You Make Me Feel So Dead

Table of Contents

The Rat Pack Mysteries from Robert J. Randisi

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Ninteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twelnty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Epilogue

EVERYBODY KILLS SOMEBODY SOMETIME

LUCK BE A LADY, DON'T DIE

HEY THERE (YOU WITH THE GUN IN YOUR HAND)

YOU'RE NOBODY 'TIL SOMEBODY KILLS YOU

I'M A FOOL TO KILL YOU
^*

FLY ME TO THE MORGUE
^*

IT WAS A VERY BAD YEAR
^*

YOU MAKE ME FEEL SO DEAD
^*

 

^*
available from Severn House

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

First published in Great Britain and the USA 2013 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright © 2013 by Robert Randisi.

The right of Robert J. Randisi to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

Randisi, Robert J.

You make me feel so dead. – (A Rat Pack mystery ; 8)

1. Presley, Elvis, 1935-1977–Fiction. 2. Rat Pack

(Entertainers)–Fiction. 3. Gianelli, Eddie (Fictitious

character)–Fiction. 4. Las Vegas (Nev.)–Fiction.

5. Detective and mystery stories.

I. Title II. Series

813.6-dc23

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8277-6 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-429-4 (epub)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

‘You Make Me Feel So Young'

Music by Josef Myrow, lyrics by Mack Gordon
1946

To Marthayn, you make me feel so loved

 

E
lvis was in the building.

In
my
building.

No, I'm serious.

My first clue was the rhinestones on the floor. Of the elevator, that is. I felt them under my feet when I got in, then looked down at them. Three or four, lying on the metal floor. Not real, of course. They couldn't be.

I didn't think anything about them until a few days later. I was in the lobby again, waiting to take the elevator up to my floor. When the doors opened a young guy stepped out, with slicked-back black hair and long sideburns.

He looked a heck of a lot like Elvis Presley.

Of course, he was most likely an Elvis impersonator. Vegas was full of shows featuring legend impersonators: Dolly Parton, Cher, Joan Rivers, Frank and Dino and, of course, Elvis. You could even hear their voices over the loudspeakers at the airport.

He passed me as I got in the elevator, then turned, reached out and stopped the doors from closing.

‘Excuse me, sir?'

‘Yes?'

‘Are you – you're Eddie Gianelli, aren't you? Eddie G.?'

‘That's right,' I said. ‘Do I know you?'

‘No, sir,' he said, ‘but I've heard of you. You knew them.'

‘Them?' I asked. ‘Who's them?'

‘All of them,' he said. ‘Frank, Dino, Sammy … you knew them.'

‘I did,' I said. ‘They were my friends.'

‘That is so cool,' he said. ‘Do you mind if I ask you—'

‘This is not really a good time.' I was in a hurry to get to my apartment. I'd gone for a walk, but as is the way with octogenarian bladders, mine was barking.

‘Oh, I'm sorry,' he said. ‘Look, my name's Roger Bennett. I'm an Elvis impersonator.'

‘Where?'

‘Excuse me?'

‘What show?'

‘Oh, MGM Grand.'

‘Good place to work.'

‘Yes, it is. Look, could I talk to you some time? Have a drink? Maybe I can buy you lunch?'

‘I eat lunch,' I said. ‘Don't drink as much as I used to.'

‘Could we do it tomorrow, maybe?' he asked, anxiously. ‘I'd like to talk to you about the way Vegas used to be. I–I think it would help me in my performance.'

‘Well … sure, why not?' I said. ‘Meet me here in the lobby at noon.'

‘Hey, that's great!' he said, happily. ‘Thanks.'

‘Sure.'

We stood there a minute and then I said, ‘The doors?'

‘Oh, sure,' he said, with a start. ‘I just …'

‘What?'

‘Did you know him?' he asked. ‘Did you know … him, too?'

‘Did I know who?'

He licked his lips, then said, ‘Elvis.'

So that was it.

‘Yeah,' I said, ‘yeah, I knew Elvis.' I reached out and moved his hand from the doors. ‘I'll tell you about it tomorrow.'

That night I made myself a small dinner. Eating was still a pleasure, but at my age I wasn't able to consume as much as I used to. I broiled a small steak and onions and potatoes, and prepared a salad. Afterward I sat in my armchair with a small glass of good bourbon. Roger wanted me to share some tales of old Vegas with him. Well, I wasn't averse to doing that. I may have occasionally forgotten things on a day-to-day basis, but my memories of the old days were still very vivid.

I stood up and carried the glass to the window. My tenth floor window afforded me a good view of the Strip, which blazed with neon until dawn, when the sun came up and the lights went out. Sometimes, I actually stood there until it happened. Just as I didn't eat as much as I used to, I also didn't sleep as much. There were times I needed more than a little bourbon just so I could catch a couple of hours.

But on this night I decided to watch the lights, and bring back what I was going to tell Roger the next day, at lunch…

 

I
t was my first day off in weeks. The Sands had had a progression of whales – big time gamblers – come in, and Jack Entratter had wanted me around to help cater to their needs. Which meant that anything other casino employees couldn't get for them, I probably could. Sometimes I regretted the fact that everyone thought Eddie G. had Vegas wired.

I was eating a meager breakfast of toast and coffee, wondering what to do with my day, when my doorbell rang. I don't have a lot of people who drop by, so traditionally, that usually signaled bad news. Why should today be any different?

Dressed casually in T-shirt and jeans – since it
was
my day off – I went to the door and opened it, was shocked to see my boss, Jack Entratter, standing there.

‘Quick,' he said, ‘inside.'

‘Wha—' I started, as he pushed past me.

‘Close the door!'

I closed the door, turned to face him. He was dressed as well as usual – his expertly tailored suit still seeming to burst at the seams as it tried to contain his shoulders – but his manner was more harried than I'd seen in some time.

‘Jack,' I asked, ‘what's wrong? I can count on the fingers of one hand the times you've been … No wait, you've never been to my house.'

‘I know,' he said, looking around. ‘It's kind of small, ain't it?'

‘I like it,' I answered, defensively.

‘No, no,' Entratter said, ‘it's nice. Look, you know how I hate to bother you on your day off.'

I didn't know that at all, but I let it go.

‘You want some coffee?' I asked.

‘Sure.'

‘Come into the kitchen.'

I led him into my – admittedly – small kitchen and poured him a cup. He sat at my table, dwarfing it. I sat across from him with a fresh cup for myself.

‘What's on your mind?' I asked.

‘Have you heard anything about Elvis comin' to town?' he asked.

‘What?'

‘Elvis,' he said, ‘Presley. Ever heard of him?'

I stared at him. That was what he came to my house to discuss? Elvis?

‘Well?'

‘I heard some talk,' I said.

‘From where?'

I shrugged. ‘Sources.'

‘And you didn't tell me?'

‘Well,' I said, ‘I didn't hear that he was comin' here to the Sands. And if he
is
comin' to the Sands, I figured you'd know.'

‘He's comin',' Jack said, ‘and he ain't comin' to us.'

‘So what's the problem?'

‘I don't know what the problem is, but I do know there is one,' he said. ‘And I didn't want anybody hearin' us talkin' about Elvis.'

‘So that's it?' I asked. ‘I can get back to my day off now?'