Las Vegas

November 26, 1996

2:06 A.M.

Las Vegas

January 25, 1960

I was only back at my pit half an hour when one of the other pit bosses, Richie Castellani, came over and whispered in my ear, “Boss wants you, G. Now.”

The boss was Jack Entratter, who had left his job as assistant manager and bouncer at the Copacabana in New York to come to Vegas to run the Sands Hotel and Casino for Frank Costeilo-or so the story goes. All of the entertainers who went through the Copa while Jack was there had come to love him, so not only had Frank, Dean, Sammy and the others made the Sands their place in Las Vegas but others, too, like Lena Horne, Nat King Cole, Milton Berle, Danny Thomas, Tony Bennett and Dean’s old partner, Jerry Lewis.

Richie stepped into the pit and I left and headed for Jack’s office. I knew what this was about. Entratter and Sinatra were friends, and Frank was a two-percent owner in the casino; I had the feeling Joey Bishop had gone over my head.

I knocked on Entratter’s door and he shouted, “Come in!”

If Entratter was really running the Sands for Costello, he was the perfect choice. He wasn’t Italian, and nobody would ever take him for one. Jack was six three or four, a hulking brute of a man who had been left bandy-legged by the childhood disease osteomyelitis. As a twenty-six year old in 1940 he had signed on as bouncer at the Copaand over the next twelve years had moved up to assistant manager without giving up his bouncer job. At thirty-eight he had left the Copa to take over the newest casino in Vegas, the Sands. Now Jack was forty-six and ruled the Sands with an iron hand, but he was even better known as a showman. There were times he even got up on stage with the Pack. I envied him that. I was a shower singer who dreamed about being on stage.

He was sitting behind his desk, alone in the office, when I entered. His suit was sharp, but it lost some of its edges because it was on Entratter’s body. His tie was askew and his shoulders were threatening his seams.

“What the hell are you tryin’ to do to me?” he demanded.

“Boss?”

“Who’s my best friend in the world?”

Well, the answer to that varied from week to week, but I knew what he wanted to hear.

“Frank Sinatra.”

“You bet your ass, Frank Sinatra,” he growled. “So when my best friend in the world asks you for help, what do you tell him? You tell him no.”

“Well, uh, I told Joey I’d like to take a pass,” I tried to explain. “I never did talk to Mr. Sinatra-”

“Don’t you think you should?” Entratter asked. “I mean, before you take a pass shouldn’t you find out what you’re takin’ a pass from?” He made it sound like the most reasonable request in the world.

“Jack, I-”

“You work for me, don’t ya, Eddie?”

“Well, yeah, Jack, I do, but-”

“So if I ordered you to talk to Frank you would, right?”

“I, uh, well, sure-”

“But I ain’t gonna do that.”

“You’re not?”

“Siddown, Eddie.”

I sat across from him.

“You’re from New York, right?” He knew that, but I answered the question, anyway.

“That’s right. Brooklyn.”

“I never saw you at the Copa.”

“I never went,” I said. “It was more than I could afford back then.”

“Yeah, it was kinda expensive.”

For a moment Entratter retreated a dozen or so years inside his head, then shook off the reverie and looked at me again. “I ain’t gonna order you to talk to Frank, kid.” He called me “kid” a lot, even though he was only about six years older than I was.

“I appreciate that, Jack-”

“I’m gonna ask ya to do it as a favor to me, Eddie,” he went on, cutting me off. “Go and talk to him, see what he wants. If you can help him, help him. If not …” he shrugged.

I owed Entratter a lot and he knew it. That’s why he was asking me instead of telling me.

“You’re the man here in Vegas,” Jack said, then. “You know everybody there is to know in this town. You got it wired. Hookers, pimps, valets, doormen, high rollers and bums, you know ’em all. If anybody can help Frank it’s Eddie G-”

“Okay, Jack, okay,” I said. “Geez, enough. A guy can only take so much stroking. I get the picture. I’m your man.”

“Great!’ Jack said, clapping his big hands together.”Joey’s down in the casino waitin’ for you.”

“You knew I’d say yes?”

“If ya hadn’t,” Jack said, “I woulda ordered ya to. But I knew I could count on you, kid. Now get out. I got work to do.”

I headed for the door, but never made it.

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, Boss.” I turned to face him with my back to the door.

“I’m curious,” he said. “Why’d you refuse in the first place?”

“Like I said,” I replied, “I’m from Brooklyn.”

“So?”

“Frank’s from Jersey.” I made a face.

“Get out!”

I left Jack’s office and made my way back to the casino floor. Joey was seated at an empty blackjack table, waiting for me. As I approached him he stood up, his face expressionless.

“Steam room?” I asked.

“Steam room,” he said.

The steam room was in the bowels of the Sands. Since it was so exclusive-just the Rat Pack and their close friends-I half expected there to be a guard on duty. According to Jack Entratter I was “the man,” but I’d never been down there before.

When we got there I spotted some robes hanging on the wall. On the backs were written the names “Smokey,” “The Needler,” “The Dago” and “Charlie the Seal.” There was an empty peg, which I assumed would hold Frank’s robe, but hanging on it at the moment was a shoulder holster.

“Charlie the Seal?’ I asked.

“That’s Peter,” Joey explained. “He has a smoker’s cough.”

“The Needler has to be you.”

“Correct.”

“The Dago is Dean; Smokey is Sammy?”

“Right,” Joey said, “because Sammy smokes.”

“Right. And what does Frank have on the back of his robe?”

“What else? ‘The Leader.’”

“And who gave out the names?”

“Frank.”

“Figures.”

Joey walked to the robes on the wall and took down “The Dago.”

“This looks like your size.”

“I–I can’t wear Dean Martin’s robe,” I said.

“Wrong,” Joey said. “You can’t wear mine or Sammy’s because they’d be too short.”

“But-Dean Martin?” Joey didn’t know it-few people did-but I was a huge Dean Martin fan. In my opinion his level of cool was head-and-shoulders above the rest of the Rat Pack combined.

“Okay,” Joey said, with a shrug, “wear Peter’s.”

He started to put “The Dago” back on the wall and I said, “No wait … I’ll wear Dean’s.”

Joey smiled and handed me the robe.

“I’ll be upstairs,” he said. “Frank wants to talk to you alone. Think you can find your way back out?”

“I’m sure I can.”

“Then I’ll see you upstairs.”

As Joey left I undressed, put on Dean Martin’s robe and then approached the steam room door. I wasn’t sure what to do at that point, knock or just walk in. I hesitated, almost knocked, then figured, “What the hell,” and walked right in.

“What’s the favor, Frank?” My curiosity was killing me, but I tried to appear cool. It wasn’t easy, though, since I was in a steam room with Mr. Cool, himself.

“A friend of mine has been receiving death threats,” Frank explained. “I want you to find out who’s sendin’ them.”

“You need a private detective for that, Frank, not me.”

“If that’s what you think, then you hire him,” Frank said, “but I want you takin’ care of this for me, Eddie. You pay the detective, and I’ll pay you.”

I figured this must be a pretty good friend of his if he was willing to foot the bill.

“Who recommended me for this?”

“Nobody recommended you for this specific job because I haven’t told anybody about it,” Frank said. “I haven’t even told you the whole story, yet. But Jack speaks very highly of you, and I asked around. Your name always comes up when I tell people I need something done in Vegas. ‘Get Eddie G,’ they say, so I got you. Now ask me the other question you wanna ask.”

“The other question?”

“The obvious one.”

“Oh,” I said, “who is this friend of yours whose life’s been threatened?”

Frank pointed at me.

“Me?”

“On your back, pally,” he said, and I realized he was pointing to the robe I was wearing. “The Dago.”

“Dean?” I asked. “Dean Martin is the man we’re talkin’ about?”

“That’s right,” he said, “Dino.”

“Why would somebody threaten Dean Martin’s life?” I asked.

“Who knows why a wacko does what he does?” Frank asked. “If they were threatenin’ Sammy I’d say it’s because he was black, or a Jew, or both. Joey? Maybe somebody don’t like his jokes. But Dean? He’s a pussycat. Everybody loves the guy.”

“Not everybody, I guess.”

“No, you’re right,” he said, “not everybody.” He leaned forward, put his hands on his bony knees. I always wondered what Ava Gardner saw in the guy, but let me tell you, up close, when you’re in the same room with him, he’s got something. It worked on women better than on men, but it was still there. Sex appeal. Charisma. Whatever you wanted to call it. It made women love him, and men want to be his friend.

“Look,” he said, “we’re filmin’ this picture here in town.”

“Right, Ocean’s Eleven,” I said. “Everybody knows about it.”

“Yeah, well that’s probably part of the problem. Too damn many people know about it. We got a three-week shoot on this thing, startin’ tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you put it off until you can find out who’s sendin’ the threats?” “Can’t,” Frank said, “it’d cost too much money.”

“Then why not give Dean some time off, shoot around him?” I asked. “You do that sometimes in the movies, right? Shoot around somebody?”

“Yeah we do it,” Frank said, “and I’ve suggested it to him, but he won’t have it. He’s not takin’ these threats serious enough.”

“But you are?”

“I’ve had death threats, pally,” Frank said, “and you don’t want to know who from. They’re no fun, and a lot of the times they’re serious.” He picked up a towel that was sitting on the riser next to him and I saw a.38 Smith amp; Wesson. He dropped the towel back down. Now I knew why there was a shoulder holster hanging on a peg outside. I wondered if the steam was bad for the gun. “I pack heat wherever I go now. And yeah, I got a license for it.”

“Why not go to the police?’

“Publicity,” Frank said. “I know, you’re thinking that there’s no bad publicity. If it was me I’d go to the cops and let it get out, but Dean’s a private person. He’s not like me. He doesn’t want to go to the police.”

“Does he know you’re talkin’ to me?”

“No,” Frank said. “If he knew he’d take my head off.”

“Well then, how can I help him?”

“You come to the show tonight,” Frank said. “Joey’ll give you tickets. Bring a dame. After the show Joey’ll take you to Dean’s suite. Once you’re there he won’t toss you out. He’s too much of a gentleman.”

“I get to meet Dean Martin?”

Frank regarded me with an amused look on his face.

“So you’re a fan?”

“Well … yeah …”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Frank said. “I’m a big fan of Dino’s, too. He’s the real deal. I may be a crooner, but he’s a singer. He’s got the pipes.”

I was surprised to hear Frank talk that way about somebody else.

As if reading my mind Frank said, “Does that surprise you, to hear me talk that way about Dean?”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Hey, relax,” Frank said. “Dean doesn’t have a bigger fan than me. He’s so cool he doesn’t care about all this.” He waved his hands to encompass-I assumed-all of Las Vegas. “He’s only doin’ themovie as a favor to me. That’s why I want to help him, why I want you to help him.”

“Frank,” I said, groping for the right words, “I’ll do what I can.”

It sounded lame to me, but apparently it was what Frank wanted to hear.

“Hey,” he said, “that’s all I’m askin’.”

I left the steam room before Frank, feeling like a dried out prune. I don’t know how he could spend so much time in there, but it may have had something to do with his being so thin-or cool. I replaced Dean’s robe and took a quick shower before getting dressed.

When I got back to the casino floor I didn’t see Joey anywhere. Instead of looking for him, I went to the bar and ordered a cold beer, to replace some of the fluids I’d lost in the Rat Pack steam room.

A hand fell on my shoulder from behind and Joey Bishop said, “There you are.”

He took the stool next to me.

“Drink?” I asked.

“Not for me,” he said, smiling. “Where do we stand?”

“You’re supposed to give me a ticket to tonight’s show.”

“How about two?” he asked, plucking them from his pocket.

“That’ll be fine.” I grabbed them and put them in my breast pocket, then had some more beer. I checked my watch. I needed a change of clothes and a second, more thorough shower. Luckily, I’d be able to do that without leaving the hotel, one of the perks of being a pit boss, and somebody Jack Entratter-usually-liked.

“Well,” Joey said, “I’ll see you after the show and we’ll go to Dean’s suite.”

“Hey, hey,” I said, turning in my stool and grabbing his arm, “what’s the story between Frank and Dean?”

“Truthfully?”

“Yeah, truthfully.”

He settled back onto his stool.

“You tell anybody I told you this and I’ll deny it.”

“Agreed.”

Joey took a moment to form his thoughts.

“Frank and Dean are two very different people,” he said, finally. “Frank likes to surround himself with people who need him. Dean doesn’t need anybody. He’s very secure in who he is.”

“And Frank’s not?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Joey warned. “Just let me tell it.”

“Sorry.”

“The truth of the matter is Frank has wanted to be Dean’s friend since he first met him. He thinks Dean is the coolest cat he knows. Personally, I agree. As for Dean-well, he’s Dean. Talk to him about being part of this Rat Pack and he can take it or leave it.”

“And the rest of you?”

Joey hesitated, then said, “Let’s just say that Dean is the only one who doesn’t absolutely need Frank on some level.”

I figured that was fair. I couldn’t really expect Joey Bishop to say that Joey Bishop needed Frank Sinatra. But I thought pretty much anyone who paid attention to the news knew what Peter Lawford brought to the table. Personally, while Dean Martin was the one I wanted to meet, I thought Sammy Davis Jr. had the most talent. Unfortunately, there were things in Sammy’s life that held him back. He probably needed Frank in order to get around those things.

But I wasn’t really interested in the inner workings of the Pack. I was concerned with the Sinatra/Martin relationship.

“So Frank and Dean are friends?”

“Frank and Dean are good friends,” Joey said.

“That’s what I wanted to know.”

“Then I’m out of here,” Joey said, getting down from his stool. “I’ve got to get ready for the show. Meet me backstage when it’s over, okay?”

“Okay.”

Joey waved and left the bar. I was finishing the last of my beer when Beverly sidled up next to me.

“You gettin’ friends in high places, Eddie?” she asked.

I turned and looked at her. She was a redhead in her thirties, and fit her Sands uniform very nicely. She probably didn’t have the legs to be a showgirl, but she sure had everything else. Her red hair seemed natural, her green eyes sparkled, and she had full, kissable lips. I knew from other conversations that she was the sole support of a kid, although I didn’t know if it was a boy or girl, or how old the child was.

I slid the two tickets from my pocket and said, “How would you like to go to a Rat Pack show with me tonight, doll?”

“Really?” She sighed and her eyes got wide. “I love Frank Sinatra.”

“Have you been to see the show?”

“I haven’t had the time,” she said, “or the money-not for tickets, and not for a babysitter.”

“Well, I’ve got the tickets,” I said, waving them, “and I’ll pay for the babysitter. Whataya say?”

“Eddie,” she said, breathlessly. “I don’t know what to say.”

I looked down at the creamy white of her swelling cleavage and replied, “Please say yes.”

She took a deep breath-which inflated her cleavage even more-and said, “Yes!”

Dean Martin picked Sammy Davis Jr. up, walked to the microphone with him and said, “I want to thank the NAACP for this award.” The audience-and Sammy-cracked up.

Frank, Dean, Sammy, Joey and Peter sang, danced, joked, did impressions (Sammy), smoked, stood around (Lawford) and the crowd loved it. This was Frank’s “Summit of Cool,” as he called it, because during that same month Eisenhower, de Gaulle and Khrushchev were having their summit conference in Paris.

Beverly hung on my arm and released it only to clap her hands together gleefully at the Rat Pack’s on-stage antics. She was also excited to see some of the celebrities in the audience, specifically some of the other players in Ocean’s 11 like Angie Dickinson, Henry Silva and Richard Conte who, I later learned, was called “Nick” by Dean and other friends.

When the show was over I leaned over and whispered in Beverly’s ear, “I have to go back stage. Would you like to come?”

“Oh, my God!” she said, which I took as a yes.

There was a security force to keep the Rat Packers safe-Frank alone had eight guards. I wondered if he was sharing them with Dean. All I had to do was give my name to one and he allowed us togo backstage, where it was already crowded with celebrity well-wishers and hangers-on.

Booze flowed freely, and I saw Frank standing in a corner with a brunette stunner named Judith Campbell on his arm. I was able to introduce Bev formally to Joey Bishop, and then said to Joey, “Bev would love to meet Frank and Dean.”

“Dean’s already gone up to his suite,” Joey said, “but we can do Frank.”

Joey tugged us over to where Frank was holding court with Henry Silva and Nick Conte. I looked around, but Angie Dickinson was nowhere to be seen. She had been the one I wanted to meet. I wanted to see if she was as sexy off-screen as on. Maybe another time …

“Frank,” I said, as he looked at me, “the show was great.”

“Who’s the pretty lady, Eddie?” Frank asked, and I felt Bev’s nails dig into my arm.

“Frank Sinatra,” I said, “meet Beverly Carter.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Frank said, graciously. He took Bev’s hand and kissed it. He didn’t bother to introduce Judith Campbell to either of us, and the buxom brunette stood there staring daggers at the equally buxom Beverly, who didn’t notice at all. She only had eyes for Frank.

“Hey, Frank,” Henry Silva said with a rakish smile, “this redhead’s a knockout. You should give her a part in the film.” Silva had two young dolls hanging off each arm. I later found they were con-ventioneering teachers he had plucked from the audience.

“Are you an actress, sweetheart?” Frank asked Bev.

“No,” Bev said, “I’m just a waitress in the lounge, Mr. Sinatra.”

“Hmph,” Judith said, “a waitress.”

“Would you like to be in a movie, Beverly?” Frank asked.

“Oh my God,” Beverly said.

“Frank-” Judith said.

“Quiet, Judy,” Frank told her. “Joey, why don’t you take Eddie to his meeting? Eddie, leave Beverly here with us. We’ll take good care of her.”

“Shall we go?” Joey asked.

“I’ll be back soon,” I said to Bev, but I didn’t think she heard me.

As I followed Joey across the crowded room I heard Frank say, “Bev, meet my good friend Nick Conte …”

Mack Gray opened the door and let us in. He was wearing an expensive suit and a white shirt.

“Mack, meet Eddie Gianelli,” Joey said. “Eddie, Mack Gray.”

Gray closed the door then turned and looked at me.

“This the clyde who’s supposed to help the boss?” he asked.

“Clyde” was Rat Pack-ese for anyone who wasn’t part of their group.

“This is him. Say hello, Mack.”

Mack regarded me for a moment from on high-he was taller than me by several inches-and then stuck out his big hand. We shook briefly, and he stared at me like I was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. Actually, he was frowning as if something hurt him.

“Mack?” Joey said.

“Huh?” He had the fingertips of his right hand pressed to his forehead.

“Dean?”

“He’s gettin’ changed,” Mack said. “I’ll go and tell him yer here.”

Mack disappeared down a hall, leaving us in a plushly furnished living room.

“Either he doesn’t like me or he’s got a headache.”

“Probably both,” Joey said. “Mack suffers from migraine headaches.Nothin’ seems to help, but he pops Percodan like they were M amp;M’s.”

There was a bar against one wall which looked fully stocked, with a refrigerator behind it. A beautiful three-cushion burgundy sofa with two matching armchairs. In front of the sofa was a rectangular coffee table covered with comic books. I looked at Joey, who smiled.

“Dean likes to read comic books.”

“Why?”

Joey shrugged. “He says they help him escape from reality.”

I leaned over and leafed through them. Superman, Batman and other superheroes. He wasn’t hiding them, so he wasn’t ashamed of reading them. That sort of went hand in hand with Dean being cool, if you thought about it.

“Eddie,” Joey said, “I’m gonna leave you alone here.”

“Alone? With Dean?”

Joey laughed. “Don’t worry. He’s not gonna bite you. You weren’t this nervous about meeting Frank.”

“Well … I’m a big Dino fan.”

“I see. Frank must have appreciated that, since he’s a big Dean fan, too.”

“So he said.”

“Is that why you agreed to help, finally?” Joey asked. “When you heard it was Dean who needed the help?”

“Joey,” I said, “I went to the meeting with Frank because Jack Entratter told me to.”

“And what about now? Frank didn’t tell you to talk to Dean, did he?”

“No,” I said, “he asked me to, and he told me to feel free to say no.”

“But you didn’t.”

“For two reasons,” I said. “One, if I said no I’d pay for it one way or another, and two, like I said, I’m a big fan. It’s a chance for me to meet Dean. And if I can help him, I will.”

“Okay.” He looked at his watch. “I gotta go. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Joey-”

He turned as he reached the door. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” And he left. I was standing alone in the living room of Dean Martin’s suite, not sure what to do with myself. I was impressed to meet Frank Sinatra, but this … this was different for me. I had a shitload of Dean Martin records at home, and never missed any of his movies. In my humble opinion, his split with Jerry Lewis was the best thing that had ever happened to him. The Young Lions, Some Came Running, and the more recent Rio Bravo proved his acting ability, and his recordings proved what a great singer he was. Even before Joey told me, I always had the feeling Dean didn’t need Frank. He didn’t need to make a movie like Ocean’s 11, he simply wanted to. He did not need a career boost from Frank Sinatra. Dean Martin out-cooled them all-Sinatra, Sammy … hell, even George Raft.

I heard somebody coming down the hall and turned to see Mack returning.

“Dean’ll be out in a minute,” he said in a monotone. He still had his hand pressed to his head, this time the heel. “He said you should help yourself to a drink if you want.”

He headed for the door.

“You’re not staying, Mack?”

He turned, dropped his hand and glared at me.

“I ain’t been invited to stay,” he said, and left. The big man’s feelings may have really been hurt, but that wasn’t my problem. I wondered if he had any idea what was going on, or if Dean was keeping it from him? I also wondered if Joey knew what the problem was, or Sammy and Peter, for that matter.

I went over to the bar and looked it over, but nothing appealed to me until I opened the refrigerator and found it stocked with beer. There were enough brands in there for a variety of tastes and I finally chose a can of Piels. I found a can opener and had it ready to use when Dean Martin came down the hall and into the living room.

He was wearing a yellow polo shirt with a white collar, light gray slacks and a pair of black loafers. His hair was wet, so he had probably showered after the show. I stood rooted behind the bar, because when I woke up that morning I had never expected to be in the sameroom as Dean Martin. He walked over to the bar and extended his right hand, after shifting his cigarette to his left.

“Eddie?” he said. “I’m Dean Martin.”

I shook his hand and said, “I know. I saw the show tonight.”

“Did ya, now?” he asked. He shifted the cigarette back to his right hand, holding it between his forefinger and middle finger. “What’d you think?”

“It was … entertaining.” That sounded lame, even to me.

“Entertaining,” he repeated. “Well, I guess that’s what we want, eh?”

“I mean … it was great. You and Frank and Sammy, you’re great entertainers.”

“Ah,” Dean said, “alone, we’re great entertainers. When we get together we’re a bunch of clowns-but hey, the people loved it, right?”

“They did,” I agreed. “They loved it.”

Dean sat on a bar stool and faced me.

