The Way You Die Tonight Read online

  He sat in a booth and Jerry started looking over the menu. It hadn’t changed since the last time he’d eaten there, but I let him look.

  ‘Hey, Eddie G.,’ the waitress said. Her name was Lily, she’d been working there for about three months, which meant she’d never seen Jerry. ‘Who’s your big friend?’

  ‘Jerry, meet Lily.’

  ‘Hi,’ Jerry said.

  Lily was attractive, thirty-five or so, with red hair, green eyes and a very flirtatious manner. She turned up the heat on those eyes when she looked at Jerry.

  ‘And what does Jerry want to drink?’ she asked, smiling at him.

  ‘Coffee,’ he said. ‘But I’ll have a chocolate shake with my food.’

  ‘OK,’ she said, ‘chocolate shake for the big guy.’ She looked at me.

  ‘Iced tea.’

  ‘Comin’ up.’

  She walked away and Jerry watched her hips sway.

  ‘You like redheads?’ I asked.

  ‘A lot.’

  ‘She’s single and, supposedly, kind of wild.’

  ‘Naw,’ Jerry said, turning his attention back to the menu. ‘I like red-headed whores.’

  ‘Jerry … have you ever had a girl? I mean, a regular girlfriend?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘A few. But it never ended well. So I stopped. Started using only whores. It works out better that way.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. Far be it for me to try to change his mind from something that was working for him.

  ‘How’s the meat loaf?’ he asked.

  TWENTY-NINE

  We finished eating – Jerry went for the meat loaf and liked it, I had a burger and fries. I wasn’t really hungry, and a burger was always my fall back meal. But we finished eating and I grew impatient, so I asked Lily to bring a phone to the table.

  ‘I’m gonna call Billy now,’ I said to Jerry, dialing.

  ‘You got your way,’ Billy said when he heard my voice. He wasn’t happy. ‘Entratter said to give you whatever you want.’

  ‘Not me,’ I said, ‘Edward G. Robinson.’

  ‘Whoever,’ he said. He gave me the room number and the time that the game would start, and slammed the phone down.

  ‘He sounded mad from here,’ Jerry said.

  ‘He’ll get over it,’ I said. ‘He hasn’t been working here that long.’

  ‘Doesn’t know that you’re the man, huh?’

  ‘You want dessert?’ I asked.

  ‘Pie,’ he said.

  I waved Lily over and we both had cherry pie.

  ‘After this,’ I said to him, ‘we’ll go up and see Mr Robinson.’

  ‘That’ll be great,’ he said.

  Edward G. Robinson answered the door to his suite himself.

  ‘Oh, good, Eddie G.,’ he said. ‘I was afraid it was that annoying girl the studio stuck me with.’

  ‘Eddie, this is my friend, Jerry. Jerry, meet Edward G. Robinson.’

  ‘Wow,’ Jerry said, ‘this is a real honor, Mr Robinson.’

  ‘Well,’ Eddie Robinson said, shaking Jerry’s big paw, ‘you’re a big one, aren’t you? I could’ve used you in some of my earlier pictures.’

  ‘Me? Really?’

  ‘Come on in, both of you,’ Robinson said. ‘What’s on the agenda for today, Eddie G.?’

  ‘I’ve arranged for you to watch a private, high-stakes poker game,’ I said, ‘but it won’t be until tonight.’

  ‘What about the rest of today?’ Robinson said. ‘You can’t leave me here. That girl will find me, I know she will.’ He gave me a pleading look. ‘You’ve got to hide me.’

  ‘Do you want me to move you to another suite?’ I asked.

  ‘No, no, nothing as drastic as that,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to get the poor girl fired. Just … let’s do something.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘The Las Vegas Art League.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘I want to go to the Las Vegas Art League,’ Robinson said. ‘Before coming here I checked to see if Las Vegas had an art museum.’

  ‘It doesn’t, that I know of.’

  ‘Not strictly speaking, but the Art League has a space in a house at Lorenzi Park. Do you know where that is?’

