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

“Yeah, I do know, Jerry,” I said. “How’d you like to drive it again?”

“Sure. When?”

“How’s tomorrow?”

Now there was a long pause.

“Whataya sayin’, Mr. G.? Ya need my help?”

“I guess that’s what I’m sayin’, Jerry,” I admitted. “I’ve got a situation, here.”

“This have to do with Mr. S.?”

“Yeah, it does, kind of.”

“Tell me about it.”

So I did. I told him everything except where we found the note with the instructions and what Sammy was buying. Actually, that second one wasn’t hard, because I didn’t really know what Sammy was buying.

“Sounds like there’s a fink somewheres,” Jerry said.

“That’s what I was thinkin’,” I said. “I was gonna ask Danny to go with me, but he’s out of town-”

“You don’t need the keyhole peeper, Mr. G.,” Jerry said, “ya got me. When does this exchange gotta take place?”

“Thursday night,” I said. “Can you get here by Thursday?”

“Mr. G.,” Jerry said, “that’s me on the next plane ta Vegas….”

I called work and did a late shift in the pit at the Sands. I thought I was too late to see Jack Entratter, but in he walked just a little after midnight. Jack didn’t usually stop to talk to individual pit bosses, but he and I had kind of a different relationship-especially since I’d started doing favors for Frank, Dean and the guys. And after the most recent one, last year, I think even MoMo Giancana ended up kind of liking me.

So if Frank and MoMo liked me, I was in even more with Jack.

“Hey, kid,” he said, “I heard you were back.” He meant back in the pit, not back in Vegas. He already knew that.

“Can’t stay away,” I said. “Oh, by the way, I’ll need Thursday off.”

“This got anything to do with Sammy?” he asked. “Yes.”

When I didn’t go any further he said, “Ah hell, okay. I’ll get somebody to fill in for you.”

“Thanks.”

He walked away, then turned and said, “You’re not gonna find any bodies this time, are you?”

“I hope not.”

He gave me the eye. “That doesn’t sound very encouraging.”

“Oh, I’ll need a room tomorrow.”

“For who?”

“A friend of mine.”

“You want a free room you’re gonna have to tell me more than that.”

“Jerry,” I said.

“Lewis?” he asked, hopefully?

“Epstein.”

“Him? Why’s he comin’ here?”

“I asked him to.”

He walked back to me.

“Are you expecting trouble?”

“I … just want to make sure if there is trouble I’ll be ready.”

“And you wouldn’t be ready alone?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The last time … I’m not a detective, you know. Or a made guy. I don’t carry a gun.”

“Why would you need a gun?” he demanded. “What are you not tellin’ me, Eddie?”

“Jack,” I said, “I’ve told you all I can. I just want Jerry here for a little backup. Can I have a room?”

“Hell, kid, sure,” he said. “It’s just that guy-”

“What about him?”

“Trouble follows him.”

“I don’t see where he can be blamed for anything that happened in the past,” I argued.

“Okay, then,” Jack said, “it’s the combination of you two. Trouble finds the two of you.”

“That’s not fair, either.”

“Just watch your step,” he said, “and your back. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll see you around,” Jack said, and stalked off. He wasn’t mad, he just always seemed to be stalking when he walked. Then again he always seemed kind of mad. It was probably because he was managing so many aspects of the Sands operation that he was always preoccupied with something.

I finished up my shift at 2 A.M. Normally I would’ve stayed ’til dawn, had breakfast and then gone home, but I had to be up early to pick Jerry up at the airport. I knew I’d have to get him settled in at the hotel, and then take him somewhere to satisfy what was the most prodigious appetite I’d ever run across-and in my thirteen years in Vegas I had seen a lot of appetites.

I satisfied my own appetite in the coffee shop before heading home to bed.

I almost pulled a muscle trying to lift Jerry’s single suitcase when we claimed it from the baggage check. He had told me he had only one bag because he “liked to travel light,” but there was nothing light about it. Or small. But then there was nothing small about Jerry, either.

He was wearing lightweight gray slacks and a short-sleeved striped t-shirt that struggled to cover his torso and biceps. He was a big, thick, powerfully built man who might eventually go to fat with age. I figured with that thick center of gravity he had, he was probably more powerful than any muscle-bound bodybuilder.

“I’ll take it, Mr. G.,” he said, grabbing the suitcase one-handed from my two-handed grip and holding it easily.

Back then the McCarran Airport was one terminal, not much of a walk to the parking lot. People were rushing by us, though, to cars and cabs, in a hurry to get to a casino, and Jerry shook his head.

“I never saw people so anxious to lose their money than in this burg,” he said.

“That’s what this burg is for.”

“That why you came here the first time?” he asked. “To lose money?”

“It wasn’t my intention,” I answered, “but that’s the way it went down.”

“Guess you was pretty smart to get on the other side, huh?”

“I wanted to live here,” I told him, “and I couldn’t have done that if I kept on gambling. So I got a job, and pretty soon I found out it wasn’t the gambling I liked, it was just the overall atmosphere.”

“Still pretty smart,” he said.

When we got to the parking lot he easily installed his suitcase in the trunk of my Caddy and I tossed him the keys. He said he remembered the way to the strip, and we were off.

“You know, Mr. G.,” he said, keeping his eye on the road, “I really think you coulda done this thing by yerself.”

“You think so?”

“You handled yerself pretty well last year,” he said, “both times.”

“Why did you come, then?”

“Well, first, you asked me.”

“And second?”

He tapped the steering wheel.

“I really wanted to drive your car again.”

I got Jerry checked in, we dropped his bag in his room, and then went to the Garden Room.

“They gave me somethin’ on the plane, but I’m starvin’,” he said as we sat down.

A waitress came over and, since it wasn’t yet noon, we ordered two steak-and-egg breakfasts. I’d only had a cup of coffee before leaving for the airport. She quickly brought us two cups, and a large orange juice for Jerry.

“Okay, Mr. G.,” he said, “start from the beginning and tell me as much as you want to.”

“Jerry, I can’t-”

“I know you can’t tell me everything,” Jerry said. “I’m used ta that. Just tell me what I need ta know.”

I’d almost forgotten that Jerry was much smarter than he usually let on.

I told him about going to dinner with Joey and Buddy Hackett, about Joey delivering Frank’s message and my flying to Tahoe. The waitress came with our breakfasts and I gave him the rest while we ate.

“Yeah,” he said, when I was done, “sounds like you got a rat on the inside somewhere, either somebody workin’ for Mr. S. or somebody workin’ for Mr. Davis.” Then he peered across the table at me. “You ain’t said nothin’ to nobody, have you, Mr. G.?”

“Not a peep,” I said. “I haven’t even told you the whole story.”

“I was just kiddin’ around with you,” he said. “I know you wouldn’t let nothin’ slip.”