“Why don’t you get me something to drink, if you don’t mind, since you’re already behind the bar?”

“Sure, Mr. Martin,” I said, “what’ll it be?”

“First,” he said, “call me Dean, and second, just get me a bottle of soda water out of the refrigerator, and a glass of ice.”

“Oh, uh, right.”

I’d expected him to ask for gin or bourbon, but I filled a glass with ice and took a bottle of water from the fridge. I opened it and poured it for him, and left the bottle on the bar.

“Thanks, pally,” he said, and took a generous swallow. He sucked the cigarette to death and stubbed it out in a heavy glass ashtray.

“So you talked to Frank,” he said. “He gave you the run down?”

“He only told me that you were gettin’ death threats, Mist-uh, Dean. Nothing more than that.”

“I’m not sure there is anything more than that,” Dean said, “but Frank’s worried. When Frank worries everybody tends to worry.”

“Well, how many people know about these threats?”

“So far,” Dean said, “you, me and Frank.”

“Not Mack?”

“Mack doesn’t need to know. He’d mother-hen me to death, and he’d give himself an ulcer to go along with his headaches.”

“Seems to me he left with his feelings hurt.”

“Mack’ll get over it.”

“What about Joey?”

“He doesn’t know the particulars, either,” Dean said. “Frank just used him to get you involved.”

“Don’t you think you should tell the folks who are involved with the movie? The director? The producer? The other actors?”

“Eddie,” Dean said, “I’m not absolutely convinced that there is really something to the threats. Why raise the alarm without knowing?”

“And you want me to find out?”

“Frank tells me you know everybody in town,” Dean said. “You could make some discreet inquiries.”

“To tell you the truth, Dean,” I said, “I don’t know exactly what I can do, but I’m willing to try to help.”

“That’s fine,” Dean said. “I appreciate that. Just no police, and no reporters. Not yet, anyway.”

“All right, then,” I said, “I suppose we should start with the threats. How did you get them?”

“Just a minute.”

Dean got off his stool, walked to a writing desk at the far end of the room, and took some papers from a drawer. He brought them back to the bar and put them down in front of me. I spread them out and saw that they were letters-notes, really. Half a dozen of them.

YOU AIN’T TOO BIG TO GET HURT one of them said. Another went IF YOU’RE NOT CAREFUL YOU COULD GET REAL HURT. Some of the others were more to the point about what the injuries could be.

“They’re printed,” I said, “in block letters. Hard to identify handwriting from that.”

“I know,” Dean said.

“And I get the feeling the person who wrote these isn’t very educated.” I looked at him. “Do you suspect anyone, Dean?”

“I can’t really think of anybody who’d want to harm me.”

“What about somebody who maybe just wants to scare you?”

“For what reason?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “You’re rich, handsome, famous, maybe somebody’s jealous. Somebody you stepped on gettin’ to where you are now.”

That annoyed Dean. He pushed away from the bar and paced the room.

“I never stepped on anybody in my life,” he said. “I worked hard getting where I am.”

“Well, then maybe it’s somebody who’s jealous of you, simply because you’re you.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Well, it’s got to be someone,” I said. “We’ve got the notes to prove that.” I spread the papers out. “Where are the envelopes they came in?”

“I threw them out, I guess.”

“They came in the regular mail? Or were they delivered by messenger?” I was running out of questions. Not being a cop or a private eye, I wasn’t sure what else to ask.

Dean thought a moment, then said, “Regular mail. They had stamps on them.”

“Okay,” I said, “if you get anymore I guess you should keep the envelopes.”

“They didn’t have any return address on them.”

“What about postmarks?” I asked. “Were they mailed from here in Las Vegas? Were the stamps even canceled?”

Dean’s shoulders slumped.

“I didn’t notice,” he said. “That was stupid.”

“Never mind,” I said. “Just remember with the next one … if there is a next one.”

I wasn’t sure what to ask him next, but the guy looked so disheartened, I didn’t want to leave yet.

Suddenly, he asked, “Where are you from?”

“New York,” I said, “Brooklyn.”

“When did you leave?”

“About twelve years ago.”

“I worked hard to get the Ohio out of my tone,” he said. “I always thought it was part of the reason I succeeded.”

“Could be,”

“Why would someone want to hurt me,” he asked, abandoning the small talk, “or threaten to hurt me just because I succeeded?”

“Success is somethin’ to envy, Dean,” I said, “and, for some people, somethin’ to resent.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He looked at his watch. “There’s an old John Wayne film on the television in five minutes. Ever since we did Rio Bravo together I try to catch all his early movies. Want to stay and watch?”

What an invitation! Any other time I would have jumped at the chance to watch television with Dean Martin in his room.

“I think I better get started on this, Dean,” I said. “I’d like to find out right away whether I can help or not. I don’t wanna waste your time.”

“My time, pally?” Dean asked. “I got nothin’ but time to waste. It’s your time you’ll be wastin’. I hope we’re payin’ you enough.”

“You’re not paying me at all,” I said. “This is a favor all the way down the line.”

Dean regarded me for a moment, then stuck out his hand and said, “Thanks, Eddie. I really appreciate it.”

I shook hands with him and said, “I’ll be in touch.”

When I left the room he was turning on the TV to watch John Wayne. I hoped the movie would take his mind off the threats that were obviously bothering him more than he let on.

I went straight home that night after my meeting with Dean because I had no idea where Bev had gone. It was a good bet she was with Frank and Nick and Henry and the Ocean’s 11 crowd. Since this had been our first “date” and we’d had no previous relationship beyond waitress and customer-and two employees of the Sands-I wasn’t really that upset about it. I might have been worried, but I’d left her in the care of Frank Sinatra. Or maybe I should have been worried because I’d left her in his care. Whatever the case, when I couldn’t find her or Joey Bishop, or anyone else connected to the Rat Pack, I went home.

I lived just far enough off the strip so I couldn’t see the bright lights. That was actually as far from it as I wanted to be, because I drew energy from the lights and activity of Las Vegas. I knew some folks who worked for the casinos and stayed far away from them when they weren’t working. You could often find me on the strip, in the casinos, in my off hours. I didn’t gamble as much as I used to, but I still liked to play some blackjack now and then-but never at the Sands. I didn’t shit where I worked.

But this night I decided to have a drink in the privacy of my own living room and think about the events of the day. Meeting two of themost famous men in the world, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. Nothing could have prepared me for that.

“I wanna know what’s goin’ on,” Mack Gray said to me, after sitting down but refusing coffee.

“Ask Dean.”

“He ain’t talkin’.”

“Well, then I can’t, either, Mack. If Dean wanted you to know, he”ve told you.”

Mack slammed his fist down on the table, rattling everything around us and attracting attention. It was like a small earthquake. He had a pained look on his face.

“Mack-” I said, warily.

“This ain’t right.” Mack pressed the fingers of one hand to his head. “I been with him for eight years. He shouldn’t keep anything from me.”

“Maybe he’s got his reasons, Mack,” I said. “Maybe he’-”

Abruptly, he got up and walked off, leaving me in mid-sentence. I understood he felt hurt, maybe even a little betrayed, but it wasn’t my place to tell him anything.

I paid for breakfast and left the restaurant. I did not have the day off, but I wondered if I could have-and more?

I wasn’t used to being a free man, with time on my hands. Not having to go to work that day left me feeling curiously empty. I loved my job, loved the feel of a busy casino, especially one as large and bustling as the Sands.

But there were other casinos that basically offered the same things. If I stepped out onto the strip I could turn left and walk to Bugsy Siegel’s place, the Flamingo, or to the right to the Desert Inn or, beyond that, the Thunderbird.

My personal favorite-other than the Sands-was the Flamingo. I think it was because of the history. It was, after all, the casino that had started it all.

But I didn’t have time to go casino-hopping. I decided to go to the bar to do some thinking over a drink. It was early in the day to start, but then I didn’t have to be at work anytime soon. When I got there I saw that Bev was working. I grabbed a barstool rather than sit at a table.

“A little early for you, ain’t it, Eddie?” the bartender asked.

“No harm getting an early start once in a while, is there, Harry?”

“Hell, no. What’ll be?”

“Bourbon, rocks.”

“Comin’ up.”

When he had me set up, Beverly came sidling up next to me.

“Well, what happened to you, last night?”

“I might ask you the same thing.”

“After you abandoned me,” she said, “Frank and Henry asked me to go out with them.”

“And Miss Campbell?”

Bev made a face. “She didn’t want me to go.”

“She was jealous of you.”

“I didn’t take that as a compliment,” she said. “She’d be jealous of any woman.”

“You could have gone with them as Henry Silva’s date, though.”

She laughed. “He already had three women. I think that was enough for him to handle.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went home. I waited a while for you to come back, and then I went home.”

“Alone?”

“What do you mea-”

“I just meant,” I said, hurriedly, “that nobody put you in a cab, or anything?”

“Actually,” she said, “Nick Conte walked me to the door and saw me into a cab-and he was a complete gentleman.”

I felt foolish for thinking she’d gone out on the town with the Rat Pack.

“I’m sorry, Bev,” I said. “I had to go up and see Dean Martin.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re friends with Dean Martin?”

“Well not exactly,” I said. “I had some business with him.”

“What kind of business?”

“The kind I can’t talk about,” I said.

“I’m impressed,” she said. “At least you abandoned me for a good reason.”

“I didn’t abandon-”

“I’m kidding, Eddie.”

“I came down and looked for you, but you’d gone by that time. I guess it wasn’t much of a date, was it?”

“Is that what it was?” she said. “A date?”

“Well … wasn’t it?”

She thought a moment, then said, “I suppose it was-and as first dates go, it was a doozy.”

“I know,” I said, “I’m sorry-”

“No,” she said, “I meant that in a good way. I had a good time, I really did. The show was hysterical. I think I’d rather hear Frank and Dean sing-and Sammy Davis, too-but it was fun.”

“It was?”

“You know how to show a girl a good time, Eddie,” she said. “I mean, taking me backstage to meet all those famous people? It was a great date, believe me.”

“Uh, well, I’m glad,” I said. “I’m real glad you enjoyed it, Bev.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Ask me out again, some time?”

“Well … of course. I mean, for this to have been a first date there’d have to be a second, right?”

“And next time I’ll let you see me home,” she promised.

“It’s a deal. Thanks, Bev.”

“No,” she said, “thank you, Eddie.”

She turned and flounced away, knowing I was watching. Her walk was something to behold.

I was still sitting on the stool, nursing the same drink, when Joey Bishop entered the bar. He spotted me and came walking over with a spring in his step.

“You look happy,” I said.

“I’m always happy after a good show,” he said. “Last night was a good show.”

“What happened to you after?” I asked. “Did you go out with the rest of ’em?”

“I turned in,” Joey said. “I can’t handle the nightlife like Frank and Peter and Sammy can. How about you? How did your meeting with Dean go?’

“Fine, I guess.”

“Are you, uh, helping him out?”

“I am,” I said. “You got any idea what it’s about, Joey?”

“No,” he said, “but if Frank or Dean want me to know, they’ll tell me.”

“Fair enough,” I said, “but tell me more about Mack Gray?”

“Mack? What about him?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

“He’s a loyal guy,” Joey said. “He was loyal to George Raft for years, and now he’s loyal to Dean.”

“Why would Dean keep anything from him, then?”

“I don’t know, Eddie,” Joey said. “You’d have to ask Dean. Why? Did Mack say anything to you?”

“Mack is mad,” I said, “I’m just not sure if he’s mad at me or at Dean.”

“Mack doesn’t get mad at Dean, ever,” Joey said.

“Great, then he’s mad at me. I don’t need that.”

“If you want Mack off your back go to Dean,” Joey said. “He’ll take care of it.”

“No, I’ll wait a while,” I said. “I don’t wanna bother Dean until I have something positive to tell him.”

“Well,” Joey said, slapping me on the back, “I saw you from across the floor and thought I’d ask you how things went.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

He shook his head. “I don’t drink. One of these days we’ll have coffee, or tea. I’ll see ya.”

I watched Joey go, wondering how he could hang out with those guys and remain a teetotaler?

Harry waved my money away for the drink, so I dropped a generous tip on the bar and left.

Hands were on me, shaking me.

“Eddie?”

The voice became insistent. It must not have been the first time she called my name.

“Come on, Eddie! Are you all right?”

The voice and the hands became more insistent.

“No,” I said.

“Thank God.”

I opened my eyes and looked up into the worried face of Dori Ellis, a showgirl who worked at the Sahara and, for the past few months, had been occasionally joining me in my bed.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Who were those guys?”

I peered up at her and realized I was seeing her with only one eye. There was something wet and sticky in my left one. I wiped at it with my hand, but that only made it worse.

“Oh, Jesus, you’re bleeding,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“Did they-did they hurt you?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “they just pushed me aside and ran out of here. I guess I scared ’em.”

“Help me up, Dori.”

She got her arm under my shoulder and helped me to my feet. Myknee screamed at me, my ribs ached, so did my back, and the wet, sticky stuff-my blood, I assumed-kept running down my face.

“Where to?” she asked.

“The sofa.”

“You might bleed on it.”

Just like a woman to worry about the furniture.

“I’ll risk it.”

With her help I limped to the sofa and dropped down onto it.

“Let me get something for your head,” she said.

While she was gone I took inventory. Everything seemed to hurt, but nothing was broken. I swiped at the blood in my eye, smearing it all over my hand and face without clearing my vision. Dori returned with a wet washcloth and a couple of towels.

“Since you weren’t worried about the sofa, I figured the same went for your towels,” she said.

Gently she began washing blood from my face. At one point I took over so she wouldn’t poke out my eyes trying to clean it. Once I could see I set the cloth aside and used a towel to wipe up the rest of the blood.

“Can you tell me what happened, now?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what happened,” I said. “I walked in, I got hit, two guys started working me over and then you showed up. End of fuckin’ story.”

“Did they rob you. Did they get your wallet?”

“It should be on the floor over there somewhere.”

She looked around, retrieved it for me and brought it over.

“Everything there?” she asked.

“Looks like it.” I set the wallet aside.

“Did they say anything?”

“They argued a bit.”

“Did they say anything to you?”

I thought a moment, then said, “Just shut up.”

“That’s odd,” she said.

“Yeah, it is odd. Did they speak to you?”

“Well, yes,” she said, “as they pushed me aside one of them said ‘Tell your boyfriend to mind his own business.’ What did he mean by that? Whose business have you been minding?”

“My own,” I said, “and I don’t usually have to be told to do it.” I touched my knee and found it swollen, stretched it out to try and ease the pain. There didn’t seem to be anything I could do for my back or my ribs.

“Your forehead is still bleeding,” she said, pressing the second towel to it.

I reached up and put my hand on it so she could let go.

“I better call the police,” she said.

“No-wait!”

She turned away from the phone and frowned at me. Dori was tall and statuesque, the way the casinos preferred their showgirls to be, and when she was all made up to go on stage she became beautiful. Freshly scrubbed the way she was now, though, she was simply achingly pretty.

“Why?”

“I need a minute to think.”

I was still feeling disoriented from being attacked. Did I want the police called in? What could I tell them? I couldn’t even describe the men.

“Would you be able to identify those two if you saw them again?” I asked.

“What? No, I don’t think so. They went by me so fast, and shoved me out of the way …”

“Then I don’t think it would do any good to call the police,” I said. I was starting to think more clearly. What of this was connected to the threats on Dean Martin? After all, that was the only thing happening in my life that was out of the ordinary.

“Are you sleeping with somebody’s wife, Eddie? Is that what this is about?”

Lately, we’d been having some problems and I’d started to think about ending our little arrangement-or what she had begun calling our “relationship.”

“No, I haven’t slept with anyone’s wife, lately.” Danny had askedme the same thing. When did I get that fuckin’ reputation? “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what this was all about, but they really seemed intent on hurting me.”

“Maybe I should take you to the hospital?”

I leaned forward and reached behind me to rub my back. The blow had not landed on either of my kidneys, so I doubted I’d be pissing blood like a fighter after a bout. I probed my ribs, which didn’t seem to be cracked. I’d had cracked ribs once before, so I knew from experience that it hurt like a bitch just to breathe. The worst problem seemed to be my knee, which had swelled up to about twice its size.

“I think some ice on my knee would be the best thing,” I said. “How does my head look?”

I removed the towel so she could take a look. She took hold of my face and leaned me toward the light.

“One of the girls fell one night and hit her head. The doctor said scalp wounds bleed a lot, but aren’t that serious. It doesn’t look like you’re going to need stitches.”

“Okay, then,” I said, “no cops and no doctors.”

“But Eddie-”

She was wearing jeans and a man’s shirt knotted below her large breasts. There was a considerable expanse of tummy showing, and I put my hand on her warm skin.

“I just think I need some tender loving care,” I said.

“From me?” she asked, with a smile.

“You’re the one who’s here,” I said, and then realized that may have been the wrong way to put it. “After all, you probably saved my life tonight. In some countries that makes you responsible for me.”

“Eddie,” she said, leaning forward so that her head came in contact with mine.

“Ow!” I said, and started bleeding again.

I woke the next morning stiff and sore-but I was grateful to wake up, at all. If Dori hadn’t come to the door, I might have been dead.

Dori stayed the night. She checked my eyes to make sure my pupils contracted in the light-she’d seen a doctor do this to the girl that had fallen onstage-and pronounced me concussion free.

We went to bed but didn’t have sex. Not that I didn’t want to. Dori’s all woman, and having her next to me gave me a raging hard-on all night, but my aches and pains just wouldn’t allow it. Believe me, we tried. The second time she whacked my sore knee with one of hers and we gave it up.

However, when we woke the next morning I was still hard, and she had pity on me.

Then she sprang a surprise on me while she was getting dressed.

“I think you should consider that a goodbye blowjob, Eddie.”

“What?” I’d been distracted watching her move about the room naked, enjoying the play of her dancer’s muscles beneath her smooth, pale skin.

“You’ve gotten yourself into something funny,” she said, “and I don’t mean ‘ha ha’ funny.”

“Well,” I said, “you’re right about that.” I watched as she fit her showgirl tits into her bra, then pulled on her top.

“Those men scared the shit out of me last night,” she said, pulling on her panties and hip-huggers at the same time, “so now that I know you’re all right I don’t think I want to be around if and when they come back.”

I couldn’t blame her for that. They’d pretty much scared the shit out of me, too-which, according to one of them, had been their job. Hurting me, that just seemed to be something the first guy wanted to do because he liked it.

She put on her shoes, grabbed her purse and came over to the bed to kiss me goodbye.

“Give me a call when you’ve got it all sorted out,” she said, then added, “then we’ll see.”

After she was gone I realized she’d been feeling the same thing I had, that maybe we’d run our course. We’d probably bump into each other around town-I’d even go to see her show-but we both knew that anything more than that was no longer an option.

In other words, we were done.

The offices of Bardini Investigations were at 150 Fremont Street, between the Fremont Street Casino and Binion’s Horseshoe Club, above a gift shop. When I opened the door Penny O’Grady looked up at me from her desk. I walked over and put a container down in front of her. She switched off her portable radio, cutting off the howling of what sounded like Buddy Holly. Dean Martin he ain’t.

“Coffee or tea?” she asked.

“Tea,” I said. “It doesn’t take me long to learn.”

“I’ve only been working for Danny for five years,” she said. “It’s taken me that long to get his files in shape, and for you to learn I drink tea.”

Penny had come to Danny right out of college and convinced him to hire her. At the time he’d been running his office alone. Now she was twenty-seven and pushing him to make her a partner. She had freckles, long legs and red hair and the only thing that kept her from being a knockout was a snub nose she was saving to have fixed. In my opinion she was smart enough to be a partner, but Danny liked the idea of a one-man shop-with secretary. Neither of them had ever bothered to satisfy my curiosity about whether or not they were sleeping or had ever slept together.

“Go on in,” she said. “He’s not doing anything important.”

“Thanks.”

I went past her and through the door to Danny’s office without knocking.

“What happened to you?” he asked, immediately.

“Does it show?”

“You’re limping,” he said, “and walking hunched over. And what happened to your head?”

I put my hand up to my scalp. I’d gotten past Penny, but not old eagle-eye Danny.

“I didn’t think it showed.”

“I’m a detective, remember?” he asked. “Speaking of which, I deduce that’s coffee in your hand. Fork it over here.”

I limped to his desk, sat across from him and handed him his coffee. He opened it, inhaled it, tasted it and then sat back and closed his eyes with a sigh. He liked it with four sugars, so I was always surprised his teeth didn’t just drop out of his mouth.

“I swear I’m gonna fire that girl if she doesn’t start makin’ coffee.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “Okay, now give.”

I told him the story, starting from when I entered my house without using the key and ending with Dori leaving the next morning.

“Not having to use your key to get in should have been your first clue,” he commented when I was done.

“I came here so you could tell me something I don’t know, Danny.” My tone was a bit testy.

“Okay, okay,” Danny said, “calm down. No damage to doors or windows, you said?”

“That’s right.”

“Then you were dealin’ with pros,” he said. “If you can describe them I can identify them for you.”

“I got hit as soon as I walked in,” I said. “I’m afraid I couldn’t focus.”

“Well,” Danny said, “toss in the phone call you got this morning and it’s obvious this is all because of this … Rat Pack thing you’re involved in.”

“Why didn’t he just say so on the phone?”

“Maybe he thought your phone would be tapped.”

“Why would someone tap my phone?”

“Maybe,” Danny said, “he knows his own phone is tapped.”

“You’re saying he was with the mob?” I asked.

“Who else would have their phones tapped?”

“So that’s why he didn’t want to say Frank or Dean’s name.”

“Especially Sinatra’s,” Danny said. “And the guys they sent were real pro leg-breakers, not hit men, or you’d be dead.”

“One of them told the other one to hold me so he could hurt me.”

“Figures.” Danny took time to sip his coffee and eye me over the rim. “There’s nothing else you can tell me about them?”

“Well,” I said, “they bitched at each other like an old married couple.”

He laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

“Why?”

“Because now I know who they are.”

“Who?”

“Lenny Davis and Buzz Ravisi.”

“Are they workin’ for the mob?”

“They’re pros,” he said, “but not top of the line. They freelance as leg-breakers for the books, so I’m sure they’ve done some work for the mob at one time or another, but not for the big boys.”

“So what’s this mean for me?”

“It means that whoever’s skin you’ve gotten under, he’s not connected high up.”

I thought about that for a moment.

“Or he doesn’t want you to think he is.”

“That’s a big help.”

“You want a gun?” he asked. “I can give you one, or get you one.”

“What would I do with a gun?” I asked. “No, no gun.” Not yet, anyway. Besides, I hadn’t handled one since Korea. I’d shoot myself in the foot.

“This Dori,” he said, then, “she the one with the big knockers from the Sahara?”

