It Was a Very Bad Year (16 page)

Frank drained his cup and slapped me on the shoulder.

‘Now get out of here so I can get some sleep. We'll meet in the lobby at seven a.m.'

‘Seven,' I said. ‘I'll be there.' I put my cup down, untouched. It was cold, anyway.

I left the room, walked past two of the FBI men and entered my room.

‘Eddie.'

I jumped. I hadn't expected to see anybody in my room, so the DA, Bill Raggio, scared the shit out of me.

‘Close the door, Eddie,' Raggio said, standing up from the bed, where he'd been seated. ‘We have to talk.'

I
closed the door, locked it, and turned to face the DA.

‘What's this about, Mr Raggio?'

‘You know what it's about, Eddie,' he said. ‘The exchange. We want it to go off without a hitch.'

‘Without a hitch is what I want, too,' I said. ‘Who's we?'

‘Me and the FBI.'

‘And why wouldn't it go off without a hitch?' I asked. ‘I'm going to do exactly what Frank wants me to do.'

‘That's what we're afraid of,' Raggio said.

I stared at him, but he didn't offer anything more than that.

‘I'm afraid I don't understand, Mr Raggio,' I said. ‘What are you getting at?'

He started to pace, as if forming his thoughts.

‘The kidnappers,' he said, finally, ‘we want them alive.'

‘What are you—' I started, then realized what he was saying. ‘Wait a minute. You think . . . I'm not a killer, Mr Raggio. Where did you get that idea?'

‘You work at the Sands, don't you?' he asked. ‘For Entratter?'

‘Sure I do,' I said, ‘as a pit boss.'

‘Come on, Eddie. I checked you out today. I spoke to Detective Hargrove with the Vegas PD. He filled me in on your history.'

‘My history?'

‘When you and some Brooklyn thug named Jerry are around, bodies pile up.' Raggio pointed his finger at me. ‘Why else would Frank Sinatra send for you to get his kid back? Well, I'm telling you now, I want those kidnappers, and I want them alive.'

‘Mr Raggio—'

‘I can't go to LA with you tomorrow. That's out of my jurisdiction. But I'm going to call ahead to the DA there. The cops are going to be watching you.'

‘That's fine with me, Mr Raggio,' I said. ‘You tell 'em to do their job, and I'll do mine.'

‘And what is your job, Eddie?'

‘Right now it's to help Frank get his son back. And I don't intend to kill anybody while I do it.'

‘So you say,' Raggio said. ‘Now you take this as a warning—'

‘And take this as a warning,' I said, too pissed to worry about consequences. ‘Get out of here before I throw you out.'

‘Just remember what I said, Gianelli.'

‘You remember what I said, Raggio,' I retorted. ‘Get out.'

Without another word Raggio left. Moments later there was a knock on the door. I considered not answering it, just in case it was him again. Or maybe this time it was the FBI wanting to ‘warn' me.

In the end, I opened it. It was Jack Entratter.

‘Can I come in?'

‘Sure.'

He entered, closed the door behind him.

‘I saw Raggio leavin',' he said. ‘He didn't look happy.'

‘He was here to warn me.'

‘About what?'

‘He says he wants the kidnappers alive,' I said. ‘Seems he thinks Frank is sendin' me to kill 'em.'

‘What?'

‘I know. I told him to get out. But he's gonna cause trouble, Jack. He said he's going to call ahead to the LA District Attorney.'

‘Where did he get that idea?'

‘From Hargrove.'

‘That bastard! What's he got to do with this?'

‘Raggio checked me out with him. He seems to think since I work for you and the Sands – and I'm friends with Frank – that I'm mobbed up.'

‘Then I guess it's a good thing Frank didn‘t accept Mo Mo's offer of help,' Entratter said. ‘That would've sealed it for him.'

‘And maybe he should have accepted Bobby's offer,' I said. ‘That would have kept the cops at bay.'

‘Frank's made his decision,' Jack said. ‘All we can do is go along.'

I hesitated a moment, then said, ‘I agree.'

‘What about the other thing?' he asked. ‘The two mugs who grabbed you?'

‘I've got Danny Bardini working on it,' I said. ‘When I get back to Vegas we'll take care of it.'

