“How do you think he’ll do?”
“Not bad,” I said, “he won’t do a bad job, but he’s no George Raft.”
Raft stood up, then, started pacing.
“I owned a piece of this place, you know,” he said, “kicked in some bucks back when Benny needed it to open. Poor Benny …”
“Boss?” Mack said.
Raft turned, looked at Mack, then nodded and went back to his chair.
“Mack tells me Dean’s got a problem that you’re helpin’ him with.”
“You’d have to ask Dean about that, Mr. Raft,” I said. “That’s what I told Mack.”
“I know, and Mack feels kind of hurt about bein’ left out,” Raft said. “Not that I blame him.”
“No, sir.”
“If you were to tell me what Dean’s problem was,” Raft offered, “maybe I could help.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Raft-”
“Just call me George, Eddie.”
“Uh, George,” I said, not at all comfortable with that, “I sort of promised Frank and Dean I’d keep my mouth shut. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”
“No,” Raft said, thoughtfully, “wouldn’t want to disappoint Frank. He gave me a part in Ocean’s Eleven, you know. Small part. I play casino owner. Lots of fun, this movie. Gonna be a hit.”
“That’s what I hear.”
“Well,” Raft said, “Mack will take you back down.”
“I think Eddie can find his own way, Boss.”
“Sure,” I said, putting my glass down and standing up, “sure, I can find my way.”
“I’m not gonna stand, if you don’t mind,” Raft said. “I’m … kinda tired.”
“No, I don’t mind at all, Mr. Raft.”
“George,” he said, “I told you, call me George. Us New York boys, we gotta stick together.”
“Yes, we do.”
I waited to see if he wanted to shake hands, and when he didn’t make a move I walked to the door. When I turned around I saw Mack helping Raft up and walking him out of the room, probably to a bedroom to lie down.
I let myself out.
Seventeen
I left the Flamingo and walked back toward the Sands. The marquee proclaimed it “A PLACE IN THE SUN.” Underneath that it had the names of the Rat Pack members in descending order: Frank, Dean, Sammy, Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop. The day was living up to that name, the sun already baking the pavement beneath my feet.
When I got to the front doors of the Sands I stopped. I felt confused, didn’t know what to do next. Finally, somebody from inside opened one of the doors, stepped out and held the door for me. That seemed to break the spell. I thanked him and walked in.
I looked around for Mack, not wanting to be surprised again, but I had left him at the Flamingo with Raft. My first instinct was to go for a drink, but my ribs were hurting and I had a pounding headache. I didn’t want to take the powerful painkillers the doctor had given me, so I went in search of some aspirin. My feet, as if they had a mind of their own, took me to Jack Entratter’s office. I figured since I was there looking for aspirin I might as well talk to him, fill him in, and maybe get some answers. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Jack’s girl told him I was there and she buzzed me into his office.
“Could you get me some aspirin?” I asked, before going on.
“Of course, Mr. Gianelli,” she said. “How many?”
“Uh, three should do it.”
“And to take them with?”
“What?”
She smiled, blinked and said, “What would you like to drink, to take them with?”
“Just water.”
“I’ll bring them right in.”
I thanked her and entered Jack’s office.
“I know I told you to check in with me, kid,” Jack said around his huge cigar, “but it ain’t the end of the day, yet.”
“I need to tell you some things,” I said, “and ask you some things.”
“Okay, siddown,” Entratter said. “What’s on your mind, Eddie?”
At that moment the girl opened the door and stepped in.
“What?” Jack barked.
“Mr. Gianelli’s aspirin.”
“Whataya need aspirin for?” he asked me.
“Pain.”
“Okay, give it to ’im.”
“Yes sir.”
She handed me the pills and a glass of water, smiled and backed out.
“What’s goin’ on?” Entratter asked me. “Yer movin’ funny.”
I held up one finger, took the aspirin, washed them down and placed the glass on his desk. I then proceeded to tell him what had been waiting for me when I got home last night, and the call I got in the morning.
“Then,” I finished, “when I got here Mack Gray grabs me and drags me over to the Flamingo to see George Raft.”
Entratter frowned.
“I don’t like the sound of this,” he said. “What’d Mr. Raft want?”
“I’m not really sure,” I said. “He wanted to know what I was doing for Frank and Dean.”
“Did you tell ’im?”
“No.”
“So what about the guys who kicked your ribs in?” he asked. “What’d you tell them? What’d they want?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We never got around to exchanging words. They left me a message, though.”
“What was it?”
“To mind my business.”
He took the cigar out of his mouth and leaned forward.
“Who’s business you been mindin’, Eddie?”
“Frank Sinatra’s,” I said, “and Dean Martin’s.”
“Nobody else’s?”
“No.”
He replaced the cigar and sat back, thought for a moment before speaking again. He punctuated his words by pointing the cigar at me. I was glad it was the lit end and not the wet end. I was nauseated enough.
“You think the beating-”
“-and the call this morning.”
“-were about what Frank asked you to do for Dino?”
“It can’t be anything else, Jack.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“You been shtupping anybody’s wife, Eddie?”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” I demanded. “I don’t make a habit of-no, no wives, Jack.”
“Whataya want me to do, Eddie?” he asked. “Get ya out of this? Talk to Frank?”
“No,” I said, “I don’t want out, Jack. Not yet.”
“Good boy.”
“You ever heard of two lowlifes named Lenny Davis and Buzz Ravisi?”
I watched his face for his reaction and when he said, “Never heard of them.” I believed him.
“They the guys you danced with?”
“Possibly,” I said.
“You got their names pretty quick.”
“That’s why I got this job, ain’t it, Jack?” I asked. “’Cause I got the town wired?”
“What job?” he asked. “I thought this was a favor.”
“Whatever it is,” I said, “I’m still doing it.”
“Good for you.”
I took a moment to finish the water in the glass and set it back down.
“I’ll be going, Jack,” I said, “but there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Have you heard anything about Dean getting’ somebody mad at him?” I asked. “Mr. Costello, Mr. Giancana, anybody like that?”
Entratter hesitated a long moment, then took the cigar out of his mouth. This time when he pointed it was the wet end.
“How would I know that, Eddie?” he asked, slowly.
“Well,” I said, carefully, “Jack, I’d be a fool to think I was the only one who had the town wired. And not just this town. You worked in New York and Jersey. I just thought maybe you … heard something.”
He took a moment to pluck some tobacco from his mouth with the thumb and index finger of his left hand while he maintained his hold on the wet thing with his right. It wasn’t common knowledge that Jack Entratter represented the interests of Frank Costello in the Sands, but it was something Sands employees had all heard. In point of fact there were men with interests in the Sands living in New York, New Jersey, Miami, Boston, Chicago, New Orleans, St. Louis, L.A. and other places, and not all of them had Mafia ties. Some were just plain businessmen. Frank Costello, though, was a well-known Mafia figure in New York. To be blunt, he was the boss of the New York mob, and Jack was his man in Vegas.