You Make Me Feel So Dead (20 page)

‘Go ahead.'

I went back to my bedroom to get dressed. I thought about going out the window, and might have if Frank hadn't called. Instead I put on jeans, a T-shirt, a windbreaker and a pair of sneakers.

‘OK,' I said, at the door. I started to think of them as Number One (the spokesman) and Number Two. ‘Do I follow you, or—'

‘We'll take you,' Number One said, ‘and bring you back.'

‘Fine,' I said. ‘Let's go.'

I followed them to a black sedan parked in front of the house. They both got in front, and I got in the back. No restraints, no blindfold, and the doors were not locked. There didn't seem to be anything to worry about.

Yet.

The windows were tinted dark, so it was hard for me to see where we were going. I could see out the front windshield, but their heads were in the way and I wasn't picking up much that would help me.

Finally, the car stopped and the driver – Number Two – turned off the engine.

‘We're here,' Number One said.

‘Where, exactly?' I asked.

‘Here,' was all he said. ‘You can get out.'

They got out, so I had no choice but to follow. I closed the back door behind me and looked at the house we were in front of. It was a large, wood-framed house, two stories, not a mansion, but way beyond my means.

‘This way,' Number One said.

I followed them up the walk, which was encouraging. If they had been taking me somewhere, one of them would have been in front of me and one behind.

We didn't go to the front, but to a side door that was a few steps down. Number Two used a key to enter, and I followed them in. He turned on a light and I saw three steps going down.

‘Down there,' Number Two said.

‘By myself?'

‘We'll be waitin' here,' he promised, ‘to take you back.'

I hesitated, then shrugged and said, ‘OK.'

I went down the stairs, found myself in what, for want of a better word, I'll call a rec room. Tiled floor, wood-paneled walls, a bar against one wall. In the center was a table with four chairs. Seated at the table, eating, was an older man wearing dark glasses. He was working on something with a knife and fork. He cut it, put a piece in his mouth, and then looked up at me.

‘
Scungilli
,' Sam Giancana said to me. ‘You want some, Eddie?'

‘I
'm not a snail guy, Momo,' I said, then, thinking better of it, I said, ‘Mr Giancana.'

‘No, no,' he said, ‘you can call me Momo. Come, sit. Have some wine, at least.'

I walked to the table and sat across from him. I may not have liked snails, but the marinara sauce it had been prepared in smelled good. He poured me a glass of red wine, then picked up his knife and fork.

‘I had this brought in from the Bootlegger restaurant,' Giancana said. ‘Frank always spoke very highly of it. It's not as good as what we have in Chicago, but eh! It will do.' He put another bite into his mouth. His suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair. He had a cloth napkin around his neck so he wouldn't get sauce on his white shirt.

I drank some wine.

‘I'm sorry to wake you up, Eddie, but we needed to talk,' he said.

‘About what?' I asked.

‘Joey Scaffazza.'

‘What about him?'

‘He's one of mine.'

‘Scaffazza works for you? Inside Roselli's organization?'

Momo nodded.

‘Ever since ‘56, when Johnny took over our operations in Vegas, I've had someone inside. For the past couple of years it's been Scaffazza.'

Roselli ran the Mafia's operation in Vegas, making sure they got their skim from the various casinos they owned, but he did it from LA. Ostensibly, as far as the government was concerned, Johnny was employed as a producer for Monogram Studios. It was Roselli who ‘convinced' Columbia Pictures President Harry Cohn to sign Marilyn Monroe to a contract in 1948, on the orders of his boss Tony Arcardo. Other than that, Johnny's contribution to Hollywood was to sleep with as many starlets as he could.

‘Why are you telling me this?' I asked.

He looked at me, and gestured with his knife, which he held in his right hand, European style.

‘Because I heard that you wanna talk to Scaffazza about some problem you got here in Vegas,' he said. ‘I heard that Johnny promised to deliver Scaffazza to Frank.'

‘Alive.'

‘Yeah, alive,' Giancana said. ‘I heard that, too. Lately, Johnny ain't so happy with Joey, but that's OK. I already got another man inside. So if Johnny snuffs Joey …' He shrugged.

‘Then if you don't care if Johnny kills Joey, why bring me here?'

