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

“Where?”

“This road keeps going,” I said, although it was barely a dirt road. “I don’t know where to, but it’s better than going back.”

“Maybe not,” Jerry said, with a smile, “if you let me drive.”

I tossed him the keys. It was a better alternative than driving out into the middle of the Nevada desert at night.

We got in the car and Jerry started driving, his foot pressed to the floor. The car began gathering speed, and the headlights of the other cars were getting closer.

“We playin’ chicken?” I asked.

“That’s what we’re doin’.”

The road was narrow, only room for one car at a time. We needed the drivers of both cars to play chicken with us … and lose. If even one of them had the guts for it we’d end up in a head-on collision, because I knew Jerry wouldn’t give in.

We were leaving a thick cloud of dust behind us, which didn’t matter. It couldn’t be seen in the dark. Besides, it was all about headlights, now. We could see theirs, and they could see ours.

Jerry and I didn’t talk. He gripped the wheel fiercely and I held on for dear life. He was right to drive. With me behind the wheel we eventually would have ended up in a ditch somewhere.

“Hang on,” he finally said, as the approaching headlights loomed.

Somehow, he managed to get more speed out of our car, and suddenly the headlights ahead of us veered off, one pair to the left, the other to the right. One of them simply kept going out into the dark of the desert, but the other one hit something and flipped over. It tumbled end over end, but we didn’t stay to see where it came to rest.

I did turn to look behind us as we sped away. The car that was upright sat still, headlights on, but I could hear a wheel spinning. They were stuck.

“Are they followin’ us?” Jerry asked.

“No,” I said, turning back around. “You can slow down before you kill us.”

He slowed, but not by much.

“Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

“I think that first guy we found in the warehouse was met and killed by somebody who was sent by the Kennedy family.”

“And the men we killed in your house?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Secret Service, CIA, or just hired muscle. Whichever, they were being directed by someone inside the administration.”

“Jesus,” Jerry said, “the President?”

“That’s the funny part,” I said. “I don’t think the President knows what’s goin’ on.”

We were back on the paved road to Reno when I told Jerry what Peter Lawford had told me.

“Somebody’s freelancin’,” he said when I was done.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean whoever was after Mr. Davis’s fifty G’s is not playin’ the game accordin’ to plan.”

“So while they’re trying to get big money from the Kennedy family,” I said, “somebody else decided to make a quick fifty grand on the side?”

“And got killed for it.”

“The guy in the warehouse,” I said.

“I still think his own people killed him,” Jerry said, “for pullin’ this stunt.”

“But I got another note after he was killed.”

“So he’s got friends,” Jerry said. “That dame who came to your room, and her boyfriend.”

“They might be dead, too.”

“If I was makin’ the big play,” he said, “I’d kill anybody who was pissin’ in my pot.”

“So we’ve got blackmailers killin’ blackmailers, and government hit men killin’ people,” I said. “All the more reason for us to just get out. I mean, look what just happened back there. If we’d gone there for a meet, we’d be dead.”

“Mr. G.,” he said, “if there are hitters in town-private or government-I might be able to find out.”

“I’m lookin’ to back out of this whole business, Jerry,” I said. “I don’t think I want you to make any calls. Let’s wait and see what happens after I talk to Sammy.”

We drove in silence until we saw the lights of Reno.

“You saved my ass again, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “Comin’ out there for me. I ain’t gonna forget it.”

“That’s okay, Jerry,” I said. “I think we’re about even.”

We were walking through the casino in Harrah’s when I said, “I saw Marilyn Monroe in here earlier tonight.”

“Yer shittin’ me.”

“I shit you not.”

“What was she doin’ here?”

“She’s shootin’ a movie with Clark Gable,” I said. “The Misfits.”

“Wow. She look good?”

I thought of the handkerchief in my pocket with her lipstick on it. “She looked great.”

We went up to our room to collect what few things we’d brought with us, which included Jerry’s back-up gun.

We packed up and he took out the.38 and showed it to me.

“Still don’t want it?” he asked.

“Considerin’ everything that’s happening,” I said, “I’ll take it.”

“You know how to use it?” he asked, handing it to me.

“I know.”

I tucked the gun into my belt, where it felt foreign, but comforting.

We had finished packing our bags and were heading out the door when the phone rang.

We looked at each other. The reason we were getting out was because people knew where we were. We weren’t sure if Sloane and his two friends were in either of those cars, but it was a good bet.

“Gonna answer it?” Jerry asked.

“No,” I said. “They might just be checkin’ to see if we’re here. Let’s go!”

We left the room and hurried down the hall.

“Wait,” Jerry said, at the elevators. “There must be another way off this floor and to the lobby.”

“A freight elevator. If this place is anything like the Sands it’ll be this way.”

“What about a stairway?”

I looked on either side of the elevator and saw a door.

“That’d be it, but we’d come out right by the elevators. This way.”

I led him back up the hallway, past our room, to where I hoped we’d find the freight elevator. We had to go through a door, but we found it.

“We take this to the first floor and then we duck out the back,” I said.

The door opened and we got in. As the door closed Jerry eased his.45 from his shoulder holster.

“No harm bein’ ready,” he said.

I put my hand in my jacket pocket and closed it over the.38. I was very tense when the door opened, but relieved when there was no one there.

We came out into a hall. I got my bearings and said, “This way,” moving away from the casino toward the back of the building. We found a door that took us out to the parking lot.

When we reached the car and got in-me behind the wheel-Jerry slid his.45 back into holster and said, “Where are we goin’?”

“Tahoe.”

“Why not back to Vegas?”

“That’s probably where they’d expect us to go.”

“We gonna find the helicopter pilot-”

“Forget it,” I said. “We’ll drive. It’s only forty or fifty miles.”

“Can we check into a hotel then?” Jerry asked.

“No, we’ll go to the Cal Neva. Frank left me a key for the cabin whenever I wanted.”

“So what do we do when we get there?”

“I’m gonna talk to Sammy, tell him exactly what I think is goin’ on, and why I want out.”

“Mr. G.”

“Yeah?”

“What happens if they won’t let us out?” he asked.

“You’re out, Jerry,” I said. “We can get you back to Vegas and put you on a plane to New York.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll have to try to convince them that I haven’t seen any incriminating photos of the President, and I don’t want to.”

“How’re you gonna do that?”

“I’ll have to go through Peter Lawford, I guess. I don’t know if Frank can get to anybody in the administration.”