Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) (25 page)
Read Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) Online
Authors: Robert J. Randisi
“Drop ’em, everybody!” somebody yelled. “Federal agents.”
One guy got antsy and turned his gun toward them. He caught three slugs and went down. In quick succession his buddies met the same fate, and then it was just me and Jerry standing.
“Take it easy!” I yelled, and we put our hands in the air.
I had no doubt these were Joe Kennedy’s men. He’d sprung us after my phone call, and then obviously had us followed. Now the question was, what were their orders where we were concerned?
“You Eddie Gianelli?” one of the agents asked.
If I said yes would they gun us down? Tie up the last of the loose ends?
I had to play the hand that had been dealt to me.
“I’m Gianelli.”
The dead men were being searched by other agents, and one of them came up with a brown manila envelope. He brought it over to the man who’d questioned me, obviously the agent in charge. The envelope had blood on it, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He had a flashlight of his own. He opened the envelope, shined the light in, and then closed it. All he’d been able to see was that there were photos and negatives inside, but I didn’t think he’d been able to see what they were photos of.
He folded the envelope lengthwise, stuck it in his inside jacket pocket, then turned his attention back to his men.
“Pack it in!” he yelled.
The agents brought in plastic bags, which they used to remove the bodies. I still wasn’t sure what they were going to do with us.
The agent-in-charge looked at us as his men cleaned up the scene and said, “Mr. Kennedy’s compliments. You and your buddy better get out of here.”
Jerry and I looked at each other. If they hadn’t shot us by now they weren’t going to shoot us as we left.
“You don’t have to tell us twice,” I said, and we got the hell out of there.
A
S SOON AS SAMMY
opened his door I handed him the photo and the negative.
“Come on in.”
I entered, closing the door behind me. It was the morning after and Jerry had remained in Vegas. I wanted to get the photo back to Sammy right away.
“Did you … look at it?”
“Once,” I said, “just to make sure it was the right one.”
“We were just … bein’ silly,” he said, looking embarrassed, “and I had one shot left. May … isn’t usually this … free with her body—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“Not that she’s a prude,” he went on, “but, man, if this picture had gotten into the papers—you dig?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I do.”
He put his hand out and I shook it, then he pulled me into a big hug.
“Thanks, Eddie. Man, I owe you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He put the photo and negative into his pocket, then asked, “And the other thing? You fix that, too?”
“I hope so,” I said.
I didn’t want to tell him there could have been more prints out there, that there was still the possibility that a photo of a naked May Britt, or a compromised JFK, could still show up in the newspapers or a magazine. It seemed like all the guilty parties were either dead or—as in the case of Caitlin and Tony—in jail, at the moment.
Apparently, the same phone call that had sprung me and Jerry had sealed Caitlin and Tony’s fate. When I had gone to sleep the night before I was almost expecting to be awakened by cops at my door, but the morning dawned with no such intrusion. Hargrove may have still had it in for me, but for the moment I seemed to be in the clear.
“Did you hear about Joe Kennedy?” Sammy asked.
“What about him?”
“He had a stroke,” Sammy said. “Yesterday.”
“Dead?” I asked.
“No, but pretty bad. They think he’ll be in a wheelchair from now on.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “Guess I was one of the last to see him on his feet. He was … pretty damn impressive.”
“Who did it, Eddie?” he asked. “Who broke into my house and stole the photos?”
I told him.
I spent the night in the room at the Sands, and that’s where Jerry still was, but it was time for me to go home. I needed to talk to Jack Entratter, but I was putting that off for later in the day.
The rug had dried, the bullet hole was still in the door frame, but the bullet was gone. Hargrove had it.
Could he use it to come after me again? Now that Joe Kennedy was incapacitated? Well, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t been looking over my shoulder for him ever since the first time we met. So nothing had really changed.
I was making a pot of coffee when the phone rang. What I needed to do was sit quietly, drain the pot by myself, and finally stop shaking from the confrontation in the warehouse.
“Hello?”
“Eddie?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s Jack.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Jack Kennedy. The President?” he added.
“I know who you are.”
“I’m sorry to call so unexpectedly,” JFK said, “but I wanted to thank you for what you did.”
“I, uh, was under the impression that you didn’t know what was going on.”
“Oh I didn’t,” he said, “until my father had his stroke. Then I was told.”
Yeah, right.
“So … it was you who got me sprung last night?”
“Yes.”
Hargrove didn’t know how right he’d been about my connections going higher.
