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

If he heard me he wasn’t giving any sign. I sat back in the chair, folded my arms and closed my eyes again.

I woke in the middle of the night and listened to the silence. It was too quiet. I sat up quickly, the only light coming in from the hall. I stood up and walked to the doorway. Where there was supposed to be a cop there was nobody.

I went back to Jerry’s bed, located his buzzer to call the nurse and pressed it. I had to press it a second and third time before someone came-a middle-aged nurse who looked as if she, too, had just woken up.

“Oh,” she said, “for a moment I thought your friend pressed the call button.”

“Can you tell me what happened to the cop who was on the door to this room?”

“I can tell you what happened to all three of them,” she said. “They were called back to their station.”

“Why?”

“I was only told that they had to leave.”

“And nobody thought to tell me?”

“Excuse me, sir, but I don’t work for you,” she said stiffly.

“Okay, look-what’s your name?”

“Nurse Collins, sir.”

“Miss Collins, I’m sorry about the way that came out,” I said, “but this man is in danger and, frankly, if he’s in danger so are you and the other nurses.”

She frowned. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. They said not to disturb you, but to tell you about it when you did wake.”

“I see.”

“What are we supposed to do?”

“I’m gonna stay all night,” I said. “Just keep an eye out for strangers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if I have any trouble I’ll press the call button and you come running with some orderlies.”

“All right, sir.”

“Big ones, if you have any.”

“I’ll find ‘em,” she promised.

I walked her to the door.

“I’m gonna close this door. If you or a doctor want to come in I’d appreciate it if you’d knock.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Tomorrow I’m gonna get us some help.”

“Good,” she said, “because I’m on duty again tomorrow night.”

She returned to her station and I returned to mine. I was determined to stay awake, but you know what they say about the best laid plans …

I woke with a start, the sun streaming in the window directly into my eyes. I checked the time: 8:15 A.M. I picked up the phone and dialed the operator.

“Operator,” a woman’s voice said.

“Can I make a long distance call from here?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, sir, no,” she said, “but there are pay phones in the lobby.”

“What number do I dial to get the nurse’s station on the second floor?”

“If you’re in a room, sir, just press your call button. A nurse will respond immediately.”

“Yeah, see, the problem is your idea of immediately and mine are two different things. What number can I dial to get the station?”

She told me, and I dialed it.

“Second-floor nurse’s station,” a woman said.

“Nurse Collins?”

“Yes.”

“This is Eddie Gianelli, down the hall in Jerry Epstein’s room?”

“Yes, Mr. Gianelli. Is your call button out of order?” she asked.

“I didn’t try it. I preferred to call you this way. I need to go down to the lobby to make a long distance call.”

“You can make it from your room, sir,” she said, “but it will show up on your final bill.”

“That’s no problem,” I said. “The operator told me I couldn’t do it.”

“I’ll call her and arrange it, sir. She’ll ring you when she has a line open.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I only had to wait ten minutes and then the phone rang. I grabbed it on the first ring, then realized how silly I was being. The phone was not going to wake Jerry up, although I wished it would.

“Yes?”

“You have a line, sir. You may dial your call.”

“Thank you.”

I dialed the Sands, Jack Entratter’s office. He answered his own phone, which he does when his girl is out, or away from her desk.

“Eddie, where the hell are you? I’ve been tryin’ to get you-”

“I’m at the hospital, Jack,” I said. “Listen, did you look into the Lavender Club like you said you were?”

“I did, and you’re in trouble, my friend.”

“What kind of trouble? How bad?”

“The fed kind.”

“You know, I thought I heard they were involved, but at the time I convinced myself I was wrong.”

“Involved? Hell, they run it, Eddie. And do you know who owns the Lavender Club?”

“Who?”

“J. fucking Edgar Hoover, that’s who,” he said. “You’re banging heads with the FBI, my friend.”

After I hung up on Entratter I called Otash’s office and left a message with Miss Deeds to have him come right over to the hospital.

While I waited for Otash to arrive-or maybe even Stanze-I looked at Jerry, lying helpless in that bed, and realized that I had always thought of him as indestructible. Seeing him unconscious and unable to defend himself was kind of scary. But it also showed that anybody can be taken down if you take them from behind.

Otash arrived and looked disturbed-rested, but disturbed.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “I haven’t had a chance to make my calls yet.”

“To check on the Lavender Club?”

“Well, yeah, that’s what I was going to do.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Why not?”

“I got the information already.”

“From who?”

“Jack Entratter, my boss at the Sands.”

“I’ve heard of Entratter,” Otash said. “So what did he do, use the Sicilian pipeline?”

“Whatever he used, he got the info, and I don’t think you would have gotten it. I don’t even think the L.A. cops would’ve found it.”

“What is it, top secret?”

“You might say that.”

“Okay, don’t keep me in suspense. Who owns the damned club?”

“You’re gonna laugh,” I said. “The owner of record is something called the JEH Group, Inc.”

“JEH? What does that stand for?”

“This is the part you’re gonna find funny,” I said. “JEH stands for J. Edgar Hoover.”

“What? Are you telling me that club is owned by the FBI?”

“That’s what I’m tellin’ you.”

“Wait a minute-JEH? That’s just stupid.”

“All the more reason to believe it,” I said. “Somebody just couldn’t help but get cute about it.”

“Jesus …”

“And did you notice anythin’ odd when you came in?” I asked.

“Yeah, I did,” he said. “No cops.”

“Right,” I said. “They were pulled in the middle of the night.”

“You think the FBI had something to do with that, too?” he asked.

“I’d make book on it.”

“This makes sense out of the conversation you heard in the club,” he said.

“Yeah, but I don’t think Harris and the guy with the scar are FBI. I think they’re freelancers.”

“Being paid by the feebs.”

“Right.”

“You know, if the FBI pulled the cops they’re not coming back any time soon.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s why I’ve made other arrangements.”

“Also through Entratter?”

“Yes,” I said. “Someone’s got to keep Jerry safe while we run down these two guys. One of the calls you were gonna make was to run that plate number.”

“Yes,” he said, “I’m having Leona do it now.”

“Good. If I’m right the car will be registered to the JEH Group. Maybe there’ll be an address.”

“Most likely a PO box.”

“If it is we’re screwed again.”

“No, we’re not. We’ll just stake out the place and wait for one of them to show up, and this time we’ll follow him.”