Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) (20 page)

“Who?”

“A very important man.”

“The President of the United States?”

“More important than him.”

“Who’s more important than the President?”

Neither one answered.

I tried to judge them by their clothes, the way Jerry had done earlier with the other three. These two had decent suits and shoes, and thin ties. I gave up after that.

“What do I call you?”

“Call him Number Two,” the older man said, “and me Number One.”

“Why are you Number One?” the younger one asked.

The older one looked at him.

“Because I’m not dumb enough to ask a question like that.”

“He’s right,” I said to Number Two. “That was a dumb question.”

He came out of his slouch and asked, “You callin’ me dumb?”

I looked at Number One, who shrugged wearily.

“Are you comin’?” he asked.

“What’s my alternative?”

“We bring you.”

“How far are we goin’?” I asked.

“Not far.”

“Am I comin’ back?”

“No reason to think otherwise.”

For some reason I believed him. These actually were messenger boys, not hit men.

“Well,” I asked, “when do we go?”

“Now,” Number One said, “but first … you wouldn’t be carrying a gun, would you?”

There was no point in lying, since they’d probably search me no matter what I said.

“As a matter of fact.” I raised my hands and indicated my right jacket pocket.

Number One stepped forward and fished the .38 out.

“I’d like to get that back when we’re done.”

“Don’t see why not,” he said, tucking the gun into his belt. “Shall we go?”

T
HEY HAD A BLACK
sedan parked in the lot. Number Two got behind the wheel, Number One in the shotgun seat next to him. I got in the back. I didn’t have a car.

“When will we—” I started, but Number One cut me off.

“There’s no point in asking questions,” he told me. “All we know is that we were to come and get you and bring you back. We don’t know why.”

“But where—”

“Where will be apparent shortly,” he said, turning to look at me. “It’s not far, like I told you. Just sit back and relax. Somebody wants to talk to you. Nobody wants to hurt you.”

If I took him at his word this would probably be one of the few times I would actually be able to sit back and relax for a while.

We drove out of Tahoe and past some of the ski lodges that were going up almost as fast as casinos. There were also some impressive homes out this way. We were most of the way around the beautiful lake, almost to the California border, when the car pulled into a long driveway that led up to a palatial house. Whoever I was being brought to see had money, or friends who had money.

“Nice little cottage,” I said. I got no reply.

Number Two stopped the car in front of the house and we got out. I followed them up the stairs and inside.

“Leaving the door unlocked is not smart,” I said, “even around here.”

“We’re expected,” Number Two said.

Behind me I heard Number One lock the door.

They took me to a room that was lined with books—a library, or a den. Since all I have is a living room, I can never tell the difference.

“Wait here with him,” Number Two said to Number One.

“Okay.”

We waited in silence. He stared off into space while I walked around and looked at the books, a mixture of classic fiction, nonfiction, and law books. That’s as far as I got before my host entered the room.

“You can go,” he said to Number One.

“Yes, sir.” He headed for the door, but stopped just short of leaving. “Want me to stay outside?”

“Just stay in the house,” my host said. “I’ll only need you to drive Mr. Gianelli home.”

“Yes, sir.”

Number One left and closed the door behind him.

My host was a man in his seventies, gray-haired, ramrod straight, wearing an unmistakably expensive suit and wire-rimmed glasses.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“I think so,” I said. “I’ve seen photos. You’re Joseph Kennedy.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Father of the President of the United States. In point of fact Joe Kennedy always wanted his oldest son, Joseph Kennedy Jr., to become President, but after he was killed in World War II he turned his ambitions to his second oldest son, John F. Kennedy. He planned strategies, did the fund-raising, and generally oversaw the entire campaign. It was believed by people in the know that Joe Kennedy was pulling the strings on both Jack and Bobby and that he insisted when Jack became President that he appoint Bobby as attorney general.

“Would you like a drink, sir?”

“No, thank you,” I said. “I’d like to know why I was brought here.”

“I’ll have some Irish whiskey, if you don’t mind.”

