You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Kills You (7 page)

“And this looks like only half the family.”

“They don’t seem so crazy,” he said.

“Wait for it.”

“Your cousins seem nice. How many you got?”

“About thirty-two.”

“Huh?” He looked shocked.

My father was sitting in the front row. He turned to see what the hubbub was all about. When we locked eyes he got up and came over to me. He’d aged badly, the skin on his face sagging,
his clothes hanging on a frame that while no means thin, was not as bulky as it once was. And he was smaller than I remembered. Even though I’d left New York when I was in my late twenties and a man myself, he’d always made me feel like a small boy in his presence. But when he took my face in his hands I could still feel the strength. That hadn’t changed.

“I’m so glad you came, son,” he said. He shocked me by kissing me on the cheek, and then hugging me.

“My boy, my boy,” he kept saying.

Over his shoulder I could see Jerry watching us. I’m sure he was wondering where the crazy was.

Wait for it, I thought again.

My father stopped hugging and held me at arm’s length. My sister moved up alongside him.

“You look good, boy,” he said. “Doesn’t he look good, Angie?”

“Yes, he does, Poppa,” she said. “He looks good.”

My sister was the baby of the family, but while I knew she was thirty, she looked like she was in her forties. Her face was lined, her hands rough, and she wore very little makeup.

My father held my shoulders a little longer, his eyes wet, and then I saw it. For years I called it “the change.” My father changed his “tune.” His attitude could turn on a dime. Sometimes it happened when he was out of the room. One version of my father would leave and moments later the new version would enter. But every so often it happened in front of us. We could see it, and prepare for it.

He slapped my upper arms and said, “Are you happy now that you killed your mother?”

The room got quiet. I could still see Jerry behind my father, and he looked as if he’d just been slapped.

“Why don’t you go and look at her?” my father shouted. “Take a look at your handiwork!”

I turned to my sister. She did what my mother had always
done when I looked to her for help. She shrugged helplessly. I grew up with a crazy man, a bully, knowing before I could talk that my mother would never be there for me. Once she mouthed the words, “I’m sorry,” during one of my father’s tirades, but that was the most I ever got from her.

My brother came over and stood next to my father.

“Why don’t you go take a look,
brother?
” he asked.

Joey was older than me by two years. Early in my childhood I realized I was different. Nobody was on my side. I usually took the brunt of my father’s anger, even if I had nothing to do with the reason he was so mad. Joey always took such delight in the fact that I was the target, and it was always very important to him that my father know he was there, on
his
side. I always felt that as brothers, it should’ve been us against my old man, but that had never been the case.

“Go on,” Joey said. “Look at her.”

“She’s been dying since the day you left,” my father said. “I’m surprised it took this long.”

Tears were streaming down my sister’s face, but she remained silent. My cousins, aunts and uncles found something else to look at. When my father got like this, nobody got in his way.

“If anybody killed her it was you, old man,” I said. “Living with you.”

“Your mother was happy with me,” he said. “It was only when you kids came along—” He stopped short. “When
you
came along—”

I looked at my sister, and then my brother.

“Are you listenin’ to this?” I asked them.

My sister hid behind her tissues.

My brother hid behind his bluster.

“It broke her heart when you left!” Joey said. “We stayed.” He looked at my father. “We stayed, Poppa.”

“Oh, shut up,” my father said. “You all killed her. I don’t care about any of you. But you—”

All of a sudden he drew back his fist and I knew I was going to take the hit for everybody. There was no way I’d ever hit him back, and why I didn’t think to block the blow is beyond me. But his fist never reached me because Jerry reached out and caught my father’s arm by the wrist. My old man tried to pull away, but Jerry was too strong.

“You brought a hoodlum with you to attack our father?” my sister shrieked. “Tony! Tony!”

She was yelling for her husband, my brother-in-law, but he was too much of a coward to come anywhere near Jerry. He stayed where he was across the room.

No one else rushed forward, either. Jerry was just too imposing a figure.

“Mr. G.?” he asked me. “Ya want I should snap it?”

I didn’t know if he meant the wrist or the whole arm, but I didn’t want either. And truth be told, after my father berated me in front of the entire family—or half the family—I was kind of ticked at my mother all over again for all the times she never stood up to him. I didn’t particularly want to go up to her casket to see her.

