“I saw men get shot in the war, Danny, but never anything that close up, you know?”
“I know,” Danny said. “I’ve seen it. Lead is unforgiving when it meets flesh and bone.”
“I didn’t pull the trigger,” I went on, “but it’s my fault those two are dead. If I hadn’t been lookin’ for them-”
“Hey,” Danny said, “they deserved it.” He looked around, made sure no one was sitting within earshot of our spot at the bar. “Believe me, those two have done worse than kick your ass.”
I held up two fingers to the bartender and he brought over two more drafts.
“Look,” Danny said, “my advice is to just forget about Lou Terazzo and those killings and concentrate on your main objective-finding out who’s threatening Dean Martin.”
“You’re right.”
He downed half his second beer and then set the bottle on the bar with a bang.
“That’s it for me. As it is I’ll have to explain to Penny why I smell like beer so early in the day. Where are you headed?”
“Back to the Sands.”
“To hook up with Jerry?”
“To start from scratch,” I said. “You go ahead. I’m gonna finish my beer.”
He stood up and slapped my shoulder.
“Don’t worry about anything,” Danny said. “So far you’re not implicated in or suspected of anything.”
“It’s the ‘so far’ that worries me,” I said.
After he left I finished my beer, then kept the bartender from removing the remainder of his and drank that, too.
When I got to the Sands it wasn’t hard to spot Jerry. I walked through the casino, waved absently at some players and co-workers, and then saw him sitting in the lounge, watching the floor. He spotted me as I approached, but remained where he was and let me come to him.
“Did your P.I. friend find you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Danny Bardini. A good friend of mine.”
“I know,” Jerry said. “I remember you tellin’ me. That’s why I tol’ him where you was.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Did he have somethin’ for ya?”
I told Jerry that Danny had located Ravisi, but we were already past that.
“How’d things go with the cops?”
“They’re looking for Lou Terazzo,” I said. “They like him for the murders.”
“The two girls?” he asked.
“They found Mike Borraco,” I said. “They’re thinkin’ maybe Carla was two-timin’ Lou with him, but I don’t buy that.”
“So you don’t like him for it?”
“Not for that reason,” I said.
“It’s a pretty good reason,” Jerry told me. “It’s usually true more times than it ain’t.”
“Nah,” I said, “not this time. Lou’s a ladies’ man, and Mike just isn’t.”
Jerry shrugged. None of it really mattered to him.
“So whattaya gonna do?”
“What I set out to do in the first place,” I said. “My only problem is knowing where to go from here.”
“I might be able to help you with that.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“I talked to Frank today,” Jerry said. “He wants you to come to the set.”
“The set?” I asked. “Of Ocean’s Eleven?”
“That’s what they’re shootin’, ain’t it?”
“Why would he want me to come to the set?”
“I didn’t ask him,” Jerry said. “I’m just passin’ on the message.”
I checked my watch. It was almost one.
“Will they still be shootin’ now?”
“They’re still there. I’m supposed to take you over.” He stood up from his barstool, towered above me. I had the distinct feeling I didn’t have a choice.
“Well, okay, then,” I said. “Let’s go watch ’em shoot Ocean’s Eleven.”
Thirty-nine
I watched as Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and Peter Lawford shot a scene around a pool table. Off to one side sat Henry Silva on a sofa with an actor named Richard Benedict. Joey Bishop, Richard Conte, Buddy Lester and Norman Fell sat at a table, supposedly playing gin. I looked around in vain but did not see Angie Dickinson anywhere. Akim Tamiroff was standing off to one side, watching, waiting for his cue to stalk around the room, mug and grunt. They were pretty much dressed alike, jackets and shirts with ties.
The room was set up as an expensive rumpus room in a Beverly Hills home. Sinatra was playing “Danny Ocean,” who had gathered all eleven of the men who were in his unit in World War II, the 82nd Airborne, to Las Vegas to knock off five casinos. That was the basic premise of the film Ocean’s 11.
At the moment the cameras were on Sinatra, Dino, Sammy Davis and Peter Lawford, who were having an inane conversation around the pool table about what they would each do with their take from the job. I noticed that all but Peter Lawford were holding a cigarette along with their pool cue.
Peter Lawford was talking about buying votes and making himself into a politician while the others made fun of him. Lawford was richboy “Jimmy Foster,” who was tired of asking his mother for money every time he needed it. Dino was Ocean’s closest friend, “Sam Harmon.” That part seemed true to life. All I heard them call Sammy in that scene was “Josh.”
Director Lewis Milestone called “Cut and print,” but he didn’t look happy. From what brief by play I had seen between him and Sinatra it was clear that Frank was calling the shots.
“Let’s set up for the next scene,” Milestone called out.
Frank walked over to Dean, said something and then the two crooners started over towards me. My heart thumped faster, and I started to sweat. I had nothing solid to report to them, and knew I was going to disappoint them. I was also upset that Sammy wasn’t coming with them. I wanted to meet him. I didn’t care to meet Lawford. He struck me as a hanger-on with not an ounce of the talent the other three had, but it was my understanding that he had brought the script to Sinatra. I also figured out, from the papers and scuttlebutt around the Sands, that he was Frank’s connection to John F. Kennedy and his whole family. Sinatra was a big Kennedy booster and was trying his best to help JFK get into the White House as the first Irish Catholic President of the United States.
But that was politics, and I hated politics.
“Eddie,” Sinatra said, as they reached me. He put a friendly hand on my shoulder.
“Hello, Eddie,” Dean Martin said, shaking my hand.
“Frank,” I said, “Dean.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was wondering why I had been brought there, to the Ocean’s 11 set?
“We only have a few minutes,” Frank said. “We have to shoot another scene around the pool table.”
“We heard you’ve had a rough couple of days,” Dean said.
“You heard?” I asked, before I realized they must have heard it from Jerry.
“What’s this other thing you’ve gotten involved in?’ Frank asked.”A couple of dead broads?“
“And a dead guy,” I said. “He worked at the Riviera … but I’m not involved.”
“You found one of the girls, didn’t you?” Frank asked.
“I did,” I said, “but I was lookin’ for a guy I know, who might have had some information about …” I lowered my voice and looked around. “ … you know, that thing we talked about.”
“So those broads are connected to our problem?” Frank asked. “Can we expect the police to visit us?”
“No,” I said. “I haven’t mentioned either of your names to the them.”
“Why not?” Dean asked. “Seems to me it might have made things easier for you.”
“That may be,” I said, “but I didn’t think you wanted me to, and I also don’t think the two things were related.”
“So you haven’t told the police anything about us?” Frank asked.
“No, Frank, I haven’t.”
Frank looked at Dean and said, “I told you he was a stand-up clyde.
“Did Jerry tell you, well, everything that happened?” I asked.
“Yeah, he did,” Frank said. “I guess you’re pretty happy with my gift, eh?”
“Well,” I said, “considering he probably saved my life, yeah.”
“Look, we have to shoot this scene,” Frank said. “Dean and I wanted you here so we could tell you we’ll understand if you want to pull out.”