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

“Well, Frank, I’ll help if he’ll let me,” I said.

“I’ll have my driver take you over to Harrah’s,” Frank said, as we both stood up. “Cabin four’s yours for as long as you want it.”

“I didn’t bring an overnight bag.”

“Well, the copter can take you back to Vegas if you want, or we can buy you something to wear.”

He slapped me on the back and kept his hand there while we walked to the door.

“You know, Frank, if Sammy’s having trouble here in Tahoe maybe you should get somebody local-”

“We trust you, Eddie,” he said, cutting me off. “I could get some local guy, but I wouldn’t know him. Or I could bring some fixer out from L.A. But I trust you. We all do. You’re our guy, Eddie. And your Vegas contacts? I’ll bet they’ve got tentacles that spread all over the country, so I’m not too worried about you findin’ your way around Tahoe. But talk to Sammy before you make any plans.”

“Okay, Frank.”

He opened the door and stepped out behind me so that we were both standing on the wooden deck. His driver was leaning against the side of the car.

“Henry,” he called down, “take Eddie anywhere he wants to go.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Sinatra.”

I turned and shook hands with Frank.

“When you’re done with Sammy either come back here or head on back to Vegas,” Frank said. “Your choice. Just give me a call and let me know, huh?”

“I will, Frank.”

The driver held the back door open for me, then trotted around and got behind the wheel.

“Where to, sir?” he asked.

“Harrah’s, James.”

“It’s Henry, sir.”

“And it’s still Harrah’s, Henry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harrah’s was first opened in South Lake Tahoe in Stateline, Nevada, by William F. Harrah in 1955. In ’59 it moved across the street and became Harrah’s Stateline Club.

The South Shore Room, where Sammy was playing, opened in ’59. The 750 seat room cost $3.5 million dollars. The opening act was Red Skelton.

Since Sammy was expecting me, and Frank had given me his room number, I walked through the lobby, went right upstairs and knocked on his door. Harrah’s could not have been called an integrated property by any means at that time, but this was Sammy’s first appearance in Harrah’s Shore Room. They obviously wanted to keep him happy, so they gave him a room in the hotel rather than making him stay off premises.

Like Frank, Sammy opened the door to his own room. Unlike Frank, Sammy was wearing a pair of six-guns in twin holsters.

“Eddie G,” he said. “Come on in, man.”

He backed away into the room, leaving the door open. I entered, expecting to find others in the room, but we were alone. I knew that Sammy usually traveled with his friend Arthur Silber, Jr., who had met Sammy when he was fifteen, just a little younger than Sammy himself. Back then Silber-as Sammy called him-was the son of the man who managed the Will Maston Trio, Arthur Silber. Arthur Jr. was on salary, but in reality he and Sammy were best friends.

“Whataya think of this?” Sammy asked, as I closed the door. The room was a suite, but a much smaller suite than we had at the Sands in Vegas.

Sammy drew one of the guns left-handed, twirled it a few times, then returned it to the holster a bit awkwardly.

“I’m tryin’ to get as good with my left hand as I am with my right.”

He drew the right one, executed the same maneuvers and then returned it to the holster flawlessly.

“You should be makin’ westerns, Sam,” I said.

“We’re gonna start shootin’ one in a few months,” he told me. “Me, Frank, Dean, Peter and Joey. It’s called Sergeants 3 . It’s a western based on Rudyard Kipling’s ‘Gunga Din.’ Frank’s producing, from a W. R. Burnett script. I hope that will lead to some more westerns.”

“Good luck.”

He smiled at me.

“But there’s not much call for a one-eyed black Jew in westerns these days,” he admitted.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Hey, where are my manners?” he asked. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

“Bourbon would be good.”

“Comin’ up. Rocks?”

“Is there any other way?”

He laughed, went to the bar and made us both drinks. I wasn’t sure what he was having, but it was roughly the same color as mine.

“How’s May?” I asked.

“Good,” he said. “She stayed home this time. Her mom’s there.”

“And Silber?”

“Had some business in L.A.; I’m on my own.”

“You seem to be keeping yourself occupied.”

“These?” he asked, looking down at his holsters. “You’d think guns would get me into more trouble, wouldn’t you? Actually, I do get out, but I’m watching my p’s and q’s while I’m here without May and Silber. Of course, I don’t have the guys to get me into trouble.”

“Frank is here.”

“He’s keepin’ to himself,” Sammy said. “Dean’s at the Sands, isn’t he?”

“End of the week.”

“Maybe I’ll come down and catch that.”

“Joey’s there,” I said. “He’s staying to see Dean.”

“I’ll have to talk to Frank. Maybe he’ll want to go, too.”

“Sammy,” I said, “Frank thinks I might be of help to you.”

Sammy put his drink down, then drew both guns and tried twirling them together. He almost dropped the left one, then holstered both.

“Eddie, I know what you did for Frank and Dean last year,” he said. “I also know none of that got out to the press.”

“I don’t talk to the press, Sammy,” I said. “That’s not part of my job.”

“Neither is helping any of us when we get into trouble.”

I snorted and said, “Tell that to Jack Entratter.”

“We both know Jack wouldn’t have fired you if you’d refused to help Frank and Dean.”

I almost snorted again, but stopped myself.

He took a moment to unbuckle the gun belt and set it aside on a chair, then picked up his drink and sat in another chair.

“Sam, are you asking me if I’ll be discreet?”

“No, Eddie,” Sammy said, “I’m asking if you’ll keep your damned mouth shut.”

“I’ve got a slight problem,” Sammy began.

That much I already knew, but I let Sammy get to it in his own time.

“There’s a picture … a photo … floating around that could be … embarrassing to me.”

“A photo.”

“Yeah.”

He sat there and waited. I didn’t say a word.

“Frank was right about you,” he said, then.

“What’d he say?”

“That you wouldn’t ask any questions.”

“Oh, I’ll ask questions,” I said, “when the time is right. Why don’t you just go on?”

“Okay, here’s the deal. The photo is not exactly floating around,” he said, “it’s in somebody’s hands.” He paused, took a drink. “This is the thing I can’t get my head around. A year ago my house was broken into and some negatives were taken. They were from a certain roll of film.”

“Wait, somebody broke in and stole one roll? That’s it? Nothing else?”

“Nothin’,” he said, “and I have some expensive equipment, jewelry, some cash-nothin’ but this roll of film.”

“Okay,” I said, “go on.”

“I’ve been waitin’ since then for the other shoe to drop and, man, it just dropped. I’m being blackmailed. Either I buy the picture back or it goes to the newspapers.”

“And have you already agreed to the buy?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I’m waiting to hear from them again.”

“Man or woman?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I found a note here when I arrived.”

“In your room?”