You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Kills You (23 page)

I called Detective Stanze over to one side and said, “Do you think we could get your men to stop drooling over Marilyn’s tits for five minutes?”

“Come on, Eddie,” he said, “it’s Marilyn Monroe, for chrissake. You don’t want them looking then get her to cover up.”

“Can I move her to the main house?”

“No,” he said, “this is where everything happened, and I want her here.”

He was pissed at me for calling him to the scene with two dead men on the ground. Or maybe it was because the FBI had gotten him yanked from the case, and here he was back in it again.

“Let me through!” I heard Fred Otash shout from the kitchen.

Stanze heard it, too, and he craned his neck and said, “Let him in.”

Moments later Otash came stalking into the living room.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded, looking at me. “I thought you told me she was out of town.”

“She was,” I said, “I didn’t expect her back here.”

“And these two just happened to pick today to take you out of the picture?” Otash asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “They said they killed the desk clerk, and grabbed Danny, and now I was a big enough pain in the neck that they had to kill me, too.”

“So they killed Danny?” Otash asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I couldn’t get a firm answer out of them and then … they were dead.”

“No, not ‘and then they were dead,’” Stanze said. “You killed them.”

“So they wouldn’t kill us.”

“What I want to know is how you killed one with a frying pan and one with a gun?”

“I told you already.”

“Yes, I know,” Stanze said, “but it doesn’t sound logical to me.”

“None of this has seemed logical to me,” I said, “especially the part where you pulled your men from the hospital.”

“I told you that wasn’t my decision, but I have to follow orders.”

“No matter who they come from.”

“They came from my boss!”

“And where did his orders come from?” I demanded.

“Ah!” Stanze said, and stormed off into the kitchen.

“How the hell are we going to find out what happened to Danny now?” I asked.

“There’s only one place we can get answers from,” Otash said.

“Where?”

“The FBI. The problem is, how to get the FBI to talk to us?”

“I don’t know,” I said as a thought hit me, “I might have to make a few calls.”

“To who?”

“Tell you later, but I’ve got another question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“These guys claimed they didn’t know anything about Jerry gettin’ clobbered,” I said.

“Well, if that’s true, then who slugged Jerry, and why?”

“Those are the questions.”

S
TANZE FINALLY LET ME
take Marilyn back to the main house.

“Eddie,” she said, when we got inside, “it’s going to be in the newspapers that I killed a guy.”

“No,” I said, “it’s gonna be in the paper that I killed two men in your guesthouse … in self-defense.”

“B-but, you can’t take the blame for something I did,” she said.

“Sure I can,” I said. “Nobody cares about me. This will all be in the papers because it’s your house, but it’ll soon become old news. The other way, if we tell them you killed one, it’ll be in the news forever.”

“But I’ll always know,” she said. “It was terrible. I can still hear the sound and see all that blood—”

“Marilyn, those guys were gonna kill me,” I said, “and if they found you in the house, they might’ve killed you, too. I told you before. You saved our lives.”

“Okay,” she said, “okay, Eddie. I think I’m going to go to my room and lie down.”

“That’s a good idea.”

As she left the room somebody knocked on the front door. I went and let Otash in.

“How is she?”

“Shaken up,” I said. “She went to lay down.”

“You’re taking a chance, you know, taking all the blame,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Looks pretty cut-and-dried to me. They were gonna kill me, for sure, and who knows what they would’ve done to her if they’d found her there.”

“I agree.”

“You can feel pretty safe though,” I said.

“How’s that?”

“They said you were too high-profile to kill.”

“I’ll try not to let that go to my head. So, let’s see where we stand now?”

“I killed the only two men who might’ve told us what they did with Danny, that’s where we stand—officially.”

“There’s still the Lavender and the guy who manages it,” Otash said. “We could sweat him.”

“I don’t think we have time for that, Fred. After all this if Danny’s still alive they might decide to get rid of him.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I’ve got a phone number,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s still good, but I can try it.”

“And who would be at the other end of that number?”

