Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) (3 page)

“Okay,” I said, “go on.”

“I’ve been waitin’ since then for the other shoe to drop and, man, it just dropped. I’m being blackmailed. Either I buy the picture back or it goes to the newspapers.”

“And have you already agreed to the buy?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I’m waiting to hear from them again.”

“Man or woman?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I found a note here when I arrived.”

“In your room?”

“No, waitin’ for me at the desk.”

“Still got it?”

“Sure.”

He got up, walked to a sideboard, opened a drawer and took something out. He came back and handed me a regular white envelope. I took out a typewritten note and unfolded it. It read, “If you want the negative be prepared to pay for it. We’ll contact you.” There were no errors or misspellings.

I looked at him and he stared back. I decided not to ask if there was a photo in the envelope with the note. In all likelihood there was, and he’d removed it. I figured that was his prerogative.

I put the note back in the envelope and returned it to him.

“Are you gonna agree to buy it back?”

“If the negative really comes with it.”

“And how will you know that?”

Sammy waved his arms helplessly.

“I guess when we buy the photo the negative should be with it.”

“And what if they made another negative?”

He wiped his hand across his forehead and said, “I don’t know, Eddie. I’m making this up as I go along.”

“So what do you want me to do, Sammy?” I asked. “Find out who the blackmailer is? Do you have any idea—”

“No, no,” he said, cutting me off. “I know you’re not a detective, Eddie. I just need a—you know, a go-between, I guess.”

“So you want me to make the buy?”

“Yes.”

I could do that, I thought. Didn’t sound as dangerous as the other favors I’d done for Frank and Dean. No mob bosses or button men. Blackmailers didn’t kill people, did they?

“Okay,” I said, “I don’t see why I can’t do that.”

“You sure?”

“Why not? How hard could it be?”

“I appreciate it, Eddie,” Sammy said. “I really can’t think of anyone else.”

“Who else knows about this, Sammy?”

“Just you, me and Frank.”

“That’s it?”

“I haven’t told Silber, or my dad or uncle,” Sammy said. “I want to keep this as quiet as I can.”

I could understand that even though I didn’t know what was in the photo. I didn’t need to know.

“Okay,” I said. “You can count on me to keep it to myself.”

I stood up, and he stood with me.

“So should I call you in Vegas when I hear,” he asked, “or will you be staying in Tahoe?”

I looked at my watch. I didn’t think it made any sense for me to go back. If I stayed and took Frank up on his offer of the cabin I might even be able to put in a few leisure hours. I hadn’t had a vacation in a long time.

“I’ll stay over, at least tonight,” I said, as we walked to the door.

“I can get you a room here,” he said.

“That’s okay, Frank’s giving me a cabin at the Cal Neva.”

“Well then, at least let me leave a ticket at the door for tonight’s performance.”

“That I’ll take you up on,” I said. “I wouldn’t miss a chance to see you on stage.”

“I’ll leave two,” he promised. “Maybe you can get Frank to come, too.”

“I’ll tell him.”

At the door he shook my hand warmly, then hugged me impulsively.

“I really appreciate this, Eddie.”

“I haven’t done anything yet, Sammy.”

“I appreciate that you even came,” he said. “Stop backstage tonight after the show.”

“I will,” I said. “See you then.”

I
HAD THE DRIVER
take me back to the Cal Neva.

“I need to get the key for cabin four from Mr. Sinatra,” I told him.

“Here you go, sir.” He reached back and handed me the key. “Mr. Sinatra says you should keep it.”

“Frank knew I’d stay?” I asked.

“He hoped.”

I took the key. When it came to these guys—Frank, Sammy, Dino—I guess I was pretty predictable.

Last year, in August, when they came to town to the premier of
Ocean’s 11
, I had been feeling pretty foolish for thinking that they were my friends. After all, they were the Rat Pack and I was just a pit boss at the Sands. But since August they’d come to town—together and separately—and had always had time for a drink, or even dinner, and never failed to leave me show tickets. But this was really my first extended contact with Sammy. It remained to be seen if he and I would become friends.

On the way to the Cal Neva I asked Henry, “Is there someplace I can pick up a change of clothes?”

“There are clothes in the cabin, sir.”

“He thought of that, too?”

