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

“Me, neither.”

“I knew he wouldn’t,” Jerry said.

“How could you be so sure?”

“Easy,” he said. “You had every chance last year-and tonight-to throw me to ’em, to keep yourself in the clear. You never did.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Jerry.”

“I know. You’re a stand-up guy, Mr. G.”

We finished our meals and ordered some pie. Jerry had more coffee, but I stuck with water.

“Why don’t we try to get to Reno tonight?” the big guy asked.

“I’d have to wake Jack, or Sammy, to arrange for the copter,” I said. “The meet isn’t until tomorrow night. We can get to Reno in the morning and have time to check it out.”

“You know people in Reno, Mr. G.?”

“I know some people, and I can get around,” I said. “I can arrange to get us a car.”

“So all we gotta do now is get some shut-eye.”

“Right,” I said. “If I can sleep on a full stomach.”

“Me, I sleep better on a full stomach.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“You takin’ care of the check, Mr. G.?”

“I got it, Jerry.”

“Then I’m gonna go; I’m done in,” he said. “Meet in the lobby again?”

“Yeah,” I said, “make it nine-thirty, this time. Gives me time to call Jack early.”

“G’night, Mr. G.”

“ ’night, Jerry.”

He left the Garden Room and I signaled the waitress for the check.

I sat back. I was going to have to wake Jack Entratter early, unless he was in his office early again. He seemed to have a lot on his mind, lately, so it was real possible he would be.

I paid the check and headed for the elevators, but detoured to the front desk. Anthony was working, this time not alongside Caitlin.

“Where’s Caitlin tonight, Anthony?” I asked.

“The weirdest thing happened,” he said. “She quit.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Beats me. I got the word when I came on. Now I got this guy to train.”

There was another young man behind the desk, looking confused and lost.

“You’re pretty new yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I catch on quick,” he said. “Can’t say the same for him.”

“What about Caitlin?”

“She caught on quick,” he said.

“She was real pretty,” I said. “You, uh, have any luck?”

“Huh-uh, not me. She said she was into older guys.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yeah,” he said, “in fact, she seemed pretty interested in you.”

“How interested?”

“She asked a lot of questions.”

“Too bad she’s gone.”

“Yeah.” Anthony looked over at his shift partner. “No, Hector, not like that.” He looked at me. “Gotta go, Mr. Gianelli.”

“Sure,” I said. “One more thing. Caitlin say anything about havin’ a boyfriend?”

Anthony laughed. “Caitlin had lots of boyfriends but the same guy picked her up every morning.”

“Really?”

“I gotta straighten Hector out, Mr. Gianelli,” he said, apologetically.

“I tell you what, Anthony,” I said. “You do that and I’ll wait. This is kind of important.”

Now it was Anthony’s turn to look confused.

“Oh, well, okay,” he said. “Let me just … I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll wait here,” I said.

He went over to straighten out the new guy. I leaned on the counter to wait for him. Hopefully, he’d be able to tell me something about Caitlin’s boyfriend that would help me find him. Somebody was responsible for sending four guys to their deaths. Maybe it was two people who were running things. Maybe it was Caitlin and her boyfriend.

We drove through the openwork metal arch that read RENO, THE BIGGEST LITTLE CITY IN THE WORLD. Originally, it had been erected in 1927 to commemorate a Highway Exposition that was celebrating the opening of the road over the Sierras, which, at the time, was a big deal. At first it had read RENO, NEVADA’S TRANSCONTINENTAL HIGHWAY EXPOSITION JUNE 25-AUGUST 11 1927. Three years later it was changed to the “biggest little city” sign, and had read so ever since. I’d heard word that they were going to update the sign and, by 1963, it would be neon.

“Is that true?” Jerry asked.

“What?”

“That Reno is the biggest little city in the world?”

“Not literally,” I said. “It’s just a slogan.”

He nodded.

I was driving a rented Chevrolet Sedan that had been left at the airport for us by my buddy, Jim Rooker, who was a pit boss at the Reno Harrah’s. It was easier than giving Jerry directions and, besides that, he was not thrilled about driving a Chevy.

Jim Rooker had also agreed to get us a room without either of our names on the register, but could only offer one with two beds. I said that was fine.

I drove down Virginia Street, Reno’s main drag, past some of the other casinos-Circus Circus, the Primadonna, the Eldorado, the Nugget, the Horseshoe, and Harold’s Club, the oldest casino in Reno.

People were walking up and down the streets, crossing from one side to another, going in and out of the casinos. People from all walks of life, all income brackets. There were men in suits, men in bell-bottoms and flowered shirts, women in dresses, jeans and short skirts.

Finally we came to Harrah’s, one of only two casino/hotels in town. We parked and went inside, each carrying a small overnight bag. Sammy’s fifty grand was in mine.

True to his word, Rooker had checked us in under his name and, by 11:30 A.M., we were in our room. The meeting was supposed to take place at 9 P.M.

“These people are pretty smart not to call on the phone,” Jerry said, looking out the window.

“How so?”

“They don’t give you a chance to argue over the money, or the place, or the time. They just send it in writing and you got no choice.”

“We have a choice,” I said. “We could not show up.”

He turned and looked at me.

“That’s a choice?”

“Not really,” I said. “Not if we still want to help Sammy.”

“What if Mr. Davis is still not tellin’ us everythin’?” he asked.

“Hopefully, we’ll find that out, in time.”

Now he turned to face me head-on.

“So how do we find the meeting place?”

“Same way we got the car and this room,” I said. “My buddy Jim Rooker.”

“Ain’t he gonna wanna know why?”

“He’s not going to ask any questions,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because I know some stuff his wife doesn’t know.”

“Ah …” He nodded with a knowing look.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go and find Jim.”

Jim was in his pit and he agreed to meet us outside in half an hour. He wanted a cigarette and some fresh air.

Outside, on the street in front of the casino, I said, “Jim, this is Jerry.”

They nodded at each other.

Jim was ten years younger than I was. I had trained him at the Sands and he ended up getting married, moving to Reno, and landing this job at Harrah’s. I knew two things about him that he didn’t like people to know. One, he was unfaithful to his wife, and two, he loved her. He could not reconcile the two things, except to tell me once that a “new piece of ass” was too much of a challenge to him.

“Walk with me, guys,” he said, and we started down the street, me next to him, Jerry behind us.

“Here are your directions,” he said, handing me a slip of paper. “That’s in the middle of nowhere, you know. That area gets used for lots of, whatayacallit, clandestine meetings? Sex? Drugs? The whole shebang. But I guess that’s why you’ve got Jerry with you.”

We got to the end of the block and he stopped. Across the street, on the corner, were three streetwalkers in skimpy tops, short skirts and high heels. He waved and they waved back, laughing and calling out his name.