‘I want you to know you're dealin' with one of my people,' Giancana said.

‘Do you want me to tell you why?'

He put another piece of scungilli in his mouth and said, ‘Nah. Frankie already explained.'

‘Then I'm still confused as to why I'm here,' I said. ‘Other than the snails and wine.'

‘We got-a more sauce,' he said, ‘and some pasta. You want some-a dat?' I noticed that Giancana's Italian accent always got heavier when he talked about food. I'd noticed it the other couple of times I'd been ushered into his presence. Seemed to me he was always eating when we talked. Or drinking wine. Or both.

‘No, thanks,' I said. ‘When I get back home I'm goin' back to bed.'

‘Suit yourself.' He cut another piece and forked it into his mouth, then pointed at me with the fork, this time. ‘If Johnny kills Scaffazza, that's one thing. But if somebody outside the organization kills him – a civilian – that ain't OK. Do I make myself clear?'

‘Wait,' I said, ‘you think I want to kill Scaffazza?'

Momo shrugged.

‘Momo, I don't kill people.'

‘Jerry does. He's good at it.'

I think, since I had met Jerry, that might have been the first time anybody actually said he killed people.

‘Well, he's not going to kill Scaffazza,' I assured him. ‘That's not what I'm after.'

‘Good,' Momo said, picking up his wine glass, ‘good, I'm glad to hear that, Eddie.'

‘But I do need to talk to Scaffazza,' I said. ‘And I might need Jerry to convince him to talk to me.'

‘Well,' Giancana said, ‘that big Hebe is a good convincer, too.'

‘Yes,' I said, ‘he is. Can I ask you a question?'

‘Sure, go ahead. After all, I dragged you out of a warm bed, didn't I?' He leaned forward. ‘Didn't have a broad there with you, did ya? One of them leggy Vegas showgirls?'

‘No,' I said, thinking about Valerie, ‘not tonight.'

‘Huh, too bad.' He went back to his food. ‘OK, so what's your question?'

‘Do you know a guy named William Reynolds?' I asked. ‘Did you ever know him?'

‘Reynolds,' Momo said, ‘Not Italian.'

‘No.'

‘Not that I only know Italians,' Momo said, ‘even though most of my friends are Italian. But … no, I never hearda the bum. Why?'

‘Somebody killed him here in town.'

‘Ah, Frankie tol' me somebody got killed,' Momo said. ‘He didn't tell me the name. Reynolds, huh?'

‘That's right.'

‘Vinnie!' he shouted.

I heard footsteps, and then Number One appeared and said, ‘Yes, Mr Giancana?'

‘We know a guy named Reynolds?' He looked at me.

‘William,' I said.

‘William Reynolds.'

‘Or Billy,' I said.

Vinnie cocked his head, like he was thinking it over, then said, ‘No, sir, don't know 'im.'

Giancana looked at me. ‘Good enough?'

‘Good enough. Thanks.'

‘Vinnie,' he said, ‘take Eddie home.'

‘Yes, sir.'

I stood up, was about to say something else to the mob boss, but he had already turned his attention back to his
scungilli
and forgot I was there.

I followed Vinnie up the stairs …

They pulled the car to the curb in front of my house.

‘Thanks for the ride, boys.'

Vinnie turned around.

‘About Joey Scaffazza.'

‘Yeah?'

Number Two kept his eyes front.

‘He's a scumbag,' he said, ‘but he's a smart scumbag. He plays both ends against the middle, if you get my drift.'

‘I think I do.'

‘If he was to end up dead, nobody would miss 'im,' Vinnie said. ‘Just don't let him pull a fast one on you.'

‘I understand.'

‘Goodnight, Mr Gianelli.'

‘Goodnight, Vinnie.'

I got out and the car pulled away from the curb quietly, so as not to annoy my neighbors.

I went back to bed.

I
n the morning I replayed over the scene with Giancana in my head over coffee and toast. It was almost like a dream, except I could still smell the marinara and taste the red wine.

Giancana actually thought he had to warn me against killing one of his men. When exactly did I get that kind of reputation? Was I fooling myself all these years thinking I wasn't mobbed up when people like Hargrove and Giancana obviously thought I was? Or considered that I was?