He walked to a sideboard and poured two fingers into a tumbler.

“Please, have a seat,” he said. “I must sit, myself. I don’t often leave the compound anymore.”

I knew from television and newspapers that the Kennedy residence in Hyannisport, Massachusetts was referred to as “the Kennedy Compound.”

The room had two maroon leather armchairs and we each took one, so that we were facing each other.

“I had you brought here for a reason, Mr. Gianelli.”

“I hope so.”

Joe Kennedy’s entire countenance was a stern one. I’d never heard anything about the man having a sense of humor. Now that I was seeing him for the first time the lack of it was very evident.

“I understand you have been engaged in the pursuit of a certain photo.”

I quickly wondered how to play this. If Joseph Kennedy wanted me dead, I’d be dead, so I decided to play it straight.

“Actually,” I said, “I’m trying to buy an entire roll of film.”

“I see. Do you know what this roll of film contains?”

“Not a clue,” I lied.

“Then why are you trying to purchase it?”

“I’m acting on someone else’s behalf.”

“And who would that be?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, at this time.”

“I see,” he said, again. “One of your Rat Pack cronies?” He said “Rat Pack” with intense dislike. I knew he hadn’t liked Jack consorting with Frank, but they’d needed Frank to deliver the Teamsters. As soon as JFK got elected, Frank was out.

I decided not to be passive.

“I understand you’re trying to buy a photo, too,” I said.

Kennedy frowned, but said, “Well, yes …”

“Do you know what it is a photo of?”

“I’m afraid I do,” he said. “Do you?”

“Nope.”

He studied me, as if trying to decide if I was lying or not.

“I’ve checked you out, Mr. Gianelli,” he said. “You work for Jack Entratter at the Sands hotel, and you consort with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin … those types.”

“Types?”

“Show business types.”

“The types you wouldn’t want your sons to consort with, you mean?”

“My sons choose their own friends.”

“Sure they do.”

“Never mind,” he said. “My point is that I’ve checked you out and while you work for the Sands you don’t seem to be … what’s the word … connected.”

“Connected to what?”

“Please, Mr. Gianelli,” he said, “so far we haven’t been playing games with each other.”

“Except for that bit about your sons choosing their own friends.”

“All right,” he said. “We understand each other, then.”

I nodded as if we did.

“M
R. GIANELLI
, it might surprise you to know that I think you have the best chance of buying these photos.”

“Is that because people have been dying to get them?”

I didn’t mean for that to come out as a pun, but it went over his head, anyway. I also noticed that my Brooklyn had taken a hike. Once again, I was adapting to the company I was keeping. This time, I didn’t much like it.

“I have heard about that,” he said.

“Mr. Kennedy, do you know a guy named Sloane? Claims to be with the Secret Service?”

“I don’t believe I do.”

“Byers, or Simpson?”

“No. Apparently, there are some other parties trying to get those photos.”

“And how did these other parties find out about them?” I asked.

“I don’t know, really,” he said. “My only concern at the moment is that they don’t succeed.”

“Mr. Kennedy,” I said, “so far I haven’t seen the photo you’re talking about. In fact I haven’t even seen the photo I’m talking about.”

“I believe you.”

“Furthermore, I don’t want to see them,” I said. “In fact, I want out of this whole business.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Why? Because you won’t let me out?”

“I am certain I have no control over the decision you make, Mr. Gianelli,” he said. “I’m sure you are your own man.”

“Then why is it unfortunate?”

“Well, I’m not sure the other parties involved will let you out.”

“I’m kind of worried about that, myself,” I said. “I don’t want to end up dead.”

“Maybe the only way to avoid that is to get ahold of that roll of film.”

“And turn it over to you?”

“Only the print I am concerned with,” he said. “The rest of the roll is yours, to do with as you see fit. Sell it, turn it over to your principal, whatever.”

“Sell it?” I said. “What the hell do you think I am? I’m no blackmailer.”