“No,” I told Jerry, “let him go.”

He released my father’s wrist and the old man stepped back, rubbing it, warily regarding Jerry.

“Get out, Eddie,” my brother said, “and take your hood with you.”

“You want I should bust him up, Mr. G.?” Jerry asked, pointing at my brother, who shrank back as if he thought I was going to sic the big boy on him.

I was tempted.

“No, that’s okay, Jerry.”

“Then why don’t we get outta here, Mr. G.?” Jerry suggested.

“I’m with you, Jerry. Let’s go.”

Under the watchful eye of everyone Jerry and I left.

Out in the parking lot Jerry said, “Geez, Mr. G., I’m sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t do anythin’.”

“I made you come here,” Jerry said. “You’re right, those people are nuts.”

“Yeah, they are,” I said. “They sure are.”

The next day Jerry drove me to the cemetery at the very end of the procession of cars. I stood off to the side during the ceremony while he waited in the Caddy. Then I walked to the car. We were the first ones to drive away.

To La Guardia, and back to Vegas.

Back to my life.

My Vegas, where the people tryin’ to kill you were the bad guys—not family.

T
HE TICKET CHANGE WENT
smoothly. I slept through most of the flight, dreaming that I was in Coney Island with my brother, Danny, and Danny’s brother, Nick, my best friend. We were eating Nathan’s hot dogs. I woke up wondering why I hadn’t had Jerry drive me there before we left.

I was walking through McCarran when I felt a heavy hand come down on my shoulder. It was a very familiar pressure.

“Hey, Mr. G.,” Jerry said.

“Where did you come from?”

“Seven rows behind you.”

“No, I mean—”

“I know what ya mean, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “I figured you could use some help on this one.”

“On which one?”

“Yer missin’ friend,” he said, “not to mention Marilyn Monroe.”

“How the hell did I miss you on the plane?” I asked. The question was more for me than him.

“You never looked,” he said. “And you slept most of the way. Come on, Mr. G. Did ya leave your car here?”

“No,” I said, “we’ll have to take a cab.”

He gave me a look I’ve seen on lots of puppies over the years.

“You ain’t sorry ta see me, are ya?”

“No, Jerry,” I said. “I’m not sorry to see you. Come on, we’re goin’ to the Sands first to get you a room.”

“We ain’t stayin’ at your house?”

“Naw,” I said, “I could never match your hospitality. This time, I’m gettin’ you a suite!”

We arrived at the Sands and I got Jerry situated in a suite. I told him I didn’t need him because I was going to see Jack Entratter, so he figured he’d just take a shower and enjoy the place.

“Order room service,” I suggested.

“Really? What can I get?”

“Anything.”

After I left him I wondered if I’d just opened a can of worms I’d never be able to close.

“Welcome back, Eddie,” Entratter said, as I entered his office. “How was the—I mean, how did it go?”

“It went,” I said. “Listen, Jack, I may have to leave again. If I do it’ll be quick.”

“Where to this time?”

“L.A.”

“This have to do with that favor for Dean?”

I nodded. It was actually Danny, but that name didn’t carry the same weight.

“Okay, Eddie,” he said, “just keep me informed.”

“Will do, Jack.”

I started to leave, then stopped.

“Jack, are the guys still in town?”

“Dean is,” he said. “Sammy had to leave, and Frank went to Palm Springs. He’s still havin’ that construction done.”

“Dean in the same suite?”

“Yeah. You wanna go see ‘im?”

“Yeah, right now.”

“I’ll call ‘im and set it up,” Entratter said. “Just go on up.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

Dean opened the door. “Hey, pally, how are ya?”

“I’m okay, Dean,” I said, entering the room.

“The funeral?” He closed the door and turned to face me. He was dressed casually, cream-colored slacks and a yellow pullover short-sleeved shirt with a collar. Cream-colored loafers matched the pants.

“Over with,” I said. “I’m not here to talk about that, though.”

“Okay,” he said. “Drink?”

“Where’s Mack?”

“Didn’t make the trip this time,” Dean said. “I can get you a drink myself, though.”

“Too early,” I said.