Henry laughed.

“There are always clothes in the cabin, sir,” he said. “All sizes. I’m sure you’ll find something.”

He dropped me off so I could walk to the cabin, but I decided to stop by cabin five, first. I knocked on the door and Frank answered. This time there was no book in his hand, just a drink.

“You back already? You get things straight with Smokey?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “There’s not much I can do until he hears something.”

“You stayin’ over or goin’ back?”

I dangled the key from my finger and said, “Stayin’—big surprise to you.”

He smiled, “I just took a chance, pally.”

“Look, Sammy’s leavin’ tickets for us at the box office tonight for his show,” I said. “Have you been to see him yet?”

“No,” Frank said, “I’ve only been here a day or two myself. Sure, sure, let’s go see him. He puts on a helluva show. I’ll have Henry drive us, and then we can get some dinner with Charley.”

Frank had nicknames for all his friends, but always called me Eddie, or Eddie G, or “pally.” I wondered how he referred to me when I wasn’t around?

“Catch a nap and a shower, or whatever,” Frank said. “Swing by here around six and we’ll go see Sam swing.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

There was no reason for me to go inside. As I turned to go down the stairs Frank closed the door.

I walked to my cabin and let myself in. The place was spotless. I knew that Frank had definite plans for the Cal Neva. I also knew that Dean was looking to get out, if he hadn’t already. MoMo Giancana was not the owner of record, but he was the actual owner of the place. He had asked Frank, Dean and Skinny D’Amato to front for him and gave them all a percentage. Dean bought in on Frank’s say-so, but when he found out that Giancana was at the top he decided to get out. I admired Dean because he never gave in to the mob boys. They didn’t impress him, and they didn’t scare him. He sang in their clubs—which they loved—but that was all he did, and he was paid well for it.

I checked the bar and found that Frank kept it fully stocked. I didn’t flatter myself and think he’d done it for me. Not since Frank had told me this was the cabin all “the guys” used when they were in Tahoe. But I appreciated it, anyway.

I made myself a drink and carried it into the bedroom. I checked the dresser drawers and closets, found some things in my size, carried the drink into the bathroom with me, where I took a shower. By the time I had gotten dressed in the fresh clothes—all of which fit perfectly, down to the black loafers—I’d finished the drink. I went back to the bar and built another small one.

Refreshed, with nothing to do but wait to be picked up, I phoned Jack Entratter to let him know what was going on. Again, as in the past, I did not immediately tell him what Sammy’s problem was. If it became necessary later, I would.

“So you’re stayin’ over?” he asked.

“Yeah, it doesn’t make sense to come back now,” I said. “Frank and me are goin’ to Sammy’s show, and then we’re gonna have dinner.”

“Life of leisure, huh?” he grunted.

“Hey, Jack, I’ll forget all about it and come back if you want—”

“Naw, naw,” Jack said, “settle down. Stay and come back tomorrow, or whenever Frank’s done with you.”

“It’s Sammy I have to be concerned with—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jack said, “but it’s Frank who flew you up there.”

When it came to the Rat Pack Jack would go out of his way for Dino or Sammy, but he’d walk on broken glass for Frank.

“Just keep me informed so I know if I have to replace you for any length of time.”

“You got it, Jack.”

“And, uh, tell Frank hello for me.”

“I will.”

I hung up and took the second drink to the window and looked out. It was quiet, nothing and no one moving. I thought back to last year, when I’d agreed to do two favors—one for Frank and one for Dean. On the surface neither had sounded dangerous, but both had heated up quickly. I’d been threatened, beaten, blown up, shot at—and
after all of that, I was prepared to do it again. Why? Well, this didn’t seem to have the same potential, but what did I know? I’d never dealt with blackmailers before.

No, I think it came down to how I felt about Frank and Dino. In the beginning I had liked the idea of being their friend. Okay, so I was a little starstruck. And between the filming of
Ocean’s 11
and the release of it I came to think that they had used me. But since then, they had both kept in touch. I may have been deluding myself that these Hollywood big shots thought of me as a friend, but I thought of
them
as
my
friends, and I guess that was what counted.

I saw Henry walking up to my door. I set the glass down and went to the door to meet him.

