You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Kills You (14 page)

“I could never get the hang of that,” I said, indicating his sticks.

“I eat lots of Chinks,” he said.

“So do I. My grandmother—the only member of my family who wasn’t crazy—tried to show me how to use them when I was a kid. She lived in Little Italy and took me to Chinatown a lot.”

“Ya want I should show ya?”

“No, that’s okay,” I said. “I do pretty well with a fork.”

I emptied pepper steak onto my plate and took a swig of beer.

“If this was Vegas I might have some idea about what to do, where to look,” I said, “but I’m out of my element here.”

“What about what you said before?” Jerry asked, dumping a bunch of fried rice onto his plate.

“About what?”

“Hirin’ a PI.” He lowered his voice. “That Otash guy?”

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ about that.”

“We could go see him tomorrow … unless ya wanna ask that detective to recommend somebody.”

“I don’t think we want Stanze knowin’ that we’re hirin’ a PI,” I said. “He doesn’t want us messin’ in his business.”

“But it ain’t his business, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “It’s your business. But I know what ya mean. Cops always think stuff’s their business when it ain’t.”

“Okay,” I said, “so we’ll go talk to Otash tomorrow. I’ll call Dean first.”

“Whataya wanna call him for?”

“I’m involved because he asked me to be, and Danny’s missin’
because I asked him to help. I’ll ask Dean to call Otash and arrange an appointment. That way we’ll know that he’ll see us.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Mr. G.” He grabbed the fried rice box, then looked at me. “You like the steamed white or the fried?”

“I’ll take the white.”

“Good,” he said, “I like the fried.” He emptied the box onto his plate, then dumped chicken chow mein on top of it.

“I’ll call Dean after we finish eating,” I said. “You want this last egg roll?”

“Sure,” he said, taking it.

Why did I ask?

“Hey, Eddie,” Dean said when Jeannie put him on the phone. I was surprised he was home. I thought Jeannie would have to give me a phone number wherever he was performing. “Lucky you caught me home. I’m heading for Chicago tomorrow to do a show. Is this about Marilyn?”

“It started with Marilyn, Dean,” I said. “Now it’s moved on.”

I’d had to drive three blocks before I found a pay phone, but I didn’t want to call from the house.

I told him what had been going on and asked him about Otash.

“I know Fred, of course,” he said, “but you should know that he’s a hustler. That’s why you see so many of his ads in the paper.”

“A hustler?” I asked. “You mean … he’s on the hustle?”

“No, he’s a con man. He’ll work for anybody who pays him. If he was a lawyer you’d call him an ambulance chaser.”

“But is he any good?”

“As far as I know,” Dean said, “he’s very good. If you need someone who knows his way around California, he’s your man.”

“I need someone who knows somethin’ about findin’ a missing person.”

“Then use him,” Dean said. “You want me to call him?”

“Yeah,” I said, “can you do it first thing in the mornin’?”

“Sure thing. You bringing Big Jerry with you?”

“Yeah, he’s here.”

“Okay,” Dean said, “I’ll tell Fred to expect both of you. I’ll tell him it would be a favor to me.”

“Don’t ask him to do it for free,” I said.

“I wouldn’t think of it,” he said. “Fred Otash doesn’t work for anybody for free.”

“Okay, thanks. Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah, pally?”

“What did you mean when you said he’d work for any-body?” I asked.

“I meant,” Dean said, “that he will work for
anybody.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Okay, thanks.”

“No, thank
you
, Eddie,” Dean said. “I know I got you into this, which means I got Danny into this. I hope you find him okay.”

I hung up just as my time ran out.

F
RED OTASH’S OFFICE WAS
in Hollywood, on North Laurel Avenue. We took the elevator up and presented ourselves to a woman who looked as if she was dressed for an audition rather than a day at work. Her nails and lips were bloodred, her hair Jayne Mansfield blond, her dress a size too small and protesting.

“Yes?”

“We’d like to see Mr. Otash.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes.”

“Your name?”

“Gianelli, Eddie Gianelli?”

She opened her appointment book, looked at it and shook her head. “I don’t have you in my book, sir.”

“Why don’t you call Fred and ask him?” I suggested. “He got a call this morning from Dean Martin to set this up.”

