Robert Randisi - I'm a fool to kill you

‘Jesus, Mr G.,’ Jerry said, ‘are you nuts? You shackin’ up with Mr S.’s wife?’

‘Ex-wife,’ I said, ‘and it’s not what you think. Frank sent me here. Frank sent me to help Ava. She’s in some kind of trouble.’

‘Mr S. knows you’re here with her?’

‘Well, he sent you here, didn’t he?’

‘Uh, yeah, I guess he did.’

‘Sit down, Jerry,’ I said. ‘Let me fill you in. .’

If I’d had my pick of somebody to watch over Ava I would have picked Jerry Epstein, my big leg-breaker buddy from Brooklyn. He’d had my back in most of the things I’ve done for Frank, Dean and Sammy. It just didn’t occur to me to call him out to L.A. for this. I was glad Frank had thought of it. At least now I knew Ava would be safe when I went to the studio.

‘So, jeez, she can’t remember forty hours?’ Jerry said when I was done.

‘It might come back to her,’ I said, ‘but meanwhile I’d like to find out what happened during that time. She’s afraid she might have hurt somebody.’

‘Or killed ’em?’

‘Yeah, that, too.’

‘So whataya want me to do, Mr G.?’

‘Stay with Ava, keep her safe.’

‘From who?’

‘From anybody,’ I said. ‘I don’t want anyone in here, Jerry. Not even hotel personnel.’ I added to what I had already told him that I didn’t think we could trust the manager or the desk clerk.

‘One of them gave me up,’ I said, ‘and the cab driver caught my beatin’.’

‘So nobody in?’ he asked. ‘And nobody out?’

‘Out? Ava won’t go out. You don’t have to worry about that.’

‘Can I-’ he started, then stopped.

‘What?’

‘Can I order something from room service?’ he asked. ‘I’m pretty hungry.’

‘Sure, Jerry,’ I said. ‘Order anything you want. All the pancakes you want.’

‘Thanks, Mr G. Food any good here?’

‘Not great, but I’ve only tried the steak and hamburger platter.’

‘OK, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll get some pancakes, maybe some bacon. And coffee. Think Miss Gardner would want anything?’

‘Ask her,’ I said.

‘I can. . talk to her?’

‘Sure, Jerry,’ I said. ‘She talks.’

‘Mr G., this ain’t gonna be like Miss Monroe, is it?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, how she got to be like. . a sister? You pretty much ruined her for me, ya know?’

‘That’s not gonna be a problem this time, Jerry,’ I said. ‘Trust me. Ava Gardner’s not your little sister.’

‘Good,’ he said.

‘What’s going on?’ Ava asked, coming out of the bedroom. She was wearing a tight skirt and a chunky sweater. The combination sort of said ‘look, but don’t look’.

‘Ava, Jerry’s gonna stay with you. You can trust him like you’d trust me.’

‘I just met you yesterday, Eddie,’ she reminded me.

‘I know,’ I said, ‘but Frank vouched for me, and I vouch for Jerry. He’s got a big appetite, though. You gotta feed him to keep him happy.’

‘He looks like he’d take some feeding.’

‘Just a couple of dozen pancakes,’ I said.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Watch him,’ I said. ‘Meanwhile, I’m gonna go over to the studio and find out if anyone’s lookin’ for you.’

‘And if they’re not?’

‘That’ll be good news.’

‘Will it?’ she asked.

‘It’s always good news if the cops ain’t lookin’ for ya, Miss Gardner.’

‘Just call me Ava, Jerry,’ she said.

Jerry looked away and said, ‘I can’t do that, Miss Gardner. Mr G.’ll tell ya that.’

‘Mr G?’ Ava said, looking at me. ‘Is he for fuckin’ real?’

‘Can’t get him to call me Eddie,’ I said. ‘Been trying for a couple of years. Yep, Jerry’s for real. What you see is what you get, pretty much.’

‘OK,’ she said, ‘then call me Miss G. . no, you call Eddie Mr G.. It would get confusing. Call me. . Miss Ava. OK, Jerry?’

‘I could do that, Miss Gar — Miss Ava.’ He smiled like a lovesick kid.

A big kid.

Jerry walked me out to Larry’s cab. I had Ava’s bloody clothes wrapped in the towel under my arm.

‘Not as good as your Caddy, Mr G,’ Jerry said, looking disappointed.

‘No, but it’ll get me where I want to go. I’ll give it back to Larry when he gets out.’

‘When’ll that be?’

‘Probably a week or so. But I’ll probably give it back to him sooner. I want to get Ava to Vegas.’

‘Gonna fly?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe we’ll rent a car and drive.’

‘I liked that drive last time,’ he said.

‘Yup, but that was in the Caddy,’ I reminded him.

I opened the door to the cab to get in.

‘Can I ask ya a question, Mr G.?’

‘Sure, Jerry.’

‘You said the cabbie got beat up because he picked up a call for you?’

‘Right.’

‘Well, somebody musta been watchin’, and heard him pick up the call, figured he was you, right? Which meant they was lookin’ for ya?’

‘Right.’

‘So how’d they know you was here?’ Jerry asked.

‘I’m figuring either the desk clerk or manager gave me up.’

‘So you told them your name when you got here?’

I thought for a moment, then looked at him and said, ‘Jerry, did you know you’re a genius?’

‘I ain’t no genius, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘I just sometimes know what questions ta ask.’

Just like in the movies I had to drive through a big front gate with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer above it, which meant I had to talk to a portly uniformed guard. Before going there, though, I had found an out of the way garbage dumpster to stash the towel and clothes. There was no reason anyone would look for it there, and if anyone found it they couldn’t connect it to Ava.

‘Who you here to see?’ the guard asked.

‘Louis B. Mayer,’ I said, even though I knew he had died in 1957.

‘Sorry, you’re out of luck,’ the man said. ‘He’s dead.’

‘So who’s in charge?’

The guard must have been having a bad day — or week, or life — because he was ready to bitch to anyone who’d listen.

‘You know, that’s a good question,’ he said. ‘Right now this place has got a lot of Indians and no Chief, if you know what I mean.’

‘Hard times?’ I asked.

‘Hard? There are more cartoons and TV shows comin’ out of here than movies,’ the guard said. ‘MGM ain’t what it used to be, pal.’

‘Well, I need to talk to somebody about Ava Gardner.’

‘What about Miss Gardner?’

‘Frank Sinatra sent me to talk to somebody about Ava Gardner.’

The man stared at me for a minute, then asked, ‘You serious?’

‘I am.’

He stared some more. ‘Wait here.’

‘Sure.’

He stepped into his booth and made a phone call. Then leaned out the booth.

‘Hey, what’s your name?’

‘Eddie Gianelli, from Las Vegas.’

‘Where in Vegas?’

‘The Sands.’

He went back inside, spoke into the phone some more, listened, then hung up and came back out.

‘Pull inside and park there,’ he said, pointing to some parking spots.

‘OK.’

‘Somebody’ll be along to take you inside.’

‘Thanks.’

He gave me a short salute, prepared to turn his attention to the next car.

I pulled into one of the parking spots he’d pointed to and waited. Lots of MGM’s talent spent time in Las Vegas. I wondered if I’d see anybody I knew?

I had my head back and my eyes closed when somebody knocked on the window. I looked up at a grim, striking face dominated by nose and chin. I opened the door and stepped out.