W
ATCHING SAMMY DAVIS JR
. was an experience. That was the only way to describe it—and that wasn’t me talking, that was Frank. He actually leaned over to me during the show and said those words to me.

Sammy sang, danced, played instruments, did impressions. Frank described himself as a “saloon singer.” Sammy, he said, was an “entertainer.”

At the halfway point Sammy took the time to talk to the audience, introduce the band, and then he pointed into the crowd.

“There’s a very good friend of mine in the audience tonight. He
is
my friend, an amazing talent in his own right, the chairman of the board, the leader, Mr. Frank Sinatra, ladies and gentlemen.”

Frank stood to thunderous applause, waved at Sammy and then sat back down.

“Do you like your seat, Frank?” Sammy asked. “Can you see okay?”

“I can see fine,” Frank called out.

Sammy wiped his brow with his hand, as if Frank’s reply gave him great relief.

“Gotta make sure Frank is comfortable, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, milking the joke. “You never know who might come around later with Frank’s complaint.”

The audience laughed and Frank waved again and called out, “You’re safe, Sam.”

“Then let’s get on with the show,” Sammy said. “Here’s a tune my friend Dino let me borrow….”

“Hey, Eddie, man,” Sammy said, shaking my hand as Frank and I entered his dressing room. “Sorry I didn’t introduce you from the stage—”

“That’s okay, Sam,” I said. “What would you have told people about me?”

“Smokey,” Frank said, giving Sammy a big hug, “you brought the house down, as usual. I’m tired just from watchin’ you.”

“Thanks for coming, Frank,” Sammy said, returning the embrace.

“How’s May?” Frank asked.

“She’s good, Frank, good.”

“You got enough energy left to go out and get somethin’ to eat with us?” Frank asked.

“If we do it here in the hotel I do,” Sammy said. “I’m not up for a big night out, Frank.”

“Neither am I,” I said.

“Yeah, okay,” Frank said. “I’ll take it easy on you two Clydes. How’s the food here, Sam?”

“It’s good, Frank.”

“Good?”

Sammy smiled.

“It’s okay. They’ll feed us well. Hell, I remember the days when my dad, my uncle and me had to take our food out back and eat it at a picnic table behind the building.”

“They treatin’ you okay?” Frank asked.

“They’re treating me fine, Frank,” Sammy assured him, “just fine. Why don’t you two get out of here and let me get dressed, and then we’ll go and eat.”

“Okay, Charley,” Frank said, slapping Sammy on the shoulder. “Great show, as usual. Naw, even better than usual.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Sammy said. “That means a lot coming from you.”

“Let’s go, Eddie,” Frank said. “We’ll wait outside while Sam makes himself pretty.”

I wanted to say, “That’ll be a long wait,” or something as funny, but I really didn’t know how Sammy would take it. I wasn’t
that
“in” yet, was I?

H
AVING DINNER WITH FRANK AND SAMMY
was a little like dining with Joey Bishop and Buddy Hackett. The two of them were very funny together, telling stories that had me in stitches. Other diners in the Harrah’s Steak House stared over at us, putting their heads together and pointing. No one, however, walked over and interrupted us. There were stories about Frank and how he reacted to being interrupted in restaurants by autograph seekers. Apparently, the people in this restaurant had heard them.

Eventually the subject came around to the next Rat Pack movie,
Sergeants 3
. Frank, Dino and Peter were playing the soldiers, while Sammy had the Gunga Din part in this western spin-off of Kipling. Joey was apparently going to play a soldier who made life hard for the top three.

“Hey,” Sammy said, at one point, “you think there’s a part in the movie for Eddie, Frank?”

“Whataya think, pally?” Frank asked me. “Wanna be in a movie?”

I sat back, stunned.

“Just like that?” I asked. “I don’t have any experience. Don’t you have to check with somebody?”

“I don’t have to check with anybody,” Frank said. “Look, let me
take a look at the script. I’ll find something small for you. Whataya think of that?”

“Come on, Eddie,” Sammy said. “It’ll be a gas.”

“I don’t know what to say.” It did sound like it could be fun, shooting a scene or two with these guys, but what if I got in way over my head?

“Come on, Eddie,” Frank said. “It’s got to be easier than some of the stuff you went through last year, and look how that turned out.”