She let loose with a heavy sigh that tested the resolve of her dress, got a put-upon look on her face and pressed the intercom button.

“Mr. Otash, there’s a Mr. Gianelli here who says Dean Martin called—”

“Send him in, Leona,” a voice said, “and his friend, too.”

She hung up and tapped her appointment book with her red nails. Clearly, this was not acceptable behavior to her. “You can go in.”

“Thank you.”

There was only one other door so we opened it and stepped through. Fred Otash stood up, remained behind his desk, and extended his hand. He wasn’t short, had wavy dark hair and a full face. He looked more like an agent than a private eye.

“Mr. Gianelli?”

“That’s right.” I shook his hand.

“And Mr. Epstein?”

“Hiya,” Jerry said, shaking his hand.

“Wow, you’re a big one,” Otash said. “Have a seat.”

We both sat. The chairs were cushioned and comfortable. The office was expensively furnished in dark wood that gleamed. I wondered if the red-nailed secretary also did the dusting.

“Well, okay,” he said, “Dean tells me you’re friends of his who need help. He also told me you’re in trouble because you were helping him. It all sounds real involved, so whenever you’re ready … go!”

I started with Dean asking me to help Marilyn and worked my way through everything. The only thing I left out was why I went to New York.

When I was done he asked, “Why did you go to New York?”

“Is that relevant?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “and I won’t know until you tell me.”

“A funeral,” I said. “Family.”

“Whose?”

I looked at him.

“Okay, never mind that part,” he said, waving a hand. “You say Danny Bardini is in my business?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t know him,” he said with a frown. This seemed to bother him. “Okay, never mind. What we have to do here is move on.”

“You’ll take the case?” Jerry asked.

Otash nodded. “As long as there’s no major open police case that I’d be interfering in.”

“Not that I know of.”

“I’ll have my girl type up a standard contract for you. After we take care of the business aspect of this, I’m all yours.”

I
SIGNED OTASH’S CONTRACT
and agreed to his fee. I had no idea if he was giving us any kind of discount or not because of Dean, but he seemed expensive.

“All right, gentlemen,” he said, when Leona left with the signed document and I had a copy in my pocket. “Do you have any objection to my talking to Detective Stanze?”

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“No,” he said, “but I do know a few guys at the West Los Angeles Station.”

“Anyone with rank?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to thumb my nose at this detective,” I said.

“Leave it to me,” he said. “I can talk to him without damaging his ego. And believe me, he’d probably rather I do this than you flounder around on your own. No offense.”

“None taken,” Jerry said.

Otash looked at him. “That’s good, big guy,” he said. “I’d hate to offend you.” He looked at me, pushed a pad of lined
paper my way. “I need the address of that motel, the name of the manager, the clerk, the address you had on the clerk … any place else you’ve already gone.”

“Okay.”

“Any objection to my talking with Miss Monroe?”

“No,” I said, “but I’ll have to set that up. She’s … delicate.”

“So I hear,” Otash said. “I’ve dealt with stars before, Mr. Gianelli. I know how to handle them.”

“That may be,” I said, “but I’ll still have to set it up. If you want to talk to her in person, I’ll have to be there.”

“That’s fine with me. Where is she now?”

Oh, yeah, I had left out that part. I hesitated.

“Is that something you don’t want to tell me?” he asked.

“Um, no,” I said. “She’s in Palm Springs, staying with … a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Okay, well I’ll start with the police, and then look into that motel. Oh, and would you write down there a complete description of your friend?”

“Sure.” I wrote down as complete a description as I could.

“Very good,” Otash said, accepting the pad back.

“If you gentlemen don’t mind I’d like to ask what Mr. Epstein’s interest in all this is?”

“He’s with me,” I said.

“Yes, but why?”

“I help Mr. G. when he needs help,” Jerry said.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Vegas,” Otash said.

“I’m from New York.”

“Brooklyn, if my ear is right.”

“That’s right.”

Otash looked at me. “Did you know each other when you lived in Brooklyn?”

“No,” I said, “we only met a couple of years ago, in Vegas.”

“I see.”

“My relationship with Jerry has no bearing on what we’re doin’ here, Mr. Otash,” I said. “He just volunteered to come here and help me.”