  ‘I have a general idea—’

  ‘I have an address,’ he said. ‘That’s where I want to go. And I’ll buy dinner.’ He looked at Jerry. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Works for me,’ Jerry said.

  I knew Robinson was an art collector. He had taken what used to be a badminton court at his Beverly Hills home and turned it into an art gallery.

  I looked at Jerry and said, ‘We’re gonna go look at some art.’

  ‘Let me change my clothes,’ Eddie said, excitedly. He rushed into the bedroom.

  ‘Art,’ I said to Jerry, again.

  ‘Don’t forget,’ he added, ‘he said he’s gonna buy dinner. Rico’s gonna buy me dinner!’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  I’d never seen Jerry so excited before, not even when he met Marilyn Monroe.

  ‘Can we have Italian?’ he asked.

  THIRTY

  While Edward G. Robinson enjoyed viewing the art on exhibit at the Las Vegas Art League we found out that, in 1956, he had been forced to sell his personal art collection during the divorce from his wife. Nevertheless, he maintained his interest in art, and was even a painter himself.

  It was interesting that he opened up to us about his interest in art, and the situation with his divorce. We did a lot of listening as he walked us past the various pieces.

  As we drove away from Lorenzi Park – Jerry driving the Caddy, Robinson next to him and me in the back – Eddie said, ‘Thank you boys for letting me go on and on about art this afternoon.’

  ‘It was our pleasure, Eddie,’ I said.

  ‘Hey, I learned a lot, Mr R.,’ Jerry said. ‘I never knew nothin’ about art before.’

  ‘And what do you know now, big guy?’ I asked from the back, slapping him on the shoulder.

  ‘I learned I’m not the only one who has a blue period once in a while.’

  ‘Oh, you’re in the majority there, my boy,’ Robinson said. ‘There are lots of us who have blue periods.’

  ‘What about you, Mr G.?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘Some of my blue periods go toward black,’ I said.

  ‘Where are we goin’ to eat?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘Eddie, Jerry asked for Italian, so if you don’t mind we’re gonna go to one of Frank’s favorite places, the Bootlegger.’

  ‘The Bootlegger?’ Robinson said. ‘That’s Italian?’

  ‘Very,’ I said.

  Robinson put an affectionate hand on Jerry’s arm and said, ‘Well, if that’s what Big Jerry wants, that’s what we’ll have.’

  Eddie had started calling Jerry ‘Big’ Jerry early on, and I could tell the big guy liked it.

  ‘I’ll call Frank and have him meet us there. We’ve been there before, Jerry,’ I said. ‘Remember the way?’

  ‘I got it, Mr G.,’ he assured me, and gunned it.

  The Bootlegger had the appearance of a speakeasy, but served some of the finest food in Las Vegas. Last year even mafia boss Sam Giancana had complimented Frank’s choice of the Bootlegger for his go-to place in Vegas for Italian food.

  Frank had to beg off. Something had come up, a problem with his schedule which he’d have to spend time on the phone sorting out.

  ‘Tell Eddie I’ll call him and we’ll do somethin’,’ he told me.

  So it was just the three of us.

  Over dinner Jerry asked Robinson if he thought about collecting again.

  ‘It’s very hard,’ Eddie said, ‘when you’ve built up a collection and been forced to give it up, to try and start again. It’s just too … heartbreaking.’

  ‘I got ya,’ Jerry said.

  ‘So now I paint for myself,’ Eddie went on. ‘In fact, I’d love to paint you, Big Jerry.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Sure,’ Eddie said, ‘you’d make
a wonderful subject.’

  ‘Mr G.’s better lookn’ than me,’ Jerry said. ‘Why don’t you paint him?’

  ‘Eddie G. is a very handsome specimen,’ Eddie said with that twinkle in his eyes, ‘but there’s something special about you that I want to capture on canvas.’

  ‘Wow,’ Jerry said, ‘ain’t nobody ever said nothin’ like that to me before, Mr R.’

  ‘Well, I not only think you’d make a great subject for a painting, Jerry,’ Eddie said, ‘but I think you’re a very fine young man.’

