You Make Me Feel So Dead
Table of Contents
The Rat Pack Mysteries from Robert J. Randisi
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Ninteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twelnty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Epilogue
The Rat Pack Mysteries from Robert J. Randisi
EVERYBODY KILLS SOMEBODY SOMETIME
LUCK BE A LADY, DON’T DIE
HEY THERE (YOU WITH THE GUN IN YOUR HAND)
YOU’RE NOBODY ’TIL SOMEBODY KILLS YOU
I’M A FOOL TO KILL YOU *
FLY ME TO THE MORGUE *
IT WAS A VERY BAD YEAR *
YOU MAKE ME FEEL SO DEAD *
* available from Severn House
YOU MAKE ME FEEL SO DEAD
A ‘Rat Pack’ Mystery
Robert J. Randisi
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First published in Great Britain and the USA 2013 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.
eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2013 by Robert Randisi.
The right of Robert J. Randisi to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
Randisi, Robert J.
You make me feel so dead. – (A Rat Pack mystery ; 8)
1. Presley, Elvis, 1935-1977–Fiction. 2. Rat Pack
(Entertainers)–Fiction. 3. Gianelli, Eddie (Fictitious
character)–Fiction. 4. Las Vegas (Nev.)–Fiction.
5. Detective and mystery stories.
I. Title II. Series
813.6-dc23
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8277-6 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-429-4 (epub)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
‘You Make Me Feel So Young’
Music by Josef Myrow, lyrics by Mack Gordon
1946
To Marthayn, you make me feel so loved
PROLOGUE
Spring 2007
Elvis was in the building.
In my building.
No, I’m serious.
My first clue was the rhinestones on the floor. Of the elevator, that is. I felt them under my feet when I got in, then looked down at them. Three or four, lying on the metal floor. Not real, of course. They couldn’t be.
I didn’t think anything about them until a few days later. I was in the lobby again, waiting to take the elevator up to my floor. When the doors opened a young guy stepped out, with slicked-back black hair and long sideburns.
He looked a heck of a lot like Elvis Presley.
Of course, he was most likely an Elvis impersonator. Vegas was full of shows featuring legend impersonators: Dolly Parton, Cher, Joan Rivers, Frank and Dino and, of course, Elvis. You could even hear their voices over the loudspeakers at the airport.
He passed me as I got in the elevator, then turned, reached out and stopped the doors from closing.
‘Excuse me, sir?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you – you’re Eddie Gianelli, aren’t you? Eddie G.?’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No, sir,’ he said, ‘but I’ve heard of you. You knew them.’
‘Them?’ I asked. ‘Who’s them?’
‘All of them,’ he said. ‘Frank, Dino, Sammy … you knew them.’
‘I did,’ I said. ‘They were my friends.’
‘That is so cool,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I ask you—’
‘This is not really a good time.’ I was in a hurry to get to my apartment. I’d gone for a walk, but as is the way with octogenarian bladders, mine was barking.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Look, my name’s Roger Bennett. I’m an Elvis impersonator.’
‘Where?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What show?’
‘Oh, MGM Grand.’
‘Good place to work.’
‘Yes, it is. Look, could I talk to you some time? Have a drink? Maybe I can buy you lunch?’
‘I eat lunch,’ I said. ‘Don’t drink as much as I used to.’
‘Could we do it tomorrow, maybe?’ he asked, anxiously. ‘I’d like to talk to you about the way Vegas used to be. I–I think it would help me in my performance.’
‘Well … sure, why not?’ I said. ‘Meet me here in the lobby at noon.’
‘Hey, that’s great!’ he said, happily. ‘Thanks.’
‘Sure.’
> We stood there a minute and then I said, ‘The doors?’
‘Oh, sure,’ he said, with a start. ‘I just …’
‘What?’
‘Did you know him?’ he asked. ‘Did you know … him, too?’
‘Did I know who?’
He licked his lips, then said, ‘Elvis.’
So that was it.
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘yeah, I knew Elvis.’ I reached out and moved his hand from the doors. ‘I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.’
That night I made myself a small dinner. Eating was still a pleasure, but at my age I wasn’t able to consume as much as I used to. I broiled a small steak and onions and potatoes, and prepared a salad. Afterward I sat in my armchair with a small glass of good bourbon. Roger wanted me to share some tales of old Vegas with him. Well, I wasn’t averse to doing that. I may have occasionally forgotten things on a day-to-day basis, but my memories of the old days were still very vivid.
