Robert Randisi: Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand)

Buddy thought it over, looked at Joey, and then the two of them started laughing, Buddy slapping me on the back.

By the time Joey and I left Buddy and headed back to the Sands, my sides were aching.

“How about a nightcap?” Joey asked.

Joey rarely drank, so I agreed and we went into the Silver Queen Lounge. It was late, the last set had been played by the lounge act, and we were able to sit at the bar and talk quietly.

“Still no free drinks?” Joey asked, when I paid the bartender for my bourbon and his coffee.

“Jack doesn’t want to start a trend.”

Joey nodded and sipped his coffee.

“What’s on your mind, Joey?” I asked.

“Why does somethin’ have to be on my mind?”

“Look,” I said, “I had a great time tonight. Buddy’s great and the two of you together are a riot. But when’s the last time you invited me for a night on the town?”

“You’re a smart man, Eddie,” Joey said. He pointed his finger at me. “I said that first, and the rest of the guys found it out later.”

“Not Peter.”

“Peter’s okay,” Joey said, but didn’t go any further.

“Where is he, Joey?” I asked. “Where’s Frank?”

“He’s at the Cal Neva, in Tahoe,” Joey said. “He’d like you to come there.”

“Why didn’t he just call me?”

Joey shrugged helplessly.

“Maybe you could ask ’im when you see ’im.”

“And when is that?”

“Well, hopefully tomorrow,” Joey said.

“He wants me to drive to Tahoe tomorrow?”

“Fly,” Joey said. “He said you can use his copter.”

“Copter?”

“One of the improvements Frank made at the Cal Neva was putting in a helipad.”

“Really?”

“You ever been up in a helicopter?”

“No.”

“You’ll love it.”

“I thought the Cal Neva was only open from June through September. After all, it’s a lodge, not a real hotel.”

“Frank’s convinced it could be a moneymaker all year round,” Joey said. “That’s why he’s there, in his cabin. The casino isn’t open yet, but it will be.”

“I have a job, Joey.”

“I have a feeling Jack will let you go, don’t you?” he asked.

No, it wasn’t a feeling. I knew Jack Entratter, my boss, would let me go. He’d do anything to keep Frank Sinatra happy.

“Okay, Joey,” I said. “You callin’ Frank tonight?”

“As soon as I get back to my room.”

“Tell him I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” Joey slid off his stool. “You finish your drink. I’m gonna turn in.”

“I’ll have to talk to Jack first thing,” I said. “Tell Frank to have his helicopter ready by ten.”

“I’ll tell ’im,” Joey said. “ ’Night, Eddie.”

“Thanks for the show and dinner, Joey.”

“Sure, anytime.”

The bartender came over. I could tell he was impressed. “Still hobnobbin’ with the stars, huh, Eddie?”

I finished my drink and set the empty glass down on the bar.

“You got it wrong, Harry,” I told him. “They’re hobnobbin’ with me.”

Frank answered the door himself, holding a paperback novel in one hand.

“Eddie G! How the hell are ya, pally?” He grabbed my hand and pumped it, then pulled me in, slamming the door. I looked around the cabin. His majordomo, George, was nowhere to be seen.

“Flyin’ solo this time,” he said, reading my mind. “Come on, come on, sit down. I’ll get you a drink. Bourbon?”

“Bourbon’s good, Frank.”

He put the book down on the coffee table and went to the bar. There was a girl in a black dress against a yellow background on the cover. The title was Miami Mayhem by Anthony Rome. I picked it up and was still reading the back when he returned with the drinks.

“That came out last year,” he said, handing me the glass. “I’m thinking of makin’ a movie out of it. I’d play the lead, Tony Rome, a Miami private eye. There’s another one, too, came out last month. It’s called The Lady in Cement.”

“Sounds interesting,” I said. “Any parts for the other guys?”

“Naw,” Frank said, sitting in an armchair across from me. “Well, maybe Nick Conte. I just need somebody to play the cop. Nick looks like a cop.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “ ‘Tony Rome’ is the P.I.? And the author is Anthony Rome?”

“It’s a pen name,” Frank said. “The guy’s real name is Marvin Albert. I’ve talked to him once, already.” He leaned forward, picked the book up, looked at it, put it down and said, “It’s gonna be good. Kinda like The Maltese Falcon my buddy Bogey made, only in this one the guy’s ex -partner is killed, and there’s no Falcon, just a pin, a piece of jewelry. It’s gonna be good,” he said, again.

“I’m sure it will be.” I was wondering if he was trying to convince me, or himself. I sat back and sipped my drink.

“How do you like the cabin?”

“It’s great. Kind of like a rustic suite.”

“Exactly,” Frank said. “It’s got a huge bedroom. Three, four and five never get rented out.”

“Never?”

“Five is mine,” Frank explained, spreading his arms. “Three is for broads-like when Marilyn comes out. She’s in Reno now, making The Misfits with Clark Gable. I asked her to come out here, but they’re givin’ her a hard time about bein’ late to the set.”

I nodded. I’d read about that in the papers.

“And four is for guys. If you stay here, Eddie, you get four.”

“That’s what I’m here to talk about, isn’t it, Frank?” I asked.

Not only had his copter flown me from Vegas, but his driver had brought me to cabin five from the heliport in Frank’s car. Now it was just him and me, no Rat Packers, no hangers on.

“You’re right, Eddie,” Frank said, “and I didn’t thank you for comin’. I guess Jack had to give you some time off, huh?”

“When Jack heard you wanted to see me, he gave me all the time I’d need,” I said. “So now all I have to find out is, how much time will I need?”

“I don’t know, Eddie,” he said. “Maybe I should just tell you what the problem is, and then we can figure it out.”

“I’m all ears, Frank.”

The Chairman of the Board sat back in his chair and said, “It’s Sammy, this time.”

“Joey said he was playin’ Harrah’s, up here.”

“He is,” Frank said. “I offered him a cabin, but it seems like Harrah’s is lettin’ him stay on the premises.”

“Things are startin’ to change,” I said.

“Not on their own, they’re not,” Frank said. “You know I made Jack Entratter let Sammy stay in the hotel when we play the Sands.”

“I heard that.”

“Well, Sammy told them at Harrah’s he wasn’t gonna play their place if they didn’t let him have a room. So they did.”

“Good for him,” I said. “Now tell me he got some threatening letters, or phone calls, and I won’t be surprised.”

Frank laughed.

“Naw, Smokey’s used to that,” he said. “That wouldn’t bother him at all. Ya know, he’s a little guy but I don’t know if the biggest part of him is his talent, or his balls.”

“So if he’s not gettin’ threats what is the problem?”

“I think you oughtta go and talk to him about it, Eddie,” Frank said.

“Did you tell Sammy you asked me to come?”

“I did,” he said.

“And what’d he say?”

“It doesn’t matter what he said,” Frank answered. “Last year if you’d asked Dean if he needed help he woulda said no. Hell, if you’d asked me back in August if I needed your help to find that dame I probably woulda said no, but you did it both times. You helped Dean and you helped me. Now I’d like you to help Sam.”