Robert Randisi - It Was a Very Bad Year

Danny sat, giving me a hard look for not warning him. He was wearing a rumpled suit that looked as if he’d spent the night in it. I was casual and clean in a T-shirt, jeans and windbreaker.

‘Abby, Danny is one of my best friends, and also happens to be a private detective. He’s agreed to help us.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ she said. She gave him a look that would weaken any man’s knees. ‘I’ll pay you, of course.’

‘Nonsense,’ Danny said. ‘I’m happy to help.’ Like me, Danny’s Brooklyn accent kind of went and hid when he was around beautiful women.

‘Coffee?’ I asked Abby.

‘Yes, please.’

‘Something to eat?’ I asked, as I poured.

‘No, I was up early and had breakfast before I went to the bank. I have some cash here-’ She started to go into her purse, but I stopped her.

‘We have time for that,’ I said. ‘Let’s hear what Danny has for us, first.’

‘Well,’ Danny said, ‘I picked your man up around two in the afternoon. He was in his studio and didn’t leave till five. He had a brown envelope with him, about eight-and-a-half by ten. I followed him home, a dump on Spring Mountain Road between a couple of strip clubs. He went in and didn’t come out. I sat on him until eleven, when all the lights went out.’

‘What about the next morning?’ I asked.

‘I thought of that,’ Danny said. ‘I went back this morning about seven a.m. He left the house at eight. He was carrying a brown envelope.’

‘He’s supposed to meet me at a bar tonight with the photos,’ I said.

‘Well,’ Danny said, ‘maybe that’s what he was carrying. Or maybe he’ll go back to the house to get them, and he was carrying something entirely different. Somebody’s baby pictures.’

‘Why would he do that?’ I asked. ‘The bar’s practically around the corner from his place. That doesn’t sound right.’

‘Then the photos are either in that envelope, in his house, or still at his studio.’

‘We searched the whole studio pretty good,’ I pointed out.

‘Look for false bottoms in drawers, false walls, a safe?’ he asked.

‘No.’

Danny shrugged. ‘Then the stuff could still be there, somewhere.’

‘Danny, you said his house has strip clubs around it?’ I asked.

‘Yup.’

‘Not so busy during the day.’

‘Nope.’

He knew what I was thinking, but neither of us said it in front of Abby. Jerry and I could break into the house while he was at work, take a look around.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘OK. You want something to eat?’ I asked Danny.

‘I could use something.’

I looked at Abby.

‘I’ll just have more coffee,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to watch my figure.’

I looked at Danny, hoping he wouldn’t say, ‘We can do that.’ He didn’t.

‘Yeah, me, too,’ I said, and waved the waitress over. Danny ordered lunch. Abby and I drank coffee while he ate.

After Danny finished his lunch, Abby asked, ‘What about the money?’

‘How much do you have with you?’ I asked.

‘Five thousand,’ she said.

‘Give it to me.’

She opened her purse, which seemed just large enough to accommodate the white envelope she took out. She handed it to me and I could feel the thickness of the wad of cash inside.

‘Will it be enough?’ she asked.

‘We’ll see,’ I said. ‘If they’re not the photos we’re looking for, I won’t even make the deal.’

‘I would like. . all the photos he has,’ she said, haltingly. ‘I mean, even just. . modeling photos.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll get whatever he brings with him.’

‘Thank you. I have to go, now. I’m supposed to meet Joey for some publicity for the show.’

I got up to let her out, and Danny got to his feet, as well.

‘We’ll talk later, Abby,’ I said.

‘Thank you, Eddie.’ She turned to Danny. ‘And thank you for your help, Mr Bardini.’

‘I’m happy to be of service, Miss Dalton.’

She smiled at him, and left the coffee shop.

After she left, Danny and I sat back down. I poured more coffee for each of us.

‘You’ll need back-up for this meet, tonight,’ Danny said.

‘He’s just a middle-aged photographer, Danny,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ll have any trouble.’

‘He might have some friends who aren’t so middle-aged.’

‘I’ll take Jerry.’

‘You said he told you not to bring Jerry,’ Danny pointed out. ‘Besides, he’s seen Jerry. He’s never seen me. I’ll get to the bar early and get myself a ringside seat.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

‘And keep Jerry away from there.’

‘I’ll tell him.’

‘Make sure he understands,’ Danny said. ‘You don’t need him rushing in and queering the deal.’

‘It’s a simple swap, Danny.’

‘I’ve seen many simple swaps go wrong, Eddie,’ Danny said, dead serious. ‘Believe me, you can’t be too careful.’

‘Yeah, OK,’ I said. ‘We’ll do it your way.’

‘For a change, you mean,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ I agreed, ‘for a change.’

Together we walked out to the street. The sun was bright, and the day was busy already, valets running back and forth, parking customers’ cars. We watched women exit their automobiles in flashes of nylon and heels, men in suits and fedoras. People dressed to gamble in those days. Many of the women wore their Jackie Kennedy influences: dark glasses, shift dresses, pea coats. At night, when the sun went down, they’d put on white gloves, pearls, designer dresses and gowns from Cassini to Valentino to Givenchy just to attend the shows, and then gamble late into the night.

I didn’t usually get to rub shoulders with women like that, not while I was in the pit. When they played blackjack they had their men right next to them, guarding their women like possessions. Even the pros, who were on the arms of the men who had rented them, dressed the part.

Danny and me, we still had Brooklyn inside of us. We were more comfortable in some of the downtown casinos, where the people were more concerned with the actual gambling than with what they wore while they tossed the dice.

‘My car’s in the back,’ Danny said.

‘We could have gone out that way.’

‘I’ll walk around,’ he said. ‘I wanted to see some of the pretty people.’

‘Where will we meet after?’

‘Downtown,’ he said. ‘The Horseshoe. In the coffee shop.’

‘OK.’

He put his hand on my arm.

‘Don’t take this lightly, OK?’ he asked. ‘If Irwin’s a blackmailer, then he’s more than just a middle-aged photographer. And if. . if you’re planning on breaking into his house, I don’t wanna know about it. Got it?’

I nodded, and watched Danny as he worked his way between the cars, and then rounded the corner. Despite what he said, I couldn’t help thinking Barney Irwin was just a wannabe Hugh Hefner, out for a fast buck or an even faster fuck.

I went back inside to find Jerry. I had to tell him I didn’t need him that night, and make him believe it.

The club on one side of Irwin’s house was called The Diamond Club. The other was called Foxy’s. The house was a rundown, one-story wood A-frame.

‘We better pull around back, Mr G.,’ Jerry said.

‘Go ahead.’

He whipped the Caddy around to the back and cut the engine. As we got out he looked at the two buildings.

‘No doors or windows on this side,’ he said. ‘Nobody’ll see us.’

‘You gonna pick the locks again?’

‘This cracker box?’ Jerry asked. ‘I’ll just slip the lock.’

He used a piece of celluloid to slip the lock and open the door. Nobody would ever be able to tell.