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

“I said never mind.” The unmistakable scent of Sen-Sen breath mints came wafting across the table at me.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Don’t get sore. You wanna tell me what I’m doin’ here?”

“Four dead men, that’s what you’re doin’ here.”

“What about them?”

“We got a tip that you knew something about them.”

“A tip? From who?”

“Unknown source.”

“You puttin’ a lot of credence in unknown sources these days?”

“Not exactly,” he said, sitting back. “But when I heard your name, I thought I’d take an interest.”

“Well, were they gamblers?”

“Not that I know of,” he said. “Maybe.”

“Then why would I be involved with them? My business is gamblers.”

“Maybe they’re mobbed up,” Hargrove said.

“Why would that connect them to me?”

He lit a cigarette, then pointed at me. “Because you’re mobbed up.”

“I am not-”

“You work at the Sands,” he said, “the mob owns the Sands, therefore you’re mobbed up.”

I could have continued to argue the point with him, but decided against it. I needed to find out if they’d been in my house.

“How’d you find me at the Sands?”

“We went to your house, you weren’t there,” Hargrove said. “So we tried the Sands. They told us at the front desk what room you were in.”

“I hope you didn’t leave my house unlocked.”

“What do you take us for?” he asked. “We didn’t even go inside.”

“I just figured you must’ve kicked in the door.”

“Why would we do that?” he asked, annoyed. “I’m not the lawbreaker, Eddie. I leave that to you and your New York gunsel. What’s he doin’ in Vegas, anyway?”

“He comes to visit now and then.”

“Really? And every time he comes to town somebody dies, huh?”

“Detective, I’ll bet somebody dies every day.”

“Sometimes more than one.”

“Those four,” I said, indicating the envelope on the desk. “How did they die?”

“Well,” Hargrove said, “at first it looked like they shot each other, but the closer we looked the more we realized it was just set up to appear that way.” He leaned forward and stared me in the eye. “By somebody who knew what they were doing.”

“Well,” I said, “that leaves me out, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe,” he said, “maybe not, but it’s right up the gunsel’s alley, ain’t it?”

“Jerry’s stuck with me the whole time he’s been in Vegas,” I said. “He’s been my guest. He hasn’t killed anyone.”

On the face of it, that was very true. Jerry had not killed any of the four men.

Hargrove sat back in his chair, then stood up and said, “I’ll be back. Can I have somebody bring you some coffee?”

“Sure, why not?” I said. “Might as well get somethin’ for free while I’m here.”

He laughed and said, “I’ll send someone right in to take your order, Eddie.”

He left. Was he going back to Jerry? How long was he going to let me stew this time?

Did we have any chance of getting to Reno tomorrow?

I had three cups of coffee before Hargrove came back in and sat. He started right in as if he hadn’t been gone an hour and a half.

“We’ve got a real odd situation on our hands, Eddie,” he said. He took the four photos out again and laid them down in a row on the table in front of me.

“See, we think one of those men was actually killed in the warehouse and left there. The other three we believe were killed somewhere else then brought to the warehouse and … arranged so they’d look like they killed each other.”

“But you were too smart for that, huh?”

“You bet we were,” he said. “Three of them were shot, all with different guns, and one of them was hit with something-a crowbar, or something like that.”

“Sounds like you do have a real odd one on your hands. Tell me about the phone tip you received.”

He picked the photos up again and put them back in the envelope.

“Just that you-and they mentioned you by name, although they called you Eddie G-knew something about the dead men.”

“And you took that to mean I killed them?” I asked. “Look, even if I do work for the Sands and the Sands is owned by the mob, I’m still just a pit boss.”

“A pit boss who finds bodies and gets himself in trouble,” Hargrove added, “or did you just have a bad few months last year?”

“I guess that depends on how you look at it.”

He sat forward.

“Look, I know that you like keepin’ your Rat Pack buddies out of trouble,” he said. “If that’s what’s goin’ on here-”

“What’s goin’ on here, Detective,” I said, “is that you’re holdin’ me on the word of an anonymous caller who didn’t even know my last name. And you’re holdin’ Jerry just because he was with me when you came for me. At the very least let him go. All he’s guilty of is coming to Vegas for some gambling and relaxation.”

Hargrove laughed shortly.

“Your friend the gunsel doesn’t know the first thing about relaxation.”

Suddenly, Hargrove stood up, turned, and walked out without another word.

An hour and twenty minutes later he came back in. He didn’t close the door behind him.

“You’re both free to go,” he said. “You can find your own way back to the Sands, or home, or wherever you’re goin’. Just remember this. If I find out you had anything to do with these killings I’m gonna come down on you so hard …”

I waited for him to finish the statement. When he didn’t, I said, “I understand, Hargrove. I understand perfectly.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I bet you do.” He opened the door. “Get out.”

I got up and walked into the hall. He came out behind me and closed the door.

“Just down the hall,” he said.

We walked to the next door, where he stopped and opened it.

“Out, gunsel,” he said.

A few seconds later Jerry appeared in the doorway, glowering at Hargrove.

“I tol’ you I don’t like that word.”

“Yeah, I know you did. Go on, get out of here, both of you.”

The police station was on West Russell, just off Las Vegas Boulevard. We could have walked, but we were able to snag a cab easily for a ride to the Sands.

When we got back it was after 2 A.M. The cops had given us all the coffee we wanted, and we were coffee’d out. But for once I was as hungry as Jerry, so we went to the Garden Room and each ordered the $4.99 special.

“I thought they’d keep us there all night,” Jerry said. “A few more hours and I woulda starved to death.”

As I cut into my prime rib it seemed to me more like days than hours since we’d been in Tahoe with Sammy that morning.

Which reminded me.

“Shit, I’ll have to call Jack early in the morning to arrange for the copter again. He’s not gonna like why we missed it.”

“It ain’t your fault the cops hauled ya in,” Jerry said.

“When this all started Jack told me not to find any more bodies, like last year.”

Jerry shrugged.

“He don’t know that we did.”

“What did Hargrove tell you?” I asked.

Jerry gave me the rundown on his interrogation by the detective, and it was pretty much the same one I’d experienced, except that Hargrove had been much more aggressive with him.

“Cops always try that with me,” he said. “They think they can break me down.”

“Well, he kept me waiting longer than he questioned me. I assumed he was with you all that time.”

“He left me alone for a long time, too.” He shrugged. “It’s just another cop trick. He didn’t get nothin’ outta me.”