee. Then I made a few phone calls. Penny told me Danny had already gone to the Sands to pick up the list. She didn’t mention his date to take Marcia to the Rat Pack show that night, so I didn’t either.

Next, I called Jack Entratter.

“Where are you?” he demanded.

“Home. I just woke up a while ago.”

“Well, you did good last night, kid,” he said. “I heard Kennedy never left the hotel, and I haven’t heard about any trouble on his floor. I guess you kept the lid on for me.”

“I guess I did, Jack. What about Jerry?”

“He’s out,” Jack said, “back here at the Sands. His gun didn’t match. They were pretty much able to tell that right away. They kept at him all night, though, and he gave them nothin’. Never mentioned your name, or any anyone else.”

“A stand-up guy.” Frank had said that about me, but it applied more to Jerry.

“Any cops lookin’ for me?” I asked.

“Not here,” he said. “I don’t know about anywhere else.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be around in a while. Tell Jerry not to go anywhere without me.”

“He won’t leave until you get here. I upgraded him to a suite. Kind of like a reward.”

“Good,” I said. “He deserves it.”

I hung up, couldn’t think of anymore calls to make. Frank and Dean were probably still asleep in their rooms. If everything I’d heard about Frank was true, he had two broads with him.

I decided to go for breakfast, then head for the Sands. My car was out front, so I must have driven it home. As I turned the key to start the engine I realized I’d forgotten my wallet. I got out, left the car running, and started for the house. A moment later I felt something lift me into the air and toss me across the lawn. I didn’t hear the blast until later … .

Fifty-two

T
HAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN IT for me.

Okay, I got beat up. Okay, if not for Jerry I might have gotten shot by Buzz Ravisi in that flophouse. But now somebody had tried to blow me up. Someone had seriously tried to kill me. That had never happened to me before and it wasn’t the kind of new experience I was interested in having.

Pieces of my car were lying all around me, some of them burning, while the remainder of the car was ablaze at the curb. When I turned and looked at my house I could see that the front windows had been blown out. Some of my neighbors—the ones I didn’t hate and who didn’t hate me—came running out to see what happened, then came over to see if I was all right. The ones who did hate me came out to bitch about the noise or about their windows. They were talking to me but I couldn’t hear a thing except a kind of dull hum in my head. Finally, someone called an ambulance, which arrived in tandem with a Sheriff’s Department car. They put me in the ambulance and took me to the nearest hospital. I think I blacked out once on the way, because when I woke again I was in the emergency room. Still couldn’t hear, so the doctors and nurses asking me questions were an annoyance. I just kept shaking my head and shrugging. They finally gave up
trying to find out where it hurt—or whatever the hell they’d been asking me—and gave me a complete once-over.

Yeah, that should have been it for me. Why go on when somebody obviously wanted me dead this bad? And for what? For what?

Well … I didn’t know, and maybe that’s why it wasn’t it for me. My curiosity wouldn’t let it rest. What did I know, or what was I doing, that made somebody want me out of the way this bad? This … well, permanently?

So, that should have been it for me, but it wasn’t. The first thing I should have done when my hearing came back—if it came back—was march right up to Jack Entratter, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and say, “Sorry guys, I’m out.”

But I wasn’t going to do that.

You know why? It was more than just my curiosity.

For the first time since I’d started this whole thing I wasn’t afraid, or puzzled or confused.

Now I was mad.

BOOK: Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

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