Before leaving Danny’s office I verified for him that yes, Dori was the one with the big boobs from the Sahara, and he told me not to worry about Lenny and Buzz, that he’d check them out for me.

“I’m sure they did what they did just for the money,” he said, “and nothing personal. If I pay them enough they might roll over on whoever they’re working for.”

“How much is enough?”

“I don’t know,” Danny said. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it and let you know.”

He hadn’t picked up any word on the street about who might want to threaten Dean Martin, but he’d only been working on it since yesterday. I knew he had the word out, so I wasn’t worried about that.

“You want to see a doctor?” he asked, before I left.

“I’m trying to be discreet, Danny.”

“I got a guy who won’t ask any questions,” he said. He opened his drawer and gave me a card. “I’ll call ahead and tell him you’re comin’.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, so I said okay.

I drove back to the Sands and turned my Caddy over to a valet named Tim Daly.

“You ready to sell this car yet, Eddie?” Tim asked. “I’ll make you a good price.”

“No, not yet,” I said. “Probably not ever.”

“You always say that,” Tim said, getting behind the wheel, “but everybody’s got their price. Hell, this is Vegas, after all.”

Well, he was right about that, anyway. It was Vegas: it was a place where too many people found their price.

I went inside, not sure what my next move was going to be-or what it should be. Tell Entratter what happened to me? Or Sinatra? Or Dean Martin? Or maybe just the little Ringmaster, Joey Bishop.

It turned out I didn’t get to make the choice. As I entered the casino a large hand fell on my shoulder. I reacted violently, pulling away from it-or trying to-but it clamped down hard. I turned to throw a punch but he easily caught my fist with his other hand. All I got for my efforts was a twinge from my back and knee.

“Mack!” I said, recognizing him.

He released me and stepped back, eyeing me curiously.

“Damn it, what the hell-”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to hurt you.”

“It’s not you,” I said, getting myself under control, “it’s just-never mind. What do you want?”

“Somebody wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“Come with me.”

“Where?”

“The Flamingo.”

The Flamingo. Bugsy’s place-before Ben Siegel was shot in 1947. It was suspected that Bugsy’s own people gunned him down because he had stopped being a team player and because expenses had skyrocketed. Bugsy had already cost them too much money. His place, however, remained in their hands, as did so many of the casinos on the strip.

“What’s at the Flamingo, Mack?” I asked. “Or should I ask, who?”

“Come with me and find out.”

I studied Mack Gray for a few moments while people walked around us. We were partly blocking the entrance while I made up my mind whether to go with him or not. In the end I figured, Why not? It kept me from having to decide my next move.

“All right,” I said. “Lead the way.”

I left the Flamingo and walked back toward the Sands. The marquee proclaimed it “A PLACE IN THE SUN.” Underneath that it had the names of the Rat Pack members in descending order: Frank, Dean, Sammy, Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop. The day was living up to that name, the sun already baking the pavement beneath my feet.

When I got to the front doors of the Sands I stopped. I felt confused, didn’t know what to do next. Finally, somebody from inside opened one of the doors, stepped out and held the door for me. That seemed to break the spell. I thanked him and walked in.

I looked around for Mack, not wanting to be surprised again, but I had left him at the Flamingo with Raft. My first instinct was to go for a drink, but my ribs were hurting and I had a pounding headache. I didn’t want to take the powerful painkillers the doctor had given me, so I went in search of some aspirin. My feet, as if they had a mind of their own, took me to Jack Entratter’s office. I figured since I was there looking for aspirin I might as well talk to him, fill him in, and maybe get some answers. Or maybe it was the other way around.

Jack’s girl told him I was there and she buzzed me into his office.

“Could you get me some aspirin?” I asked, before going on.

“Of course, Mr. Gianelli,” she said. “How many?”

“Uh, three should do it.”

“And to take them with?”

“What?”

She smiled, blinked and said, “What would you like to drink, to take them with?”

“Just water.”

“I’ll bring them right in.”

I thanked her and entered Jack’s office.

“I know I told you to check in with me, kid,” Jack said around his huge cigar, “but it ain’t the end of the day, yet.”

“I need to tell you some things,” I said, “and ask you some things.”

“Okay, siddown,” Entratter said. “What’s on your mind, Eddie?”

At that moment the girl opened the door and stepped in.

“What?” Jack barked.

“Mr. Gianelli’s aspirin.”

“Whataya need aspirin for?” he asked me.

“Pain.”

“Okay, give it to ’im.”

“Yes sir.”

She handed me the pills and a glass of water, smiled and backed out.

“What’s goin’ on?” Entratter asked me. “Yer movin’ funny.”

I held up one finger, took the aspirin, washed them down and placed the glass on his desk. I then proceeded to tell him what had been waiting for me when I got home last night, and the call I got in the morning.

“Then,” I finished, “when I got here Mack Gray grabs me and drags me over to the Flamingo to see George Raft.”

Entratter frowned.

“I don’t like the sound of this,” he said. “What’d Mr. Raft want?”

“I’m not really sure,” I said. “He wanted to know what I was doing for Frank and Dean.”

“Did you tell ’im?”

“No.”

“So what about the guys who kicked your ribs in?” he asked. “What’d you tell them? What’d they want?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “We never got around to exchanging words. They left me a message, though.”

“What was it?”

“To mind my business.”

He took the cigar out of his mouth and leaned forward.

“Who’s business you been mindin’, Eddie?”

“Frank Sinatra’s,” I said, “and Dean Martin’s.”

“Nobody else’s?”

“No.”

He replaced the cigar and sat back, thought for a moment before speaking again. He punctuated his words by pointing the cigar at me. I was glad it was the lit end and not the wet end. I was nauseated enough.

“You think the beating-”

“-and the call this morning.”

“-were about what Frank asked you to do for Dino?”

“It can’t be anything else, Jack.”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“You been shtupping anybody’s wife, Eddie?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” I demanded. “I don’t make a habit of-no, no wives, Jack.”

“Whataya want me to do, Eddie?” he asked. “Get ya out of this? Talk to Frank?”

“No,” I said, “I don’t want out, Jack. Not yet.”

“Good boy.”

“You ever heard of two lowlifes named Lenny Davis and Buzz Ravisi?”

I watched his face for his reaction and when he said, “Never heard of them.” I believed him.

“They the guys you danced with?”

“Possibly,” I said.

“You got their names pretty quick.”

“That’s why I got this job, ain’t it, Jack?” I asked. “’Cause I got the town wired?”

“What job?” he asked. “I thought this was a favor.”

“Whatever it is,” I said, “I’m still doing it.”

“Good for you.”

I took a moment to finish the water in the glass and set it back down.

“I’ll be going, Jack,” I said, “but there’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you heard anything about Dean getting’ somebody mad at him?” I asked. “Mr. Costello, Mr. Giancana, anybody like that?”

Entratter hesitated a long moment, then took the cigar out of his mouth. This time when he pointed it was the wet end.

“How would I know that, Eddie?” he asked, slowly.

“Well,” I said, carefully, “Jack, I’d be a fool to think I was the only one who had the town wired. And not just this town. You worked in New York and Jersey. I just thought maybe you … heard something.”

He took a moment to pluck some tobacco from his mouth with the thumb and index finger of his left hand while he maintained his hold on the wet thing with his right. It wasn’t common knowledge that Jack Entratter represented the interests of Frank Costello in the Sands, but it was something Sands employees had all heard. In point of fact there were men with interests in the Sands living in New York, New Jersey, Miami, Boston, Chicago, New Orleans, St. Louis, L.A. and other places, and not all of them had Mafia ties. Some were just plain businessmen. Frank Costello, though, was a well-known Mafia figure in New York. To be blunt, he was the boss of the New York mob, and Jack was his man in Vegas.

“You sure these are the kind of questions you wanna be askin’, Eddie?”

“If I’m going to do this favor right for Frank and Dino,” I said, “yes, Jack.”

“Well … I ain’t heard anything like that, but if I do, I’ll let ya know.”

I smiled and said, “Frank and Dino and I would appreciate it, Jack.”

“Yeah,” Entratter said, “I know they will. Say, kid, you wanna gun?”

“What?”

“In case those two guys come back for ya,” he said, opening a drawer in his desk. “I can give ya one now, or get ya somethin’-”

“Thanks, Jack,” I said, “no gun. I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yerself,” he said, closing the drawer. “I’ll see ya later.”

“See you, Jack.”

Everybody was trying to give me a damn gun.

If Jack Entratter said he hadn’t heard anything about Dean Martin pissin’ off some mob boss, or made guy, I probably should have taken his word for it. Jack worked for Costello, who might not be keeping him in the loop on some things. On the one hand, Frank was friends with Mo Mo Giancana and maybe he’d heard something. But on the other hand, he was friends with Dean, too. If Giancana wanted to take Dean out, why would he mention it to Frank?

But maybe I was jumping to conclusions. So far nobody had said anything about killing Dean. There were just these threats. It was probably too soon for me to arrange another meeting with Frank. What I should have been doing was trying to get a line on Davis and Ravisi. According to Danny the two were small-timers. If the Mafia wanted something done in Vegas they had a lot better ways to go before they decided to use two nothings like those guys.

I had Danny working on finding the two assholes who’d worked me over, but I had my own contacts, too. I wasn’t a made guy or anything, but I knew some people who moved in those circles.

There was a guy named Lou Terazzo who came into the Sands to play blackjack all the time. He called himself “Lucky” Lou, but we all knew him as “Unlucky” Lou because the guy never won. Lou worked at the Riviera for Eddie Torres, who had taken over the operatingduties of the Riv last year when the owner, Gun Greenbaum, was killed. It was pretty common knowledge that Torres was Meyer Lansky’s man. So Lou may not have been much of a gambler, but he had big ears and he liked to brag to women about who he knew and what he knew. I needed to find out if Lou knew anything at all, or if it was all just talk for the ladies.

I went to the pits to see if Lou had been in today. His main game was blackjack although he was known to dabble in roulette and craps, too. But he hadn’t been seen at any of those tables. Too early, I decided. He’d probably be in later, but I couldn’t wait. I decided to go over to the Riv to see if I could find him and get him to talk to me.

Dori Ellis is not the only showgirl I’d ever dated, but I’d been trying to cut down for a while. And it wasn’t because they were long on looks and short on brains. That’s a cliche. I’ve found showgirls who were pretty damn smart, with educations that came both from books and the street. No, they were simply driven by what they did, and had little time for anything else. Almost all of them I’ve known are either divorced or have been in and out of short-term relationships. Maybe that was why I asked Beverly to go with me to the Rat Pack show. Waitresses could be just as pretty and smart, but they certainly weren’t career-driven-not yet, anyway.

When I went looking for Carla, the showgirl Pepper told me Unlucky Lou was seeing, I walked in on a full dress rehearsal and was reminded of why I started dating showgirls in the first place.

They were so damn beautiful.

I watched as the choreographer put them through their paces on stage. Legs flashed, breasts heaved, high heels made rat-a-tat sounds on the boards, blond-brunette-red hair flew, and they sweated-I mean, they perspired. There was nothing quite like a statuesque showgirl swea-perspiring.

As I watched I realized that I recognized one or two of them. That’s the other thing about showgirls. Some of them are in it for thelong haul, others come and went with the wind. While the core group was usually steady, there was a pretty good turnover rate, as well.

Big breasts were always good in my opinion, but for showgirls the most important thing seemed to be legs-long, long legs. Breast size varied, which made for a good variety, but when they were moving in perfect unison and those long legs were kicking and twirling, it was a sight to see.

Finally, rehearsal was over. I’d only had to stand and wait about fifteen minutes and then the girls started filing by me, heading for their dressing rooms. Some of them flirted in passing, others just threw me interested looks, while still others ignored me. The two I knew greeted me by name, but kept moving.

I also knew the woman who had been running the rehearsal. Her name was Verna and she had been a showgirl for a lot of years. Now she was in her forties, still striking, with red hair and the long, good legs. She came offstage dressed in a leotard, also glistening with perspiration.

“Hello, Eddie,” she said. “What brings you here? Checking out my girls for your next conquest?”

“I wish, Verna.”

“Or maybe you prefer them a little more … seasoned?” Verna was big-breasted, and since her retirement from full-time dancing she’d gained a few pounds which, from what I could see, had gone to all the right places. She wasn’t built for dancing anymore, but she was perfect for, uh, other forms of recreation. A few extra lines around her eyes and a streak of gray in her red hair did nothing to alter her appeal to men.

“I’m actually looking for a particular girl, Verna,” I said.

“What’s her name?”

“Carla?”

“I got two Carla’s, Eddie,” she sad. “Which one?”

“Um, she’s the one who’s supposed to be seeing Lou Terazzo?”

Verna made a face.

“That’s Carla DeLucca. Is she still seein’ him? I warned her off, but they’re young, they don’t wanna listen to me. Shit, I’ve beenthrough enough of those torpedoes in my day to know better, but do they listen?”

“I guess they have to make their own mistakes, Verna.” I didn’t want to add anymore fuel to her anger.

She heaved a sigh that was very interesting to me visually and which apparently cleansed her emotionally and said, “I guess you’re right.”

“Was she at this rehearsal?”

“Yes,” she said. “A big brunette, too top-heavy for my taste-as a dancer, I mean-and her feet are too big. I don’t think she’ll be here past next year.”

“But she’s here now?”

“Yeah,” Verna said. She gave me a leer. “You wanna go into the dressin’ room and find her?”

“I’m tempted,” I said, “but I’m afraid if I go in there I’m not going to want to come out.”

She laughed, throwing her head back.

“If I let you go in there they may not let you come out,” she said, placing her hand on my chest. “A handsome man like you … well, I’ll go in and tell her you want to see her when she’s dressed. You just wait out here where it’s safe.”

“Thanks, Verna.”

She let her hand linger on my chest a little while longer.

“You and me have been in Vegas a long time, Eddie.”

“Long time, Verna.” She had been dancing at the Flamingo when I arrived in town.

“How come we never went out?”

I took her hand in mine, lifting it from my chest and holding it gently.

“You were always out of my league, Verna,” I said, and then to try to lessen the sting added, “but then, you’re out of everyone’s league.”

“Yeah,” she said, sliding her hand from mine, “that must explain why this old broad is alone.”

“Verna-”

“Shut up, Eddie,” she said. “I’ll go and tell Carla you’re waitin’ for her.”

I guess that was another thing about the girls who were in it for the long haul. By the time they stopped dancing they were alone. Men in Vegas were looking for young girls, so someone like Verna would have to find a way to stay in the game-like becoming a choreographer. If not they’d end up waitressing or, worse, dancing in some club on the outskirts of Vegas, where tits and ass were more important than long legs and the ability to dance. Verna might have been a little bitter, but she was also one of the lucky ones.

I waited about a half an hour. During that time many of the girls had come out of the dressing room and either gone home or out to run their daily errands before returning later for the show. A couple of brunettes came out and when I asked if they were Carla they smiled politely and said no, Carla would be out soon. Finally, I got tired of waiting and approached the door to the dressing room. I knocked, opened it cautiously and said, “Hello? Anyone in here?”

“Come on in, handsome,” a woman’s voice said.

I entered and found myself face-to-face with a blond amazon. Even without the high heels she looked six feet. She was dressed for the street in blue jeans and a purple short-sleeved top that was being dangerously stretched by her breasts. In my opinion jeans were invented for dancers to wear. The denim clung tightly to their legs so you could see if a muscle even twitched. She had her long blond hair pulled back by a kerchief that matched her top.

“What can I do for you, lover?” she asked.

She had already applied her street makeup, which was considerably less than her stage makeup. Still, her lips were scarlet, and there was plenty of mascara surrounding her blue eyes.

“I’m, uh, looking for Carla De Lucca?”

“You mean I won’t do?” she asked, putting her hands on her rounded hips.

“Oh, any other day I’d say yes without even hesitating,” I answered.

“But not today.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You don’t know how sorry.”

“Well, don’t be too sorry,” she said. “There may be time after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Carla beat it out the back way about twenty minutes ago.”

“Do you know why?”

“All I know is Verna came in and told her something, and she got dressed real quick and scrammed out the back. Is she runnin’ from you? And if the answer’s yes, why?” She eyed me with increased interest.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’ll have to ask her when I see her. Which way did she leave?”

“Go out that door,” she said, pointing to the other end of the dressing room, “and then there’s a door that’ll take you to the back parking lot.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“My name’s Honey, by the way,” she said. “Honey Sweet.” She wrinkled her nose. “Stage name.”

“Well, Honey, tell me, do you know Lou Terazzo?”

Now she wrinkled he nose in a totally different way.

“Do I? He’s always hangin’ around here, sniffin’ after the girls.”

“He’s supposed to have a thing going with Carla,” I said, “at least, that’s the info I got.”

“Well, that may be so, but it don’t keep him from chasing the rest of us around here with his tongue hangin’ out.”

I decided to compliment her to see if she might have something else to tell me.

“Well, in your case,” I said, “I guess you can’t really blame him.”

She liked that, and came closer. Her perfume was heavy, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

“You’re sweet,” she said.

“No,” I said, “I thought you were, remember? Honey Sweet?”

She laughed and ran her hand up my arm. Her fingernails were painted the same scarlet as her lips.

“Well, maybe when you’re done chasin’ Carla you could come back.”

“Maybe I could,” I agreed. “When was the last time you saw Lou around here?”

“Earlier today.”

“And you wouldn’t happen to have an address for Carla, would you?”

“Actually, I do,” she said. “I don’t have much use for her, but her roommate and I are friends.” She gave me an address of an apartment complex that was off the strip. “In fact,” she added, “a few of the girls live there.”

“Like you?” I asked, because it was expected of me.

“No,” she said, “I have my own place somewhere a little more private. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll see it some day.”

“Hey,” I said, “this is Vegas. It’s all about luck. Thanks for talking to me, Honey.”

“My pleasure, handsome,” she said. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Eddie,” I said, “Eddie Gianelli.”

“Well, Eddie Gianelli,” she said, “see you around.”

“Yeah,” I said, “see you.”

Her perfume had started to get a little too heavy for me, and followed me outside like a cloud. Once I was in the Riviera parking lot, though, it dispelled and I was able to breath again. I took a few deep breaths, not only to get rid of the fragrance, but also the euphoria showgirls seemed to cause in men. It was something I certainly was not immune to, even after all these years in Vegas.

I walked back past Wilbur Clark’s Desert Inn-Louie Prima and Keely Smith on the marquee-and collected the Caddy from behind the Sands. In the car I wondered if I wasn’t going off on a tangent, somehow? Why was I chasing down Carla to find Lou when I didn’t even know if Lou could help me? Was it because I couldn’t think of anything else to do? And if that was the case what kind of real help could I be to Frank and Dean, who both apparently felt they could count on me?

Low-income housing had gone up all around the strip for the dancers and dealers and hotel employees, what I called the “non-rollers” of Vegas, who worked their asses off every day and never got to roll the dice, looking for their own luck. The complex where Carla and some of the other girls lived was just such a place. It was set up like a motel court, with a pool in the center that was designed to make you think you had a place to lounge and meet people.

As I entered the court I saw that the pool was so dirty nobody would be lounging there for a long time. The surface was covered with black and green areas of dirt and algae combining to form a condition most egghead professors try to create in beakers.

I wondered if Carla had even headed home when she ran out theback door of the Riv? Was she running or hiding from me, or from who she thought I might be?

Her apartment was on the second level so I climbed the stairs and started looking for her number. When I reached the door I saw that it was ajar. Maybe she had run back here, packed quickly and left so fast she didn’t lock the door behind her. Still thinking this was all some misunderstanding, and that all I needed to do to straighten it out was talk to her, I went to the door and knocked.

“Hello? Carla? Anybody?”

I opened the door slowly and peered in. The place was in a shambles. For a moment I thought it had been burglars, but looking closer it resembled the scene of a fight. I’d seen some of the rooms in the Sands left this way after a fight had broken out between friends, usually fueled by the fact they were both losing.

I wondered if the police or sheriff had been called, but I didn’t hear any sirens in the distance. The place had two bedrooms, a living-room area and a kitchenette. I stepped into the kitchen and saw that the fight-if that’s what it had been-had not extended into there. It was not a place where anyone who cooked frequently lived. The tables and chairs were perfectly in place. On the counter was a cutting board with a variety of different-sized knives next to it. They were lined up by size, all neat and clean. None were missing.

I looked into both bedrooms. One was made up, the other a mess. However, the second room just looked lived-in to me, so apparently the fight-again, if that’s what it had been-had been confined in the living room.

The sofa was askew, and the two armchairs had been overturned. The flimsy coffee table was in splinters, as was the single end table. I was no detective, but even I could see the grooves in the deep piled carpet where someone’s heels had dug in while they were being dragged.

I went outside, looked back and forth and then, when I could put it off no longer, looked down. From this vantage point I could see there was a place where the dirt and algae in the pool had been disturbed, a place where someone might have gone into the pool. I continued to stare until I thought I could see a body at the bottom of the pool, but I was going to leave it to the police to find out for sure.

I watched from the balcony outside her room as two sheriff’s deputies brought Carla DeLucca up from the bottom of the pool.

“Those guys are gonna have to be decontaminated,” someone next to me said.

I turned my head and found myself looking at a tall, slender man in a lightweight gray sports jacket, gray slacks and a felt fedora.

“My name’s Detective Hargrove,” he said. “I’m with the Las Vegas P.D. And you are?”

“Gianelli,” I said, “Ed Gianelli.”

“And you’re the one who called this in, Mr. Gianelli?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

I caught something on his breath, the unmistakable smell of Sen-Sen. He either thought he was going to meet some showgirls here, or like most cops he drank and was trying to cover the smell of booze. Since he was in his forties, with a busted blood vessel or two around his nose, I opted for the second.

He leaned his elbows on the railing right next to me and stared down at the pool.

“There’s a job I wouldn’t want to have.”

“Shouldn’t you be down there?”

“Naw,” he said. “I’m pretty sure she’s dead.”

“Maybe,” I said, “she fell.”

“Nope,” he said. “If she’d just fallen over the edge she would have hit the tiles. No, somebody picked her up and pitched her off. That’s how she hit the pool.”

“Wouldn’t she have made a big splash?”

“Probably,” he said.

“Somebody would have heard it, wouldn’t they?”

“That’s what we’re gonna find out,” Hargrove said. “We’ll go around door to door, asking people what they heard. And do you know what they’ll say?”

“What?”

“They didn’t hear a thing, didn’t see a thing.”

Unfortunately I knew just what he was talking about. After all, I was from New York.

“So,” he said, then, “tell me what you saw?”

Briefly, I told him about finding the door open and what I’d found inside.

“You didn’t see her in the pool and then go inside?” he asked.

“No, sir,” I said. “I didn’t look into the pool until after I saw the inside of the apartment.”

“And what made you look into the pool then, Mr. Gianelli?”

