Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) (15 page)

“Yeah, right.”

Hargrove had to smile.

“Yeah, even I didn’t believe that one.”

“What’s this all about, Hargrove?” I asked. “I’ve got a living to make, you know?”

“So do I, Eddie,” he said, “and I’m doin’ it right now.”

“When’s the last time we saw each other?” I asked.

“What? I don’t know, last year? In the summer.”

“Really?” I asked. “Geez, you got some gray in your hair since then, don’tcha?”

He touched his head of coal black hair and said, “What the—I’m younger than you are, Eddie. What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Hey,” I replied, “I’m just sayin’ …”

“Never mind.” He dropped his hand from his hair.

“Besides, you’re not that much younger than me, maybe a year or two—”

“I said never mind.” The unmistakable scent of Sen-Sen breath mints came wafting across the table at me.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Don’t get sore. You wanna tell me what I’m doin’ here?”

“Four dead men, that’s what you’re doin’ here.”

“What about them?”

“We got a tip that you knew something about them.”

“A tip? From who?”

“Unknown source.”

“You puttin’ a lot of credence in unknown sources these days?”

“Not exactly,” he said, sitting back. “But when I heard your name, I thought I’d take an interest.”

“Well, were they gamblers?”

“Not that I know of,” he said. “Maybe.”

“Then why would I be involved with them? My business is gamblers.”

“Maybe they’re mobbed up,” Hargrove said.

“Why would that connect them to me?”

He lit a cigarette, then pointed at me. “Because you’re mobbed up.”

“I am not—”

“You work at the Sands,” he said, “the mob owns the Sands, therefore you’re mobbed up.”

I could have continued to argue the point with him, but decided against it. I needed to find out if they’d been in my house.

“How’d you find me at the Sands?”

“We went to your house, you weren’t there,” Hargrove said. “So we tried the Sands. They told us at the front desk what room you were in.”

“I hope you didn’t leave my house unlocked.”

“What do you take us for?” he asked. “We didn’t even go inside.”

“I just figured you must’ve kicked in the door.”

“Why would we do that?” he asked, annoyed. “I’m not the lawbreaker, Eddie. I leave that to you and your New York gunsel. What’s he doin’ in Vegas, anyway?”

“He comes to visit now and then.”

“Really? And every time he comes to town somebody dies, huh?”

“Detective, I’ll bet somebody dies every day.”

“Sometimes more than one.”

“Those four,” I said, indicating the envelope on the desk. “How did they die?”

“Well,” Hargrove said, “at first it looked like they shot each other, but the closer we looked the more we realized it was just set up to appear that way.” He leaned forward and stared me in the eye. “By somebody who knew what they were doing.”

“Well,” I said, “that leaves me out, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe,” he said, “maybe not, but it’s right up the gunsel’s alley, ain’t it?”

“Jerry’s stuck with me the whole time he’s been in Vegas,” I said. “He’s been my guest. He hasn’t killed anyone.”

On the face of it, that was very true. Jerry had not killed any of the four men.

Hargrove sat back in his chair, then stood up and said, “I’ll be back. Can I have somebody bring you some coffee?”

“Sure, why not?” I said. “Might as well get somethin’ for free while I’m here.”

He laughed and said, “I’ll send someone right in to take your order, Eddie.”

He left. Was he going back to Jerry? How long was he going to let me stew this time?

Did we have any chance of getting to Reno tomorrow?

I
HAD THREE CUPS OF COFFEE
before Hargrove came back in and sat. He started right in as if he hadn’t been gone an hour and a half.

“We’ve got a real odd situation on our hands, Eddie,” he said. He took the four photos out again and laid them down in a row on the table in front of me.

“See, we think one of those men was actually killed in the warehouse and left there. The other three we believe were killed somewhere else then brought to the warehouse and … arranged so they’d look like they killed each other.”

“But you were too smart for that, huh?”

“You bet we were,” he said. “Three of them were shot, all with different guns, and one of them was hit with something—a crowbar, or something like that.”

“Sounds like you do have a real odd one on your hands. Tell me about the phone tip you received.”

He picked the photos up again and put them back in the envelope.