I stood up and carried the glass to the window. My tenth floor window afforded me a good view of the Strip, which blazed with neon until dawn, when the sun came up and the lights went out. Sometimes, I actually stood there until it happened. Just as I didn’t eat as much as I used to, I also didn’t sleep as much. There were times I needed more than a little bourbon just so I could catch a couple of hours.
But on this night I decided to watch the lights, and bring back what I was going to tell Roger the next day, at lunch…
ONE
Las Vegas
May 1964
It was my first day off in weeks. The Sands had had a progression of whales – big time gamblers – come in, and Jack Entratter had wanted me around to help cater to their needs. Which meant that anything other casino employees couldn’t get for them, I probably could. Sometimes I regretted the fact that everyone thought Eddie G. had Vegas wired.
I was eating a meager breakfast of toast and coffee, wondering what to do with my day, when my doorbell rang. I don’t have a lot of people who drop by, so traditionally, that usually signaled bad news. Why should today be any different?
Dressed casually in T-shirt and jeans – since it was my day off – I went to the door and opened it, was shocked to see my boss, Jack Entratter, standing there.
‘Quick,’ he said, ‘inside.’
‘Wha—’ I started, as he pushed past me.
‘Close the door!’
I closed the door, turned to face him. He was dressed as well as usual – his expertly tailored suit still seeming to burst at the seams as it tried to contain his shoulders – but his manner was more harried than I’d seen in some time.
‘Jack,’ I asked, ‘what’s wrong? I can count on the fingers of one hand the times you’ve been … No wait, you’ve never been to my house.’
‘I know,’ he said, looking around. ‘It’s kind of small, ain’t it?’
‘I like it,’ I answered, defensively.
‘No, no,’ Entratter said, ‘it’s nice. Look, you know how I hate to bother you on your day off.’
I didn’t know that at all, but I let it go.
‘You want some coffee?’ I asked.
‘Sure.’
‘Come into the kitchen.’
I led him into my – admittedly – small kitchen and poured him a cup. He sat at my table, dwarfing it. I sat across from him with a fresh cup for myself.
‘What’s on your mind?’ I asked.
‘Have you heard anything about Elvis comin’ to town?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘Elvis,’ he said, ‘Presley. Ever heard of him?’
I stared at him. That was what he came to my house to discuss? Elvis?
‘Well?’
‘I heard some talk,’ I said.
‘From where?’
I shrugged. ‘Sources.’
‘And you didn’t tell me?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I didn’t hear that he was comin’ here to the Sands. And if he is comin’ to the Sands, I figured you’d know.’
‘He’s comin’,’ Jack said, ‘and he ain’t comin’ to us.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘I don’t know what the problem is, but I do know there is one,’ he said. ‘And I didn’t want anybody hearin’ us talkin’ about Elvis.’
‘So that’s it?’ I asked. ‘I can get back to my day off now?’
‘No, that ain’t it,’ Entratter said. ‘Don’t be in such a goddamned hurry!’
‘OK, OK,’ I said. ‘Just get to it. I’ve got to make up my mind to either do laundry, or go grocery shopping.’
‘I don’t think you’re gonna want to do either of those things,’ he said. ‘Look, Frank wants to talk to you.’
‘Why didn’t he call me himself?’
‘He called ahead,’ Entratter said. ‘He’ll be here any minute. He wanted me to have you available.’
‘Available for what?’
‘To talk, at first,’ Entratter said. ‘After that, I don’t know. I’ll need you to tell me what’s goin’ on after you see him.’
‘OK,’ I said, ‘so I’ll see Frank. Wait, does he want to talk to me about Elvis, too, or is this something separate?’
‘No no, it’s all got to do with that Presley kid.’
I knew that Frank wasn’t crazy about the singer and his music, but I also knew when Elvis came back from serving in Germany and appeared on Frank’s show that the chairman had a change of heart. He started saying that Elvis wasn’t ‘a bad kid’.
‘Let’s get back to the Sands,’ Entratter said. ‘I’ll find out if he’s in his suite. And don’t mention Elvis where anybody can hear us!’
