Robert Randisi - You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

“I’m gonna check on the Lavender Club, see if we know who’s runnin’ it,” he said. I knew who he meant when he said “we.” I didn’t bother saying I thought Otash could handle that. Instead I just said thanks, and told him I’d stay in touch.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said, “like your ass bailed out.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

I hung up and went out to the Caddy. I opened the trunk, took the gun from my belt and stuck it in the wheel well, where Jerry had put it before. I was fine as long as the cops didn’t search my car.

I closed the trunk and drove to the hospital.

“He’s not awake yet,” the doctor said. He was the emergency room doctor who had worked on Jerry. I hadn’t noticed much about him earlier, but now saw that he was young, probably in his early thirties. He had an air of both confidence and competence about him.

“I warned you,” he went on, “so far we’re not looking at this as anything unusual.”

“I understand,” I said. “I was just hopin’. Where is he?”

“We’ve put him in a room.”

“A private room?”

“Yes,” he said, “apparently Mrs. Dean Martin insisted on that.”

“Good. Can I see him?”

“He won’t know you’re there.”

“I know, I just want to see him.”

“Sure.”

The doctor walked me to the room and left me there. I nodded to the cop guarding the door as I went in. Jerry was a big lump on the bed, his head swathed in bandages. He looked pale, but while most people looked frail in hospital beds, he still looked healthy and burly.

I walked up closer to the bed and looked down at him.

“Sorry, big guy,” I said. “You took the brunt of it, this time. I’m gonna find out who clobbered you and make ‘em pay. You can count on it.”

He didn’t blink.

I leaned closer and lowered my voice.

“Oh yeah, I’m gonna borrow your forty-five,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I could almost hear him thinkin’, Hell no, Mr. G. Go ahead. Just don’t lose it .

“Yeah, I’m gonna make ‘em pay,” I said, “as long as I don’t shoot myself in the foot.”

When I came out into the waiting room Fred Otash was there, wearing jeans and a windbreaker.

“How’s he doing?”

“Not awake, no change,” I said. “They’re sayin’ it’s not unusual.”

“You ready to go look at some naked babes?”

“Sure.”

“You got that item we talked about?”

“In the trunk.”

“Well, let’s get it out of the trunk, and get going,” he suggested.

We went in both cars, in case we wanted to split up. After we pulled into the parking of the neon-lit Lavender Club I joined him in his car and asked, “How good are your descriptions.”

“Right down to a scar down the center of one of their foreheads,” Otash said. “If they’re here, we’ll spot them.”

We got out of the car. Once again the gun felt awkward in my belt, like it was either going to fall out, or yank my pants down. I wondered aloud if I shouldn’t put it in my jacket pocket.

“It’ll get caught when you’re trying to pull it out,” Otash said. “Also, it’ll yank down the jacket so that someone will know you’ve got something in there. Keep it in your belt.”

I nodded my agreement.

We went in the front door and I blinked as the sheer volume of lavender neon hit me.

“Jesus,” Otash said, “this’ll take some getting used to.”

He was right, it was hard to see at first, and I wondered why the management wouldn’t realize that. As we got deeper into the place, though, the neon faded. It got darker, easier to see the girls spotlit up on the stages. Most of them were already nude, it was strange how some of them looked more nude than others.

We found two seats, sat down and ordered beer. Otash turned his attention to the stage, where a woman with very large breasts was hanging upside down from a pole.

I was scanning the audience. The place was only about half full.

“Fred,” I said, “we’re supposed to be lookin’ for these guys, remember? And they’re not gonna be up on stage.”

“Give me a break,” Otash said. “I’m a busy man and I don’t get out much. I don’t live in Vegas, where this kind of thing is everywhere.”

“It’s not everywhere,” I said. “It’s in the clubs, just like here, and sometimes up on stage.”

“Just look for that big scar right down the center of his forehead,” Otash said. “That can’t be very common.”

“And the guy with him?”

“Burly, she said,” Otash answered. “With curly hair. And when she saw them they were both wearing suits and ties.”

“Well,” I said, “if they wear suits and ties in here that’ll make ‘em stand out for sure.”

The girl with the big tits got off the pole and was right side up, her breasts returning to their normal position.

Otash took a deep breath and looked at me.

“Who owns this place?” I asked. “Do you know?”

“The owner of record is some corporation. It’s managed by a man named Sam Kearny.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“No,” Otash said, “he could just be a name on a piece of paper.”

I remembered Jack Entratter saying he was going to have someone look into who owned the place. Maybe he was able to get behind the corporate name. I’d have to call him later and find out.

We sat there for two hours, had two more beers, watched the girls rotate in and out until the one with the really big boobs waved at Otash because she was used to seeing him there by then.

When a new batch of girls showed, Otash leaned over to me and said, “I guess we should call it a night. We could try again tomorrow.”

We started to get up when I grabbed his arm and pushed him back down.

“What?”

“Guy in a suit just came in,” I said, jerking my chin toward the door.

The man stood bathed in purple while his eyes adjusted to the neon. He didn’t have a scar, but was burly and had curly hair, albeit closely cut.

“He’s alone,” Otash said.

We watched him. Eventually, he turned, walked along the front wall and entered what was probably an office. The girls had been coming in and out through a pair of swinging doors, so we didn’t think he was going backstage.

“He belongs here,” I said.

“Or he knows the owner.”

“We have to get back there,” I said. “Danny may be in this building.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “You stay here in case I get into trouble.”

“I’ll come with you,” I said.

This time he put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me down.

“That’d be too obvious. Just stay here and watch my back-but at the same time, be careful about pulling that gun.”

“Right.”

Jerry’s.45 felt like it weighed fifty pounds. I sat back and watched Otash mosey across the room toward that doorway. Just as he reached it the door opened and a big, broad bouncer came walking out. He spotted Otash, put out a hand that sparkled with a couple of diamond rings and laid it on Otash’s chest. They exchanged some words, and the bouncer pointed toward the front door. When we first came in I had noticed the rest-rooms, so Otash was either being shown out, or directed to the men’s room. He started that way, with the bouncer right behind him. Briefly, he caught my eye, looking helpless.

I didn’t waste any time. I got out of my chair and quickly crossed the room to that doorway. Yanking the door open I quickly slipped inside.

I closed the door behind me, found myself in a hallway. Voices were coming from a room at the end of the hall that was obviously an office, its door open. If anybody came out of that room, I’d be screwed. I’d have to claim I was looking for the men’s room and see what happened.