Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime (15 page)

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Authors: Robert J. Randisi

BOOK: Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime
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J
ERRY DECIDED TO STAY the night on the couch instead of going back to the Sands, where he had a suite. Briefly, I had considered both of us going back to the Sands, but he said he thought I’d have a few days grace until whoever hired Ravisi and Davis found out about their deaths and then replaced them.
When I got up the next morning I could smell coffee. Jerry already had the percolator going, and something in the toaster as I entered the kitchen.
“All you had was bread,” he said, “so I’m makin’ some toast.”
“We could’ve gone out for breakfast,” I said.
“We still can,” he said. “I just have to have somethin’ in the mornin’ before I get started.”
“Did you sleep okay?” I asked.
“You mean because I killed somebody last night?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “because you slept on the couch, which is too small for you.”
“I managed,” he said.
We sat at the table together, buttered our toast and ate, washing it down with sips of good, strong black coffee. It struck me that this was the second time in as many days that a man had come to my house and made me coffee.
We exchanged some inane conversation for a few minutes, getting to know each other a little better. I found out that he liked watching westerns on TV—
Bonanza, Gunsmoke, Maverick
—but that his favorite TV show was
The Untouchables.
I told him I preferred the Warner Bros. private-eye shows like 77
Sunset Strip, Hawaiian Eye, The Untouchables
and
Bourbon Street Beat.
“Them shows are too phony for me,” he said. “I mean, westerns is history, and so is
The Untouchables.
Those other shows poke fun at mugs like me. That Kookie, fer instance? I woulda made him eat that comb of his a long time ago. I prefer more realistic characters.”
I stared at him for a moment, surprised.
“I ain’t as dumb as I sound, Mr. G,” he said. “That’s just what a heavy Brooklyn accent does ta ya. You managed to get rid of yours. I get the feeli’ you wasn’t on the streets as long as I was.”
That was true enough. I’d gone to college, gotten my degree and became a CPA.
“So whatta you wanna do today?” he asked.
“To tell you the truth I’d like to just go back to work and forget everything else.”
“You could do that?” her asked. “Tell Frank and Mr. Martin that?”
“No,” I said. “I told them I’d help. I can’t go back on my word.”
“So you really think this other stuff is separate?” he asked.
“It’s got to be,” I said.
“How’d you get involved in it?”
I’d been intending to think it over that morning, so maybe talking it out with Jerry would be even better.
“Look,” I said, “let’s finish up here and then I’ll take you somewhere for breakfast and we can talk it out.”
“I ain’t much for talkin’,” he said, “but I’m a good listener.”
“Great. That’s what I need right now.”
 