‘OK,' Jack said, slapping me on the back. ‘Get some sleep. I'll make some calls of my own to LA. Since Raggio checked you out, it might make sense for us to check him out.'

F
rank's plane was a Martin 404. It had been introduced in 1962, had a cruising speed of 280 mph, and a high speed of 312 mph. I knew all that because Frank told us the night before.

The 404 was a small business plane that Frank used often, and loaned out to his friends. I knew that Dean used it to fly to concerts and business meetings. He had also loaned it on occasion to every other member of the group.

We met in the lobby at seven a.m. and took two cars to the airport. The plane was gassed up and ready to go, props already turning. Raggio stayed behind. The lawyer, Rudin, was with us, and two FBI agents – my hero one of them. So that made seven of us.

We followed Frank up the airstair and inside. We hadn't stopped for breakfast, or even coffee, but Frank had us served coffee and bagels on board. I wondered if Jerry was getting the same treatment on the plane Frank had sent for him. The pilot had been told to operate at high speed. We'd be in LA within the hour.

The flight was pretty quiet. I didn't have a chance to talk with Jack about the night before. I didn't know yet if either one of us was even going to mention it to Frank. Certainly not in front of the FBI agents.

Rudin led us off the plane at the other end. The District Attorney was waiting for us, along with some local cops and two more FBI agents. He and Rudin shook hands, seemed to know each other, Rudin then introduced him to Frank. The rest of us didn't rate.

There were two cars waiting for us, and Jerry was standing beside one of them. I walked over to join him while Rudin and the DA talked.

‘Hey, Mr G.'

‘Hey, Jerry. Been here long?'

‘About fifteen minutes,' the big guy said. ‘I'm starvin'.'

‘Have anything on the plane?'

‘Some coffee and donuts,' Jerry said. ‘'Bout a dozen.'

‘You ate them all?'

‘I had a longer flight than you.'

‘Good point.'

‘I'm still hungry, though.'

‘We'll get something.'

‘Where are we goin'?'

‘Mrs Sinatra's house in Bel-Air.'

‘The ex?'

‘That's right.'

‘Guess she must be worried.'

‘Out of her mind.'

Entratter and Jilly walked over to us and said, ‘We're in this car.'

‘OK,' I said. ‘You guys know Jerry, right?'

‘Yeah,' Entratter said. ‘Hello, Jerry.'

‘Mr Entratter,' Jerry said. ‘Hello, Mr Rizzo.'

‘Hey, Jerry. How you doin'?'

‘Good. Hungry.'

‘Tell me about it.'

‘We'll eat when we get to Nancy's house,' Entratter said. He looked at the driver. ‘Let's go.'

‘Yessir.'

We piled into the car, which, thankfully, had enough room for the three of us and Jerry. Oddly, Jerry was able to somehow make himself smaller and take up only a corner. I never knew how he did it, but the big boy rarely seemed to intrude. His size never became an issue when he was with friends.

‘Eddie, I told Jilly what happened last night between you and Raggio.'

‘OK.'

‘What happened?' Jerry asked.

I told him.

‘Jilly and I feel it's better if we don't tell Frank,' Jack said, after I was finished.

‘Makes sense,' I said. ‘Why give him something else to worry about?'

‘Right,' Jilly said.

‘And I made some calls,' Jack said to me. ‘I think I made sure the local DA will stay off your back.'

‘That would be good.'

‘Rudin and the DA – Evans is his name – are tight. They play poker together. So we kept him out of it.'

‘Again,' I said, ‘makes sense.'

‘OK,' Jack said, looking at me, Jerry and then Jilly, ‘so we don't mention this at all while we're in Nancy's house.'

We all agreed.

‘What are we gonna eat when we get there?' Jerry asked.

Jilly laughed and said, ‘Don't worry, Jerry. Whatever it is, you'll get enough.'

W
hen we got to Nancy's house she greeted us politely. Frank hugged her and took her off to talk in private.

‘There's food in the kitchen,' she told us.

‘Thank you, Nancy,' Entratter said.

We went to the kitchen, followed by the two FBI men, but they stopped at the door. The table was covered, buffet style, with plates filled with eggs, bacon, potatoes and – to Jerry's delight – pancakes.

