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

“Bobby Kennedy?” he asked.

“He says we can go and pick up Danny in a little while.”

“Where?”

“The Lavender Club, which he says will be closed down by tomorrow.”

“And?”

“And then everything is over.”

“And the FBI’s involvement?”

“The attorney general asked me to leave them to him. He says he’s used to dealing with Hoover.”

“That’s all over my head,” Otash said. “You’d better go along, Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, “it’s always better just to go along, isn’t it?”

The bouncer stopped US at the door.

“By invitation only tonight, gents,” he said. “It’s our last night.”

Well, if I was wondering if Robert Kennedy had made his phone calls, that clinched it.

“We have invitations,” I said.

“Let’s see ‘em.”

“Tell your boss Eddie G is here.”

The bouncer smiled. “Eddie G. That’s it?”

“Believe me, that’ll be enough.”

The bouncer stopped frowning and took a second look at Otash, standing next to me. “Hey, I know you.”

“Not officially,” Otash said.

“What’s your na-”

“Eddie G is all you need,” I said. “Now hurry. We’re all on a tight schedule.”

The man wanted to argue, but obviously wasn’t sure of his footing. “Wait here.”

He went into the building, locking the door behind him. It took ten minutes for him to return.

“Come on.”

We followed him inside. For a private party it was remarkably well attended. It looked like standing room only and apparently all the girls were on the runways. The music was too loud to think or speak, so he just beckoned us to follow him.

Down the hall again, this time with permission, and into the office. The man behind the desk looked up and frowned at me. His hair was painfully red and if he had smiled he would have looked like he belonged on the cover of Mad magazine. The Hawaiian shirt he was wearing was even more painful than his hair.

But he didn’t smile at me.

“Are you the guy who left the light on in the basement?” he asked.

“That was me,” I said.

“I’m gonna send you my electric bill.”

“What, the FBI won’t pay it?”

“And you’re also the reason I’m being shut down?” he demanded.

“Probably.”

The man covered his face.

“I’m gonna have to start wearing a suit again.”

“I guess you should’ve snatched somebody else’s friend.”

“Is that what this is all about?” he asked, waving his hand. “He’s fine.”

“Unlike Max Johnson.”

“Who? Oh, yeah, the hotel clerk. That was those two idiot freelancers, Harris and Delaney. I understand you killed them?”

“They needed it,” Otash said, butting in. Maybe he was feeling left out. “The FBI must be falling on hard times to employ those two.”

“When you employ for the purpose of deniability there’s no point in making it top talent, is there?”

“So if I hadn’t killed them-”

“Somebody would’ve.”

“Wait a minute,” Otash said, “you’re actually an FBI agent?”

“Born and bred,” the man said. “Twenty years, right out of college. My father was an agent before me, but he never had a sweet gig like this.”

“And him?” Otash asked, jerking his thumb at the bouncer.

“Just a bouncer,” the man said.

“And a pimp,” I said.

“What?” The agent looked surprised.

“Hey,” the bouncer said.

“Last time I was here I heard him saying he ran a string of girls out of here.”

The agent looked at the bouncer.

“Peter, I’m very disappointed in you,” he said. “Damn it. Now I’m gonna have to arrest you.”

“Damn it, Sam, I was just-”

Sam (Kearny, no doubt), the FBI agent, took a gun out of his top drawer and shot Peter the bouncer. Peter looked shocked, grabbed his stomach and fell facedown on the floor.

Otash and I didn’t move. I think we both realized we were in the hands of a crazy man.

Kearny put the gun back in his top drawer.

“There,” he said, “I’m back on the right side of the law, aren’t I?”

“How long have you been under?” Otash asked.

“Would’ve been five years next week,” Kearny said. “I had a helluva celebration planned. Now next week I’ll be back in an office in Washington.”

“Um … I’m sorry?” I said.

He waved my apology away. “Don’t be. It had to end some time.” He stood up, straightened his Hawaiian shirt. “All right, come with me.”

He walked past us, out the door. We followed him down the hall to the basement door.

“You’ve been here before,” he said to me, “so mind your step.”

We went down the steps and he pulled on a new string someone had attached to the bulb, which was now a forty watt white.

The man seated in the wooden chair looked up at us. He had a lopsided grin on a bruised face.

“Damn it,” Danny said, “what took you so long, Eddie?”

Amazingly, the crazy fed let us all go.

“I’d invite you to stay for the party, but I’m actually pretty pissed at you,” he said at the front door. “Hope I don’t run into you again.”

“Likewise,” I said, as the door closed.

Now that we were outside I grabbed Danny in a bear hug.

“Goddamnit, man, I was starting to think that you were dead.”

“Lemme go, I got sore ribs!” he said, pushing me away. “They knocked me around a bit, but never really came close to killing me. How’s Penny doin’?”

“Worried sick.”

“And Marilyn?”

“I’ll tell you in the car,” I said, and then, “Oh, yeah, meet Fred Otash. Fred, Danny Bardini.”

“Hey, I know you,” Danny said, as they shook hands. “I saw your ad. How much did that set you back?”

“Like Eddie said, I’ll tell you in the car.”

We walked to my Caddy.

“You want to go to the hospital?” I asked.

“Naw, you know what I really want?” he asked. “A burger and a beer.”

I looked at Otash.

“I’m kinda hungry myself.”

“Okay,” I said, “but let’s go pick up Marilyn and we’ll make it a foursome.”

“I get to meet her?” Danny asked happily. His smile was so wide it split a scab on his lip.

“After what you’ve been through, old buddy,” I said, “it’s the least I can do. But first you’ve got to call Penny.”

A couple of days later I drove to Palm Springs with two passengers, Danny and Jerry. Jerry had awakened the day before in his room with the two Johnny Roselli men watching him, took one look at them and said, “Hi, guys.”

Once he was awake there was no keeping him in the hospital. He was upset that I had gotten into a shoot-out without him, and he wanted to be by my side in case the FBI came after me.

Marilyn wanted Jerry to stay with her in the main house so she could baby him, and as appealing as that sounded, the big guy turned her down. We did continue to stay in her guesthouse, but that was it.

“Ya can’t trust the feds, Mr. G.,” he said, “and as long as I’m awake, I’m with ya.”

Taking Danny to Frank’s was the least I could do for him. Also, he wanted to go back to the motel, but I put him in a hotel not too far from Marilyn’s, that had room service and a pool.

So we pulled up to Frank’s place with a bandaged Jerry in the front seat and a bruised Danny in the back. I felt guilty that they had taken the brunt of the punishment.

“This is great, Eddie,” he said, looking at Frank’s Palm Spring enclave.

I stopped the car and turned off the engine. I could hear raised voices as George came down the stairs toward us.