“I–I’m not sure,” I said, truthfully. “To me the place looked like there’d been a fight. I came outside, leaned on the railing. I guess I was wondering what to do next when I looked down.”

“Back up a moment, Mr. Gianelli,” he said. “What do you mean, you ‘were wondering what to do next?’ Why wouldn’t you just call the police?”

“I–I was trying to decide whether to go back inside and use the phone, or go to the office.”

“And what did you decide, sir?”

“I went to the office,” I said. “I told the desk clerk what happened and asked if I could use his phone.”

“Did you know the deceased?” Hargrove asked.

“Never met her.”

“Who lives here, Mr. Gianelli?” he asked.

“A girl named Carla DeLucca lives here with her roommate.”

“And what’s the roommate’s name?”

“That I don’t know.”

He returned to face me, still leaning on the railing. Below me they were laying the body out on the tiles next to the pool.

“Why were you lookin’ for her?”

I decided to tell the truth. There was no harm in it that I could see. The only thing I knew I wasn’t going to mention to the police were the names Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.

I explained how I’d gone to the Riviera looking for Lou Terazzo, and had been told by someone that Carla might know where he was.

“The Riviera,” Hargrove said. “Buddy Hackett’s playin’ there, ain’t he?”

I was about to say I didn’t know when I realized he was right. I guess I had glanced at the marquee on my way into the Riv and now it sprang into my head with Buddy Hackett’s name on it.

“Yes, I think he is.”

“I love that guy,” he said, “but you know who I really think is funny?”

I was afraid he was going to say me. Was he not believing what I was telling him. It was true, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to haul me in.

“Who?” I asked.

“Redd Foxx,” he said. “That guy cracks me up. Is he in town, anywhere?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you work for a casino, Mr. Gianelli?”

“Yes,” I said, “I’m a pit boss at the Sands.”

“The Sands,” he said. “Frank Costello’s got a piece of that place, hasn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m just a pit boss there.”

“But you know Jack Entratter, right?”

“Of course,” I said, “he’s my boss.”

“Yeah.”

Maybe he’d wanted to see if I’d lie about knowing Jack.

“Lou Terazzo works for Eddie Torres,” Hargrove said.

“You know Lou?”

“I know all the mob guys in Vegas, Mr. Gianelli,” he said. “That surprise you, to hear that Lou’s mobbed up?”

“Lieutenant-” I said.

“Detective,” he said, “just detective.”

“Detective Hargrove,” I said, “I’m not naive. I know the mob is in Vegas.”

“That’s an understatement, Mr. Gianelli,” he said, cutting me off. “The mob is Vegas. You work in a casino, you work for the mob. That’s just how it is.”

Yeah, I wanted to say, and all the cops in Vegas are on the take. Hargrove looked down towards the pool, nodded and waved to somebody.

“My partner is downstairs, Mr. Gianelli,” he said. “He wants you to take a look at the body. Maybe you can identify it.”

“I probably can’t,” I argued. “I never saw Carla DeLucca, I just heard about her.”

“Well, maybe you’d be kind enough to take a look, anyway.”

I was going to argue and ask why they didn’t get the desk clerk to do it when I looked down. The girl was lying on her back, her showgirl’s body looking curiously sunken. Her wet hair was plastered to her head, but even though it was wet I could see one thing clearly.

“That’s not Carla DeLucca,” I said. “I don’t know who it is, but it’s not her.”

“You’ve gone from not knowing her to bein’ able to I.D. her from up here?”

“I don’t know her,” I said, “but I know that she’s a brunette, and that girl-” I pointed down, “-is definitely a blonde.”

They asked me a few more questions and then let me go. Hargrove’s partner, a Negro detective named Smith, wanted to take me in, but Hargrove overruled him.

“He’s a good citizen, Jake,” he told his partner. “He called it in as soon as he found the girl. ’Course, he thought it was the wrong girl.”

True, I had given Carla’s name when I called. I didn’t have any reason to think she wasn’t the girl at the bottom of the pool, but then again I didn’t have good reason to think she was. How was I supposed to know it was her roommate? In fact, it could have been anyone.

But the fact remained the dead girl was named Misty Rose-or Mary Reed, from some of the I.D. they found in the apartment. “Misty Rose” was her stage name, the name she danced under at the Riviera. I didn’t know her; hell before today I had never heard of Carla DeLucca. I suggested that the detectives talk to Verna Ross at the Riviera. She was, I told them, the choreographer who also doubled as the girls’ den mother.

So they let me go and I drove back to the Sands in a haze, wondering why Carla DeLucca had run out the back door rather than talk to me? And where was she now? Where was Lou? And how could this possibly have anything to do with what I was doing for Frank and Dean? The simplest answer was, it couldn’t ….

Me finding a dead body was a coincidence, and not one that I ever wanted to repeat.

For Vegas anytime was the shank of the evening. If I’d been on the clock I would have been in my pit, trying to keep high rollers happy while at the same time trying to keep the casino from losing too much money. It’s a delicate balancing act, and I believed that one day it would be two very specific jobs in Vegas casinos. Let the pit guy concentrate on the game, and let someone else keep the gambler happy.

I decided to go and take a look at my pit and see what was going on. The blackjack tables were full, with only an occasional empty seat. A couple of my big-money guys were there, which meant their wives would be on a slot machine somewhere.

Pete Dawson played a hundred dollars a hand minimum, often bumped it up to five hundred. But there was never any rhyme or reason that I could see when he would bump up the bet. It seemed to take place on a whim. It used to drive me crazy until I found his wife at a slot one day and decided to ask her about it ….

I watched my rear-view mirror all the way home. I didn’t know if Ravisi and Davis had followed me home last night or had been waiting for me there, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Not that I knew what I was doing. Several times I thought I spotted a car following me, only to have it turn and disappear. When I got home I pulled into the driveway of my little house, then waited a few moments before I got out. When I got to my front door I fitted the key into the lock and opened it very carefully. When nobody grabbed me and pulled me inside I stepped through the doorway, then closed and locked the door behind me.

My house is small, and all on one level. It didn’t take me long to go through it and determine that I was alone. When I was reasonably sure I was safe I went to the kitchen, scraped the Chinese I’d brought home with me onto a plate, got myself a beer and sat down to eat. I went over the day again in my head and decided that if I was going to do Dean Martin any good I had to forget about finding the body of Misty Rose. Like Jack Entratter had said, I had to chalk it up to experience.

However, the fact remained that somebody out there didn’t want me helping Dino, and they had sent two gorillas to make their point. It seemed logical to me-not being a detective, and all-that whoever sent them was behind the threats. And I had two names, whichDanny Bardini and Mike Borraco also had. I decided to let those two keep their ears to the ground and wait for them to get back to me. Going out on my own to find some other contacts had not turned out so well today.

But there was nothing I could do about my curiosity. Why had Carla DeLucca run away when she heard I wanted to talk to her? What I had to find out from Verna was what she’d said to Carla. Had she told her, “There’s a man outside to see you,” or had she said my name? If she’d told Carla my name, then the woman had run from me and that was something I didn’t understand.

Women didn’t always swoon over me, but they didn’t usually run from me, either.

I finished what was in my plate, left the rest in the boxes and put those in the refrigerator. I pulled out one more beer and took it into the living room with me to catch the news.

They covered the discovery of Misty Rose’s body, but kept my name out of it. I learned that Misty not only danced at the Riv, she stripped at one of the local clubs, as well. Police suspected that some amorous Romeo had followed her home from work, pushed his way into her apartment, and ended up killing her. They didn’t say whether or not she’d been dead when she went into the water.

More curiosity on my part, or maybe just an inability to believe in coincidence. Did Misty’s murder have nothing to do with Carla running from me? Was Misty dead when Carla heard I wanted to talk to her? Did Carla think I was a cop or, worse yet, the killer? And where was Unlucky Lou Terazzo? What was his part in all this? Could he have been the amorous Romeo?

By the time I refocused on the TV a movie had started. I was about to turn it off when I realized it was an old John Wayne western. I decided to go ahead and watch it, but I hadn’t gotten a half hour into it when my eyes began to droop, and then I dropped off to sleep. I didn’t know I was asleep, though, until someone pounding on my door woke me up.

I leaped to my feet, eyes wide, in a cold sweat, and stood there wondering what was going on. The move did nothing for the pain inmy side which, amazingly, had left me alone for most of the day. Now it was back, though, and so was the headache.

When I realized someone was knocking I looked around for a weapon. I had to choose between the beer bottle and a lamp. I decided on the bottle, reversed it so I could hold it by its long neck and went to the door.

When I peered out the small eye level window in my door I saw Detective Hargrove standing on my doorstep with his partner.

I opened the door and looked at them through the screen door.

“Detective Hargrove,” I said. “What brings you here at-”

“Midnight,” he said, cutting off my question. “Don’t tell me a casino bigwig like you hits the sack at midnight, Mr. Gianelli.

“Fell asleep in front of the TV.”

“Did ya watch the news to see if they’d mention your name?” the other detective asked. I’d forgotten his name. “Guess you were disappointed, huh?”

“No,” I said, “as a matter of fact, I wasn’t. I was glad not to hear my name. You guys want to tell me why you’re here?”

“We’d love to,” Hargrove said. Apparently, he thought that was an invitation to enter. He opened the screen door and stepped through. I had no choice but to back off or let him walk into me. His partner followed and closed the door behind them.

“Where’d you go today, Gianelli?” Hargrove asked.

I noticed he wasn’t calling me “Mister” anymore. I’d seen enough old movies to know that wasn’t a good sign,

“When?”

“After you left us this afternoon,” Hargrove said. “Account for your movements.”

“Why?”

“Humor us,” his partner said. I suddenly remembered his name was Smith, and then felt stupid for forgetting it.

I thought about resisting, then figured, what the hell? I wasn’t guilty of anything.

I told them I went back to the casino to check in with my boss and get my work done.

“And you were there the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“Can anybody vouch for that?”

“My boss.”

“Jack Entratter?” Hargrove asked.

“That’s right.”

“Yeah, he’s a reliable witness.”

“Some of the other employees saw me.”

“Don’t lie to us, Gianelli,” Smith said. “If we go down there and ask around and find out you lied-”

“I’m not lying.” Actually, I wasn’t, but I wasn’t telling the whole truth, either. I was still leaving the Rat Pack out of all my explanations. But I had gone back to the Sands, and I had gone home from there. “Go ahead and ask them.”

“Oh, we will,” Smith said. He turned and headed for the door.

I looked at Hargrove. “Can you tell me what this is about?”

He considered it for a moment, almost followed his partner, then turned back with a kind of “what-the-hell” shrug.

“The other girl,” Hardgrove said, “the one you were lookin’ for?”

“Carla DeLucca?”

“We found her in a Dumpster out behind the Riviera.”

“Dead?”

“Mr. Gianelli,” he said, “we don’t often find live girls in Dumpsters.”

It was the end of a long day that had resulted in the death of two women I didn’t know. Still, I was obviously a suspect in their deaths, otherwise I would not have received that late-evening visit at my home from Detectives Hargrove and Smith.

Since agreeing to try to help Dean Martin I had been beaten up in my home, found a dead woman, and become a suspect in two murders. I had every reason to pull out and tell both Dean and Frank thanks but no thanks, I didn’t think I could help them. But there was still my curiosity to be appeased, and the only way to do that was to find Unlucky Lou.

I was trying to decide between another beer and bed when the phone rang. I checked the clock. Two A.M.

“Mr. G, that you?” I recognized the voice right away. Mike Borraco. I had given him my home number as well as my number at the Sands.

“Mike?”

“Hey, it is you,” Mike said. “I hope I ain’t callin’ too late.”

“This is Vegas, Mike,” I said. “It’s never too late.” I didn’t want him to know I was on the verge of turning in for the night. “What can I do for you?”

“I think I might have a location on Unlucky Lou,” Mike said,“but I won’t know for sure until tomorrow. Will I be able to reach you?”

“You can call me at the Sands and leave a message,” I said. “I’ll probably be out and about.”

“Okay,” Mike said. “Hey, I heard about Carla and her roommate. Tough break. You think Lou had anything to do with that?”

“I don’t know, Mike.”

“Whatever you was lookin’ for him about musta been important, huh? Somebody’s out there killin’ people over it. I was thinkin’ ….”

“Thinking what, Mike?”

“Well … I was thinkin’ the info about Lou might be worth a little more money than what we discussed.”

“Mike,” I said, “I have no idea why those two women were killed. It’s got nothing to do with why I was lookin’ for Lou, believe me.”

“Just a coincidence, huh?”

“Exactly,” I said. “Just a coincidence.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I’ll call ya tomorrow, Mr. G.”

I didn’t know where the “Mr. G” stuff came from, but I said sure and hung up. I had the feeling Mike didn’t know anything yet, and was just trying to jack up the price.

I hung up and decided to go to bed. I was tired, and sore, but that wasn’t the reason. I just wanted the day to end. Maybe after a good night’s sleep I’d decide to hell with the whole thing and go back to my pit.

I didn’t mean to wait for Frank Sinatra’s gift to arrive, but as it turned out it took me that long to get myself around. When the knock came at the door I decided that entirely too many people knew where I lived.

When I opened the door a big guy was standing there blocking out the sun. He was even bigger than Mack Gray.

“Oh, no, not again.” I figured I was in for another beating.

“Huh?” he said.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“You Gianelli?”

“That’s right.”

“Eddie Gianelli, right? Eddie G?”

“That’s me.”

“Then I got the right place.”

“The right place for what?”

“Frank sent me.”

“Frank … Sinatra?”

“That’s right,” the man said. “He told me to tell you I was your gift? You know what that means?”

“Yeah,” I said, “yeah, I’m afraid I do.”

I called Danny Bardini and he agreed to meet me for breakfast at the Horseshoe, Benny Binion’s place on Fremont Street. Benny had arrived in Vegas the same month Bugsy Seigel opened the Flamingo. He’d left a violent past behind in Texas, where he had a reputation as a gambling king and a killer. They say he arrived with two million dollars in a suitcase. Four months later he bought the old Eldorado Club, changed the name to the Horseshoe Club and turned it into one of the most popular casinos in Las Vegas.

Danny was waiting at a booth in the back of the Horseshoe’s coffee shop.

“Who’s he?” Jerry asked, as we entered.

“A friend of mine.”

“A cop?”

“No,” I said, “he’s not a cop. He’s a P.I.”

Jerry made a face.

“Same difference.”

“Jerry, why don’t you sit at the counter and have what you want.”

“You buyin’?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m buyin’.”

He looked over at the counter, and then at the booth Danny was sitting in.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You can see me from there.”

“Okay.”

As he settled onto a stool-almost two stools-I walked over to where Danny was waiting.

“Who’s the giant?”

“That’s Jerry,” I said, sliding in across from him. “He’s a gift from Frank Sinatra.”

“Frank never heard of jewelry?” Danny asked. “Or cars? You know, I heard that Elvis Presley gives everybody cars, even people he doesn’t know. Why don’t you work for Elvis Presley?”

“Give Elvis my number,” I said. “If he calls I’ll work for him. Meantime, what did you find out?’

“Can we order, first?”

“Sure.”

As I looked at the menu a waitress came over.

“You Eddie G?” she asked.

I looked up at her. A waitress in the Horseshoe’s coffee shop and she looked like she should be a showgirl-but considering how many showgirls had shown up dead lately, maybe she was better off where she was.

“That’s right.”

“Um, the big man at the counter? He says you’re payin’ for his breakfast?”

“He’s right.”

“Mister,” she said, “he ordered two dozen pancakes.”

I turned and looked at Jerry, who was staring into a mug of coffee. As if he felt my eyes on him he turned his head and looked over, his face expressionless.

“So give him his pancakes,” I said.

She shrugged and said, “Okay.” She turned and nodded to the man behind the counter, then looked at us. “You boys ready to order?”

“Yeah,” Danny said. “Pancakes sound good but I’ll just have a stack.”

I ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, home fries, toast, juice and coffee.

“Two dozen pancakes,” Danny said as she walked away. “This I gotta see.”

“Danny,” I said, “tell me you found somethin’ for me, because I’d hate to have to rely on Mike Borraco.”

“That weasel?” he asked. “He’s scammin’ you, Eddie, if he says he can get you somethin’.”

“Probably,” I said. “I just have him looking for Unlucky Lou Terazzo.”

“You and the cops,” Danny said. “What did you get yourself into, pal?”

“The cops talked to you?”

Danny nodded.

“A dick named Sam Hargrove. I know him, and he knows we’re friends.”

“What’d he ask you?”

“Wanted to know if you were violent,” Danny said. “Have you ever beat up any women? Did you have somethin’ against showgirls.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“‘No, no and no,’”he quoted. “Those words, exactly. So what’d you walk into, bub?”

“Danny, I don’t know. I went lookin’ for Lou Terazzo just to see if he might know somethin’ about the two goons who worked me over.”

“Why Lou?”

I shrugged. “I just figured they were members of the same fraternity, you know?”

“And?”

“And I never found him. Instead, I get put onto a showgirl named Carla and while I’m lookin’ for her I find her dead roommate.”

“And now she’s dead, too.”

“That’s what Hargrove and his partner told me last night.”

“What does this have to do with Dean Martin?”

“Fuck if I know,” I said. “Nothin’, probably.”

“You mean this is all a coincidence?”

“It’s got to be.”

He sat back in his chair and stared at me.

“What?”

“I hate coincidences, Eddie. You know how I hate coincidences.”

“What else could it be?” I asked. “I just happen to go looking for Lou Terazzo, and he’s involved with the threats on Dean Martin? Isn’t that a coincidence, too?”

“Those two girls got killed for some reason.”

“That’s got nothin’ to do with me or the Rat Pack,” I insisted.

“So you’re still lookin’ into this for Sinatra and Dino?”

“I gave my word.”

I’d given a lot of thought to quittin’, but the truth was I didn’t want either Sinatra or Dino to think badly of me, or even Entratter. It might have been an ego thing, but there it was. I couldn’t quit.

The waitress came with our breakfast and set it all down. Danny was lookin’ past me, so I turned and saw that Jerry had started in on his two dozen pancakes.

“Maybe he needs a shovel,” Danny said to the waitress.

She laughed and walked away.

“Danny …”

He dumped some butter and syrup on his cakes and said, “I’ve got nothin’ on Ravisi or Davis, Eddie. They’ve disappeared.”

“What about who they were workin’ for?”

“They’ll work for anybody who can run two dollars together.”

“What about big boys like Costello or Giancana?”

“Why would they give work to bums like that,” Danny said, “when they’ve got Man Mountain Jerry, over there? By the way, what’s his last name?”

“Epstein.”

“A Jew? Maybe he works for Lansky?”

“He says he’s from New York, where he works for Giancana. Now he works for Frank.”

“Mo Mo sent Frank one of his boys? Guess they’re as close as everybody says, huh?”

“I don’t care,” I said. “Frank can be friends with anybody he wants.”

“They say the mob got him From Here to Eternity.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked. “He made the most of it, didn’t he? Got his career back on track?”

Danny shrugged around a mouthful of pancakes. He had asmudge of syrup on one corner of his mouth. I piled some eggs and bacon onto a piece of toast and shoved it into my mouth.

“If they bought him the movie, they coulda bought him the Oscar, too.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but they can’t sing for him. He does that on his own.”

“I hear he’s pushin’ for Kennedy,” Danny said. “That’s some triangle, huh? Frank, Mo Mo and JFK?”

“We’re gettin’ off the subject, Danny.”

“Okay, okay,” Danny said. “I’ll keep lookin’ for these guys. I don’t think we’re gonna find out who they’re workin’ for until we actually meet them face to face.”

“What if they’re in a hole in the desert somewhere?” I asked.

“You better hope they ain’t,” he said, licking the syrup off his lip. “They sound like your only lead.”

After breakfast I found out that Jerry had washed down his pancakes with two pots of coffee and a quart of orange juice. He’d also had a half a dozen pieces of toast.

“I’ve never seen a breakfast check come to that much,” Danny said, when the waitress brought the check over. “That looks more like dinner at the Ambassador Room.”

“Luckily, I’ve got a tab here,” I said, signing my name on the check.

“Entratter got you a tab here?”

“And other places,” I said. “I can pretty much eat at most of the places in town.”

“And you eat in coffee shops?”

“Most of the time.”

“Damn,” Danny said, “I’ve got to get you to take me someplace more expensive.”

“You find those two guys for me and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“You’re on.”

Back then the sports books handled horse racing exclusively, no other sport. They were also off property. I’d often thought the sports books should be brought inside the casinos, where they could be better regulated, and could handle all sports, but that wasn’t to happen until about 1968, when Frank “Lefty” Rosenthal came to town with his big ideas. Actually, it would be the idea of a man named Phil Hannifin, who was a commissioner for the state control board, but it would be Rosenthal’s testimony before the Gaming Commission that would seal the deal.

So the sports book I took Jerry to was still pretty old-time, with sawdust on the floor and the odds and results posted on black chalkboards. I fixed it so Jerry could play any track he wanted, but he chose to play only the East Coast ones. Belmont, Monmouth, Keystone, they were all running. And I had to admit he did pretty well, and he did it from memory, without doing any handicapping whatsoever.

“I got a good head for horses and jockeys,” he told me. “If I was playin’ a track I didn’t know, like Santa Anita, then I’d need to see the past performances.”

Jerry was very animated when he was betting. It wasn’t that he shouted to root his horses home, but there was more expression on his face than I had seen at any time during the day.

We killed a good portion of the afternoon playing horses, getting something to eat, and then going back to the horses again so he could try his hand at a few strange tracks. By the time we were done he had made a cool eight grand profit, and was very proud of himself.

“Ya shoulda bet with me, Eddie,” he said. “I tol’ ya I was good.”

“My game is cards, Jerry,” I said. “But I’m real happy you did well.”

Jerry looked at his watch.

“What time’s your meet?”

“Ten P.M.”

“Don’t it get dark before then?”

“It should be good and dark, Jerry.”

We went to the coffee shop for some pie. Beverly still wasn’t working. I hadn’t seen her all day, so I figured she must have had the day off.

“So, who’s this guy yer meetin’?”

“His name’s Mike Borraco. You know him?”

“Never heard of him.”

“He’s local,” I said. “Works over at the Riviera.”

“Is he a made guy, or what?”

“Mike? No, I think he’s just a gopher, but I figured he might have his ear to the ground and be able to pick somethin’ up for me.”

“You got a lot of made guys in this town?”

When Jerry said “made guy” he got this look in his eye. When a mob guy made his bones by making a hit they said he was “made.” I knew Jerry couldn’t be made though, because that honor was only bestowed on Italians.

“I suppose so,” I answered. “I don’t hang out with that crowd, though.”

“You work for Mr. Entratter, don’t ya?”