 
I took Jerry to a small diner near my place where I sometimes had breakfast before going to work, or on my days off. He ordered pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, potatoes, coffee and juice. While we
hadn’t exactly had breakfast together yesterday, we’d had it in the same place, so I knew he ate big. The only other meal I’d had with him had been dinner the day before at the Sands, where he’d consumed a twenty-ounce prime rib in record time along with vegetables, a salad and a couple of loaves of bread.
“How tall are you?” I asked, when we had our food.
“I go about six-five, and about two-eighty. I’ve been over three hundred pounds, but that makes me feel sluggish.”
I ordered a more normal size omelet, juice and coffee.
“You was gonna tell me how you got mixed up with them dead girls,” he reminded me.
I told him how I’d been stumped about how to move forward with the Dean Martin thing, so I’d thought of going to find Lou Terazzo to see if he knew anything.
“This Terazzo, he’s in a family?”
“Yeah, he works over at the Riviera.”
Jerry nodded and shoveled some pancakes into his mouth.
I told him about locating Terazzo’s girl and how she had run out on me, how I tracked her down to where she lived and found her roommate in the pool.
“And then she turns up dead, too.”
“Only you didn’t find her?”
“No,” I said, “the cops filled me about that one.”
I back tracked, then, and told him how Mike Borraco had gotten involved.
“And then he ends up dead.”
“Right.”
Jerry sopped up the rest of his eggs with some toast, stuffed it into his mouth and then sat back with a contented sigh.
“So if you hadn’t gone lookin’ for this Unlucky Lou guy in the first place, you probably wouldn’t know nothin’ about these dead girls.”
“Probably not.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“What are you thinkin’?” I asked.
“Well, I tol’ ya I ain’t much for talkin, and I’m probably even less
for thinkin’, but it occurs to me to wonder if those girls woulda ended up dead if you hadn’t gone looking for Unlucky Lou in the first place?”
“So you’re sayin’ I could be the link between the two things?”
“Do you see another link?”
“Well, I didn’t see any link … until now.”
“Did you tell anyone why you was lookin’ for Terazzo? What you was gonna ask ’im?”
I thought back, but I couldn’t remember.
“I’m not sure, but even if I had, just because I was askin’ questions about somebody threatening Dean Martin … I don’t see how that blows up into murder.”
“Well, you asked this Borraco guy to find Terazzo for ya, and now he’s dead. I ain’t tryin’ ta make you feel bad, Mr. G, but you sure do seem to be the link, here.”
I sat back and thought a moment, then leaned forward and said, “If that’s the case, Jerry, then I’m even more confused.”
“I don’t blame ya,” he said, and burped. A mixture of odors—mostly syrup and meat—wafted across the table at me.
“I think I should go to the cops,” I said, abruptly.
“What for?”
“To make sure they don’t come lookin’ for me. I’ll call the detective in charge, or go and see him, and ask what he’s found out about the girls. I figure they’ll think if I had somethin’ to hide I wouldn’t be goin’ to see them.”
Jerry considered it for a moment, then said, “That sounds like a smart idea, Mr. G. But if you go to the cops I can’t go with ya. I hope you understand.”
“I understand, Jerry. You can wait at the Sands. I’ll do it this morning and get it over with.”
A
HARNESS BULL walked me through the building until we reached a squad room. Detective Hargrove looked up from his desk as we approached and showed no surprise at seeing me there. He said something to his partner, Smith, who was sitting across from him. When the Negro turned and looked at me he did look surprised.
“Mr. Gianelli,” Hargrove said. “To what do we owe this pleasure? Thank you, Officer.”
The cop nodded and left. Neither Hargrove or his partner offered me a chair.
“I was just wondering if you’ve found out anything about the two dead girls.”
“Why are you concerned?” Hargrove asked. “You said you didn’t know either of them.”
“Well, I did find the first one, though,” I pointed out. “I kind of feel …”
“Responsible?” Smith asked.
“No,” I said, “not at all.”
“Just curious, then,” Hargrove said.
“Well, it’s a little more than that.”
“Unfortunately,” Hargrove said, “we don’t have much to tell you.
We still haven’t located the second girl’s boyfriend, Lou Terazzo. You haven’t seen him, have you, Mr. Gianelli?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I guess you’re still pretty upset about him owing your casino money.”
“The Sands is very concerned.”
“Can that kind of thing cost you your job?’ Smith asked.
“It might.”
“Too bad.”
“We have found something, though,” Hargrove said. “Maybe you can help us with this.”
“What is it?”
“Do you know a man named Mike Borraco?”
I frowned, like I was trying to place the name.
“Doesn’t he work at the Riviera?”
“That’s right, he does,” Hargrove said. “I figured since you both work for casinos you might know him.”
“Not well,” I said. “What’s he done?”
“Got himself killed.”
I tried to look surprised, but I felt silly doing it and wondered if they could tell.
“How?”
“Somebody slipped a knife into his back,” Smith said. “Nice and neat, dumped his body in the garbage. Sheriff’s deputies found him early this morning.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah,” Hargrove said, “third employee of the Riviera to be killed in a couple of days. Looks like somebody might have it in for the Riv.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Hope your buddy Terazzo doesn’t show up dead,” Hargrove said. “That’d be really bad for your casino.”
“We’d have to write the debt off.”
“Say, I just realized something,” Hargrove said.
I didn’t know if he was talking to me or his partner, so I just kept my mouth shut.
“What’s that?” his partner asked.
“Didn’t Mr. Gianelli here tell us when we first interviewed him that he worked for the Flamingo, Jake?” Hargrove looked very puzzled.
“I think he did, Mike. Why?”
“Well … just a minute ago he said he worked for the Sands.”
Hargrove and his partner both looked at me. I did some fast thinking? Had I lied about where I worked when I spoke to them the first time? I didn’t think so. Was he trying to rattle me?
“No,” I said, “I think when you first interviewed me I said the Sands.”
“Really?” Hargrove asked, frowning. “I don’t usually make mistakes like that, do I, Jake?”
“No, Mike, you sure don’t.”
“I could check my notes,” he said. “See what I wrote down that first time.” He looked at me. “Should I check my notes, Mr. Gianelli?”
“I suppose so, Detective,” I said. “I guess one of us mighta made a mistake.”
“Oh, you mean you might have said the Flamingo when you meant the Sands?”
Right at that moment I remembered that I had lied about where I worked, but not to the cops. I’d told the bartender in the strip club that I worked at the Flamingo, not wanting him to know where I really worked.
“No,” I said, “now that I think about it, I said the Sands. I wouldn’t have had any reason to say something else.”
“That’s what I was thinkin’,” he said. “Why would you lie about where you worked?”
“I wouldn’t,” I said. “That would be too easy for you to check.”
“He’s got you there, Mike,” Smith said.
“Yeah, he does,” Hargrove said. “Why would he lie, indeed?”
I had the feeling they were toying with me, but I stuck to my guns.
“Anyway,” Hargrove said, “do you know of any reason this Lou Terazzo would kill all these people, Mr. Gianelli?”
“Lou? You think he killed them?”
“Well, he’s missing,” Hargrove said. “Until he shows up dead,
too, he makes a pretty good suspect. Maybe Borraco was making time with Terazzo’s girl?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know any of ’em well enough to say, Detective, but you gotta wonder about a girl who would cheat on Lou with a man like Mike.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Hargrove said. “Borraco was a little weasel.”
“I don’t think I can be very much help.”
“I guess not,” Hargrove said, “but there was no harm in asking. I mean, you came down here to try and help, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, “I did. I mean, I was curious, like you said, but I could help—”
“We’ll let you know, Mr. Gianelli,” Smith said. “If we need your help, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Hargrove said, “thanks for comin’ down.”
“Sure,” I said, “sure.”
“We’ll keep you informed,” he went on, “I mean, seein’ as how you found the first girl and all. Just as a courtesy.”
“I appreciate it.”
Smith turned his chair so he was no longer facing me. I looked at Hargrove, but he’d found something on his desk to occupy him, so I turned and left.
 
 
Outside, on the front steps, I found Danny Bardini waiting for me.
“What are you doin’ here?” I asked.
“I might ask you the same thing,” he said. “Are you nuts?”
“I might be,” I said. “Why don’t we find someplace to talk and maybe we can figure it out?”

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