Otash nodded. “Very well then,” he said. “Where can I contact you?”

“We’re staying in Marilyn Monroe’s guesthouse,” I said. “I’ve written the number down there.”

“Excellent,” Otash said. “I’ll try to have something for you by the end of the day.”

“Thank you,” I said, standing up. Jerry did the same. We both shook hands with Otash again, and then he walked us to his door.

“Will you fellas be staying in, or … going sightseeing? Something?”

“We’re not interested in sightseeing,” I said, “but we might be in and out.”

“I see. Well, if I don’t get you the first time I’ll just try again.”

“That’d be good.”

We walked past the secretary, who didn’t pay any attention to us, and left.

“What’d you think?” I asked, when we got to the street.

“I don’t like him,” Jerry said. “He’s too slick.”

“Like an agent,” I said.

“Or a lawyer,” Jerry said. “He asks a lot of questions.”

“Part of his job.”

“Yeah, but why does it matter why I’m here?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He does seem to need a lot of information. Maybe he’s just bein’ thorough.”

“Yeah,” Jerry said, “maybe. So what do we do now?”

“You got any suggestions?”

“I do,” he said, “but you probably won’t like it.”

Since we’d only had toast and coffee for breakfast I thought I knew.

“Let’s go find some pancakes,” I said.

A big grin split Jerry face.

“There ya go, Mr. G.”

W
E STOPPED AT A
pay phone before we went back to the guesthouse so I could call Penny, who proceeded to read me the riot act for taking so long to get back to her. I didn’t bother mentioning that Jerry and I had stopped for pancakes. That really would have set her off.

I told her what we had been doing and who we’d hired to help us.

“Fred Otash?” she asked. “Danny hates him.”

“He knows him?”

“No, he
knows
of him and doesn’t like him one bit,” she said.

“Jealous?”

She made a noise into the phone. “You know Danny. That’s not it. The guy has a reputation and it ain’t all good. Why don’t you let me give you some names?”

“I think I’ll stick with Otash for now, Penny.”

“By the way,” she asked, “how is Miss Monroe?”

“She’s in Palm Springs, and I’m in L.A.”

“Where are you staying?”

“In her guesthouse.”

“Let me have the number so I can get in touch with you.”

“Are you still not goin’ back to the office?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s … too depressing. I’ll just close the office and wait for you to call me.”

“Okay, Penny. As soon as I know something.”

“And say hi to Jerry for me. I’m glad he’s there with you.”

“So am I.”

I hung up and looked at Jerry. “She says hi.”

“Cute kid,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“So,” he said, “now that we got this guy Otash workin’ on it, what do we do? Go back to Vegas?”

“No,” I said, “I’m thinkin’ we go out to Palm Springs to see Marilyn.”

“Bring her back here?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I mean, we haven’t done a thing about finding out who’s watchin’ her. We’ve been spendin’ all our time tryin’ to find Danny.”

“Same thing, ain’t it?” he asked. “Find out who’s watchin’ her we find out who disappeared Danny.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Danny’s worked on a lot of cases, Jerry,” I said. “What if somebody from one of those spotted him here in L.A. and waylaid him.”

“That’d be a helluva coincidence, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “I think we’re better off figurin’ it’s all connected. But hey, you’re the brains, I’m just the muscle.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I’m the brains, that’s why I didn’t think of calling Penny at home sooner.”

“Hey, I didn’t think of it either, Mr. G.”

“Yeah, but you’re just muscle,” I said. “You said it yourself.”

“I was jus’ tryin’ ta make you feel better, Mr. G.,” he said, straight-faced.

“Speaking of calling, I better call Marilyn and make sure she’s okay,” I said. “Maybe we won’t need to drive out there.”

Luckily, I had started carrying a lot of change.

“Sinatra residence,” George said.

“Hey, George, it’s Eddie G. How’s it goin’ there?” I asked.

“We’ve had some excitement here, sir.”

“What kind of excitement, George?”

“I better let Mr. Sinatra tell you himself.”

I heard him put the phone down, and moments later Frank picked it up.

“Hey, Eddie.”

“What’s goin’ on, Frank?”

“We had somebody on the grounds last night,” Frank said. “A couple of my guys saw him near the house and chased him.”