Robert Randisi - Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

“’Mornin’” he said.

“You must be exhausted,” I said.

“I had a few hours rest yesterday in a cell,” he said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“How’d the lawyer get you out?”

“There was no match with my gun, and the witness they had turned out to be not so good. He saw two men, one taller than the other, but no faces.”

“So how did the cops know to come to the Sands to get you?” I asked. “And why talk to me about it?”

“You ain’t so concussed,” he said. “Them’s good questions.”

“Something’ ain’t right here,” I said.

“With cops,” he said, “nothin’ is ever right. You ain’t gonna get no help from cops on this, Eddie.”

“I believe it.”

“Yer gonna have ta count on me, and on yer friend Danny.”

I knew I could count on Danny. But could I really count on Jerry? After all, he was Giancana’s man on loan to Frank Sinatra. Seemed to me I was low man on the totem pole.

“First thing we’ve got to do is get me out of here,” I said. “Jack Entratter said he’d be sendin’ someone.”

“That’s me,” he said. “I’ll drive ya.”

It was then it hit me that my beloved ’52 Caddy was gone. There may have been a piece or two on my lawn somewhere, but it was gone.

“You thinkin’ about your car?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s a sin, blowin’ up a car like that. Somebody needs to die just for that.”

I agreed with him.

Jerry found my clothes in a nearby closet. I was dressed, sliding my feet into my shoes when a middle-aged nurse came through the door.

“Looks like you’re cleared to leave, Mr. Gianelli,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She gave Jerry a hard look. I didn’t bother asking what kind of run-in he must have had with the nursing staff the night before.

“Wait here while I get a wheelchair,” she said.

“No,” I said. “I can walk.”

“A wheelchair is required, Mr. Gianelli,” the nurse said. “Regulations.”

“My man says he can walk,” Jerry said to her. “He’s gonna walk.”

She glared at him again, seemed about to leave, then said to him, “You’re a horrible bully!”

He looked at me with an expression that asked, What did I do to deserve that?

“She doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about,” I said.

“Thanks. I just-”

“I think you’re a helluva bully.”

Jerry made me wait just inside the front door while he brought the car around. Jack Entratter had given him a vehicle registered to the Sands, a black Mercury. As I got in and he drove off we were both silent. I knew we were each thinking about my late Caddy.

“Well,” he said, breaking the quiet, “one good thing came out of this.”

“What’s that?”

“You ain’t a suspect no more,” he said. “Cops figure somebody tried to blow you up might be the same somebody killed those girls, and Mike Borraco.”

“I guess that’s one way of puttin’ a positive spin on it.”

“It ever happen to you before?”

“Never. You?”

“Once.”

“What happened?”

“I got lucky,” Jerry said. “Like you.”

“Just a coupla lucky stiffs,” I said.

“Better’n a coupla dead ones.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

When we got to the Sands we both headed up to Jack Entratter’s office, but Jerry stayed out in the waiting room while I went inside.

“You look woozy,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“You shoulda went home.”

“This is my home.”

“Eddie-”

“I know what you meant, Jack,” I said, cutting him off. “I don’t wanna go home. I’m pissed, I wanna do something.”

“Like what?”

“Kick some ass,” I said, “I just have to find out whose ass to kick.”

“Let it go.”

“What?”

“Let the cops find who put the bomb in your car.”

“We went through this last night, Jack,” I said. “They’re gonna keep comin’ for me, whoever they are.”

“I thought of that,” he said. “I got an idea.”

“What?”

“Get outta town.”

“And go where?”

“Reno,” Entratter said. “Frank’s got a piece of the Cal-Neva. You can work there for a while.”

“I appreciate the offer, Jack,” I said, “but I can’t do that.”

“Eddie, if you get yerself killed, I’m the one’s gonna be pissed.”

“I appreciate the thought, Jack-”

“I’d have to replace you,” he went on, “and good pit bosses are hard to find.”

“I get it, Jack,” I said.

“Keep Jerry with you.”

“I plan to.” I stood up. “What happened with the cops? I thought they’d be all over me when I woke up this mornin’.”

“I got them to lay off ya,” he said, “but they’ll wanna talk to you later today. Not that you’re a suspect no more-”

“Jerry told me.”

“-but they figure whoever tried to kill you probably killed Borraco and those broads.”

“They still like Lucky Lou for that?”

“Either that, or they just don’t have any other suspects.”

I sat there for a moment, going over it in my head.

“I can’t see Lou tryin’ to blow me up,” I said, finally.

“Why?” Entratter asked. “Are you and him such good buds?”

“No, but-”

“If he did kill the two broads and Mike Borraco, he don’t like you pokin’ around, Eddie,” he said. “You see Lou Terrazo comin’ at you, I’d go the other way. Lou’s a made guy.”

“What?” I said. “I thought he was just …”

“Just what? Another mug? Naw, Lou made his bones in Chicago years ago. I gotta tell you, if you’re on Lou’s list …”

Christ, I thought, how stupid could I be? I worked in Vegas right in the midst of these guys. Just because I didn’t think they were very bright didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous.

“What about Borraco?” I asked. Jerry had asked me if Borraco was made, but I didn’t know.

“What, made? Mikey? Naw, not yet, maybe not ever. Mikey was a gopher, Eddie. If you had him pegged that way, you had him pegged right. But Lou … he’s a killer.”

So if Lou Terrazo was not only a killer but the killer, the cops were already on his tail. Did he think killin’ me would get them off? Or was I just next on his list?

“So like I say, keep Jerry close to you.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, “close as a Siamese twin.”

“A what twin?”

“Close, Jack,” I said, “I’m gonna keep him real close.”

I collected Jerry and we went back down to the casino floor. I realized that lately I had been prowling the floor without my customary black “pit-boss” suit, just going with slacks and polo shirts. I thought it was odd, so I wondered why nobody had been commenting on it.

But walking through the casino today I was getting comments about the bandage over my eye and the stiff way I was moving. Maybe people did care.

“I gotta go talk to Frank,” Jerry said, suddenly. “He wanted to know when you got out of the hospital.”

“Isn’t he shooting at some of the casinos?”

“Yeah,” he said, “tomorrow they shoot here. I think they’re at the Riviera today.”

“Well, go ahead,” I said. “I’ll be okay here.”

“Don’t leave or anythin’ until I get back.”

“I won’t, believe me. I’m not goin’ anywhere without you, Jerry.”

That seemed to please him.

“I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be around, down here on the floor, somewhere,” I said, “or in the lounge.”

“You want I should give you a gun-”

“Go!” I said.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m goin’.”