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

“Eddie … thanks, honey.”

“Any time,” I said, and she was gone.

As the doors closed I looked around the casino to see if Clark Gable or Montgomery Clift were anywhere. I wondered if they were staying in the hotel, too.

Once Marilyn was gone, people started gambling again and I continued on to the hotel lobby. Things were back to normal for everyone but me. I had Marilyn’s kiss on my cheek, her scent in my nose and still had the feel of her weight against me.

Oh boy …

When I got to the room I called Sammy. While it rang I cleaned Marilyn’s lipstick off my face with my handkerchief, folded it carefully, and put it in my pocket.

“I called but you weren’t there,” Sammy said.

“You must’ve tried after we left.”

“Yeah, I was late,” he said. “I was on the phone with Rod Serling. We met a while back and got pretty friendly. You know Serling?”

“Just what I see on The Twilight Zone ,” I said.

“I was all set to do an episode early last year,” he explained, “about a white bigot who wakes up in the morning a black man. The censors wouldn’t go for it and nixed the deal. I was feelin’ pretty low and that was when Frank came to me with Ocean’s Eleven .”

“Sammy,” I said, cutting him off before he could continue the story, “did you get to Peter?”

“Sorry, sorry, I did,” he said. “I got a number for you to call.”

I wrote it down.

“Can I call it right away?”

“Yeah, he’ll be there. He doesn’t want his wife or his in-laws to know he’s talkin’ to you, though.”

“I can understand that.”

“He’ll be there-” He stopped, probably looking at his watch, or a clock, “-for about another hour.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll call him and then get back to you.”

“I’ll be here.”

I hung up and dialed the number. After two rings a man answered and said cautiously, “Hello?”

“Peter? This is Eddie Gianelli, from Vegas-”

“Yes, Mr. Gianelli, I know who you are,” he said. “I recall our meeting once or twice last year.”

“Right.”

“Look, I am only talking to you because Sammy asked me to.”

“I understand that.”

“However, I advise you to choose your questions wisely.”

“Wisely,” I repeated. “Okay, how’s this? Who’s sending men out to Nevada to kill some people who have a photo to sell, JFK or Bobby?”

“Jesus, Eddie, what are you talking about?”

“I want to know if the Kennedy family has been approached to buy some potentially damaging photos? And, if instead of buying them, they decided to kill the fuckers. Who would okay something like that, Peter? Would it be Joe, the old man? Or Bobby, the attorney general? Or maybe it’s just the President himself?”

There was nothing from the other end, and then Peter’s British accent asked in a hushed whisper, “Eddie, how the fuck did you know about the photos?”

“I didn’t really,” I said. “I was guessing. You just told me, Peter.”

“Yes, I did,” he said, “and I could get in a lot of fucking trouble for telling you.”

“Well, we’ll just keep it between us, then. How’s that? Us and Sammy, that is.”

“And Frank.”

“What about Frank?”

“Would you, uh, tell Frank I helped you?”

I’d been hearing some things about Frank and Peter falling out, remembered what Frank had said the night we all went to Dino’s show, how we didn’t need Peter.

“Is that what you want, Peter?” I asked. “You want me to put a good word in with Frank for you?”

“Ah … I would appreciate it, Eddie.”

“Well then, let’s see if you actually do tell me something helpful.”

He hesitated, then asked, “What do you want to know?”

According to Peter the entire Kennedy clan was in an uproar over the threat of some photos being leaked to the press.

“What photos?” I asked.

“I haven’t seen them, Eddie,” Peter said. “They don’t confide in me like that.”

“Well, has anybody seen the photos?”

“I–I think Bobby has,” he said, “and Joseph.”

“And you have no idea what the picture shows?”

“No.”

“Is it a picture of Jack?”

“Well … it would have to be, for them to be as upset as they are.”

“Okay, here’s the big question,” I said. “Does Jack know what’s going on? That his father and brother are killin’ people for that photo?”

“Eddie, Bobby’s only trying to do-”

“Does Jack know?”

“I doubt it,” Peter said. “They try to shield him from things like that.”

“Unpleasant things, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“That figures.”

“Eddie, what’s going on with Sammy?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“No-well, yes. He said something about a photo, but …”

“Somebody’s tryin’ to sell him a photo for fifty grand.”

“Fifty thousand dollars? But-but that’s nothing compared to …”

“Compared to what?” I asked. “To what the Kennedys are being asked to pay?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Peter said. “Why would anyone also try to sell to Sammy for fifty?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’ve got some ideas. Peter, I don’t suppose if I gave you names you’d recognize them as Secret Service agents?”

“I wouldn’t know them from Adam, Eddie.”

I was thinking I’d gotten all the help I could out of Peter Lawford.

“Okay, Peter, thanks for talking to me.”

“Oh, uh, Eddie?” He sounded like he was desperate to catch me before I hung up.

“Yeah, Peter?”

“You, uh, will mention to Frank that I was of assistance to you?”

“Sure thing, Peter,” I said. “I’ll mention it to him, as soon as I see him.”

“Ah, thank you,” he said, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh, Eddie!”

“Yes?”

“A word of advice?”

“Sure.”

“Watch your step,” he said. “If Bobby, or the old man, have sent men out there you’d do well to stay out of their way.”

“I kinda figured that out for myself, Peter,” I said, “but thanks.”

After the call with Peter I officially wanted out. Whether there were Secret Service people out there killing people, or they were just some sort of government assassins, I didn’t want to have anything to do with them. But with Jerry sitting out in the desert in that burnt-out half-a-house, I was stuck.

Unless I could get out there and get us both away from there before the meet time.

I got to the location half an hour before the meet. It was dark already, so I left the headlights on.

“Jerry?” I called, getting out of the car.

No answer.

“Don’t fuck around, Jerry,” I called. “I’m here, I’m alone, and we have to get out of here!”

If Jerry wasn’t there I didn’t know what I’d do. If somebody had been good enough to sneak up on him and grab him, what chance did I-

“What’s up, Mr. G.?” Jerry asked, coming out of the remnants of the house. “I thought-”

“I changed my mind, Jerry,” I said. “I’m not as interested in helping Sammy as I was before.”

“Why not? What’s changed?”

“I’ll tell you in the car,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

He started toward the car, then said, “I think it’s too late.” He pointed.

I turned and saw headlights in the distance.

“Damn it!”

I ran to the rental car and doused the lights. Jerry was still staring at the road.

“More than one car,” he said.

“I think those cars are filled with men with murder in mind, Jerry. We’ve got to get going.”