  Jerry sat back in his chair and stared at the movie legend. I think he was stunned. And I knew he was thinking that Eddie Robinson still did not know exactly what Jerry did for a living. Would the older man feel the same if and when he did?

  ‘Thanks,’ Jerry said, finally. I’d seen Jerry become quiet and humble in front of women before – Marilyn and Ava Gardner – but never in front of a man.

  But Robinson wasn’t done. With a fatherly smile he added, ‘I am a very good judge of character, Big Jerry. Believe me, after just this afternoon, I know you better than you know yourself.’

  Jerry didn’t know what to say to that, so he went to his fallback position, which was, ‘Are we gonna have dessert?’

  After three tiramisus we left the Bootlegger to head back to the Sands so Eddie Robinson could get himself ready for the poker game.

  ‘What are you fellas going to do?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve got some things to check on,’ I said. ‘Jerry’ll probably come along with me.’

  ‘Still looking into the death of that girl?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Any leads?’ he asked, then laughed. ‘I’ve always wanted to say that in real life.’

  Since he’d played so many gangster roles I doubted he’d even said it in the movies, but whatever made him happy was fine with me.

  ‘Not yet,’ I said, ‘except that it still doesn’t look like a suicide.’

  ‘That can’t make Jack very happy,’ he said.

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘You know,’ Robinson said, ‘I’ll understand if you guys have to spend more time on that and not so much with me. I mean, after all—’

  ‘No, no,’ I said, cutting him off, ‘it’s very important to Jack – and to us – that you get what you need from this trip.’ Not to mention, important to Frank.

  ‘Well, all right, then,’ Robinson said.

  We pulled up in front of the Sands and gave the Caddy to a valet. I told Robinson we’d come and get him later, and then Jerry walked his new friend to the elevator.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I went to the front desk and asked, ‘Any messages for me?’

  ‘Got one, Eddie,’ the girl said. Her name tag said: Candy. She handed me a pink message slip. The number on it was Danny’s. Maybe he had some news after talking with Helen’s co-workers.

  ‘Can I use your phone?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure, Eddie.’ She flipped it around for me. I dialed Danny’s number. Penny answered.

  ‘What’s happening, Eddie?’

  ‘I just had dinner with Edward G. Robinson, little girl. Who’d you eat with?’

  ‘Eat? What’s that? I’ve been working late.’

  ‘I was trying to catch Danny in, returning his call.’

  ‘He’s not here. He might be home. This about the girl at the Sands?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘That was an awful thing. Can the police really be stupid enough to call it a suicide?’

  ‘We’re talking about Hargrove, Penny,’ I said. ‘I think he sits at his desk trying to come up with new ways to be stupid.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘OK, I’ll try him at home,’ I said. ‘If you see him let him know I called. I’ll be here at the Sands most of the night, and I’ll keep checking my messages.’

  ‘You got it, Eddie.’

  ‘Goodbye, my love.’

  ‘If only,’ she said, giggled and hung up.

  I turned just as Jerry came toward me.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘Message from Danny, but I didn’t catch him at his office. I’m gonna try him at home.’

  I dialed Danny’s home number from memory, let it ring ten times, then hung up.

  ‘Not home?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Think he’s in trouble?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ I said. ‘This case doesn’t sound like the kind he could get in trouble with.’

  ‘We’re talkin’ murder, right?’

  ‘Well, yeah, but—’

  ‘Murder’s murder, Mr G.’

  Jerry was speaking from strength, so I knew he had a point. I didn’t like it, but I knew it.

  ‘Let’s face it, Mr G.,’ Jerry said, ‘guy in the shamus business, sometimes he gets into trouble.’

  Yeah, I thought, especially when he does something for me. A couple of years ago he’d gone to LA for me and got kidnapped. Last year he was helping me and got arrested for murder.

  I don’t know why I thought this was an easy, simple case with no danger, just because it was Jack’s girl who was killed, inside the Sands. Like Jerry said, murder was murder.

  ‘All right,’ I said, ‘we’ve got time to kill before the poker game.’

  ‘Then let’s go find him,’ Jerry said.

  THIRTY-TWO

  ‘Where do we start?’ Jerry asked, as we walked through the lobby.