“Yeah, I do, but in the casino, Jerry. I don’t … freelance.”

“Well,” he said, with a shrug, “that’s yer own business, I guess. Just seems to me a smart guy like you could do all right with a little freelancing, ya know? Plus yer Italian.”

“All Italians aren’t connected, Jerry.”

“Guess yer right,” Jerry said. “Sure wish I was, though.”

“Connected?”

“Italian.”

“What’s wrong with bein’ Jewish?” I asked.

“Nothin’,” he said, then added, “if I was workin’ in the diamond district, or somethin’.”

“What about Meyer Lansky? Seems to me he’s doin’ okay for himself.”

“Mr. Lansky, he’s a special case.”

I wanted to take the conversation in another direction, and we weren’t really getting anything accomplished sitting there.

“We still got a couple of hours to kill before we meet with Borraco,” I said. “I think I know how to spend it.”

“This guy’s as good as dead.”

We’d pulled up in front of a warehouse on Industrial Road when Jerry made his comment. In the dark the building looked like a huge black box-no windows and no lights.

“What are you talking about?”

“I seen enough movies to know what’s gonna happen,” Jerry said. “He’s dead.”

“This is real life, Jerry,” I said, “not a movie.”

“Hey,” the big man said, “you got two dead girls already, right? And you got beat up and threatened? Sounds pretty close to me.”

“Let’s go and find him.”

I started to open my door but Jerry put a big paw out to stop me.

“You heeled?”

“No, I’m not heeled,” I said, annoyed. “I don’t carry a gun. I’m not a cop, a P.I. or a hood.”

“Well, I am a hood,” he said, “and I’m carryin’, so let me go first.”

“Look, Jerry,” I said over the top of the car, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Shhh,” he said, waving a huge hand at me. In the other hand hecarried his.45; the big gun was still dwarfed by the size of his mitt. “Don’t say no more. Let’s find this guy.”

We approached the warehouse, with me close behind Jerry this time, instead of the other way around.

“Did this guy say where he was gonna be?”

“No,” I said, “he just gave me the address.”

“Let’s jus’ find an open door, then.”

I followed him around the building. We tried a couple of doors, found them locked and I started to get a bad feeling, like maybe he was right.

The building itself was unmarked. There was no way for us to tell what kind of business was using it, unless there was a sign we couldn’t see in the dark.

“I’m getting’ a bad feelin’,” Jerry said.

“I thought you had a bad feeling already?”

“It’s getting’ worse.” He turned to face me. “Look, Mr. Sinatra said I was to keep you safe. I think we better get outta here.”

“I think you’re right.”

We both saw it at the same time. A large trash bin out beside a loading dock. There was just enough moonlight for us to see a flash of red hanging over the edge.

“Your man wear red?” he asked.

“Not the last time I saw him.”

I didn’t know enough about Mike Borraco to know if red was a favorite color.

“Well, we’re here,” I said. “We might as well have a look.”

As we approached the trash bin I wished I had thought to bring a flashlight. At that moment Jerry reached his empty hand into his pocket and came out with a small pen light. He aimed it at the bin as we got closer. Sure enough, there was a tail end of a red shirt hanging out over the edge.

“You seen a dead body before?” he asked.

“Lots.”

He looked at me.”

“In the war.”

“Korea?”

I nodded.

“I couldn’t go,” he said. “Flat feet.”

“You didn’t miss much.”

“Want me to take a look, here?”

“No,” I said, “we’ll stay together.”

We walked to the bin and peered over the top. Jerry aimed his pen light inside. Sure enough, Mike Borraco was there, staring back up at us through sightless eyes. His red shirt was torn, the tail end of it having gotten caught on a sharp edge of the metal bin.

“That him?” he asked.

“That’s Mike.”

Jerry moved the light around. Parts of Mike were buried beneath the garbage.

“I don’t see no wound,” he said. “I can’t tell how he got killed.”

“This is crazy,” I said. “First the two girls, and now Mike.”

“What’s this got to do with Mr. Martin?” Jerry asked.

“Nothin’!” I replied. “That’s what I’m sayin’. This is all just a crazy coincidence.”

“The cops ain’t gonna think so, you finding another body. They don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Not call them?”

“I tol’ ya,” Jerry said. “Callin’ the cops ain’t never my first choice.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I suggest we get the hell outta here. There’s a chance whoever killed this guy called the cops themselves, hopin’ to frame you.”

We started for the car and then Jerry stopped and said, “Wait a minute. How did this guy know your phone number?”

“I wrote it down for him. Why?”

He turned and ran back. I saw him reach in and it looked to me like he was rifling the corpse’s pockets.

“What are you doing?”

He withdrew his hands and came trotting back to me. He was remarkably light on his feet for such a big man. He handed me a slip of paper I recognized.

“It was in his shirt pocket. Now let’s go. We don’t want to get caught in the act.”

“In the act of what?”

Suddenly, we heard a siren in the distance. Jerry grabbed my shoulder and started pulling me along towards the car.

“In the act of gettin’ outta here!”

We managed to get off of Industrial Road without running into the cops, but I was still uncomfortable about it.

“They’re gonna think I’m involved when they find out I was there.”

“They’re not gonna find out,” Jerry said. “That’s why I went back for that piece of paper with your number on it.”

At the moment that slip of paper was crumpled in one of my pockets where it would do a lot less damage.

“I appreciate what you did, Jerry,” I said. “Don’t think I don’t, but-”

“I was just doin’ my job.”

He was behind the wheel because I was a little too shaky to drive.

“Where we headed now?”

I checked my watch. It was early enough for us to catch Ravisi and Davis at the strip club, since a dead Mike Borraco had not taken up much of our time.

“I guess we better head back to the club,” I said. “At least we can catch up to the two goons who worked me over.”

“And then do what?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“When you find them, what’re you gonna do?”

“Well, I’m gonna …” I realized I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know.”

“Find out who they were workin’ for when they kicked the crap outta you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And then what?”

“Jerry,” I said, “I haven’t-”

“I hope you’re not thinkin’ about turnin’ them over to the cops.”

“Well … yeah, the thought had crossed my mind.”

“But not before you find out who they was workin’ for, right?”

“Uh …”

“And how was you gonna do that, Mr. G? Work’em over yerself?”

“I gotta admit, Jerry,” I said, “I haven’t exactly thought this through.”

“You don’t gotta,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Later, Jerry told me what happened when he went inside ….

“Maybe we should call the cops.”

We were sitting in the car in front of a fleabag residential hotel in a rundown section of downtown. Ravisi and Davis had just gone inside with the girl.

Jerry sat as still as a statue at the steering wheel, no expression on his face.

“It’s your call,” he said, “but you’ll have to explain why you didn’t call when you first found the body.”

“No,” I said, “I meant call about these guys, not the body.”

“You’re convinced they’re not connected?”

“I’m positive,” I said. “This stuff with the dead bodies, I just walked into that by accident. These guys are involved with whoever is threatening Dino. This is the job I’m supposed to be working on.”

“Then you’d have to explain to the cops why you didn’t report when they broke into your house and worked you over.”

“Shit!” I said. “And I did that to keep both Frank and Dean’s name out of the papers.”

“Frank don’t mind that so much,” Jerry said, “but Mr. Martin, that’s different.”

“Okay, then,” I said, “I guess we better go in and get it over with.”

Jerry took his.45 out, inspected it, and slid the clip out and in. He worked the slide and looked at me.

“No gun for me.”

He raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and slid the.45 into his shoulder holster.

“Let’s go,” he said.

The situation was strange, to say the least. Four men in the room, two naked on the bed and one holding a gun. The fourth one-me-wasn’t sure what was going to happen next.

“This ain’t right,” Davis said.

“Shut up!” That came from both Ravisi and Jerry.

“You guys can walk away from this real easy,” Jerry told them. “Just tell my friend who hired you to work him over and warn him off.

“Warn him off of what?” Ravisi asked. “We don’t even know what we was warning him off of.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Look,” Ravisi said, “we got hired over the phone, and we picked up our pay at a drop. That’s it.”

“And what were you told to do?” Jerry asked.

“Work this guy over,” Ravisi said, indicating me with an impatient wave.

Jerry looked at me, the first time he took his eyes off the two men. Ravisi took the opportunity to move. He lunged for the top of the bed, sliding his hand beneath one of the pillows. I could only think that he was going for a hidden gun.

“Jerry!”

The big man’s head snapped back around as Ravisi’s hand was coming out from under the pillow. Jerry squeezed the trigger of the big.45. The bullet struck Ravisi in the chest and splattered the wall behind him with blood and guts. The gun in the hood’s right hand went off and a.38 slug hit Davis in the left temple and splashed his brains all over the sheets.

“Jesus!” I shouted. “Christ!”

“Take it easy,” Jerry said.

He stepped to the bed and swept the snub-nosed.38 to the floor, then checked both men before holstering his own gun.

“Are they dead?” I asked.

“Can’t get any deader.”

“Christ,” I said, again. My chest felt tight, like I was having a heart attack, and I’d broken out in a sweat. Jerry looked over at me, then got right in my face and slapped me-not hard, but hard enough.

“Breathe,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Come on,” he said, “Deep breaths.”

I took a deep breath and let it out.

“Another one.”

I did it again, and again. Suddenly, the steel band around my chest was gone. I still felt hot, but at least I could breathe.

“Okay?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, “yeah. I think so.”

“We have to look around,” he said, “but don’t leave your fingerprints anywhere.”

“What?”

“We have to search the place and then get outta here before the cops come.”

“W-what are we lookin’ for?”

“Anythin’ that will tell us who these two were workin’ for. Come on, Mr. G. The place ain’t that big.”

We went through the place as thoroughly as we could and as fast as we could. The clerk might have called the cops, or maybe the girl had, before the shooting. Certainly someone must have called themafter the shots, but I still didn’t hear any sirens. I was careful to keep my eyes averted from the bed, which was soaking through with the blood of both men. I’d had enough of dead bodies in the past couple of days to last me a lifetime. Watching the lead rip through these two right in front of me was more than enough.

“Find anything?” Jerry asked.

“No.” I’d picked up a pen from somewhere and was using it to open drawers and go through things, even underwear. “You?”

“I got a phone book and calendar,” he said.

“Anythin’ on it?”

“I don’t know.” He shoved it into his pocket. “Let’s get out of here.

I started to put down the pen I was using, then thought better of it and shoved it in my pocket.

“You touch anything?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Ya gotta be sure,” Jerry said. “From the minute we came in, did you touch anything?”

“No,” I said, “no. You kicked open the door, so … no.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

As we went through the lobby I noticed that the clerk still had his head down on the desk. He’d either stayed that way the whole time, or had assumed the position when he heard us coming down the stairs.

In the car Jerry got behind the wheel again.

“What about the clerk?” I asked. “Or the girl?”

“What about them?”

“Either one can identify us.”

“They won’t say a word.”

“Why not?”

“Fear,” he answered. “In my business, it’s my best friend. Come on, gimme some directions.”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “We might as well go back to your place. I think we’re done for the night, don’t you?”

“More than done,” I agreed.

Jerry decided to stay the night on the couch instead of going back to the Sands, where he had a suite. Briefly, I had considered both of us going back to the Sands, but he said he thought I’d have a few days grace until whoever hired Ravisi and Davis found out about their deaths and then replaced them.

When I got up the next morning I could smell coffee. Jerry already had the percolator going, and something in the toaster as I entered the kitchen.

“All you had was bread,” he said, “so I’m makin’ some toast.”

“We could’ve gone out for breakfast,” I said.

“We still can,” he said. “I just have to have somethin’ in the mornin’ before I get started.”

“Did you sleep okay?” I asked.

“You mean because I killed somebody last night?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “because you slept on the couch, which is too small for you.”

“I managed,” he said.

We sat at the table together, buttered our toast and ate, washing it down with sips of good, strong black coffee. It struck me that this was the second time in as many days that a man had come to my house and made me coffee.

We exchanged some inane conversation for a few minutes, getting to know each other a little better. I found out that he liked watching westerns on TV-Bonanza, Gunsmoke, Maverick-but that his favorite TV show was The Untouchables. I told him I preferred the Warner Bros. private-eye shows like 77 Sunset Strip, Hawaiian Eye, The Untouchables and Bourbon Street Beat.

“Them shows are too phony for me,” he said. “I mean, westerns is history, and so is The Untouchables. Those other shows poke fun at mugs like me. That Kookie, fer instance? I woulda made him eat that comb of his a long time ago. I prefer more realistic characters.”

I stared at him for a moment, surprised.

“I ain’t as dumb as I sound, Mr. G,” he said. “That’s just what a heavy Brooklyn accent does ta ya. You managed to get rid of yours. I get the feeli’ you wasn’t on the streets as long as I was.”

That was true enough. I’d gone to college, gotten my degree and became a CPA.

“So whatta you wanna do today?” he asked.

“To tell you the truth I’d like to just go back to work and forget everything else.”

“You could do that?” her asked. “Tell Frank and Mr. Martin that?”

“No,” I said. “I told them I’d help. I can’t go back on my word.”

“So you really think this other stuff is separate?” he asked.

“It’s got to be,” I said.

“How’d you get involved in it?”

I’d been intending to think it over that morning, so maybe talking it out with Jerry would be even better.

“Look,” I said, “let’s finish up here and then I’ll take you somewhere for breakfast and we can talk it out.”

“I ain’t much for talkin’,” he said, “but I’m a good listener.”

“Great. That’s what I need right now.”

A harness bull walked me through the building until we reached a squad room. Detective Hargrove looked up from his desk as we approached and showed no surprise at seeing me there. He said something to his partner, Smith, who was sitting across from him. When the Negro turned and looked at me he did look surprised.

“Mr. Gianelli,” Hargrove said. “To what do we owe this pleasure? Thank you, Officer.”

The cop nodded and left. Neither Hargrove or his partner offered me a chair.

“I was just wondering if you’ve found out anything about the two dead girls.”

“Why are you concerned?” Hargrove asked. “You said you didn’t know either of them.”

“Well, I did find the first one, though,” I pointed out. “I kind of feel …”

“Responsible?” Smith asked.

“No,” I said, “not at all.”

“Just curious, then,” Hargrove said.

“Well, it’s a little more than that.”

“Unfortunately,” Hargrove said, “we don’t have much to tell you.We still haven’t located the second girl’s boyfriend, Lou Terazzo. You haven’t seen him, have you, Mr. Gianelli?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I guess you’re still pretty upset about him owing your casino money.”

“The Sands is very concerned.”

“Can that kind of thing cost you your job?’ Smith asked.

“It might.”

“Too bad.”

“We have found something, though,” Hargrove said. “Maybe you can help us with this.”

“What is it?”

“Do you know a man named Mike Borraco?”

I frowned, like I was trying to place the name.

“Doesn’t he work at the Riviera?”

“That’s right, he does,” Hargrove said. “I figured since you both work for casinos you might know him.”

“Not well,” I said. “What’s he done?”

“Got himself killed.”

I tried to look surprised, but I felt silly doing it and wondered if they could tell.

“How?”

“Somebody slipped a knife into his back,” Smith said. “Nice and neat, dumped his body in the garbage. Sheriff’s deputies found him early this morning.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Hargrove said, “third employee of the Riviera to be killed in a couple of days. Looks like somebody might have it in for the Riv.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Hope your buddy Terazzo doesn’t show up dead,” Hargrove said. “That’d be really bad for your casino.”

“We’d have to write the debt off.”

“Say, I just realized something,” Hargrove said.

I didn’t know if he was talking to me or his partner, so I just kept my mouth shut.

“What’s that?” his partner asked.

“Didn’t Mr. Gianelli here tell us when we first interviewed him that he worked for the Flamingo, Jake?” Hargrove looked very puzzled.

“I think he did, Mike. Why?”

“Well … just a minute ago he said he worked for the Sands.”

Hargrove and his partner both looked at me. I did some fast thinking? Had I lied about where I worked when I spoke to them the first time? I didn’t think so. Was he trying to rattle me?

“No,” I said, “I think when you first interviewed me I said the Sands.”

“Really?” Hargrove asked, frowning. “I don’t usually make mistakes like that, do I, Jake?”

“No, Mike, you sure don’t.”

“I could check my notes,” he said. “See what I wrote down that first time.” He looked at me. “Should I check my notes, Mr. Gianelli?”

“I suppose so, Detective,” I said. “I guess one of us mighta made a mistake.”

“Oh, you mean you might have said the Flamingo when you meant the Sands?”

Right at that moment I remembered that I had lied about where I worked, but not to the cops. I’d told the bartender in the strip club that I worked at the Flamingo, not wanting him to know where I really worked.

“No,” I said, “now that I think about it, I said the Sands. I wouldn’t have had any reason to say something else.”

“That’s what I was thinkin’,” he said. “Why would you lie about where you worked?”

“I wouldn’t,” I said. “That would be too easy for you to check.”

“He’s got you there, Mike,” Smith said.

“Yeah, he does,” Hargrove said. “Why would he lie, indeed?”

I had the feeling they were toying with me, but I stuck to my guns.

“Anyway,” Hargrove said, “do you know of any reason this Lou Terazzo would kill all these people, Mr. Gianelli?”

“Lou? You think he killed them?”

“Well, he’s missing,” Hargrove said. “Until he shows up dead,too, he makes a pretty good suspect. Maybe Borraco was making time with Terazzo’s girl?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know any of ’em well enough to say, Detective, but you gotta wonder about a girl who would cheat on Lou with a man like Mike.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Hargrove said. “Borraco was a little weasel.”

“I don’t think I can be very much help.”

“I guess not,” Hargrove said, “but there was no harm in asking. I mean, you came down here to try and help, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, “I did. I mean, I was curious, like you said, but I could help-”

“We’ll let you know, Mr. Gianelli,” Smith said. “If we need your help, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Hargrove said, “thanks for comin’ down.”

“Sure,” I said, “sure.”

“We’ll keep you informed,” he went on, “I mean, seein’ as how you found the first girl and all. Just as a courtesy.”

“I appreciate it.”

Smith turned his chair so he was no longer facing me. I looked at Hargrove, but he’d found something on his desk to occupy him, so I turned and left.

We stayed off the strip and away from Fremont Street, went to a local bar we both knew we’d be left alone at. It was early, so the place wasn’t very full.

“I went to the Sands lookin’ for you,” he said, when we both had a beer in front of us. “Some big goon named Jerry gave me the third degree until I told him who I was and showed him my ID.”

I’d mentioned Danny to Jerry, figuring they were going to meet, eventually.

“Yeah, he was a gift from Frank, to watch my back.”

“I could watch your back.”

“I didn’t want to tell Frank no.”

“How’s the guy workin’ out?”

I told him about everything I’d gone through in just one day with Jerry.

“I guess he’s workin’ out, then,” Danny said, “just remember, he ain’t really workin’ for you.”

“I know.”

“He told me you went to the cops,” Danny said. “What’d you tell them?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I just wanted them to know I was around.Seems that because Lou Terazzo is missin’, he’s the number one suspect.”

“What do you think is goin’ on?”

“I don’t know, Danny,” I said. “I still don’t think all the killings have anything to do with the threats against Dean Martin, but I guess I could be wrong.”

“Sounds to me like you just walked into the middle of somethin’.”

“So how do I get out of it?”

“Damned if I know. I was lookin’ for you all day yesterday to tell you I thought I’d located Buzz Ravisi. Guess you didn’t need me for that.”

“I appreciate the work, anyway,” I said. I told him how Jerry and I had come to follow Ravisi and Davis home with the girl, Iris.

“As long as the girl and the clerk stay quiet you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“As long as they’re afraid of Jerry ….” I started, then stopped. I shook my head as the scene from last night replayed itself in my head.

“I saw men get shot in the war, Danny, but never anything that close up, you know?”

“I know,” Danny said. “I’ve seen it. Lead is unforgiving when it meets flesh and bone.”

“I didn’t pull the trigger,” I went on, “but it’s my fault those two are dead. If I hadn’t been lookin’ for them-”

“Hey,” Danny said, “they deserved it.” He looked around, made sure no one was sitting within earshot of our spot at the bar. “Believe me, those two have done worse than kick your ass.”

I held up two fingers to the bartender and he brought over two more drafts.

“Look,” Danny said, “my advice is to just forget about Lou Terazzo and those killings and concentrate on your main objective-finding out who’s threatening Dean Martin.”

“You’re right.”

He downed half his second beer and then set the bottle on the bar with a bang.

“That’s it for me. As it is I’ll have to explain to Penny why I smell like beer so early in the day. Where are you headed?”

“Back to the Sands.”

“To hook up with Jerry?”

“To start from scratch,” I said. “You go ahead. I’m gonna finish my beer.”

He stood up and slapped my shoulder.

“Don’t worry about anything,” Danny said. “So far you’re not implicated in or suspected of anything.”

“It’s the ‘so far’ that worries me,” I said.

After he left I finished my beer, then kept the bartender from removing the remainder of his and drank that, too.

I watched as Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and Peter Lawford shot a scene around a pool table. Off to one side sat Henry Silva on a sofa with an actor named Richard Benedict. Joey Bishop, Richard Conte, Buddy Lester and Norman Fell sat at a table, supposedly playing gin. I looked around in vain but did not see Angie Dickinson anywhere. Akim Tamiroff was standing off to one side, watching, waiting for his cue to stalk around the room, mug and grunt. They were pretty much dressed alike, jackets and shirts with ties.

The room was set up as an expensive rumpus room in a Beverly Hills home. Sinatra was playing “Danny Ocean,” who had gathered all eleven of the men who were in his unit in World War II, the 82nd Airborne, to Las Vegas to knock off five casinos. That was the basic premise of the film Ocean’s 11.

At the moment the cameras were on Sinatra, Dino, Sammy Davis and Peter Lawford, who were having an inane conversation around the pool table about what they would each do with their take from the job. I noticed that all but Peter Lawford were holding a cigarette along with their pool cue.

Peter Lawford was talking about buying votes and making himself into a politician while the others made fun of him. Lawford was richboy “Jimmy Foster,” who was tired of asking his mother for money every time he needed it. Dino was Ocean’s closest friend, “Sam Harmon.” That part seemed true to life. All I heard them call Sammy in that scene was “Josh.”

Director Lewis Milestone called “Cut and print,” but he didn’t look happy. From what brief by play I had seen between him and Sinatra it was clear that Frank was calling the shots.

“Let’s set up for the next scene,” Milestone called out.

Frank walked over to Dean, said something and then the two crooners started over towards me. My heart thumped faster, and I started to sweat. I had nothing solid to report to them, and knew I was going to disappoint them. I was also upset that Sammy wasn’t coming with them. I wanted to meet him. I didn’t care to meet Lawford. He struck me as a hanger-on with not an ounce of the talent the other three had, but it was my understanding that he had brought the script to Sinatra. I also figured out, from the papers and scuttlebutt around the Sands, that he was Frank’s connection to John F. Kennedy and his whole family. Sinatra was a big Kennedy booster and was trying his best to help JFK get into the White House as the first Irish Catholic President of the United States.