“Well,” I said, “last year it was Joseph Kennedy, but I actually got a call back from JFK.”

“The president?”

“That’s the only JFK I know of,” I said.

“And these are the sort of contacts you make as a pit boss in Vegas? Who else, besides show business people and politicians?”

“Those are pretty much my specialty.”

I took out my wallet and extracted a slip of paper with a phone number on it that had been there for months.

Otash lowered his voice and asked, “You sure you want to make that call from here?”

He was referring to the fact that I felt sure the house was bugged.

“Oh, yes,” I said, “I want everybody involved to know about this phone call.”

I dialed and was pleased to hear it ring. I waited for someone to answer.

Otash and I played gin for more than two hours before the phone rang.

I had just checked on Marilyn, found her asleep in her bed, lying atop the comforter. Next to her, on the night table, were some pill bottles, all with the caps on tight. I looked at the labels, recognized a couple that were for sleeping, and then I saw Nembutal and chloral hydrate. There was no water or any liquid on the table, no glass, but she could have gone into the bathroom and taken them there. The bottles, however, all had a healthy amount of pills inside.

At that moment she opened her eyes and smiled when she saw me. Her eyes were sleepy, but clear. “Is everything all right, Eddie?”

“Sure, kid, everything’s fine,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”

She closed her eyes and seemed to fall back to sleep in seconds. I had the feeling she was exhausted, and that being home was going to be good for her after all.

I leaned in close to her. She smelled wonderful and I could see the pulse beneath the pale flesh of her throat beating strongly. Everything I saw led me to believe she was sleeping peacefully.

“How is she?” Otash asked when I came out.

“Sleeping,” I said. “She’s got a lot of pills on her night table, but I don’t think she took any.”

“She breathing okay?”

“Fine,” I said.

“I mean, I’ve heard stories—”

“She’s fine, Fred.”

I didn’t bother telling him what pills were on her table, but I vowed to look into it myself later on.

So we went on playing gin after I checked on Marilyn and when the phone rang we both jumped.

“Jesus,” he said.

We stared at the phone as it rang a second time.

“That could be the president,” he said.

“Could be.”

“Of the United States.”

I snatched it up so it wouldn’t ring a third time and maybe wake Marilyn.

“Hello?”

“Eddie?”

“That’s right.” I recognized the broad Massachusetts accent.

“Eddie, I know you wanted to speak to Jack, but he’s unavailable. Will I do?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, realizing I was talking to Bobby, “the attorney general will do just fine.”

I
LAID IT OUT
for the attorney general of the United States and he listened quietly.

“I think I am most surprised by Marilyn’s reaction,” Bobby Kennedy said when I finished.

“Not quite the delicate flower everyone thinks she is,” I said, “at least not with a frying pan in her hand.”

I told him about the whole ordeal, but not that she had killed the man. I still maintained I had killed them both.

“Eddie, I think you should give me a little time, and then go over to the Lavender Club to find your friend.”

“What about the FBI?” I asked.

“It seems you’ve taken care of their freelancers,” RFK said, “but, Eddie, I really think you should leave Edgar to me.” It sounded like he said “Edgah.”

“I think I know what you’re tellin’ me, sir.”

“Let me make it clear,” RFK said. “I’m telling you to be satisfied to get your friend back. Be satisfied that Jerry is alive. And be satisfied that you’ve taken care of the two freelancers who, in
all probability, were watching Marilyn. And I don’t think there will be any charges brought against you.”

“So I just let it go that the FBI was behind the whole thing?”

“As I said,” Kennedy repeated, “Edgar must be left to me. I’m used to dealing with him.”

“And what do I tell Marilyn?”

“That she won’t be bothered anymore.”

“Is that true?”

He hesitated, then said, “It’s the best thing you can tell her.”

I fell silent. I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with what he was telling me.

“Eddie?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Believe me, this is the best way,” he said. “Let me make some calls, and then you go over to the Lavender Club—which will probably be padlocked by tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“My father and brother tell me you’re a reasonable man.”

“I have been.”