“I apologize,” he said. “That was thoughtless of me. Of course you’re not a blackmailer. I understand you know my son, Jack.”

“We met before he became President.”

“Yes, I believe he mentioned it to me. Last year, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“At about the time the photo was taken, in fact.”

“I guess.”

“Your likeness wouldn’t be on that roll of film, would it, Mr. Gianelli?”

“It’s possible,” I said, “but I don’t think I was doing anything … objectionable.”

“How fortunate for you,” he said. “My son was not as lucky.”

It was the first time I heard some hint of emotion in his voice—disapproval. Was that an emotion?

“I have a proposal for you, sir,” he said.

“Let’s hear it.”

“I’ll pay you, employ you, to continue your negotiations for that roll of film.”

“But the people I’m negotiating with are not the same—I mean, they’re only looking for fifty thousand—”

“And you have it, don’t you?”

“Well yes, but—”

“Then there are two groups looking to sell?”

“That’s my point,” I said, “and yours is asking for a lot more money.”

“Yes,” he said, “I wondered about that.” He frowned while he was wondering.

“Mr. Kennedy,” I said, “you really have no idea who’s running around claiming to be members of the Secret Service? Killing people? Trying to kill me?”

“I truly don’t, Mr. Gianelli,” he said, “but you know Tahoe, Reno and Vegas better than my people do. You won’t blunder about as much as they have been doing.”

“Could any of your people have gone into business for themselves?”

His frown deepened.

“That’s always possible.”

“And the buy amount you’re dealing with? Half a million?”

“Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Is there somebody out there running around with that kind of money?”

“Not in cash,” he said.

“Then how—”

“That’s not important,” he said. “I want you to make your fifty-thousand-dollar buy. That way we both get what we want.”

“And my man is out fifty grand.”

“I will cover the cost,” he said. “And I’ll pay you, besides.”

“How much?”

“Name a price,” he said. “Five thousand? Ten?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’ll have to figure out how much risking my life is worth.”

“But you don’t have to risk your life,” he said. “Make the buy. Pay the fifty thousand.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of being killed by the sellers,” I said. “It’s the other buyers I’m worried about.”

“I understood you had some … help? Some … what do you call it … backup?”

“That’s not what I call it,” I said. “That’s not my lingo.”

“Mine, either, I’m afraid.”

“But you’re right, I do have someone with me.”

“I’ll pay him, too, then.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“As I said, name your price,” he said, then added, “within reason.”

“No blank checks, huh?” I asked.

“I don’t think either of us deals with very many blank checks in our businesses.”

“No, I’d say you’re right.”

“I’ll need you to make a decision, Mr. Gianelli,” he said. “I must be getting back to the compound.”

I hesitated. I knew he thought that no one would, could, or should make a decision until he got back. He was a man used to being in charge.

“My son is going to do great things in the White House, Mr. Gianelli,” he said. “That is, if he’s permitted to.”

“Oh shit,” I said, “you just had to wave the flag in my face, didn’t you?”

I
DIDN’T WANT TO SEEM
money hungry, but I also didn’t want Joe Kennedy to think I was a fool, or that I came cheap. If you undervalued yourself people would have no choice but to do the same.

So we hashed out prices—for me and for Jerry—before Numbers One and Two drove me back to Harrah’s. They pulled up in front and stopped the car just barely long enough to give me back the .38 and let me out.

When I got to my room I immediately called Jerry. He said things were fine with Sammy, and he’d be going on stage in a little while. I told him what had happened and he said he’d be right over. I let him in as soon as he knocked.

“They were waiting for me and took me for a little ride.”

Jerry’s eyebrows went up. “And they brought you back?”

“Yes, after I had a very interesting conversation.”

“With who?”

“Joseph Kennedy.”

“Yer shittin’ me! The President’s father?”

“In the flesh.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to make a deal,” I said, and relayed both the conversation and the agreement we had come to.

“So it’s up to you and me?” he asked.

“It’s supposed to be up to you and me,” I said. “We’ll have to see about that.”

“But you’re gonna stay with it?”