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

I still had a half hour before meeting Jerry, so I detoured to Entratter’s office. I knew Jack had a house on Charleston Boulevard, but he also had a suite at the Sands. If he slept in the suite he’d be in his office this early.

When I entered the outer office his girl wasn’t there, but I could hear him banging around inside. As I walked in he slammed a desk drawer angrily.

“Good morning,” I said.

“What’s good about it?” He sat in his chair and leaned back. It creaked beneath his weight. “Whataya want, Eddie? You finished with Sammy’s business yet?”

“No, not yet,” I said. “In fact, I’ve got to go to Tahoe again today.”

“You know,” he said, “if I find out you’re takin’ advantage of the situation-”

“Fuck you, Jack,” I said. “Call Frank and tell him Sammy needs to get himself a new boy. I’ve already been through enough shit-”

“Okay, okay, take it easy,” he said, sitting forward. “Christ, kid, don’t lose your temper with me.”

“You know me better than to accuse me of any shit, Jack.”

“You’re right, Eddie,” he said. “I do. I’m sorry. I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Yeah,” I said, grudgingly, “okay.”

“Go ahead to Tahoe, do whatever you gotta do,” he told me.

I got up to leave.

“Hey, kid.”

I turned.

“What shit have you been through already?”

“Forget it,” I said. “It’s nothin’.”

It was bad enough that Thomas, the driver, had knowledge of the bodies and where we’d hidden them. That made four of us: me, Thomas, Sammy and Jerry. Thomas wouldn’t say a word because he had killed them in front of three witnesses. And the rest of us would stay dummied up.

There was no need to clue Entratter in.

Jerry said, “You’re late,” as I approached him in the lobby. “The limo’s outside.”

“Sorry,” I said, “I got held up.”

“What was her name?”

I looked at him sharply, then realized he didn’t know anything, he was just kidding around.

“Very funny,” I said. “Come on, let’s go.”

We left the Sands and got into the limo for the drive to the airport.

During the drive I thought about Caitlin. My track record with broads was pretty good, but that didn’t mean I was used to young chicks coming to my room, throwing themselves at me.

After we’d made love, once we were lying side by side on the bed, I had to ask.

“Have we ever-”

“No, Eddie,” she said, turning toward me and putting her hand on my chest. “Never before, but maybe again?”

“Sure,” I said, “soon.”

“Soon?” she asked, sliding her hand down beneath the sheet, “or now?”

She took hold of me and, to her delight and my surprise, I was able to say, “Okay, now …”

“You have any breakfast?” Jerry asked, interrupting my thoughts.

“No,” I said, “it’s too early. You?”

“I had somethin’ last night, and then again this mornin’,” he said, happily. “I love this town. Twenty-four-hour room service.”

Like a kid in a candy store.

From the helipad near the Cal Neva we went directly to Harrah’s. I didn’t know if Frank was in his cabin, or at home in Palm Springs, but my only concern at the moment was talking to Sammy.

I knocked on the door to his room and when he opened it I said, “Hey, Sam.”

“Eddie, hey Jerry,” he greeted. “Come on in. I was just having breakfast.”

Jerry closed the door and we followed Sammy to the sofa and sat down in front of a tray of food.

“Pot of coffee here,” he said. “Anybody want a cup?”

“No, thanks.”

Jerry hesitated, then said, “No.”

“You cats wanna fill me in while I eat?”

I told him about moving the bodies, and where to. Also about cleaning my house, but forgetting there was a bullet left in the wall.

“You still don’t know if the cops went in your house or not?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “but if they had I’d’ve expected them to come lookin’ for me at the Sands.”

“You’re probably right. I haven’t heard a thing yet, from anybody,” he said. “Maybe they’ve given up?”

“ ’Scuse me, Mr. Davis?” Jerry said. “I don’t know all that much about what’s goin’ on, but if there’s money involved I doubt the blackmailers would give up.”

“But it looks like things have gone wrong in a big way,” Sammy said.

“All that would do is make them ask for even more,” Jerry suggested.

The fifty thousand Sammy had given me was hidden in a safe at the Sands. I wondered how quick he’d be able to put his hands on more. Even for somebody like Sammy Davis Jr. fifty grand is fifty grand.

“I see,” Sammy said.

“Sammy,” I said, “we need to talk-I mean, seriously talk.”

“About what, Eddie?”

“About what’s really goin’ on,” I said.

It took a lot for me to ask. Even though I counted Dean and Frank as friends, the starstruck aspect of our relationship hadn’t gone away. It was even more so with Sammy. We were more acquaintances than friends at this point; I had tremendous respect for him as an entertainer, but this was a conversation that was going to have to take place man to man.

And I hoped I wasn’t about to piss him off.

Sammy put down his fork. He finished chewing what was in his mouth before speaking.

“What are you sayin’, Eddie?”

“I’m saying that there may have been some stuff before that was none of my business, but that’s all changed now. Too many people are dead. What’s goin’ on, Sam?”

Sammy sat back on the sofa. He looked as if he was trying to decide how to play this. He could get angry and tell me to leave, or he could try telling the truth.

“I have this hobby,” he said, finally.

Did I want to hear what his hobby was?

“What kinda hobby?” Jerry asked.

“Photography,” Sammy said. “I like to take photos. It started when Jerry Lewis gave me a camera as a gift a few years ago. Then, when I was doing Mr. Wonderful in New York I met Milt Lewis and he taught me a little bit about the proper lighting, angles and such. I got to be pretty good at it.”

Sammy stood up and began pacing.

“I started carrying cameras with me everywhere,” he went on. “Taking pictures of everyone.” He turned and looked at me. “I even have some shots of you, from last year.”

That surprised me, because I never saw him with a camera.

“You got any pictures of me?” Jerry asked.

“No,” Sammy said, “not you, big guy. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Jerry said. “I don’t like havin’ my picture took.”

“Are you serious?” Sammy asked. “Man, that’s like bein’ immortalized for all time. You get your picture taken it’s like you’ll look like that forever. Frozen in time. You know what I mean?”

I looked at Jerry, who was staring at Sammy with no expression on his face.

“I don’t know if I want to always look like this,” he said, finally.

Sammy stared at Jerry for a few seconds, then smiled, genuinely amused.

“I can dig you, man,” he said, laughing. “I don’t know if I wanna look like this forever, either.”

They both looked at me.

“Hey,” I said, “I like the way I look now.”

Sammy and Jerry shrugged and then Sammy walked over to the window and stared out. I knew he could see the marquee with his name on it. I noticed driving in that underneath SAMMY DAVIS JR. they had added SPECIAL ADDED ATTRACTION LAURINDO ALMEIDA. I knew he was a Brazilian classical guitarist. Years later, in 1966, they’d make an album together, but who knew that then?