“Of course, no one knows it was me, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Of course.”
“You did your country a great service, Eddie.”
“Um, well, okay.” Now was not the time to tell him I was glad I didn’t vote for him.
There was a moment of silence, and then he asked, “Uh, you didn’t see the photo, did you, Eddie?”
“What photo was that, Mr. President?”
T
HE SHOW ACTUALLY BROUGHT
tears to my eyes. Sandy Hackett and his troupe of players had the guys down pat. Sandy himself did a great job playing Joey. Even hearing Buddy Hackett’s voice do the opening made me mist up. I had last seen Buddy in 2003, just before he passed away, and I missed him.
And the fella playing Sammy was perfect. He made me miss Sammy so much I looked down at the gold watch I was wearing, the one Sammy had given me for helping him out in 1961.
I should have gone backstage to congratulate them but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Didn’t want to make an old fool of myself.
I fell in with the flow of people filing out and, once outside, buttoned my coat. The chill in the desert was getting to my old bones more than usual.
I stood to the side, allowing the rest of the crowd to file past me. At my age being jostled could amount to the same as being shoved off a cliff.
Finally, the crowd was gone and I stood outside the Greek Isles virtually alone—until I heard someone call my name from behind. I turned to see Sandy approaching me, still in his Joey makeup.
“You runnin’ out on me?” he asked.
“To tell you the truth,” I said, “your show got to me. Brought back a lot of memories. I—I wasn’t sure I could …”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “My dad’s only been gone four years but every time I hear his voice …”
We stood there together, a moment of silence for the departed, the friends and loved ones from our past….
Oh yeah, next time you watch
Sergeants 3
check me out. I got last billing as “Man with snake.”
A
S I’VE SAID BEFORE
, these books grew out of my respect for Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. as entertainers—not necessarily in that order. My posthumous thanks goes out to these three men for years of enjoyment through their films, albums and many appearances on stage. Also, my thanks to Joey Bishop, the last of the Rat Pack, who died this past year.
The books also stem from my love for the history, the pulse, the excitement that is Las Vegas. There’s no other place in the world like it.
Special thanks to Kathy War, Photo Archivist, UNLV Libraries, Special Collections Department for the time and effort she put into talking with me and providing me with archive photos of the Sands Casino. And to Sandy Hackett, for allowing me to use him and his Rat Pack tribute show in this book. And finally, thanks to Richard Neuberger, Jack Entratter’s nephew, for contacting me after reading the first book. Thanks for the kind words, and for talking with me on the phone about your Uncle Jack.
Rat Pack Confidential
by Shawn Levy, Doubleday, 1998;
The Rat Pack
by Lawrence J. Quirk and William Schoell, 1998;
Dino
by Nick Tosches, Dell Publishing, 1992;
His Way, The Unauthorized Biography of Frank Sinatra
by Kitty Kelley, Bantam Books, 1986;
Gonna Do Great Things, The Life of Sammy Davis, Jr
. by Gary Fishgall, Scribners, 2003;
Sammy Davis Jr., Me and My Shadow
by Arthur Silber Jr., Smart Enterprises, 2002;
Sammy: An Autobiography
by Sammy Davis Jr. and June and Burt Boyar, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2000;
Photo by Sammy Davis, Jr.
, text by Burt Boyar, Regan Books, 2007;
The Peter Lawford Story, Life with the Kennedys, Monroe and the Rat Pack
by Patricia Seaton Lawford, Carroll & Graf Publishers, 1988;
Mouse in the Rat Pack, The Joey Bishop Story
by Michael Seth Starr, Taylor Trade Publishing, 2002;
The Frank Sinatra Film Guide
by Daniel O’Brien, BT Batsford, 1998;
The Last Good Time, Skinny D’Amato, The Notorious 500 Club, and The Rise and Fall of Atlantic City
by Jonathan Van Meter, Crown Publishers, 2003;
Casino, Love and Honor in Las Vegas
by Nicholas Pileggi, Simon & Schuster, 1995;
Las Vegas is My Beat
by Ralph Pearl, Bantam Books, 1973, 1974;
Murder in Sin City, The Death of a Las Vegas Casino Boss
by Jeff German, Avon Books, 2001; A
Short History of Reno
, by Barbara and Myrick
Land, University of Nevada Press, 1995; A
Short History of Las Vegas
by Barbara and Myrick Land, University of Nevada Press, 1999, 2004; and
When the Mob Ran Vegas
by Steve Fischer, Berkline Press, 2005, 2006.