“Just that you—and they mentioned you by name, although they called you Eddie G—knew something about the dead men.”

“And you took that to mean I killed them?” I asked. “Look, even if I do work for the Sands and the Sands is owned by the mob, I’m still just a pit boss.”

“A pit boss who finds bodies and gets himself in trouble,” Hargrove added, “or did you just have a bad few months last year?”

“I guess that depends on how you look at it.”

He sat forward.

“Look, I know that you like keepin’ your Rat Pack buddies out of trouble,” he said. “If that’s what’s goin’ on here—”

“What’s goin’ on here, Detective,” I said, “is that you’re holdin’ me on the word of an anonymous caller who didn’t even know my last name. And you’re holdin’ Jerry just because he was with me when you came for me. At the very least let him go. All he’s guilty of is coming to Vegas for some gambling and relaxation.”

Hargrove laughed shortly.

“Your friend the gunsel doesn’t know the first thing about relaxation.”

Suddenly, Hargrove stood up, turned, and walked out without another word.

An hour and twenty minutes later he came back in. He didn’t close the door behind him.

“You’re both free to go,” he said. “You can find your own way back to the Sands, or home, or wherever you’re goin’. Just remember this. If I find out you had anything to do with these killings I’m gonna come down on you so hard …”

I waited for him to finish the statement. When he didn’t, I said, “I understand, Hargrove. I understand perfectly.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I bet you do.” He opened the door. “Get out.”

I got up and walked into the hall. He came out behind me and closed the door.

“Just down the hall,” he said.

We walked to the next door, where he stopped and opened it.

“Out, gunsel,” he said.

A few seconds later Jerry appeared in the doorway, glowering at Hargrove.

“I tol’ you I don’t like that word.”

“Yeah, I know you did. Go on, get out of here, both of you.”

T
HE POLICE STATION
was on West Russell, just off Las Vegas Boulevard. We could have walked, but we were able to snag a cab easily for a ride to the Sands.

When we got back it was after 2
A.M
. The cops had given us all the coffee we wanted, and we were coffee’d out. But for once I was as hungry as Jerry, so we went to the Garden Room and each ordered the $4.99 special.

“I thought they’d keep us there all night,” Jerry said. “A few more hours and I woulda starved to death.”

As I cut into my prime rib it seemed to me more like days than hours since we’d been in Tahoe with Sammy that morning.

Which reminded me.

“Shit, I’ll have to call Jack early in the morning to arrange for the copter again. He’s not gonna like why we missed it.”

“It ain’t your fault the cops hauled ya in,” Jerry said.

“When this all started Jack told me not to find any more bodies, like last year.”

Jerry shrugged.

“He don’t know that we did.”

“What did Hargrove tell you?” I asked.

Jerry gave me the rundown on his interrogation by the detective,
and it was pretty much the same one I’d experienced, except that Hargrove had been much more aggressive with him.

“Cops always try that with me,” he said. “They think they can break me down.”

“Well, he kept me waiting longer than he questioned me. I assumed he was with you all that time.”

“He left me alone for a long time, too.” He shrugged. “It’s just another cop trick. He didn’t get nothin’ outta me.”

“Me, neither.”

“I knew he wouldn’t,” Jerry said.

“How could you be so sure?”

“Easy,” he said. “You had every chance last year—and tonight—to throw me to ’em, to keep yourself in the clear. You never did.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Jerry.”

“I know. You’re a stand-up guy, Mr. G.”

We finished our meals and ordered some pie. Jerry had more coffee, but I stuck with water.

“Why don’t we try to get to Reno tonight?” the big guy asked.

“I’d have to wake Jack, or Sammy, to arrange for the copter,” I said. “The meet isn’t until tomorrow night. We can get to Reno in the morning and have time to check it out.”

“You know people in Reno, Mr. G.?”

“I know some people, and I can get around,” I said. “I can arrange to get us a car.”

“So all we gotta do now is get some shut-eye.”

“Right,” I said. “If I can sleep on a full stomach.”

“Me, I sleep better on a full stomach.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“You takin’ care of the check, Mr. G.?”

“I got it, Jerry.”

“Then I’m gonna go; I’m done in,” he said. “Meet in the lobby again?”

