The Way You Die Tonight (13 page)

‘Listen, Eddie G.,' he said, as we rode up, ‘I think I'm going to be playing a character tonight. I'll be trying Lancey Howard on, if you know what I mean.'

‘I do,' I said. ‘It'll be a privilege to watch you work.'

He took a cigar from his pocket and said, ‘I brought a prop.'

‘Light it up.'

He put it back in his pocket and said, ‘I will, when we get there.'

All the players were seated at the table when Billy Pulaski let us in. I could see the gun beneath his jacket.

‘Billy, meet Edward G. Robinson.'

‘A pleasure, sir,' Billy said.

‘The pleasure is mine,' Robinson said. ‘I appreciate you letting me watch.'

‘That was up to the players, really,' he said, ‘and Jack Entratter.'

‘Well, I thank you, anyway.'

‘You're welcome, sir.'

I could see that Eddie had charmed Billy out of some of his snit.

‘Billy, you want to introduce him to the players?' I asked.

‘Why don't you do that,' Billy said. ‘After all, you're Eddie G.'

OK, maybe he wasn't over his snit.

I knew all the players. None of them had been at the game the other night, the one that somebody had tried to rob. Also, the bartender was different.

I moved to the table, said hello to everyone, then said, ‘Gents, meet Edward G. Robinson. He's doing research for his new movie,
The Cincinnati Kid
.'

‘I read the book,' Herb Cowlan said. ‘You playin' Lancey Howard?'

‘That's right,' Robinson said, surprised.

‘You're dressed the part,' Cowlan said. He was a businessman in his forties who came to the Sands several times a year with a million dollars in his pocket.

Of the six players, Cowlan was the most impressed with Robinson. Several of them knew him and said how good it was to meet him. At least two of them didn't seem impressed. They were the youngest, and maybe had not seen many of his early movies.

‘All right,' I said, ‘shuffle 'em and deal.'

That was Robinson's cue to take out his cigar and light it up.

Lancey Howard was in the house.

Robinson stood for a good portion of the time, but as a concession to his age he finally took a seat.

This game was a little different from the ones the actor would be playing in the movie. For one thing, in the book and the movie – he told me – the games have a dealer, while in this game the deal passed from player to player. This was the players' preference. The Sands did supply dealers for games, but in this case the players all wanted to pass the deal.

The game was not dealer's choice, though. They were playing five card stud, which
was
the game they'd be playing in the film.

Robinson caressed the cigar he was holding as he watched, and he kept silent the whole time.

After a couple of hours I started to wonder where Jerry was and when he'd call me.

Billy came over and said, ‘You keep checkin' your watch. You expectin' somethin' to happen?'

‘Not like the other night, no,' I said. ‘I'm waitin' for a call.'

‘You gave somebody the room number?' he asked, testily.

‘Relax,' I said. ‘I checked with Jack first.' I hadn't, but I didn't want Billy to know that.

‘Still …' he said.

‘Relax, Billy,' I said. ‘Everything's OK.'

Billy stepped away from me, but did not relax. He turned his attention back to the game …

When the phone finally rang the bartender answered it, then waved to get my attention.

‘For you, Eddie,' he said as I approached, keeping his voice down.

‘Thanks, Vinny.' I took the receiver. ‘Hello?'

‘Mr G.?'

‘Hey, Jerry. You OK?'

‘I'm fine, Mr G.,' he said, ‘and so are Penny and the shamus.'

‘Where's he been?'

‘Workin',' Jerry said. ‘He found out some stuff you should know about.'

‘Can it wait til morning?'

‘Oh, yeah,' Jerry said, ‘it can wait a while. In fact, I told him we'd meet at the Horseshoe coffee shop in the morning. Nine a.m.'

‘That's fine,' I said. That Danny and Jerry had chosen the Horseshoe was no surprise. ‘I'm just glad he's OK, and not missing.'

‘Not missing,' Jerry said, then added, ‘but he took a few lumps.'

‘What? Bad?'

‘He's been worse,' Jerry said. ‘You'll see, and you'll hear about it tomorrow.'