He walked to the bar, where a glass filled with a clear liquid and ice sat. I knew from past experience it was soda water.

“I appreciate you stayin’ over, Dean.”

“I told you I wouldn’t leave ‘til you got back,” he said. “Gave me time to get some golf in. What’s on your mind now?”

“Marilyn thinks she’s being followed,” I said. “What do you think?”

“What I always think,” he said. “She’s a frightened, confused child in a woman’s body.”

“Well, maybe she’s right, this time,” I said.

“How do you mean?”

“Can I use your phone?”

“Sure, go ahead. It’s your hotel. Make it long distance if you want.”

“No, that’s okay,” I said. “Local is good.”

I dialed the number of Danny’s office and waited for Penny to pick up. I let it ring a dozen times, but there was no answer.

“Okay,” I said, hanging up, “now I’m really worried.”

“What’s goin’ on, buddy?”

“My friend, Danny, followed Marilyn to L.A. to make sure she was safe,” I said, “and now he’s missing.”

“How do you know that?”

“His secretary called me in New York, said she hadn’t heard from him, and couldn’t get ahold of him. Now I just called his office, and she didn’t answer.”

“So you think she’s missing?”

“Maybe she’s out to lunch,” I said, “but I’ve got to go and find out. After that, I’m pretty sure I’ll be goin’ to L.A. Look, Dean, I know you’ve got things to do. I don’t expect you to hang around here.”

“I’m gonna leave tomorrow, as a matter of fact,” he said, “but I’m gonna give you my home number, and my manager’s number. Keep me informed, all right? And let me know if I can do anything.”

“Will do,” I said, shaking his hand. “Thanks, Dean.”

“No, thank you,” he said, walking me to the door. “You’re only involved in this because I asked you.”

“Well, now I’m involved because I’m concerned about Marilyn,” I said, “and my friends.”

I left to go and get Jerry. It looked like I might be needing him after all.

I
PICKED JERRY UP
and as we walked to the parking lot I explained the situation. He drove the Caddy, and I was impressed that he remembered the way to Danny’s office. When I asked Jerry to park in front of Danny’s building he insisted on parking down the street, “Just in case.”

We walked back to Danny’s office. The downstairs door was unlocked, but that wasn’t unusual. We also found the upstairs door unlocked, which it usually was during business hours.

“You got your gun?” I asked Jerry.

“You bet.” He pulled his jacket aside to show me the .45 under his arm, but he didn’t draw it.

As we entered we saw the outer office was empty.

“Penny?” I called. She could have been in Danny’s office, but there was no answer. Jerry went and checked it anyway.

“Empty,” he said. “Maybe she went out for tea?”

Again I was impressed that he remembered Penny drank tea. It had taken me years to get that straight.

“Maybe, but …”

“But what?”

“Somethin’ doesn’t feel right.”

“Like what?”

I walked to Danny’s office and looked inside. The top of his desk was a mess. Danny always said his desk looked like the inside of his head.

On the other hand, Penny’s desk was always clean and neat. Only now there were letters sprawled across it and pencils strewn about, rather than in her pencil mug.

“Somebody took her,” I said.

“How do you know?”

I pointed at her desk and explained. “She’s sendin’ us a message.”

Jerry walked to the window and stared down at Fremont Street. Then he looked directly across, at the windows on the other side of the street.

“I don’t see nothin’.” He turned to face me. “Whataya wanna do? Call the cops?”

“I wouldn’t know what to tell them,” I said. “Her desk is a little messy. What would that mean to them? Besides, a great man once told me no good ever came from callin’ the cops,” I added, quoting him.

“You know where she lives?” Jerry asked.

“No.”

“Well, we can find the address somewhere here,” he said.

I scratched my head.

“I guess we should check her place. She’s probably listed in the phone book.”

We looked around, located the phone book and looked up her number. I dialed and she answered on the second ring.

“Penny?”

“Eddie? Where are you?”

“Your office. I thought—”

“You thought what? I’m upset, I didn’t want to sit in the office
all day. I’m not going in until Danny comes back. Eddie, what’s going on? Why didn’t you call me when you got back?”

“Penny, I came lookin’ for you at the office. When I saw the mess on your desk I thought … I thought you were missing, too.”