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

“What if they realize someone left the light on in the basement?”

“Maybe nobody’s been down there since, but it won’t matter. They’ll each blame somebody else.”

“So Fred, are you sure you’re willing to go against the FBI?”

“If you’re right and these are freelancers who jumped the gun,” he reasoned, “grabbed Danny and slugged Jerry, then we’re not going against the whole FBI, just these two guys. I mean, the only reason the FBI would employ freelancers is deniability.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” I said.

“When are your other arrangements supposed to arrive?” he asked.

“Any minute. They’ll watch Jerry in shifts until I tell them it’s over.”

“This,” he said, “ought to be interesting.”

He was right, it was.

Two guys arrived wearing suits and ties and iron under their arms. Young, dark-haired, pale and bored-looking, almost identical.

“You Gianelli?” one of them asked. “The one they call Eddie G?”

“That’s me,” I said, and even to myself I sounded like a bad Edward G. Robinson impersonator. “I’m Eddie Gianelli.”

“I’m Vince, this is Bobbo,” Vince said. “Mr. Roselli sent us.”

“Johnny Roselli?” Otash asked.

“You know another one?” Vince asked.

I’d met Roselli one time. He ran L.A. and Vegas for Sam Giancana and his group. Entratter had said he’d call Roselli and get me some help looking out for Jerry.

“Dis da guy?” the other man asked. “Jeez, he’s a big one. How’d they take him down?”

“From behind,” I said.

He looked at his partner and said, “Ain’t dat always da way?”

“Shut up, Bobbo,” Vince said. He looked at me. “We’ll be here for six hours and then we’ll be relieved. Mr. Roselli says you should go and do what you gotta do. Him and Mr. Entratter made all the arrangements, and Mr. Roselli made a promise.”

“The cops were supposed to be here watchin’ him,” I said.

“That figures,” Vince said.

“Well, they may be back.”

“That’s okay,” Vince said, “we get along good with cops. They understand cash.”

“Okay, Vince,” I said. “Just make sure nothin’ happens to him.”

“Hey,” Vince said, “Mr. Roselli makes a promise, we keep it. That’s our job, and we’re good at it.”

“Hey,” Bobbo said, “is it true you’re friends with Frank and Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s true.”

“Jeez, dem guys is great.”

“I tell you what,” I said. “You do your job, and I’ll get you free tickets next time they’re in Vegas. And a comped room at the Sands.”

“Really?” Bobbo asked. “Jeez, thanks, Mr. Gianelli.”

“We’ll do our job either way,” Vince said.

“I’m countin’ on you guys.”

“No problem, Mr. G.,” Bobbo said. “It’s in da bag.”

As Otash and I left the hospital he said, “Never thought I’d be throwing in with Johnny Roselli.”

“Actually,” I said, “he’s kind of throwin’ in with us.”

“Even stranger,” he said, “only …”

“Only what?”

“How can you be sure you can trust these guys?” he asked. “I mean, how do we know they were really sent by Roselli?”

“They mentioned Jack Entratter,” I said. “Nobody knows that Jack was callin’ Johnny. My only worry is what happens if the cops come back.”

“You know, at one time the L.A. Police Department was the most corrupt in the country-even worse than Chicago. There’s no reason to believe some of that’s not still true.”

“You’re sayin’ they’re on Roselli’s pad?”

“Roselli’s, the FBI, they’re on somebody’s.”

“I kinda thought Stanze was different.”

“He may well be,” Otash said, “but he’s only one man, and he can’t buck the whole system.”

We went from the hospital to Fred Otash’s office. It was the beginning of business hours and Miss Deeds was at her desk. He told me he had a private bath off his office, which included a shower. I told him I’d wait until I got back to Marilyn’s for the clothes, but I did wash up.

When I came out of the bathroom reasonably refreshed, Otash was sitting at his desk, just hanging up the phone.

“This is no surprise,” he said. “The car driven by Harris is registered to the JEH Group.”

“We get an address?”

“A PO box.”

“What about a driver’s license?”

“That’s a good thought,” Otash said. “You’ll make a detective yet. I just checked with my contact in Motor Vehicle. There are too many drivers named Harris for us to tell anything.”

“So we go on stakeout?” I asked.

“Yes, with one change,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“We follow whoever comes out,” he said. “Harris, the guy with the scar, or the manager, the other guy whose voice you heard.”

“I don’t know what he looks like.”

“We’ll find out,” Otash said. “If he’s running the place for the FBI he’s got to know something.”

“What about the bouncer? I heard him say he’s running girls out of there.”

“Good idea,” Otash said. “If he thinks he’s going to be pinched for running a string of girls, maybe he’ll talk.”

“He looks like he’d be used for heavy lifting.”

“You mean like moving Danny from the basement to somewhere else?”

“That’s what I mean.”

I didn’t like thinking of Danny as deadweight-or as dead. I wasn’t sure how I’d react if I found my longtime friend dead. I just had to keep thinking of him as alive, somewhere.

Penny would never forgive me if I didn’t bring him back.

Otash wanted to make some more calls-and use his shower-so instead of hanging around the office and-for some reason I still couldn’t figure out-annoying Miss Deeds, I decided to go back to Marilyn’s and get my own clothes.

“Be back here in a couple of hours,” Otash said. “With any luck I’ll know something about the manager and the bouncer at the Lavender.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”

I drove back to the guesthouse, went inside, took a shower and brewed a pot of coffee to try to keep myself awake.

I was standing at the sink, drinking my second cup, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I froze, kept looking out the window and saw it again. Somebody was moving around inside the main house.

“Goddamnit!” I said angrily. It wasn’t bad enough they had sent Jerry to the hospital, they had to come back? And for what?

I went out to my car, opened the trunk as quietly as I could and took out Jerry’s.45. Clutching it, I moved around behind the main house to the kitchen. Everybody seemed to be using that door to get in. I was no different. It wasn’t locked, so I opened it and slipped inside. At that point someone chose to enter the room. I raised the gun and pointed before I realized it was Marilyn Monroe.

“Jesus Christ!”

Marilyn screamed and jumped back, eyes wide, then recognized me.

“Eddie! You scared the hell out of me!”

“Marilyn, what the hell are you doin’ here? I told you to stay at Frank’s.”

“Frank got real busy with the construction,” she said. “I started to feel like I was in the way. I wanted to come home, so he had one of his bodyguards drive me. What are you doing with that gun?”

“It’s Jerry’s,” I said. “He’s in the hospital.”

“Wha-why? What happened?”

“Look,” I said, taking her arm, “let’s go in the guesthouse. I just made some coffee. We can talk there.”

“But why not here?” she asked, as she trotted to the door.

“This is where Jerry got hurt,” I said, “and I’m not sure the people who hurt him won’t come back.”