  ‘Entratter,’ I said. ‘He’s the first one Danny went to see.’

  We found Jack still in his office. Helen’s desk was very empty.

  ‘Jack.’

  He looked up as we entered.

  ‘You know how much extra work there is when you don’t have a secretary?’ he asked. ‘If she did commit suicide she really screwed me.’

  ‘But she didn’t.’

  ‘Still sure, huh?’

  ‘I know what I saw, Jack.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah … I heard all about it again from your buddy Bardini.’

  ‘How long was he with you?’ I asked.

  ‘We talked for about twenty minutes,’ Jack said. ‘He’s very thorough. I told him all I could about Helen, but I-I never realized how little I knew about her. I mean … her life outside of this office. I didn’t know … anything.’

  ‘And why should you?’ I asked. ‘She worked for you. You weren’t friends. You didn’t see each other away from work … did you?’

  ‘What? No, no, I never did.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Did Danny say where he was going next?’

  ‘He was gonna to interview the rest of the office staff,’ he said. ‘And then some of the people in the hotel and casino, to see if they knew Helen.’

  ‘Do you think they did?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘What about lunch? Dinner? Did she ever eat at the Garden Café?’

  ‘Probably … I don’t know.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘OK.’

  ‘What’s wrong? Can’t you find Bardini?’

  ‘Not right now,’ I said, ‘but he might just be checking out a lead. We’ll find him.’

  ‘Yeah, OK.’

  We turned to leave.

  ‘What about Eddie Robinson? I got that call from Billy. You got everything set for him?’

  ‘I do,’ I said. ‘It’s all set. But Billy was pissed.’

  ‘I know,’ Jack said. ‘Fuck ’im. He’ll get over it.’

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ I said. ‘See you later, Jack.’

  ‘Just let me know what’s goin’ on, Eddie,’ Entratter said. ‘Keep me in the loop.’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  I nodded to Jerry and we left the office.

  ‘Where we goin’?’ he asked.

  ‘Just down the hall,’ I said. ‘I want to talk to Marcy. She found the body.’

  He nodded and followed.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Marcy
was seated at her desk, but she wasn’t working. She was staring off into space. She probably should have gone home hours ago. There was a time she would have gone to the gym. Back when we had dated she had been in excellent shape, but I noticed lately she had packed a few extra pounds onto her five foot eight frame.

  ‘Hey, Marcy,’ I said, approaching her.

  ‘Hmm? Huh? Oh, Eddie. Hi.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, sitting back in her chair, ‘I just can’t get the … sight of Helen … hanging there, out of my head. You know, I can’t go into that bathroom. I go to the third floor.’

  I put my hands on her shoulders and stood behind her.

  ‘I understand, Marcy. Um, you remember Jerry, don’t you? From his other visits?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘Hello, Jerry.’

  ‘Ma’am.’

  I couldn’t remember if they had ever exchanged words before.

  ‘Marcy, do you know of anybody on the Sands staff who didn’t get along with Helen?’

  ‘I talked to your friend, Danny,’ she said. ‘I told him she … wasn’t very popular.’

  ‘Did you give him some names?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you give them to me, too?’

  ‘Well, sure.’

  ‘Good. And their addresses.’

  ‘I made a list for him,’ she said. ‘I can duplicate it for you.’

  ‘Great. Thanks, Marcy.’

  Jerry and I stood aside while she wrote the list over again for us.

  ‘You wanna dog the dick’s trail?’ he asked.

  ‘I think it’s the only way to find him,’ I said, ‘but I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. Let’s wait until tomorrow morning and see if we hear from him. I’ve got to get Eddie Robinson to that game, tonight.’

  ‘I could start now,’ he said, ‘and visit some of these people.’

  ‘It’s getting late,’ I said. ‘Let’s wait.’

  ‘Sure thing, Mr G.’

  ‘Here you go, Eddie,’ Marcy said.

  I went back to the desk and accepted the list from her. There were eight names on it. I recognized five of them.

  ‘All of these people didn’t like her?’

  ‘More than that, but these are the ones I know she had problems with.’