But that was politics, and I hated politics.

“Eddie,” Sinatra said, as they reached me. He put a friendly hand on my shoulder.

“Hello, Eddie,” Dean Martin said, shaking my hand.

“Frank,” I said, “Dean.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was wondering why I had been brought there, to the Ocean’s 11 set?

“We only have a few minutes,” Frank said. “We have to shoot another scene around the pool table.”

“We heard you’ve had a rough couple of days,” Dean said.

“You heard?” I asked, before I realized they must have heard it from Jerry.

“What’s this other thing you’ve gotten involved in?’ Frank asked.”A couple of dead broads?“

“And a dead guy,” I said. “He worked at the Riviera … but I’m not involved.”

“You found one of the girls, didn’t you?” Frank asked.

“I did,” I said, “but I was lookin’ for a guy I know, who might have had some information about …” I lowered my voice and looked around. “ … you know, that thing we talked about.”

“So those broads are connected to our problem?” Frank asked. “Can we expect the police to visit us?”

“No,” I said. “I haven’t mentioned either of your names to the them.”

“Why not?” Dean asked. “Seems to me it might have made things easier for you.”

“That may be,” I said, “but I didn’t think you wanted me to, and I also don’t think the two things were related.”

“So you haven’t told the police anything about us?” Frank asked.

“No, Frank, I haven’t.”

Frank looked at Dean and said, “I told you he was a stand-up clyde.

“Did Jerry tell you, well, everything that happened?” I asked.

“Yeah, he did,” Frank said. “I guess you’re pretty happy with my gift, eh?”

“Well,” I said, “considering he probably saved my life, yeah.”

“Look, we have to shoot this scene,” Frank said. “Dean and I wanted you here so we could tell you we’ll understand if you want to pull out.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a pretty crazy time,” Dean said.

“I’ve had more excitement in the past two days than I’ve had in a lifetime.”

Frank looked amused.

“And that’s a good or a bad thing?”

“I’ll have to let you know, Frank,” I said. “Look, I appreciate the opportunity to pull out, but I think I’ll pass. I still want to help.”

“Keep Jerry with you, pally,” Dean said. “I don’t want anything to happen to you on my account.”

“Have you had anymore notes?” I asked him.

“No, nothing since we talked.”

“No calls?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t see any extra security around,” I said. There was a guard on the door when we arrived, but he had stepped aside and let us enter.

“We don’t want anybody askin’ questions about bodyguards,” Frank said. “We all made sure we were with Dean on the way here, and Nick and Henry and I will be takin’ him back to the Sands.”

“I’m not sure what-”

“There’s the director,” Frank said, cutting me off. “He’s already pissed off at me, so we better go and shoot this scene.”

Dean put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Take care.”

They turned and walked back to the pool table. I noticed that all the actors had stood and were approaching the table, including one guy I hadn’t noticed before, a blond man with large ears I later found out was named Clem Harvey.

I stayed and watched the scene, and at the end of it they all placed their hands in the center of the table, one on top of the other. When Sammy Davis placed his hand on the pile last Lewis Milestone once again yelled, “Cut and print!”

“We better go,” Jerry said, looming behind me and speaking in my ear.

I nodded and we headed for the door.

Jerry liked my Caddy so much that I’d let him drive again. He’d gotten directions to the shoot, so I didn’t pay attention while he drove. Now that we were outside I suddenly realized where we were.

“Oh,” I said, “this is bad.”

“What?” he asked. “What’s bad?”

“That’s Industrial Road,” I said, pointing.

“So?”

“Get in the car. You drive.”

We got in and he started the engine.

“Drive around the building.”

He did as I asked, circling the building until I said stop.

“Look familiar?” I asked.

“No.”

“Look around.”

He did, craning his neck. I watched the expression on his face, which was usually pretty blank. In the short time since we’d met we’d spent a lot of time together. I was able to tell when he realized something was wrong.

“I get it.”

“That trash bin over there,” I said. “That’s where we found Mike Boracco.”

We could still see the flash of red from the piece of Boracco’s shirt that had gotten torn off.

“Okay,” I said, “get us out of here.”

“Where to?”

“Binion’s,” I said. “Let’s go to Binion’s. They’ve got a killer coffee shop and I have to think.”

I gave him directions.

“Well,” Danny said, “as a pro I’d say you’ve got somebody inside the Sands workin’ on this.”

The waitress had cleared the table and we were all having coffee.

“I talked to the staff,” I said, “especially the people on the front desk.”

“Eddie,” Danny said, “somebody’s lying to you. Somebody saw somethin’ they’re not tellin’ you, or did somethin’ they’re not tellin’ you. What you have to do is find out who and what it is.”

“I can help with that,” Jerry said.

“How?” I asked.

“Just let me pound on some people until they talk.”

“I think I’ll save that as a last resort, Jerry,” I said.

“It usually works,” he grumbled.

“My guess would be it’s someone who was recently hired,” Danny went on. “Maybe because they knew that Frank and Dino and the others would be here. There have been no threats against the others? Sammy Davis? Joey Bishop? No Jew bashing? No bigots because Sammy’s a Negro?”

“Nothin’,” I said. “Just Dean.”

“If it was Peter Lawford it could even be political, since he’s part of the Kennedy clan.”

“Not a peep,” I said, “unless they’re not tellin’ me.”

We all sat there in silence for a few moments. The only sound was Jerry chewing the last of his pancakes, washing it down with the final swigs of coffee.

“Why would they not tell you?” Danny asked. “Why tell you about Dean Martin and not the others?”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Unless,” Jerry said, “the others have had threats and are clammin’ up about it.”

Danny and I looked at him.

“Why would they not say anythin’?”

Jerry shrugged.

“Maybe Sammy Davis is so used to threats he doesn’t mention them,” Danny offered.

“And maybe Lawford does think they’re political, and have nothin’ to do with Vegas,” I said.

“Have you met them yet?” Danny asked.

“No,” I said. “And I’ve been wanting to meet Sammy. I only know Joey, Frank and Dino, right now. I’ve been introduced to Richard Conte and Henry Silva-”

“Angie Dickinson?” Danny asked, hopefully.

“Not yet.”

“Well, Conte and Silva, they’re just actors, not really part of the Rat Pack.”

“Frank is the only one who was part of the original Rat Pack,” Jerry said.

“That’s right,” Danny said. “I read about that. It was Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall who started it. After Bogie died, Frank sort of took it over, changed some of the members-”

“He calls it the Summit,” Jerry said. Again, we looked at him. “The newspapers, they stuck them with the Rat Pack name. Frank even tried callin’ it the Clan.”

“That wouldn’t fly in the papers,” Danny said. “Not with Sammy as a member.”

I waved at the waitress and made a writing motion in the air, asking for the check.

“Seems like I suddenly have a lot to do,” I said.

“Do you know somebody in employment at the Sands?” Danny asked. “They could get you a list of recent employees.”

“And then I’ll have to interview all of them,” I said. I looked at Danny. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested-”

“I’ll interview Angie Dickinson,” he said. “Or even Shirley Maclaine. I hear she’s got a bit part.”

I stared at him.

“Look, I’ve done some work for you already on the house. Get me on the payroll and I’ll help out.”

“Well,” I said, “Frank did tell me to hire somebody if I thought I needed help.”

“There ya go,” Danny said.

Jerry stared at Danny, like how dare he ask for money to help Frank Sinatra.

“Hey,” Danny said, “I’m Italian, but I need to make a living. Capice?”

“I getcha,” Jerry said.

“I sure ain’t getting’ comped at the Sands,” Danny added.

Jerry raised a hand, as if to wave away any further justification from Danny.

“Okay,” I said, “you’re on the payroll.”

“Get me the names, addresses and phone numbers of any employee who were hired in … oh, say the last six months.”

“Okay.”

“You talk with the other Rat Packers-Lawford, Sammy, even Joey Bishop. See if any of them have received threats.”

“I better talk to Frank first.”

“Why?”

“I’ll have to see if he objects to me talkin’ to the others. It may be that only he and Dean know about Dean’s threats. If I spill the beans to the others what if they take a hike? Get scared off?”

“Well, Sammy Davis doesn’t strike me as the kind who scares,” Danny said, ‘but I don’t know about the others. Okay, do what you gotta do, talk with Frank, first. And while you’re at it, see if he’ll let you talk to all the guys in the movie. Somebody might know somethin’,and the only reason they’re not talkin’ is that nobody is askin’. It’s my experience that unasked questions don’t get answered.”

“Got it,” I said.

“You ain’t gonna write none of this down?” Jerry asked.

“I’ve got it all up here,” I said, tapping my temple.

“That’s okay,” the big man said. “I gotta write a lot of stuff down.”

I didn’t know if that was true, or if it was Jerry trying to act dumb, again.

“What’s good ol’ Jer gonna be doin’?” Danny asked.

“I’m gonna do my job,” Jerry said, before I could say anything. “I’m gonna keep yer friend, here, alive.”

“Suits me,” Danny said.

“Suits the hell out of me, too,” I said.

We parted company in front of the Horseshoe. Danny walked to his office while Jerry and I drove back to the Sands. This time I got behind the wheel of my own Caddy.

“That guy any good?” Jerry asked in the car.

“He’s very good at what he does,” I said.

Jerry nodded, but didn’t comment.

As I drove down the strip, Jerry craned his neck to look at all the marquees. Nat King Cole was in town, along with Alan King and Shecky Greene. Buddy Hackett and Patrice Munsel were at the Riv. Donald O’Connor was playing the Sahara.

The one he paid special attention to, though, was the big Sands marquee that said Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop.

“I don’t get it,” he said as I pulled the Caddy into the Sands lot.

“Get what?”

“The actor,” he said, “Lawford. What’s he doin’ up there with the rest of those guys?”

“He’s part of the group, isn’t he?”

“I guess,” Jerry said. “I don’t get it, though. He ain’t got no talent.”

“He’s an actor.”

“So what’s he doin’ on stage with those guys?” he asked again. “Ican even see Joey Bishop, he’s a comedian, he kibbitzes with them. What’s the actor do?”

“I guess you’ll have to take in the show and see for yourself.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

As we entered the casino Jerry asked, “Whatta we gonna do now?”

“You can take some time off,” I said. “I’ve got to talk to somebody in the employment department, get Danny that list of names he needs.”

“You don’t need me to watch your back?”

“I don’t think I need my back watched while we’re inside the Sands,” I said.

“And whatta ya gonna do after you get the list?” he asked.

“That’s when I’ll have to talk with Frank.”

“I can arrange that.”

I was about to say no, and then I thought, why not? He was working for Frank and could probably get in to see him easily.

“Okay,” I said. “Okay. See if you can set it up for later today.”

“Consider it done.”

“I’ll have to talk to Dean, too. Then Sammy and Joey Bishop.”

“Those guys I don’t know so good.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll set it up with Frank. I just need a few moments of his time tonight.”

“You got it.”

“I’ll meet you in the lounge in two hours,” I told him. “Can you get in to see him and be back by then?”

“No problem. He wants me to report to him each day, anyways.”

“On me?” I asked.

“Not on you,” he said, “just … about you. You know, whether you’re okay or not. How you’re holdin’ up.”

That was how Frank and Dean knew I’d been through something “intense.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said. “So I’ll see you later.”

“In the lounge,” he said. “You need me before the two hours, that’s probably where I’ll be.”

So just as we’d done with Danny a little while before, we split up and went our separate ways.

You want what?”

I hadn’t expected her reaction to be so violent.

A list of-”

“I know,” she said, cutting me off. “A list of all of the employees hired by the Sands in the past six months.”

“How many could there be?” I asked.

“Hundreds!” she said. “Do you have any idea how many people work in the casino and the hotel?”

“Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that. “Okay, try this. How about a list of the hotel employees?”

That calmed her slightly.

“Well … the hotel doesn’t have as quick a turnover of personnel as the casino does. Mostly the dealers, you know? They come and go.”

“I know.” As a pit boss I saw them come and go.

“Not to mention the waitresses.”

“So, can you do it?”

“Oh, it was never a question of can I do it,” she said. “Just how long it will take.”

“How long will it take?” I asked.

“A few days.”

“I need it faster than that, Marcia.”

“Boy, you don’t ask for much, do you?”

“I also need you to have it ready for Danny Bardini to pick up.”

“Bardini?” she asked. “That good-looking private eye friend of yours?”

“That’s the one.”

“Hmm,” she said. “How about this? I’ll work late tonight and have the list ready by morning.”

“So far, so good. What’s the catch?”

“That he takes me to see the Rat Pack show, and then we go back stage to meet Frank Sinatra.”

“Deal,” I said. Danny had never met Frank. He might enjoy that, and he might enjoy Marcia, too. They were two of my favorite people, why not put them together?

“Then get out of here and let me get to work.”

I was almost out the door when she shouted, “Wait!”

“What?”

“Maids, too?”

“Oh, definitely,” I said. “Maids, too.”

When I got down to the casino floor in front of the lounge the police had Jerry Epstein in handcuffs. Two uniformed officers were flanking him, while Detectives Hargrove and Smith were fronting him.

When Hargrove saw me coming he turned my way and smiled. “Just the man I wanted to see,” he said. “We were comin’ to look for you next.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded. “Why do you have this man handcuffed?”

“Well, Mr. Gianelli,” Hargrove said, “he’s under arrest.”

“For what?”

“Suspicion of murder.”

I looked at Jerry, who stared back at me with no expression. Just for a second I thought he gave me a head shake. Don’t say anything, he was warning me.

“Who is he supposed to have murdered?”

“A coupla guys in a flophouse off the strip,” Smith said. “Maybe you heard of them? Anthony ‘Buzzy’ Ravisi and Lenny Davis? They pretty much ran in your circle.”

I looked at Smith for a moment and held my tongue, even though I knew what he meant. I didn’t know how long he’d been a detectivebut there was a time when, even though he was a police officer, he would not have been permitted to make an arrest because he was a Negro. Things were changing, but not that much. I didn’t know if he was looking down his nose at me and my Italian ancestry or if he was just an asshole.

“Forgive me, Detective, but you don’t know what circle I run in. And I don’t know what circles these men ran in.”

“Pretty much the same as this joker here,” Hargrove said. “You got imported New York muscle workin’ for you, and you expect us to believe you don’t run with the same company?”

“Jerry doesn’t work for me, Detective,” I said.

“Then what’s he doin’ here?”

I could feel Jerry’s eyes on me, waiting to see if I was going to give Frank Sinatra up. I can’t say I wouldn’t have, if the cuffs had been on me, but I knew he’d cut out his tongue before he spoke Frank’s name. Or Mo Mo Giancana’s, for that matter.

“He’s gambling, as far as I know. Spent some time playing horses yesterday.”

“That’s not all he did, yesterday.”

Hargrove turned and put his hand out. One of the uniforms handed him Jerry’s.45, holding it by the trigger guard.

“He killed two people with this gun.”

Well, I knew that wasn’t true. Jerry had killed one man with that gun.

“Once I prove it, he’ll be up for murder, and you,” he said, “will probably be locked up as an accessory.”

“Accessory?”

“That’s what we call people who are present when someone is murdered,” he explained, “and who help the murderer.”

“Detective,” I said, “I really think you’ve got the wrong guys-”

“We’ll see,” he replied, “once our witness gets a look at the two of you.”

“Are you takin’ me in?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Hargrove said. “First we’ll have him ID Big Jerry, here. Once that’s done, we’ll have you in for a lineup. Meanwhile,don’t even think about leavin’ town. That would sort of be the same as a confession, don’t you think?”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Detective,” I assured him, with much more confidence than I was feeling at the moment. “I’m not guilty of anything.” There you go, I thought, a bold-faced lie.

“We’ll see about that.” he turned to the two cops holding onto Jerry. “Take him out.”

“Jerry,” I said, “the Sands will get a lawyer for you.”

“I’m not worried,” Jerry said to me. “I’ll be out before the end of the day.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Hargrove said. “Get him out of here.”

“Detective,” a voice behind me said.

I turned and saw Jack Entratter standing there. He’d straightened his suit and combed his hair, and he looked calm and collected. Still looked like he was going to burst out of his clothes, though.

“Mr. Entratter.”

“Can we talk? Privately?”

“Sure.”

I don’t know what surprised me more, that they knew each other, or that Hargrove was so willing to talk to Jack.

He took the Detective into the lounge, up to the bar where they could both sit on stools. I turned and looked at Jerry. The two cops had started to hustle him away, but now they were waiting for further instructions.

“What are you waiting for?” Detective Smith demanded. “Get him out of here!”

Both of the cops were white and they simply stared at Smith and didn’t move. They were obviously going to take their cue from Hargrove.

Smith turned and glared at me. He seemed angry that I had witnessed the lack of respect he commanded from the white cops. Not my problem, I thought, and looked away.

The conversation between Entratter and Hargrove was fairly animated, went on for a few minutes, and did not turn out the way I expected. I figured with Jack being all calm and charming he’d get hisway, even if he had to pull out Frank Costello’s name to do it. However, when they came back Jack was not looking happy.

“Let’s go,” Hargrove said to the cops.

“Uh, are we takin’ him in?” one of them asked.

“Of course we’re taking him in,” Hargrove said. He turned to Entratter. “Have your lawyer ask for me.”

“I’ll do that, Detective.”

Hargrove gave me a look, then turned and followed the other cops out. Jerry went along as meek as a kitten.

“He’s fucked,” I said to Jack. “When they run that gun he’s screwed, and so am I.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

Entratter looked at me.

“That’s not the same gun.”

“What?” I asked. “How do you know?”

He smiled and said, “Because he got rid of it. I got him one just like it.”

I wanted to go the police station to help Jerry get released. Entratter vetoed the idea.

“What can you do that our lawyers can’t?” he asked. “Besides, if they decide they want to lock you up too, let them come lookin’ for you.”

“So what do I do?”

“What you’ve been doin’,” he said. “What you planned to do. Let me worry about gettin’ Jerry out.”

I have to admit, part of me was wondering who would watch my back while Jerry was in custody. It was selfish, I know, but I’d already been around more violence in the past few days than all of my life-including a couple of years on the streets in Brooklyn.

The other part of me just wanted to get Jerry out. After all, I knew he’d killed Buzzy Ravisi in self-defense, and had saved my life in the process. I already owed him a lot.

“I’m goin’ back to my office,” he said. “What was all that about with Marcia?”

“Just a few things I needed,” I assured him. “Nothing to worry about.”

Jack pointed a big index finger at me.

“That’s good,” he said, “because I have enough to worry about.Fix this Dean Martin thing, Eddie. I’m countin’ on you, and so is Frank.”

“I won’t let you down.”

Another bold-faced lie? That remained to be seen.

When I got down to the steam room I was surprised to see that all of the bathrobes were missing from the pegs. Apparently, every one of the Rat Packers were having a steam after the day’s shooting. There were plain bathrobes in a closet. I debated for a moment whether or not I should go in, then decided, what the hell? It was as good a time as any to be properly introduced to the ones I hadn’t met yet, and it was a good test to see how welcome I’d be.

I got undressed, donned a robe and entered the steam room.

“Whoa!” Sammy Davis said. “Who’s the strange cat?”

“Take it easy, Smokey,” Frank said. “This is Eddie G. He’s a pit boss in the casino, and a new friend. Come on in, pally. Have a seat and I’ll introduce you.”

It occurred to me that this could get awkward. Sammy, Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop didn’t know about the threats against Dino. Also, Peter and Sammy didn’t know that Joey had brought me to Frank. So the only one who knew everything that was going on were me, Frank and Dean.

Frank made the introductions around the room, as if I didn’t know anyone, except when he got to Dean he added, “And, of course, you know Dino.”

“Yes,” I said, “of course.”

“I say,” Peter said to me, “I think I saw you on the set today.”

“That’s right, Charlie,” Frank said. “I gave the okay for Eddie to come and watch some of the shoot.”

“Welcome to the club, Clyde,” Sammy said. “Take in a steam with the cool cats.”

“Thanks.”

“Eddie,” Frank said, “Sammy just asked me to be his best man. He’s asked May Britt to marry him.”

I looked at Sammy, who today was wearing his eye patch. I assumed the glass eye, which he wore on stage and in the movie, was not behind it.

“Really? That’s great. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, man,” Sammy said. “I know there’s gonna be some cats out there who are gonna get all bent out of shape, but we love each other. I don’t care how many threats I get, I’m gonna marry ’er.”

“Threats?” I looked at Frank.

“The usual things,” Frank said. “that is, usual for Sammy.”

“’Die nigger,’” Sammy said, “’die Jew.’ I’m used to it, but it upsets May.”

“Fuck ’em,” I said. “Bunch of ignorant bastards.”

“Hey, Frank,” Sammy said, “I like this boy.”

“Hey, Eddie,” Dean said, “I might feel like dealin’ some blackjack tonight. You gonna be in the pit?”

“I’m actually off the clock at the moment, Dean,” I said, “but I can make a point to be in the house tonight.”

If I had to stay in to let Dean do some dealing, it kept me from going outside without my backup man, Jerry. Given how close I’d come to physical harm, and even death, I didn’t relish hitting the streets without him.

“Well,” Dean said, stepping down off the risers, “I’m gonna hit my room and take a shower, get ready for the show.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “See ya later, pally.”

“I’ve had enough, too,” Joey Bishop said. “See you fellas at the show.”

“Yes, I suppose it’s that time,” Peter Lawford said. “I have to call Pat, anyway. Good to meet you, Eddie.”

He waved as he went out the door. That left me with Frank and Sammy. I looked at Frank, to take my cue from him, but he and Sammy started talking about the wedding and I thought I should leave. Frank stopped me.

“You just got here, Clyde,” he said. “Stick around. Sammy’s gotta go anyway.”

“May’s waitin’ for me,” Sammy said. “See you later, Frank. Good to meet you, Eddie.” He shook my hand, a fierce grip for a man so small in stature, but huge in talent.

“What a bunch, huh?” Frank asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “it’s good to have friends.”

“You got friends, Eddie?” he asked. “I mean, a lot of friends?”

“Not a lot,” I said. “A few good ones.”

“Hang onto them,” he said. “You never know who your true friends are. Some of ’em, they just need you, or wanna use you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said, “Frank, I need to talk to Sammy and Peter about threats.”

“You just talked to Sammy.”

“I mean, about the same kind of threats Dean’s been gettin’.”

“Why do you have to do that?” he asked, with a frown.

“What if one of them has been gettin’ the same threats, but hasn’t said somethin’ about it?” I asked.

“Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “I’m just tryin’ to come up with a next step. If one of them has been gettin’ threats then we’ll know they’re not just bein’ aimed at Dean.”