Entratter, Jilly Rizzo, Jerry and I filled our plates, and then Jack turned to the FBI men and said, ‘Have at it, boys.'

The two men exchanged glances. One of them said, ‘Thank you, sir.'

We stood around eating and after a while the lawyer, Rudin, arrived with the DA and some technicians who were going to wire Nancy's phone.

‘Is that smart?' Entratter asked.

‘The kidnappers will expect it,' Rudin said, ‘unless they're hopeless amateurs.'

That seemed likely to me, but I didn't say anything.

The DA and his techs went into the living room to wire the phones. Rudin grabbed a plate and had some breakfast.

‘Where are the girls?' I asked Entratter.

‘Nancy and Tina are upstairs,' Jack said. ‘They're stayin' out of the way.'

‘Anybody with them?' I asked. ‘I mean, in case somebody tries to grab them, too?'

‘Frank's got Ed Pucci and some other bodyguards on 'em,' Jack said.

I had heard Pucci's name before, but never met him.

‘I'm glad he's got them covered.'

‘He's not about to let one of his girls get grabbed,' Jilly said. ‘Not after what happened with Frankie.'

The conversation stopped when Frank came into the kitchen.

‘You guys get enough to eat?' he asked.

‘There's plenty, Mr S.,' Jerry said, piling his plate high with more pancakes. I stood next to him and took some food.

‘Mr G.?' Jerry said, lowering his voice.

‘Yeah, Jerry?'

‘Can we find a corner alone?' he asked. ‘I gotta tell you somethin'.'

I looked at him with a joke on my lips, but I saw that he was serious.

‘It's a big house,' I said. ‘Got to be lots of corners.'

We both added bacon to our plates, and left the kitchen. We found two chairs at the end of a hall and sat down.

‘What's up?'

‘You know those two mugs who grabbed you in Reno?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Same thing happened to me in Brooklyn, after we talked.'

‘What?'

‘Yup,' he said, ‘only there was three of 'em.'

‘Jesus,' I said. ‘What happened? Did you get hurt?'

‘Well,' Jerry said, ‘I'll tell you . . .'

Jerry said they came for him right in his house. He got back from doing some grocery shopping, entered his house with two bags. They jumped him as soon as he got in the door.

Something hit him from behind and he went sprawling, cans of vegetables and packages of meat flying everywhere.

Jerry, being a pro, immediately rolled, avoiding the size-fourteen boot that tried to stomp him.

He kept rolling and came to his feet at the other end of the room, holding the nearest thing he could grab. There were three of them facing him, and they had knives. All he had in his hand was a frozen whole chicken.

Whether they were there to kill him or mess him up he didn't know, but he treated it like he'd treat any attack – like it was deadly. So he wasn't going to hold back.

But they were pros. Jerry had seen lots of TV and movie fights where the hero was outnumbered, but the bad guys rushed him one at a time. In real life it didn't work that way. Bad guys tended to use their superior numbers to their advantage.

The three of them – all as big as rhinos – charged him.

Jerry did the unexpected.

He charged them, too, his arms outstretched. At the last moment he left his feet in a leap, crashed into the three of them, taking all four of them to the floor. This time he was ready. As he landed he swung his chicken, hitting one of them in the head. Jerry had swung with all his might, so when frozen chicken met guy's head, the head cracked like a coconut.

That left two.

Jerry rolled away and came to his feet, again. He hadn't had a chance to grab the downed hood's knife, so he was still armed with his chicken.

The other two scrambled to get to their feet. As they did one of them stepped on their fallen comrade's foot. He staggered, and Jerry leaped at the chance to take advantage. Long ago Jerry had learned to use his size and weight to his advantage. He bulled into the other man with his shoulder, sending him staggering back, then swung his deadly chicken again.

That left one.

This time he bent over and picked up the man's knife . . .

‘And?' I asked.

‘I took care of the third guy,' he said.

‘All three? Dead?'

‘All three.'

‘How'd you avoid the cops?'

‘I called a cleaner.'

A ‘cleaner' was somebody who did just what the name implied – cleaned up a mess like that without cops getting involved.

‘So Irwin is so scared he sent goons to kill both of us,' I said.