And Jerry … I had started to think of Jerry as this lovable leg-breaker. Despite his ever present .45, I never really thought of him as a killer. Not even when he killed somebody to save my life. But to Sam Giancana, that's what he was, a killer – and somebody who was good at it.

But maybe it wasn't the time for me to re-examine my life, and my friendships. Danny was still in jail on a murder charge, depending on me to get him out and prove him innocent.

I got mad, though, driving to the Sands, and when I arrived there I stormed up to Frank's suite and pounded on his door.

‘Eddie!' he said, when he opened the door. Although dressed in slacks and a button-down white shirt, the shirt was not yet tucked in and his hair hadn't been combed.

‘Surprised to see me, Frank?' I demanded. ‘Did you think I'd be dead?'

‘What? Dead? No, of course not …'

I stormed past him into the suite. He closed the door, turned to face me.

‘Wait a minute,' he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. ‘Let me explain.'

‘That's exactly what I want, Frank,' I said, ‘an explanation. Why did you serve me up to Sam Giancana?'

‘I didn't serve you up to anybody,' Frank insisted. ‘Look, sit down, have some coffee, relax, Eddie. I can explain.'

I took a deep breath and realized what I was doing. This could get me fired. As much as Jack Entratter might like me, he'd never stand for me talking this way to Frank Sinatra.

There was a silver coffee pot on the coffee table with several china cups. I walked over, sat down, and filled one for myself. When I saw that he had not had a cup yet, I filled one for him, too.

He came over, sat across from me in an armchair, and picked up the cup.

‘Thanks. Look, I got a call from Momo last night. He knew all about my meeting with Roselli, and about Joey Scaffazza. He told me he was coming to Vegas and wanted to talk to you. Just talk. He said he'd send two guys to your house to escort you to him and that I should make sure you went with them.' He sipped his coffee again, sat back in his chair. ‘Eddie, you don't tell Sam Giancana no. But I made sure that all he wanted to do with you was talk.'

‘Do you know what he wanted to talk about? Specifically?'

‘No,' Frank said, ‘he didn't tell me that.' He held his hand out to me. ‘And it's totally up to you if you want to tell me. If it was a confidential conversation—'

‘Nothing was said about keeping it confidential, Frank,' I said, and went on to relate the entire conversation to him.

‘So Scaffazza is Momo's rat inside Roselli's organization?' Frank said. ‘Wow.'

‘Yeah.'

‘But Momo okayed you talkin' to him?'

‘He did,' I said, ‘but he also told me not to kill him.'

Frank looked surprised.

‘Why would he tell you that?'

‘Obviously,' I said, ‘Momo thinks I'm a killer.'

‘B-but … why? What have you ever done to make him think that?'

‘Exactly!'

‘All right,' Frank said, ‘I can understand why you were so mad. I won't tell Jack Entratter how you treated me this morning.'

I hesitated, then said, ‘Thank you.'

‘I'm expecting Johnny to call me today,' he said. ‘When you go talk to Scaffazza I want to come along.'

‘Why?'

‘Let's just say I want to see this through. I got the meet, I want to go to it.'

‘OK,' I said. ‘I don't have a problem with that.'

After a moment he said, ‘We, uh, will be takin' Jerry along, right?'

‘Oh yeah,' I said.

We both drank our coffee.

A
fter I left Frank I tried to call Kaminsky, but he didn't answer, and neither did his assistant. Of course, the phone number I had was for his office – his real office – and he was never there.

I called information and got the phone number for Grabstein's Deli. Then I called there and asked for Kaminsky.

‘Who shall I say is calling?' Manny asked.

‘Tell him it's Eddie G.'

‘Hold on.'

After a few moments Kaminsky came on.

‘Hey, bubula, what's going on?'

‘I was about to ask you the same question. You get Danny out yet?'

‘I'm meeting with the judge in his chambers later this morning,' he said. ‘I should be able to get it done then.'

‘Well, I need to talk to Danny as soon as I can,' I said.

‘He's still in holding,' Kaminsky said. ‘They'll only move him if his bail is denied.'

‘Is that a possibility?' I asked. ‘That they'd deny it after they approved it?'