He thought that over for a moment, then said, “I see your point. You’ll have to talk to Joey, too.”

“That’s right.”

Frank scratched his cheek and thought a moment.

“Try to do it discreetly,” he said. “Don’t tell ’em about Dean if you don’t have to.”

“What can I-”

“Just say your askin’ all of ’em about it,” he suggested, “even Dean.”

“And what do I tell them is the reason?” I asked. “I mean, I’m just a pit boss.”

“Tell ’em you’re doin’ it for the Sands. Tell ’em Jack Entratter wants to make sure they’re safe in his hotel.”

We both knew what they’d think, that Frank Costello wants to make sure they’re safe. It would make them pretty sure I worked for Costello and, consequently La Cosa Nostra. I didn’t like havin’ anybody think I was mobbed up, but when it came to these guys, when was I ever going to see them again after they finished filming the movie? We just didn’t travel in the same circles.

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll be discreet.”

“Good. I knew I could count on you. So, how’s Jerry workin’ out for ya?”

“He got arrested tonight.”

“What? When? Where? And for what?”

I explained that the cops had come to the casino and arrested Jerry on suspicion of murder.

“Did Jerry murder someone?”

“Well, no,” I said, “He, uh, did kill someone, but it wasn’t murder.”

Frank looked disgusted.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, Eddie?”

“How much has Jerry told you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “Come on, give.”

So I told him everything that had gone on, before and after Jerry. He listened intently and did not interrupt me once. I wondered how much of my story matched Jerry’s, and why there would be any discrepancy.

When I was done he said, “Jesus, you’ve been through a lot.”

“We-”

“And all to do me and Dean a favor?” he asked. “You sure Jack didn’t threaten you and make you help?”

“No,” I said.

“Maybe you should bow out,” Frank said. “Stay healthy.”

“Frank, I started this, I’d like to finish it.”

“You sure everything is tied together?”

“The warehouse you’re using as a set is where Mike Borraco was killed. Up to that point I thought everything was separate, but now I have my doubts.”

“And you don’t want to quit?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re a stand-up guy, Eddie.”

I didn’t reply.

“Stay inside tonight,” he said. “Dean says he wants to deal some blackjack, so you don’t have to go out. Tomorrow you’ll have Jerry back. Jack Entratter will see to that.”

“Frank, I was just wonderin’.”

“Wonderin’ what?”

“Couldn’t you ask some of your … friends for help?”

“Sometimes,” Frank said, “askin’ the wrong people for help is a sign of weakness, Eddie.”

I guess that was supposed to answer my question.

“I’ve got to get ready for the show,” he said. “You gonna be there tonight with your girl?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, “and Bev was just a friend, not my girl.”

“Oh. When she turned down Nick Conte I thought she was your girl.”

“No.”

We left the steam room together. He dropped his robe and started to get dressed, so I did the same. I told him I had some friends coming to the show tomorrow night, and wanted to get them back stage. He said he’d arrange it. I gave him Danny and Marcia’s names.

“The doll,” he said. “Another friend?”

“Yeah,” I said, “another friend.”

He wagged his index finer at me and said, “Sounds to me like you got more than just a few.”

“Maybe.”

“Let’s go, kid,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder. “We both got things to do.”

We made our way to the casino floor and stopped there.

“Listen, if things start to get really hairy, I can probably get you some more help,” he said. “You just let me know.”

“Okay, Frank. Thanks.”

He nodded and went off to get ready for the show. Me, I stood there wondering how much hairier things could get.

I decided to try dropping in on Peter Lawford first. I had the feeling if I waited until the next day, Lawford wouldn’t remember me. He struck me as being a very self-involved type.

I called up from downstairs and he told me to come on up, assuring me that I would not be bothering him. When I knocked on the door of his suite he called “Come in.”

I entered and I saw he was on the phone. He waved at me to approach and pointed to a sofa. I noticed that his suite was not as spacious as Dean Martin’s.

“Yes, Pat,” he said into the phone. He was dressed casually in tan slacks and an open-neck white polo shirt. “Yes, dear.” He rolled his eyes at me and I shrugged. His hair was wet, presumably from his shower from the steam room. I’d also had a shower, using the facilities the hotel made available to employees.

“Well, just tell Jack that Frank-” He stopped short and frowned. “I am not Frank’s lackey, or his errand boy, dear.” He was remarkably calm for a man whose wife had just called him those names. “Frank is devoted to helping Jack get elected. All I’m trying to do is my part for the family. Yes, well, you ask Jack if he wants Frank’s help or not and see what he says. And then ask Bobby, see what he says.” He listened again, then jumped in, as if he was interruptingher. “I have to go now, love. I have to get dressed for the show. Yes, I know I’m an actor, not a performer. I act like I’m performing.”

Apparently, Peter’s wife agreed with both Jerry and me about his presence on stage with great entertainers like the rest of the Rat Pack. I had never met the woman, but found myself liking her.

“Yes, I will,” he said, leaning over to hang up the phone. “Yes … yes … yes …”

With the phone still against his ear he stooped down closer and closer toward the base, as if he was going to hang up any second.

“I love you too, dear,” he said, and finally hung up. “My wife,” he said, unnecessarily. “Are you married?”

“No,” I said. “Never have been.”

“Smart man. Can I get you as drink? Or a cigarette?”

“No, I’m okay,” I said.

“I’m going to have one of both.”

He walked to the bar, moved around behind it.

“I won’t take up too much of your time,” I said. “I know you have to get ready for the, uh, show.”

“Yes,” he said, pouring himself what looked like scotch. “Frank absolutely insists that I go on stage with he and Dean and the others. It’s ludicrous, really, but there you are. One must keep the leader happy.”

It sounded to me like he was talking about someone like Hitler, not Frank Sinatra.

The actor came around the bar with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“What did you want to talk to me about … Eddie, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” I said. “Eddie. Mr. Lawford-”

“Oh, call me Peter, please,” he said interrupting me. “Any friend of Frank’s is a friend of mine.”

“Uh, on the phone a minute ago,” I asked, “the Jack you were talkin’ about, that was JFK, right?”

“Our next president,” he said, proudly, “if Frank and I have anything to say about it. Will you be voting for Jack Kennedy, Eddie?”

“I really don’t know, Peter,” I said. “The election is a long way off.”

“Indeed it is, but we’re working hard now too-oh, never mind that. You didn’t come up here to talk politics, did you?”

“Now, I didn’t,” I said. “The Sands is concerned that you be satisfied with your stay.”

“Is that why you’re here?” he asked, surprised. “To see if I’m happy with my room?”

“Not exactly,” I said. I went with a story I’d come up with just after leaving Frank. “Apparently some guests have been getting’ threats. We wondered if you’d received any.”

“What kind of threats?”

“Phone calls, letters, notes-”

“Death threats?” He looked concerned, took a good, long sip of his drink.

“Threats of bodily harm,” I said. “We haven’t really heard anything about death threats, uh, yet.”

“You know, my wife is part of the Kennedy family,” he said.

“I know that. Have you gotten any threats, Peter? Of any kind?”

“No, no,” he said, “no, none … yet. Other guests have, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, regular guests, or celebrities?”

“I’m not really sure-”

“Because if someone is threatening the regular guests, well then, I suppose I’d have nothing to worry about, but if they’re targeting famous people-this could get into the papers, couldn’t it?”

“It might,” I said. “Publicity is good for an actor, isn’t it?”

“Normally, yes.”

“Normally?”

“Well, with the election and all, Joe-uh, Jack’s father, Joseph Kennedy is running JFK’s campaign-Joe wouldn’t like any bad publicity.”

I wondered if Joe Kennedy considered mugging on stage with the Rat Pack bad publicity.

“So, you haven’t been threatened?” I needed to get a straight answer from him.

“No,” he said. “No threats.”

“All right, then.” I put my hands on my knees and pushed myself up. “I won’t bother you with this anymore.”

“If I do get threats, uh,” he said, walking me to the door, “What should I do?”

I almost told him to call me, but in the end I simply said, “Call security. They’ll take care of it immediately.”

As I left I was thinking it sounded to me like Peter Lawford wouldn’t have minded some bad publicity-or publicity of any kind, for that matter.

I hadn’t expected to see May Britt in Sammy’s room with him, but I was doubly surprised to see May’s mother was there, as well.

“Come on in, man,” Sammy said. He’d answered the door himself, wearing a white shirt and black pants. “May and her mother were leaving to do some shopping.” He pronounced her name “My.” “Honey, this is Eddie-I don’t know your last name.”

“Gianelli,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Britt. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding.

May Britt was a breathtaking beauty, with the blondest hair and clearest, smoothest skin I’d ever seen. I knew half a dozen casinos who would have hired her to be a showgirl on the spot, but she already had a career of her own as an actress. I wondered how much heartache was in the couple’s future because of the differences in their race. As for her mother, it was easy to see where she got her looks from. Mrs. Wilkins was an older, slightly faded version of her daughter.

“Thank you very much,” May said. I found her Swedish accent charming, and understood immediately why Sammy fell in love with her. “I’m very happy to meet you.”

“Come, Mama,” she said. “We must allow the men to talk.”

“I’ll see you later, baby,” Sammy said, and they shared an affectionate kiss.

When the women were gone Sammy said, “Isn’t she something?”

“She sure is,” I said. “Beautiful. You’re a lucky man.”

“Wonder what she’s doin’ with a one-eyed black Jew?” he asked. I searched his face for any sign of belligerance, but there was none.

“No, Sammy, I don’t,” I said. “I imagine she sees in you what women are supposed to see in the men they love.”

Sammy Davis Jr. laughed, slapped my arm and said, “You’re all right, man. Drink?”

“No, thanks. You go ahead.”

“Naw,” he said. “I’ve got to get ready for the show. You wanted to ask me something?”

I found Sammy different when he wasn’t around the others. He was more relaxed and comfortable with himself. When he was around Frank he seemed too eager to want to please him. I wondered why a phenomenal talent like him had to kowtow to anybody, even a Frank Sinatra. But I was also sure that there were things about Sammy’s life, and his relationship with the other members of the group I didn’t know, and would never understand.

However, I wondered if Sammy was not a member of Frank’s “Clan,” if he would have been allowed to stay in a suite at the Sands. Negroes were not allowed to stay in the casino hotels, then, not even entertainers. Jack Entratter, by giving into Frank’s demand that Sammy be given a suite, was inadvertently leading the way to change things in Vegas, when it came to segregation.

I fed Sammy the same story I’d given Peter Lawford and he just shrugged.

“Hey, man, the only threats I been getting are the usual ones. Nothing new to me.”

“Then I won’t take up anymore of your time.”

Sammy walked me to the door.

“Any chance I can get you to tell me what’s really goin’ down?”

“What do you mean?” He’d caught me off guard, but I thought I handled it well. Sammy Davis Jr. was no dummy.

“I mean you’re a real cool cat, Eddie,” he said. “Why would Jack Entratter waste your talents on an errand like this?”

“Sammy, I-”

“Forget it,” he said, quickly, waving my response away. “Forget I even asked. When Frank or Dean want me to know what’s goin’ on, I guess they’ll tell me.”

He opened the door and I felt I had to say something to him while we were alone.

“Sammy, I just want to tell you that I think you’re an incredible talent, and you seem like a nice guy.” I heard myself gushing and tried to stop, but I was impressed with the man.

“I am a nice guy, Clyde,” he said, with a smile.

“Well, I just want to say I wish you and May all the best, and I hope you won’t let what some ignorant bastards say and think-ah, what the hell. I guess I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about, really.”

“Yeah, ya do,” he said. He took my hand in his powerful grip. “You know what you’re sayin’ just fine, Eddie. Thanks.”

He released my hand and I stepped out into the hall. He closed the door gently, still smiling. I felt we connected in that moment, really connected. I thought how lucky I’d be if I could call Sammy Davis Jr. my friend.

Henry Silva and Richard Conte were not given suites in the Sands, but they were put up in good-sized guest rooms. I spoke to both of them briefly, giving the same story. Neither had received any threats. They also didn’t seem to know that Dean Martin had been threatened. They thought Frank wanted them to accompany Dean to the set for another reason-to keep him out of trouble.

“Frank says Dean’s havin’ trouble with Jeannie, and might do somethin’ foolish,” Henry Silva told me.

Nick Conte had been told the same story by Frank, but I could tell he didn’t believe it. Conte and Dean were close, coming from similar Italian backgrounds. But apparently Conte was like Sammy, willing to go along until he was told differently.

I wasn’t able to find Angie Dickinson to speak with her. I was starting to think she was avoiding me.

I decided not to ask any of the others the same questions. I had a consensus now, and it seemed that the only one receiving threats was Dean.

For want of something better to do I decided to stick around the casino and wait for the show in the Copa to be over. Dean Martin had said he wanted to deal some blackjack tonight. He usually did that when there was a good-looking woman at the table. She’d bust withtwenty-two and he’d change the rules and tell her she won. It also drew a crowd, which I wasn’t convinced was a good idea tonight. I wished Jerry was around.

If I was going to be around the pit I’d have to dress better, though, but I wasn’t about to go back home without Jerry watching my back. I decided to change into a suit I kept at the casino in case of an emergency.

I had showered and was standing in front of a locker, tying my tie, when Jack Entratter walked in. A couple of dealers I knew were also getting dressed in front of their lockers and looked nervous as Entratter entered. As far as I knew Jack had never been in that locker room.

“You boys finished?” he asked them. “Yer shift is about to start.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them said. They both got the message and hurriedly left.

“What brings you down here, Jack?”

“I’ve been lookin’ for you everywhere.”

“I was talkin’ with Sammy and Peter Lawford, and a few of the others.”

“You didn’t tell them what’s goin’ on, did ya?” he demanded.

“I’m not stupid, Jack.”

“No,” he said, “sorry.”

“But Sammy’s no dummy, and Nick Conte knows Dean well enough to figure out something’s up.”

“Well, just leave it to Frank to fill them in when he’s ready.”

“That was my plan.” I finished with my tie and slammed the locker door closed. I didn’t lock it because I kept nothing of value inside.

“Why were you lookin’ for me, Jack?”

“You goin’ to the show tonight?”

“I wasn’t plannin’ to.”

“What are you dressed for, then?”

I told him about Dean wanting to deal, and my promise to be around.

“I want you to go to the show. Here.”

He reached in his jacket pocket, came out with a ticket and handed it to me.

“You need another one? Wanna bring a broad?”

“No,” I said. “One’s enough.” I pocketed it. “Why do you want me to go?”

“Because I trust you, Eddie,” he said.

“To do what?”

“The right thing.”

Entratter had a lot of men at his disposal, most of them like Jerry-pros.

“What’s this about, Jack?”

“I need someone to watch things, somebody who won’t embarrass me and the casino.”

“Embarrass you how? Come on, what’s goin’ on?”

He hesitated, then said, “You know about Frank supporting JFK for president, right?”

“Sure, who doesn’t?”

“Well, he’s gonna be here.”

“Who’s gonna be here?”

“Come on, Eddie, keep up,” he said, irritably. “Jack Kennedy. He’s gonna be at the show tonight.”

“Wait … the man who might be the next president of the United States is here?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

“Just be there,” he said, “and watch.”

“Is his wife with him?”

“No,” Entratter said. “So you can see the potential for trouble here? A handsome Senator, presidential candidate, in Vegas with the little woman at home?”

“I see your point.”

“Where they go tonight,” Jack said, “you go. Promise me, Eddie.”

“What about Dean? He wants to deal.”

“If Frank takes Kennedy out, Dean will either go along, or just go to his room. So let him deal, and then see what he wants to do. If he’s in his room he’ll be okay. If he goes along, you’ll have to go anyway, to watch him.”

“I’m no bodyguard, Jack,” I said. “What about Jerry? Is he gonna get out tonight?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “We’re still workin’ on that. You gotta help me out, Eddie.”

“This goes above and beyond work, Jack,” I said. “Or even our original, uh, favor.”

“I know, I know,” Entratter said. “I’ll owe you, owe you big-time.”

It wouldn’t hurt to have Jack Entratter indebted to me.

“Whataya say?” he asked, anxiously.

“Yeah,” I said, “okay, why not? A night out on the town with Sinatra and JFK? Where’s the harm in that, right?”

“No harm at all,” he said, and then added, “I hope.”

There was a hum in the audience. JFK was sitting in the mezzanine and everyone was aware of his presence. They had to be because of his bodyguards. They stuck out with their broad shoulders and their scowls.

Kennedy himself was all smiles as he sat with a few men, but no women. As much of a womanizer as the world and I would come to know him to be in coming years, he was discreet in public, back then.

At one point Frank stopped the show to introduce “the next President of the United States, John F. Kennedy.”

I had a front row seat on this night, and from what I could see it looked as if Dean wasn’t as thrilled with JFK’s presence as Frank was. At one point Dean approached the mike and asked Frank, “What did you say his name was again?”

Frank gave Dean a look, but laughed. I wondered if and when politics would come between these two good friends?

The jokes flew after that, all at Kennedy’s expense, and he seemed to love it. When JFK was elected Sammy was to become Ambassador to Israel. Frank would be Ambassador to Italy. Joey Bishop had a much less grandiose request-he just didn’t want to be drafted ever again.

The show was a huge success, as always, but on that night the applausein the room was as much for John F. Kennedy as it was for the Rat Pack. Being Frank Sinatra’s friend was putting Kennedy over with the Everyman big time.

First came the sex, because I’m only human. I wasn’t about to kick a naked Judy Campbell out of my bed. We went at it like teenagers and I thoroughly enjoyed her and didn’t wonder until later if I had slept with Frank Sinatra’s girl, John F. Kennedy’s girl, or-according to some rumors I’d heard-Sam Giancana’s girl. When a broad is naked in your bed, nothing else matters at that moment.

That should have been it for me.

Okay, I got beat up. Okay, if not for Jerry I might have gotten shot by Buzz Ravisi in that flophouse. But now somebody had tried to blow me up. Someone had seriously tried to kill me. That had never happened to me before and it wasn’t the kind of new experience I was interested in having.

Pieces of my car were lying all around me, some of them burning, while the remainder of the car was ablaze at the curb. When I turned and looked at my house I could see that the front windows had been blown out. Some of my neighbors-the ones I didn’t hate and who didn’t hate me-came running out to see what happened, then came over to see if I was all right. The ones who did hate me came out to bitch about the noise or about their windows. They were talking to me but I couldn’t hear a thing except a kind of dull hum in my head. Finally, someone called an ambulance, which arrived in tandem with a Sheriff’s Department car. They put me in the ambulance and took me to the nearest hospital. I think I blacked out once on the way, because when I woke again I was in the emergency room. Still couldn’t hear, so the doctors and nurses asking me questions were an annoyance. I just kept shaking my head and shrugging. They finally gave uptrying to find out where it hurt-or whatever the hell they’d been asking me-and gave me a complete once-over.

Yeah, that should have been it for me. Why go on when somebody obviously wanted me dead this bad? And for what? For what?

Well … I didn’t know, and maybe that’s why it wasn’t it for me. My curiosity wouldn’t let it rest. What did I know, or what was I doing, that made somebody want me out of the way this bad? This … well, permanently?

So, that should have been it for me, but it wasn’t. The first thing I should have done when my hearing came back-if it came back-was march right up to Jack Entratter, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and say, “Sorry guys, I’m out.”

But I wasn’t going to do that.

You know why? It was more than just my curiosity.

For the first time since I’d started this whole thing I wasn’t afraid, or puzzled or confused.

Now I was mad.

By the time they put me in a hospital bed, my hearing had started to return. However, when Detectives Hargrove and Smith entered the room I had a miraculous relapse.

“Can you hear me, Mr. Gianelli?” Hargrove asked.

I heard him, but it sounded as if he was standing at one end of a tunnel, and I was at the other. But I just stared at him and shook my head.

“Your doctor tells us your hearing loss is temporary,” he went on.

That was good to know, but I didn’t let on that I’d understood him.

“I think he’s fakin’,” Smith said, glaring at me.

“The guy got blown up, Willie,” Hargrove said. “Somebody put a freakin’ bomb in his car. The doctor said he’s deaf.”

“Temporary,” Smith said, “the doctor said it was temporary. What if he already has his hearing back and he’s scammin’ us?”

Hargrove looked at me. I tried to stare back at him with a look of total innocence on my face.

“You wouldn’t do that to us, Eddie, would you?” he asked.

“I’m sorry guys,” I said, and shrugged.

At that moment the doctor walked in.

“Come on, doc,” Detective Smith said. “Can he hear or can’t he?”

“We’ll know when he tells us,” the doctor said. “Right now I need for you gents to leave.”

“Okay,” Hargrove said, “but we’ll be back. After all, we have to find out who tried to kill him.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to help you with that when he can,” the doctor said.

The two detectives left, Smith tossing me one last hard stare. The doctor approached the bed and looked at me curiously. He was in his forties, with steel-gray hair and eyes and a strong jaw. I was sure he made all the nurse’s knees weak when he walked the halls.

“You’ll have to talk to them eventually, you know,” he told me.

“I will,” I said. “How did you know?”

“Experience,” he said. “Let me take a look at you.”

He used a light to check my ears and eyes.

“You have a concussion,” he said. “We’re gonna keep you here all day and overnight just to be on the safe side.”

“Fine with me,” I said. “Can I have visitors?”

“Who’d you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Frank Sinatra?”

He laughed.

“If Frank Sinatra walks into this hospital I’ll let him visit you,” he said, going along with what he thought was a joke.

“Fair enough,” I said.

“My name is Montgomery,” he said. “If you need anything that a nurse can’t give you ask for me. I’ll be on until six. I’ll look in on you before I leave.”

“Thanks, Doc. And thanks for not tellin’ the cops I can hear.”

“Well, I wasn’t really sure, was I?” he asked. “I assume you’ll be ready to cooperate with them tomorrow? I mean, you do want to find out who did this to you, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah,” said. “I just need some time to think.”

“I don’t believe I’d need time to think if someone had put a bomb in my car,” he said, “but it’s your call.”

I looked at the phone on the table next to me.

“Can I use that?”

“Why not?” he asked. “You’re going to be paying for it.”

As he left the room I leaned over, picked up the phone and set it on my chest. I dialed Danny’s number, and when Penny answered I didn’t tell her what happened. I just asked for Danny. When he came on I gave him the news.

“What the hell,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“I was deaf for a while, but it’s comin’ back to me,” I explained. “I scammed the cops, though, into thinkin’ I was still deaf.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I guess I’ll have to think about that.”

“Well, I’ll come over and help you think,” he said. “You want anything?”

“Just don’t bring any flowers.”

After I hung up on him I dialed the Sands and asked for Jack Entratter. When I told him what had happened, he exploded.

“What the fuck is goin’ on?” he demanded. “Somebody put a fuckin’ bomb in your car?”