“Yeah,” I said, “make it nine-thirty, this time. Gives me time to call Jack early.”

“G’night, Mr. G.”

“ ’night, Jerry.”

He left the Garden Room and I signaled the waitress for the check.

I sat back. I was going to have to wake Jack Entratter early, unless he was in his office early again. He seemed to have a lot on his mind, lately, so it was real possible he would be.

I paid the check and headed for the elevators, but detoured to the front desk. Anthony was working, this time not alongside Caitlin.

“Where’s Caitlin tonight, Anthony?” I asked.

“The weirdest thing happened,” he said. “She quit.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Beats me. I got the word when I came on. Now I got this guy to train.”

There was another young man behind the desk, looking confused and lost.

“You’re pretty new yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I catch on quick,” he said. “Can’t say the same for him.”

“What about Caitlin?”

“She caught on quick,” he said.

“She was real pretty,” I said. “You, uh, have any luck?”

“Huh-uh, not me. She said she was into older guys.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yeah,” he said, “in fact, she seemed pretty interested in you.”

“How interested?”

“She asked a lot of questions.”

“Too bad she’s gone.”

“Yeah.” Anthony looked over at his shift partner. “No, Hector, not like that.” He looked at me. “Gotta go, Mr. Gianelli.”

“Sure,” I said. “One more thing. Caitlin say anything about havin’ a boyfriend?”

Anthony laughed. “Caitlin had lots of boyfriends but the same guy picked her up every morning.”

“Really?”

“I gotta straighten Hector out, Mr. Gianelli,” he said, apologetically.

“I tell you what, Anthony,” I said. “You do that and I’ll wait. This is kind of important.”

Now it was Anthony’s turn to look confused.

“Oh, well, okay,” he said. “Let me just … I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll wait here,” I said.

He went over to straighten out the new guy. I leaned on the counter to wait for him. Hopefully, he’d be able to tell me something about Caitlin’s boyfriend that would help me find him. Somebody was responsible for sending four guys to their deaths. Maybe it was two people who were running things. Maybe it was Caitlin and her boyfriend.

W
E DROVE THROUGH
the openwork metal arch that read
RENO, THE BIGGEST LITTLE CITY IN THE WORLD
. Originally, it had been erected in 1927 to commemorate a Highway Exposition that was celebrating the opening of the road over the Sierras, which, at the time, was a big deal. At first it had read
RENO, NEVADA’S TRANSCONTINENTAL HIGHWAY EXPOSITION JUNE 25—AUGUST
11 1927. Three years later it was changed to the “biggest little city” sign, and had read so ever since. I’d heard word that they were going to update the sign and, by 1963, it would be neon.

“Is that true?” Jerry asked.

“What?”

“That Reno is the biggest little city in the world?”

“Not literally,” I said. “It’s just a slogan.”

He nodded.

I was driving a rented Chevrolet Sedan that had been left at the airport for us by my buddy, Jim Rooker, who was a pit boss at the Reno Harrah’s. It was easier than giving Jerry directions and, besides that, he was not thrilled about driving a Chevy.

Jim Rooker had also agreed to get us a room without either of our names on the register, but could only offer one with two beds. I said that was fine.

I drove down Virginia Street, Reno’s main drag, past some of the other casinos—Circus Circus, the Primadonna, the Eldorado, the Nugget, the Horseshoe, and Harold’s Club, the oldest casino in Reno.

People were walking up and down the streets, crossing from one side to another, going in and out of the casinos. People from all walks of life, all income brackets. There were men in suits, men in bell-bottoms and flowered shirts, women in dresses, jeans and short skirts.

Finally we came to Harrah’s, one of only two casino/hotels in town. We parked and went inside, each carrying a small overnight bag. Sammy’s fifty grand was in mine.

True to his word, Rooker had checked us in under his name and, by 11:30
A.M
., we were in our room. The meeting was supposed to take place at 9
P.M
.

“These people are pretty smart not to call on the phone,” Jerry said, looking out the window.

“How so?”

“They don’t give you a chance to argue over the money, or the place, or the time. They just send it in writing and you got no choice.”

“We have a choice,” I said. “We could not show up.”