‘OK, I won’t,’ I said. Geez. I knew Elvis was the King, but what did Jack expect, a stampede at the mere mention of his name?
I went into my bedroom for my shoes. Veronica had rolled over in bed, causing the sheet to slip down so that her high, firm, showgirl tits were revealed. Her long black hair was fanned out on the pillow beneath her head. After we’d made love the night before she had threatened me by telling me, ‘I am not a breakfast girl, so don’t wake me up. Just go and make yourself some breakfast.’ Which I had done. So I assumed she had slept through Jack’s visit, and hadn’t heard a thing about Elvis Presley.
Since I was off the clock I decided to stay casual and not wear a suit. I did, however, decide to take a windbreaker with me, because what people who don’t live in the desert don’t know is that it does get cold once the sun goes down.
I had been trying not to stare at Veronica, because the sheet was slipping further and further down. Her dark nipples had impressed me the night before, standing out as they did when distended, but now they were soft. Nevertheless, I was still fascinated, and staring at her might have delayed my departure.
I walked to the bed, leaned over and kissed her on both nipples. They immediately reacted, and she moaned.
‘Are you wakin’ me up for breakfast?’ she demanded sleepily.
‘Wouldn’t think of it,’ I said. ‘Just sayin’ goodbye.’
‘Catch you down the road, Eddie G.,’ she said, and turned over.
That was what I liked about Veronica. No sentiment.
TWO
Frank was in his suite, having only just arrived. But he wanted me to come right up.
Entratter had taken a limo to my house, so he rode back in it while I drove my Caddy. So much for my day off.
‘You’re off the clock,’ Entratter reminded me, walking me to the elevator. ‘I’ll get somebody to cover your pit.’
‘How do we even know I’ll need to be replaced?’ I asked. ‘We don’t know what Frank needs.’
‘Whatever it is,’ Entratter said, ‘you’re gonna give it to him.’
‘OK, but we still don’t know that I can’t go right back to work.’
‘Come on, Eddie,’ he said, as the elevator opened. ‘We been through this too many times before. We both know what’s gonna happen.’
I stepped into the elevator and said, ‘Yeah, we do.�
�� The door closed.
Frank answered the door himself. That pretty much meant he’d left George Jacobs, his much valued valet, back at home, and was on his own.
‘Hey, pally,’ Frank said. ‘Glad you could make it on short notice.’
‘Jack dragged me out of my house and told me you wanted to see me,’ I said. ‘Something about Elvis?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I thought you hated him.’
‘Ah, he’s not such a bad kid,’ Frank said, as I’d expected. ‘We got along when he did my special. But do you know who I really got along with?’
‘Who?’
‘The Colonel.’
‘What Colonel?’
‘Colonel Parker,’ Frank said, ‘Elvis’ manager. You want a drink?’
‘It’s a little early.’
Frank went around the bar. He was looking thin. The events of 1963 – JFK’s assassination, and the kidnapping of Frank Jr – had taken a lot out of him. I had seen him a few times since then, and it seemed to me he’d lost the capacity for joy. And he’d become overly protective of all his kids.
‘How about something soft?’ he asked.
‘I’ll have a Coke.’
I walked to the bar and sat on a stool. Frank had a blue, short-sleeved shirt on with a wide, white collar and grey slacks.
‘Are you performing anywhere in town?’ I asked, as he set a glass of Coke in front of me.
‘No,’ Frank said. ‘I think I’ll catch Darin’s act while I’m here, but I’m really in Vegas to do a favor for a friend.’
‘Elvis?’
‘I said he wasn’t a bad kid,’ Frank said. ‘I didn’t say we were friends. No, I’m talking about Colonel Parker.’
‘OK,’ I said, ‘you’re doing a favor for Parker. Where do I come in?’
‘Right there,’ Frank said, pouring himself a Coke, which surprised me. ‘You see, the Colonel is in charge of every aspect of Elvis’ life, but lately Elvis has been rebelling. He doesn’t want to do the movies that the Colonel and the studio have picked out for him, anymore. He wants more serious parts.’
‘Well, I saw him in Jailhouse Rock and Love Me Tender. Also Flaming Star. I didn’t think he was too bad.’
‘Yeah, well, those movies didn’t make the money the other stuff did. The fans want to see Elvis sing and be surrounded by pretty girls.’