‘Where are you?'

‘I'm in my suite.'

‘OK,' I said. ‘Get some rest, and thanks for going out tonight.'

‘Sure, Mr G.'

Neither of us hung up.

‘Jerry?'

‘Yeah?'

‘Are you sure you're OK?'

‘Oh yeah, I'm fine,' he said. ‘There was some stuff … but you'll hear all about it in the morning. How's Mr R. doin' at the game?'

‘He's watching,' I said, ‘very closely.'

‘Well, I'll see you in the mornin',' he said, and hung up. I hung up, too, deciding not to call him back and press him for more.

‘Everything OK, Eddie G.?'

Robinson had come up to my elbow, holding his smoldering cigar aloft in one hand, his eyebrows up.

‘Everything's good, Eddie,' I said. If it wasn't, apparently I'd find out in the morning.

R
obinson grew tired long before the game ended. In fact, the game could have gone on for days. There was no way to know. When he and I left it made Billy much happier.

I spent the night in a room at the Sands and was knocking on the door to Jerry's suite early the next morning.

‘Hey, Mr G.,' he said, fully dressed and ready to go. He also had a bruise on the left side of his face.

‘That part of what happened last night?'

‘Oh, uh, yeah,' he said, touching his face.

‘Should I see the other guy?'

‘I don't think anybody's gonna see the other guy again any time soon,' he replied.

‘This somethin' I should hear about?'

‘Yes, sir,' he said, ‘but Danny wants to tell it at breakfast.'

‘Then I guess we better go,' I said, ‘because I'm real curious.'

‘I'm ready.'

In the elevator he asked, ‘How'd things go for Mr R.?'

‘He got tired and I took him to his suite,' I said. ‘I'm assuming he got some of what he needed.'

‘That's good.'

‘I'll check in with him when we get back,' I said. ‘Right now I just want to find out what's goin' on.'

Jerry got behind the wheel of the Caddy and we headed for Fremont Street.

Danny was waiting for us in a back booth, sitting over a cup of coffee. As we approached he raised his head and I saw the lumps and bruises on his face.

‘This should be a good story,' I said, sliding into the booth next to him. Jerry needed one whole side for himself.

‘It is,' Danny said. ‘Jerry tell you much?'

‘Not even where he got that bruise on his face.'

‘Good. I asked him to let me tell it.'

‘So, tell it.'

‘Can we order?' Jerry asked.

‘Sure,' I said. ‘We can talk while we eat – or rather, Danny will talk, and I'll listen.'

The waitress came to the table and Jerry said to her, ‘Pancakes.'

That was the only thing I heard over the next half hour that wasn't a surprise …

First, Danny hadn't told me everything he'd found in Helen's apartment, and her desk at the office.

‘I found two matchbooks, one in each place,' he said, ‘both from the same club.'

‘What club?'

‘It's called The Happy Devil.'

‘Wait, that's a—'

‘Sex club.'

‘What?'

Danny took one of the matchbooks from his pocket and handed it to me. On the cover was a scantily clad woman with horns, a pitchfork and huge breasts.

‘Is that like a swingers' club?' Jerry asked.

Swingers' clubs had come into vogue in the 60s, and were a precursor to some of the fetish clubs of later years. At the time, though, the Happy Devil was not advertised as a ‘sex' club, but simply a ‘hot' club. But people in the know were aware of what they peddled: sex.

Brothels were a legal business in Nevada for many years, since 1949 efforts were made to close them as a ‘public nuisance', an action that was upheld by the Nevada Supreme Court. They still, however, continued to do business outside the city limits.

The Happy Devil was probably an attempt to run such a club inside the city limits, but they didn't call what went on there ‘prostitution'.

‘Kind of,' Danny said, answering Jerry's question. ‘Swingers' clubs are usually for couples. Single people can go to the Happy Devil and find willing partners for the night. It's basically for people who don't want to deal with the emotional attachments that stem from sex.'

I looked at Jerry. By that definition it might be the kind of place that would interest him.

But Helen?