“Looks that way.”

“You stay put,” he said, “and do what the doctors tell ya. Don’t worry about nothin’. The bills’ll be paid for.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

“I’ll be there in a little while,” he said. “I got some calls to make. You’re done with this, Eddie. You hear me? You’re done.”

“No, Jack, wait-” I started, but he hung up.

Physically, I felt pretty good. I had a few aches and pains, but nothing was broken. And I knew a concussion wasn’t life threatening. I’d known enough football players who’d gotten five or six during their careers. And boxers. One wasn’t going to kill me.

My hearing was getting better by the minute, which was a relief. I probably could have gotten out of that bed and walked out of the hospital, but I didn’t want to-not just yet. I needed someplace quiet and safe to think, and this was as good a place as any. If I wasn’t going to back off, then I needed to plan my next move.

The nurses were very attentive, but when I told them I didn’t need anything they left me alone. That gave me some time alone before Danny or Jack Entratter arrived. When Danny did get there I’d thought it out pretty well. Now all I needed to do was talk it through with someone and have them point out all the mistakes I was making. Danny Bardini was perfect for that.

“Well, well,” he said, when he walked in, “I thought I’d find you all bandaged up from head to toe.”

“I was pretty lucky.”

“I know,” he said, shaking my hand and then holding onto it. “I talked with your doctor. Apparently the blast picked you up and tossed you a good distance. It also threw you clear of flying debris.”

“See any cops on your way up?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he said. “There are still some sheriff’s deputies around, and I saw your buddies, Hargrove and Smith. Apparently, the sheriff’s office has handed your case over to them completely, given their previous experiences with you.”

“I guess that’s okay,” I said. “Maybe they’ll actually figure out who did this. Can I have my hand back now?”

Abruptly, as if he didn’t know he’d been holding it, he let it go. He grabbed a chair, pulled it over to the bed and sat down.

“You were lucky, Eddie,” he said, seriously. “Whoever wired the car knew what they were doing. Hargrove can’t explain it, but there was a hesitation when you turned the car key and the blast didn’t go off right away. What happened? Why weren’t you in the car?”

“I realized I forgot my wallet,” I said. “I was walkin’ back to the house when it went off.”

“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “You gonna give this up now and hand it over to the police? Rat Pack and all?”

“I had a woman with me last night, Danny.” I didn’t tell him it was Judith Campbell. “I called her a cab this morning. If I’d offered to drive her home she would’ve been in the car.”

“More good luck,” he said.

“Well, bad for somebody,” I said, “because now I’m pissed off.”

“Eddie …” he said.

“What?”

“You’re a long way from the streets of Brooklyn,” he said. “You got out of there, went to college, became a CPA and somehow ended up in the pit at the Sands.”

“Your point being?”

“You may work for some hard guys, my friend,” he told me, “but you ain’t a hard guy. Let the cops handle it, or let the boys handle it.”

“I wish I could, Danny,” I said, “but this ain’t right. Too many people have died already, and for what?”

“I don’t know.”

“And I don’t know,” I said, “but I wanna find out. This must have to do with something other than some threats against Dean Martin.”

“Did you ask them all about threats?”

“I asked,” I said. “Dean’s the only one.”

“The threats, them dead girls, Mike Borraco, and now this,” Danny said, shaking his head.

“You get that list from Marcia?” I asked.

“I got it, but it’s gonna take a while to go through all those people.”

“Too long,” I said. “We’ve got to come up with something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I wish Jerry and I coulda found out who hired Ravisi and Davis.”

“Wishin’ ain’t gonna do you any good, bud,” Danny said.

“I know.”

“Why don’t you spend a quiet night here and think about it in the mornin’,” he suggested. “You want me to come and pick you up?”

“No, I’ll have someone from the Sands do it. They’re gonna cover my bill.”

“Okay, then.” He stood up, reached out to touch my arm, then stopped. “Take it easy.”

“Don’t forget you have a date tonight,” I said. “Enjoy the show.”

“I will,” he said, then added with an evil grin, “and I’m gonna enjoy your girl.”

“She’s not my-” I started, but stopped because he was already out of the room.

When l opened my eyes again I saw that I had another visitor. I also saw that it was dark out, probably well past visitor’s hours.

“How’d you get them to let you in here?” I asked Jerry.

He turned from the window and walked over to the bed. I had recognized his broad back.

“I tol’ ’em to try and make me leave,” he said. “Nobody had the balls to do it.”

“What are you doin’ here, Jerry?”

“My job,” he said. “Keepin’ you safe.”

“I’m in the hospital, Jerry.”

“They can get to you here just as easy as out there, Eddie,” he said. “Believe me, I know. I’ve seen it.”

“You gonna stay awake all night?” I asked.

“That’s the plan.”

I stared at him. Was he doing this because Frank had told him to keep me healthy, or had we managed to bond over the past two days?

I really didn’t care.

“Thanks, Jerry.”

“Sure,” he said.

“What happened with you and the cops-”

“Just go to sleep,” he said, cutting me off. “I’ll be here when you wake up. We’ll talk about it then.”

I wanted to tell him that was jake with me, but when I opened my mouth no words came out ….

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.

Jesus, Lou,“I said.”What the hell are ya doin’?”

“We’re gonna get up and walk outta here together,” Terazzo said.

I licked my lips and looked around. No one was looking our way.

“What if I don’t wanna go?” I asked. “You gonna shoot me here, in front of all these people?”

“Why not?” he asked. “I killed three people already, ain’t I? Three this week, that is.”

Oh Christ, I thought, he just confessed to me. No way I was getting out of this alive. Why had I let Jerry go?

As if reading my mind Terazzo said, “I been waitin’ for your big New York gun to take a walk. I ain’t gonna miss this chance to take you out-not after missin’ you last night.”

“You blew up my car?”

He nodded.

“I did some demolition in Korea,” he said. “Guess I was rusty, or you were lucky. One of the two. But now I’m gonna take you out myself, the easy way.”

“B-but, why me? What’d I do to you?”

“You started askin’ questions,” he said. “I didn’t need you askin’ questions when I was plannin’ on killin’ Carla. I panicked.”

“Why Carla?”

“She was cheatin’ on me.”

I didn’t bother asking with who. That really didn’t matter, in the long run.

“And why her roommate?”

“She got in the way,” he said. “It was an accident.”

“She didn’t fall over the railing into the pool and drown.”

“No,” he said. “I hit her and she died. Simple as that. I dumped her into the filthy pool, figured nobody’d find her until I finished with Carla.”

“And what about Mike Borraco?”

“He was helpin’ you, wasn’t he? Askin’ about me? Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait.” Even with my own death staring me in the face I figured this might be my only chance to find out if the killings were connected to the threats on Dino. “Why were you sending threats to Dean Martin?”

“What?” he asked. “Whataya talkin’ about? What threats?”

“You weren’t sending threatening notes to Dean Martin?”

“What the hell for?” He looked amazed. “I love the way that guy sings.”

“But … why did you dump Mike’s body at the warehouse they’re using for Ocean’s Eleven?”

“Hey,” he said, “I was cruisin’ Industrial Drive with a body in the trunk. I stopped at the first place I could find to dump it.”

A coincidence?

“And what the hell did you come lookin’ for me in the first place for?” he asked. “What’d I ever do to you?”

“I–I just wanted to ask you some questions about … about Dean Martin.”

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Somebody was sending him threats and you thought I’d know who it was?”

“I thought you might have heard rumors,” I said. “I–I was stuck, didn’t really know what to do next.”

He glared at me, and I didn’t know if he was going to laugh or cry.

“You just stumbled into my life? And ended up finding Misty’s body?”

“That’s the way it went.”

“And you called the cops?”

“Lou … I’m sorry. I just-”

“Shut up!” he snapped. “Just shut up. Because you went bumblin’ around I got to kill you, too. Let’s go.”

“Lou-”

“All I got to do is finish you and I can blow town.”

“Blow town anyway, Lou. I won’t say a word.”

“Sorry, Eddie,” Lou said. “You’re a decent guy, but I can’t afford to take the chance, ya know?”

“Yeah,” I said, “yeah, I know.”

“Here comes your waitress,” Terazzo said. “She your girl?”

“She’s got nothin’ to do with anything, Lou.”

“Well, you walk on out of here with me and she won’t get hurt. Capice?”

“Yeah, Eddie, I capice.”

“Here’s your drink, Eddie,” Bev said, reaching the table.

“I just remembered I’ve got an appointment,” I said to her.

“Don’t I know you?” she asked Terazzo.

“Naw, you don’t know me, girlie. Come on, Eddie.”

Terazzo slid out of the booth. There was no gun in his hand, so I assumed it was in his belt.

“No, I think I recognize you-”

“No, you don’t.” I grabbed her hand, stuffed a twenty into it.

“You don’t know him.”

We started for the door with Terazzo behind me when Bev called out, “Yeah, I remember. Lou Terazzo.”

“Hold it!” Terazzo said.

“Forget it, Lou.”

“Just stop. Turn around.”

We both turned, and when we did I saw that Terazzo did have his gun in his belt, at the front of his pants.

“C’mere, sweetie,” he said to Bev.

Suddenly, Beverly looked uncertain, as if she realized something was going on she didn’t understand.

“I–I got to finish my shift-”

“Your shift is finished.” He pulled his jacket back to show her his gun. “Now c’mon over here, or your boyfriend gets it.”

“Lou, let ’er go-”

“She knows me, Eddie,” Lou said. “I can’t.” He looked at Bev. “Now, sister. Move!”

Bev looked around the lounge, but everybody was listening to the fresh-faced kid on stage go into his next song. Nobody was paying any attention to us.

She sidled over to us and Terazzo made her stand next to me.

“Now we’re all leavin’, nice and quiet,” he said. “Like three happy friends. Got it?”

“Eddie-” Bev said.

“Just do as he says, Bev,” I told her, “It’ll be all right.”

We left the lounge and Lou said to me, “Take us out a back way,

Eddie. Come on. You know this place inside and out.”

I tried to think of a way to get Bev away from him, but he wouldn’t give me the time.

“If we run into somebody in security, or anything like that,” he told me, “I’m gonna start shootin’. You got that?”

“I got it.”

I led the way, deciding to use what was the least-traveled path in the casino. I took him down the hall leading to the stairs that went down to the Rat Pack’s steam room. Only instead of going down we continued on until we got to a back door. When I opened it and we stepped out we were in the parking lot behind the Sands. Terazzo looked around and, satisfied that we were alone, took out his gun.

“Right here, Lou?” I asked.

“It’s as good a place as any. Plenty of cars for me to grab.”

“You’d have to shoot us and then hot-wire one,” I said. “Why not just take my keys?”

“Nice try, hot shot, but I blew your car up, remember?”

Shit!

“Wait,” he said, looking at Bev. “Where’s your car?”

“It’s out here, but my keys are in my purse.”

“Where’s your purse?”

“In the lounge, behind the bar.”

“Fuck!”

“Lou-”

“Shut up,” he said. “I’m tryin’ ta think.”

Bev looked at me, biting her lower lip, and I winked with a lot more conviction than I felt.

“Okay, we’ll hot-wire a car and then I’ll take care of you two. Come on, I like that red one over there. Both of you, move.”

“Red?” I asked, as he pushed us along. “That’s kinda conspicuous, ain’t it, Lou?”

“Don’t matter,” he said. “I’m headin’ right outta town. Nobody’s gonna be lookin’ for me.”

“What about your bosses?” I asked. “They’re gonna be pissed when they find out what you did.”

“Whatta they care? Besides, they ain’t gonna find me, either. Stop.”

We stopped by a red Corvette.

“You’ve got expensive taste, Lou.”

“Look,” he said, “it ain’t even locked. I’ll bet some high roller left his key in it. Take a look.”

I peered into the car.

“No luck,” I said. “You’ll have to wire it.”

“And I’ll need both hands,” he said. “Nice try. You do it.”

“Me? I can’t hot-wire a car.”

“Didn’t I heard you say one time you were from Brooklyn?”

“That doesn’t mean I can steal a car.”

“I can.”

We both looked at Bev.

“What?” Terazzo asked.

“I can jack a car. I used to do it when I was in college.”

Terazzo grinned.

“My kinda girl.” He laughed. “Maybe I’ll take you with me, honey. How would you like that?”

“I’ll get the car started,” she said, “but to tell you the truth I’d rather you shoot me with him then take me with you.”

Terazzo lost his smile. Suddenly, he backhanded her across the face.

“Bitch! You’re all bitches. Don’t move, Eddie. Don’t be a hero.”

My muscles had tensed and I might have jumped him but he stuck the gun in my face.

“Open the door for the lady, Eddie,” he said. “She’ll get the car started, and then we’ll decide who gets a bullet first, you or her.”

I opened the door. Next thing I knew I heard Terazzo grunt. I turned and saw that a hand had come over his shoulder and grabbed his gun hand by the wrist. He was turned around abruptly and before he could react a fist crashed into his face. He went limp and as he slid to the ground the hand holding his wrist came away with the gun.

“I don’t know what this is about, pally,” Dean Martin said, “but I hate to see a lady get hit.”

I finally got to drink my bourbon, only this time I made it a double. To Bev’s credit she insisted on continuing her shift.

“If I go home I’ll just sit in a corner and shake,” she said. “But as scary as it was, at least I get to know that my life was saved by Dean Martin!”

That was looking on the bright side, all right.

Dean had come back from the Riviera after filming before the other guys. He spotted me with Bev and Lou Terazzo, started across the parking lot towards us, but increased his speed when he saw Lou smack Bev. He waited around long enough to hand the gun to a cop, then went to his suite, where he said he’d be available to make a statement. He told me to come up and see him when I was done.

True to his name, “Unlucky Lou” had picked the wrong day to come at me head-on, and was on his way to jail. I was nursing my bourbon, waiting for Detective Hargrove to come and question me for what I hoped was the last time. While I was sitting there Jerry came walking in.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked. “I seen cops outside.”

“Have a seat and a drink,” I said, “I’ll tell you all about it.”

By the time I finished he was staring morosely into his beer.

“You coulda got killed,” he said, “and it woulda been my fault.”

“First of all,” I said, “I’m not dead, and second of all, don’t try to take all the credit. I let him walk right up to me.”

“This was my job,” he said. “I’m the pro, not you.”

“Jerry,” I argued, “you did your job, kept me alive in that fleabag and got hauled in for it.” I picked up my glass and raised it to him. “Here’s to pros.”

He raised his glass, but still wasn’t completely satisfied.

“I guess I better check out and head back to New York.”

“Stay an extra day,” I said. “I’ll show you some of Vegas you didn’t get to see.”

“I s’pose I could stay one more night. I’ll just have to tell Frank-”

“I’ll arrange it with the hotel,” I said. “And come to the show tonight.”

“Frank said I should come whenever I wanted,” he told me. “So, okay. I’ll see the show. I heard they’re hilarious together.”

“They are.”

He drained his beer and said he’d see me later. On the way out he passed Danny, and the two men sized each other up.

“What’s goin’ on?” Danny asked, sliding onto a stool next to me. “Cops outside, and big Jer looks like somebody took the bullets out of his gun.”

“Have a drink,” I said, and I told him about it just as I had Jerry.

“Jesus,” he said, “Dean Martin saved your ass?”

“That he did,” I said, “and I’m very happy about it.”

“So the killer’s off the streets.”

“He confessed to me,” I said. “I’ll make a statement to Hargrove and that should be that. Now if I could just wrap up my original job …”

“I’ve got something for you on that.”

“From the employee list?”

“No. I’ve had my ears to the ground and something came up today.”

I put my drink down.

“Okay, give. If we could wrap both of these things up in one day I could go back to my pit, where nobody tries to kill me.”

“Yeah, they just wish you dead.”

“Danny …”

“I got somebody who saw your two dead goons, Ravisi and Davis, meet with a big man in a bar off the strip. Money changed hands.”

“So they lied about bein’ hired on the phone.”

“Maybe,” he said, “and maybe they were payin’ off a gamblin’ debt.”

“You don’t have a better description of the man they met with?”

“Big guy, expensive suit, wide shoulders. Could be Big Jer, except for the suit. His is more off-the-rack Robert Hall.”

“No, not Jerry.”

“Well, whoever he is, he’s your insider.”

“Then find me somebody on that list you got from Marcia who matches the description.”

“Sure,” he said, sarcastically, “that’ll take no time at all.”

“I’m gonna go up and talk to Dean.”

“Take me with you.”

“You’ll meet him tonight. Besides, I gotta thank him for helpin’ me out when I’m supposed to be helpin’ him. It’ll be a little embarrassin’.”

“Hey, one more thing,” he said, as we headed out. “My man says this big guy in the bar was always holdin’ his head, you know? Like he was in pain all the time?”

We walked out of the lounge together then went our separate ways. I told him I’d see him at the show. His last comment to me had given me the answer I needed. Now I had to decide what to do with it.

Not havin’ one?” I asked when he pushed my drink over to me.

“No.”

I sipped it.

“Let’s cut to the chase, Mack,” I said. “I figure you did it because you wanted Dean to need you a little more. Maybe he doesn’t depend on you so much after eight years, or maybe just not as much as Mr. Raft did.”

He didn’t answer, didn’t look at me, but I thought I saw his shoulders hunch.

“Or maybe,” I said, “you’re afraid he’s gonna ship you off to someone else the way Raft did.”

“The Boss didn’t have a choice,” Mack said. “He was broke. I told him I’d stay with him for nothin’, but he said no. So I ended up workin’ for Mr. Martin.”

“And he became your boss.”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re still loyal to Raft?”

He glared at me, now.

“I’m loyal to both of them,” he said. “They’re great guys.”

I stared at Mack. He must’ve been about fifty-four then. Movingon would not have been a very good option for him. Starting over somewhere else.

“So you sent the notes.”

His jaw tightened and for a moment I thought he’d either ignore me or slug me. Instead, he turned, poured himself some scotch, then pulled a pill bottle from his pocket and took two. Percodan.

“Somebody saw you with Ravisi and Davis, Mack,” I said. “Big guy in a dark suit, always holdin’ his head like it hurt. That’s you.”

He looked down at the vial of Percordan in his hand, as if it had betrayed him. I continued.

“It only occurred to me later that while Frank referred to the notes as death threats, they never really said anything about dying. Even in a note you couldn’t bring yourself to threaten Dean in that way.”

“I sent one,” he said. “I thought that would do it, but he never mentioned it. Then I sent another. He still didn’t mention it-to me. Pretty soon I found out he was talkin’ to Mr. Sinatra, and then to you.”

“So when I came into the picture you stopped sendin’ the notes.”

“They weren’t doin’ no good, so yeah, I stopped,” he said. “I didn’t mean ta threaten the shootin’ schedule. I wasn’t trying ta force the boss into hidin’. I was just … I don’t know what I was doin’.”

“And then you hired Ravisi and Davis to scare me off.”

This time Mack looked away.

“I never meant you no harm, Eddie,” he said. “That’s all they were supposed to do, scare ya. They wasn’t supposed to hurt ya.”

“Well,” I said, “they did that.”

I decided not to tell Mack that he was responsible for the two hoods getting killed. I figured they were no loss to anybody, anyway.

He drank down half his drink while I sipped some more of mine.

“So I guess you’re gonna turn me in now, huh? Tell the boss it was me?”

“What good would that do?”

“What?”

“He’d probably fire you.”

“Naw-well, yeah … yeah, I guess he might.”

“I don’t want you to get fired, Mack.”

He looked at me with surprise etched on his face.

“You ain’t gonna tell him? Gee, thanks, Eddie.”

“Maybe you should, at some point, but I’m not gonna. The important thing is that the threatening notes have stopped, right?”

“Definitely,” he said. “No more notes.”

“If you want Dino to depend more on you, find another way, okay?”

“Okay. You got it.”

Suddenly, we heard Dino’s footsteps coming down the hall.

“What are you gonna tell ’im?” Mack asked, lowering his voice.

“I’m gonna wing it,” I said, quickly. “Just go along with me.”

He nodded and we both turned and tried to look as innocent as newborn babes as Dino entered the room, shaking his right hand.

“It’s been a few years since I hit somebody for real,” he said to us. “Had to soak my hand for a while.”

“You want ice, boss?” Mack asked.

“No, Mack, that’s okay,” Dean said. “I could use a drink, though.”

“Comin’ up, boss.”

“Just one before the show,” he said, approaching the bar. “So Eddie, what happened down there after I left.”

“The guy you hit was Lou Terazzo,” I said. “He killed his girlfriend and her roommate, both showgirls at the Riv. He also killed a guy named Mike Borraco, who worked with him there.”

“Was it a sex thing?” Dean asked, accepting a glass of amber liquid from Mack. I hadn’t watched him pour it, but I assumed it was bourbon.

“Yeah,” I said, “sort of a triangle, and the roommate got caught in the fallout. But here’s the weird part.”

“Tell me,” he said, still flexing the fingers of his right hand, “I like weird.”

“Lou Terazzo was the guy sendin’ you the threats.”

“Why? What’d I ever do to him?”

“He fancied himself a ladies man, modeled himself after you, even thought he could,” I lied. “When he realized he was none of those things, he snapped.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Dean looked delighted. “You mean I got him myself?”

“Guess you didn’t need me after all, Dean,” I said. “Fact is, you saved me.”

“Hey, hey,” Dean said, “don’t sell yourself short, pally. You worked your ass off on this. I’m not gonna forget it.” He turned to look at Mack. “Ain’t that right, Killer?”

That was Mack’s nickname from the days when he was a fight manager, before hooking up with George Raft.

“That’s right, boss,” Mack said. “His ass.”

“So no more notes,” Dean said. “That’s good. And the guy’s in the slammer.”

“For a long time,” I added.

“I’ll have to tell Frank,” Dean said. “He was worried, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” I put my glass on the bar and got down from my stool. “Guess I’ll be back on the clock now. If you want to deal any blackjack the rest of the time you’re here, let me know.”

I took it easy on his sore right hand as we shook.

“You really did save my bacon out there today, Dean,” I said. “Not to mention Bev’s. Thank you.”

“We’re even, Eddie,” Dean said. “That’s the way I see it.”

“Okay.”

He walked me to the door with his arm around me.

“You comin’ to the show tonight? There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

“Milton Berle’s comin’ tonight,” Mack said. “And Mr. Sinatra’s new girl.”

“New girl?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “we won’t be seein’ Judith around tonight. Juliet Prowse is coming. Gorgeous dancer. What a pair of gams!”

“Sounds like I shouldn’t miss it,” I replied. “I’ll be there.”

“Come back stage after and I’ll introduce you around.” He squeezed my shoulder when he said that, and then released me so I could go out the door. I found it an oddly touching gesture, like he was saying we were friends now.

Las Vegas

November 26, 1996

2:26 A.M.