“Well then, continue to be,” Kennedy said, “and everything will go your way.”

“My friend, Danny, has to be alive, sir, for me to be reasonable in even the smallest way.”

“Just give me some time and then you can go pick him up.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hung up and stared at Otash.

“Bobby Kennedy?” he asked.

“He says we can go and pick up Danny in a little while.”

“Where?”

“The Lavender Club, which he says will be closed down by tomorrow.”

“And?”

“And then everything is over.”

“And the FBI’s involvement?”

“The attorney general asked me to leave them to him. He says he’s used to dealing with Hoover.”

“That’s all over my head,” Otash said. “You’d better go along, Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, “it’s always better just to go along, isn’t it?”

T
HE BOUNCER STOPPED US
at the door.

“By invitation only tonight, gents,” he said. “It’s our last night.”

Well, if I was wondering if Robert Kennedy had made his phone calls, that clinched it.

“We have invitations,” I said.

“Let’s see ‘em.”

“Tell your boss Eddie G is here.”

The bouncer smiled. “Eddie G. That’s it?”

“Believe me, that’ll be enough.”

The bouncer stopped frowning and took a second look at Otash, standing next to me. “Hey, I know you.”

“Not officially,” Otash said.

“What’s your na—”

“Eddie G is all you need,” I said. “Now hurry. We’re all on a tight schedule.”

The man wanted to argue, but obviously wasn’t sure of his footing. “Wait here.”

He went into the building, locking the door behind him. It took ten minutes for him to return.

“Come on.”

We followed him inside. For a private party it was remarkably well attended. It looked like standing room only and apparently all the girls were on the runways. The music was too loud to think or speak, so he just beckoned us to follow him.

Down the hall again, this time with permission, and into the office. The man behind the desk looked up and frowned at me. His hair was painfully red and if he had smiled he would have looked like he belonged on the cover of
Mad
magazine. The Hawaiian shirt he was wearing was even more painful than his hair.

But he didn’t smile at me.

“Are you the guy who left the light on in the basement?” he asked.

“That was me,” I said.

“I’m gonna send you my electric bill.”

“What, the FBI won’t pay it?”

“And you’re also the reason I’m being shut down?” he demanded.

“Probably.”

The man covered his face.

“I’m gonna have to start wearing a suit again.”

“I guess you should’ve snatched somebody else’s friend.”

“Is that what this is all about?” he asked, waving his hand. “He’s fine.”

“Unlike Max Johnson.”

“Who? Oh, yeah, the hotel clerk. That was those two idiot freelancers, Harris and Delaney. I understand you killed them?”

“They needed it,” Otash said, butting in. Maybe he was feeling left out. “The FBI must be falling on hard times to employ those two.”

“When you employ for the purpose of deniability there’s no point in making it top talent, is there?”

“So if I hadn’t killed them—”

“Somebody would’ve.”

“Wait a minute,” Otash said, “you’re actually an FBI agent?”

“Born and bred,” the man said. “Twenty years, right out of college. My father was an agent before me, but he never had a sweet gig like this.”

“And him?” Otash asked, jerking his thumb at the bouncer.

“Just a bouncer,” the man said.

“And a pimp,” I said.

“What?” The agent looked surprised.

“Hey,” the bouncer said.

“Last time I was here I heard him saying he ran a string of girls out of here.”

The agent looked at the bouncer.

“Peter, I’m very disappointed in you,” he said. “Damn it. Now I’m gonna have to arrest you.”

“Damn it, Sam, I was just—”

Sam (Kearny, no doubt), the FBI agent, took a gun out of his top drawer and shot Peter the bouncer. Peter looked shocked, grabbed his stomach and fell facedown on the floor.

Otash and I didn’t move. I think we both realized we were in the hands of a crazy man.

Kearny put the gun back in his top drawer.

“There,” he said, “I’m back on the right side of the law, aren’t I?”

“How long have you been under?” Otash asked.

“Would’ve been five years next week,” Kearny said. “I had a helluva celebration planned. Now next week I’ll be back in an office in Washington.”