‘Why didn't you tell me this when we talked last time?' I asked.

‘I wanted to look into it first,' he said. ‘For one thing, if Helen really did frequent the club – if she really did have a fetish – why would she keep a matchbook in her desk for anybody to see? I don't think she'd want that to be general knowledge.'

‘You think somebody put it there?'

‘Maybe,' Danny said. ‘I did find one in her apartment.'

‘Somebody could've put that one there, too,' Jerry said.

‘Yeah,' Danny said, ‘or it could have been hers.'

‘What are you saying?' I asked.

‘Maybe,' Danny said, ‘somebody put the matchbook in her desk to send us – or the cops – to the Happy Devil.'

‘For what reason?' I asked. ‘To put us on the wrong track?'

‘Or the right one,' he said. ‘I decided to go there and find out.'

O
ver my ham and eggs and his own steak and eggs Danny told me the story …

Danny had talked with Jack Entratter and Marcy at the Sands, and briefly with some of the other office staff. He keyed on the names that Marcy had given him, but half-heartedly since Marcy was as much of a suspect as they were.

From his questions, though, he determined that Marcy had steered him right. Helen was not well liked at work, and some of the people – the names Marcy had given him – seemed to either intensely dislike or hate her.

And then there was the matchbook. The thing he found odd about both books was that there were no matches missing from either. It left him wondering if they were both plants.

At her apartment he found evidence that her place had been searched before him, but that could have been the police, probably hoping to find a suicide note. Her desk had also been rifled, likely by the cops. If the matchbooks were in place at the time they were either overlooked, or not considered to be of importance. Danny pocketed both.

After finishing up his interviews at the Sands Danny decided he better check out the Happy Devil, which was something he couldn't do until later that night. He had a few more Sands employees to see at their homes til then, and wanted to tell me about two of them specifically, as a small sample of what he'd been hearing …

Debra Runnels had an apartment in a residential motel that catered to singles. The apartments surrounded a center court which boasted a large swimming pool. During the day he knew he would have found single men and women in bathing suits lounging around the pool, but at dinner time there was only one man chatting up two girls who seemed bored. They perked up when they saw Danny, though that could have just been Danny's ego talking.

He had Debra's apartment number, on the second level. He knocked, and exchanged glances with the two girls while the man glared at him. He could tell they were flirting with him the way they kicked at the water and leaned back on their hands, thrusting their bikini-covered breasts forward. (OK, maybe not his ego.)

The door was opened by a pretty girl in her late twenties, who worked in the accounting department at the Sands. She had red hair, and was wearing a green, spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress.

‘Yes?'

‘Miss Runnels?'

‘That's right.'

‘My name's Danny Bardini,' he said. ‘I'm investigating the death of Helen Simms, at the Sands?'

‘Oh, God,' she said, going pale. ‘That was awful. You know, I coulda walked into that ladies room and found her?'

‘That would have been terrible for you,' he said. ‘I'm glad you didn't. Could I come in? I just need to ask you a few questions.'

‘Well … I'm waiting for my date, but … I suppose so.'

‘Thank you.'

She allowed him to enter, then peered out the door before closing it.

‘I'm sorry,' she said, ‘I don't have anything to offer you—'

‘That's OK,' he said. ‘I won't be here long.'

‘I don't know what I can tell you.'

‘Well, you can tell me why some of the people I spoke to at the Sands told me you didn't like Helen very much.'

‘Oh.' The girl hugged herself, as if she'd suddenly grown cold. She was slender, with a lithe figure that showed the result of regular exercise. He figured she got a lot of use out of the swimming pool. She had small breasts and a tiny waist, probably looked great in a bikini.

He continued to watch her and wait.

‘Well …' she said. ‘Um … I talked to the other detectives when they came to the office.'

Once again, he had not claimed to be a police detective but he said, ‘I'm doing some follow up interviews.' He decided to take a shot. ‘Besides, you didn't tell the other detectives that you didn't like her.'

‘Well … I …' Suddenly, she got a pugnacious look on her face and he half expected her to stamp her foot. ‘Nobody liked her!'