Robert Randisi - It Was a Very Bad Year

‘I will.’

‘And I’ll keep my ears open. Maybe I can locate Irwin.’

‘I’d appreciate it.’

‘Let’s get the hell out of here,’ he said.

We shook hands at the cars, and drove our separate ways.

I went home, but didn’t want to be there if the cops, or somebody else, came looking, so I dressed for work — dark suit, light blue shirt, black tie — and then drove to the Sands.

I wasn’t scheduled for a shift till that night, but that was OK. I still had some telephone work to do. I took the elevator to the business offices floor and claimed an empty desk. I dialed Jerry’s home number, hoping he wasn’t out breaking somebody’s arms or legs.

‘Hey, Mr G.,’ he said, when he heard my voice. ‘You ain’t callin’ to check on Billy’s IOU, are ya?’

‘Not my job, Jerry,’ I assured him. ‘How’s the kid doing?’

‘He went to Atlantic City, Mr G., and lost some more dough on that system of his.’

‘System players, Jerry,’ I said. ‘There’s not much you can do about it.’

‘Really? Lately I been thinkin’ I been bustin’ the wrong heads. What’s goin’ on there?’

‘Well, I’ll tell you. .’ And I did. Jerry remembered Detective Hargrove very well, and listened in silence until I finished my tale.

‘I agree with the dick, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘Irwin is still around.’

‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘Anything happening there? I’m thinking he might’ve sent somebody to Brooklyn to jam you up.’

‘Nope, nothin’ here,’ he said. ‘I ain’t bein’ watched, either. I’d know.’

‘OK, so he’s still afraid of you.’

‘I guess,’ Jerry said, ‘I shoulda done somethin’ before I left to scare him off ya. Sorry, Mr G.’

‘Not your fault, Jerry,’ I said. ‘I’m just glad you’re OK.’

‘So what are you gonna do?’

‘Watch my ass,’ I said, ‘and see if I can find Irwin before he tries anything else.’

‘You gotta be careful, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘That Irwin guy ain’t got the balls for murder, but it don’t take balls to hire it done.’

‘That’s what I figure, too,’ I said.

‘Make sure Bardini watches your back.’

‘He will.’

‘Call me if ya need somethin’.’

‘You’re the first one on my list, Jerry.’

I hung up, thought about going into Entratter’s office, but decided instead to simply call him.

‘What can I do for you, Eddie?’

‘You got a number for Frank, Jack?’ I asked. ‘I assume he’s still shooting?’

‘Yeah, they’ll be at it for a while,’ Entratter said. ‘Sure, kid, give ’im a call. He’ll like hearin’ from you.’

He gave me the number, which I wrote down. I broke the connection, and then dialed. It was the Biltmore Hotel, and I had to leave a message, which I did. Just my name and number. It had been a week since JFK’s assassination, and I figured if I didn’t check in with Frank now it’d look bad for me. Besides, I genuinely wanted to see if he was OK.

I had a small phone book of my own that I’d started carrying, ever since I’d needed to call Dino while Jerry and I were in LA. Dean wouldn’t be staying in a hotel while shooting Robin and the 7 Hoods , because he always lived in Beverly Hills. I ended up talking to his wife, Jeannie, who I had met several times.

‘He’s on the set, Eddie,’ she said. ‘He won’t be back till this evening. Can I give him a message?’

‘I was gonna check in with him about how Frank was doing with this JFK thing. I left a message for Frank at his hotel, but thought I might get a more truthful response from Dean.’

‘Frank took it hard, Eddie, especially since they wouldn’t let him attend the funeral. Plus, it was Peter’s wife who told him he couldn’t come.’

Ouch, I thought. That was adding insult to injury. Peter was still number one on Frank’s shit list since the fiasco with JFK staying at Bing’s house instead of Frank’s. The odd thing was, Frank had no anger toward Bing, and actually had Bing replace Peter on the 7 Hoods shoot.

‘I’ll try Dean again later, Jeannie,’ I said. ‘I’ll be working tonight.’

‘OK, Eddie. Come and see us some time, huh?’

‘You bet.’ I’d have to go to Beverly Hills to see her, because she rarely accompanied her husband to Las Vegas.

I hung up, tapped the phone with my index finger, then made several more calls before standing up and leaving the room. I’d dropped Irwin’s name on a few of my local contacts, in the hopes that one of them might spot him, or hear something. At the moment there was nothing else I could do. Eventually, I might go and talk to Entratter. Maybe he’d be able to help locate Irwin through some of his contacts, if mine didn’t pan out. My people were on the street, though, vendors, doormen, valets, the locals who saw everything that happened in Vegas, heard everything. If anybody was going to help me locate Irwin, it would be one of them, or Danny.

During the night — a busy one, since it was a Friday — Entratter came down to the casino floor and showed up at my pit.

‘What kind of a night are we havin’?’ he asked, as I came around to greet him.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘A couple of high rollers came in for the weekend.’

‘Why didn’t I know about ’em?’ he asked, with a frown.

‘It was a spur of the moment thing,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, I made sure they’re staying here. I got them two suites.’

‘Good work. Anything going on with you?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because, Eddie,’ he said, giving me a look, ‘somethin’s always goin’ on with you.’

‘Well, now that you ask. . let’s get a drink.’

We went to the Silver Queen lounge and sat at the bar, eyeing the Allan Stewart mural that ran the length of the wall behind it. It illustrated the history of Vegas from Gold Rush to A-bomb.

It was quiet in the lounge. About an hour ago Jack Jones had wrapped up a set, and while half of that crowd was still there, they were well-behaved, sharp-dressed men with their elegant ladies. That was the kind of crowd Mr Jones attracted.

When we had a beer each I said, ‘I got a visit from Detective Hargrove. He hauled me in for questioning this morning.’

‘What did you do now?’ Entratter asked. ‘Oh, wait. It’s more likely something you and Jerry did while he was here, right?’

‘It ain’t even our fault,’ I said. I told him about going to see Irwin — without telling him exactly why — and how he had some cheap muscle named Wayne there who Jerry had choked out fairly easily.

‘He killed him?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘we left him sleeping on the floor.’

‘And?’

‘Now, a week later, he turns up dead.’

‘What’s that got to do with you?’

‘Hargrove got an anonymous call and somebody dropped my name in his ear.’

‘This Irwin guy?’

‘That’s what I figured.’

‘You go and see him?’

‘He’s gone to ground,’ I said. ‘His studio and home are empty.’

Entratter took a pad and pen from inside his jacket.

‘Gimme his particulars.’

I told him Irwin’s full name, described him, and both his addresses.

‘I’ll see what I can find out.’ He stashed the pad away. ‘You put out the word?’

‘Yeah, and Danny’s keeping his ears open.’

‘That big Jew ain’t here, is he?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘Jerry’s in Brooklyn.’

‘Good. We don’t need him tearin’ through this town.’

‘Jerry’s got more finesse than you’d think, Jack,’ I said.

‘Yeah, sure,’ he said, taking a hit of his beer, then shoving it aside. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’