Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand)

Twenty-eight

We headed for the Sands. If we had to, we could get lost there.

“How the hell did they know?” Jerry asked.

“I guess some neighbor did hear the shooting, after all.”

“Then why did it take this long for them to come?” he asked. “The cops usually respond real fast to a call of shots fired.” He seemed to think a moment, then said, “Shit, if they go inside-”

“-they’ll find a recently cleaned living room rug, and nothing else.”

He gave me a quick look, then turned his attention back to the road.

“What?” I asked.

“There’s one thing we forgot, in all the hurryin’ around, gettin’ rid of the bodies an’ cleaning up the blood.”

“Forgot? What did we-oh crap.” I remembered one of the men took a shot at Thomas while he stood in the kitchen doorway. “There’s a bullet in the wall.”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

“Maybe they won’t go inside,” he offered. “Or maybe they weren’t even in front of your house.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Maybe Mr. Benson was beating his wife again.”

The police did respond to the Benson home about once a month. I couldn’t remember when the last time was.

“On the other hand,” I said, “maybe somebody called the cops and told them what happened.”

“Who would know that?”

“Whoever sent the messengers.”

“But why would they do that? You’re the go-between.”

“Maybe they want another go-between,” I said. “Maybe they’ve lost too many people as it is.”

“Like I said before,” Jerry said, “you ain’t shot nobody.”

“Maybe they don’t know that. And maybe,” I added, “we don’t know what the hell is going on.”

We parked behind the Sands and went inside. I felt like I was literally dragging my ass behind me.

“I’m gonna get some sleep,” I said. “I suggest you do the same.”

“What if the cops come lookin’ for us?”

“Then they’ll wake us up.”

He went to the elevator court and I went to the front desk to get the key for one of the rooms kept for employees.

I knew the pretty young blonde behind the desk. Her name was Rose. She had a husband who worked at the Riviera, and she was a bit of a flirt.

“Do you have Mr. Entratter’s okay for this, Eddie?” she asked, closing her hand into a fist with the room key inside.

“You can check with him if you like, Rose,” I said.

“And what will you be using this room for?” she asked. “Entertaining one of your showgirls?”

“You know I only have eyes for you, Rose.”

She smiled and said, “If only I didn’t have a husband.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

She smiled broadly, batted her eyes at me, and handed the key over.

“I’m just gonna get some shut-eye.”

“Sleep tight,” she said, and then moved down the line to handle a check-in.

I hoped I would.

I slept more than tight; I slept like the dead for ten hours. I came awake slowly, rolling over and checking the clock, then looking around the room a few moments before I remembered where I was and what had happened. It was 9 P.M., not too late to call Sammy. In fact, I’d have to call him later, after he got off-stage. That was okay with me. My stomach was growling.

I’d gone to my locker for a fresh shirt and underwear before heading for the room. I’d just have to wear the same pants I wore the day before. That wasn’t a problem. The shirt was a casual one, but since I wasn’t working I didn’t need a tie.

I turned the TV on as I dressed to see if there was anything on the news about bodies being found, or maybe even something about my block or my house. Thankfully, there was nothing-yet.

I left the room and went down to the Garden Room. When I got there it was no surprise that Jerry was already at a table, with a full dinner in front of him. I joined him.

“When did you get down here?” I asked.

“I just woke up half an hour ago, Mr. G.,” he said. “And I woke up hungry.”

“What a shock.”

A waitress came over and I ordered a steak dinner, which was what Jerry was working on, and a beer.

“No cops,” he said, around a huge chunk of meat.

“No,” I said, “not yet.”

“Maybe not at all.”

“We can hope.”

The waitress brought me a mug of beer.

“Thanks, Lucy.”

“Sure, Mr. Gianelli.”

“I forget you know everybody,” he said.

“Lucy’s been here a few months,” I said. “She’s putting herself through college.”

“Pretty girl,” he said. “You hittin’ that?”

“There are a lot of pretty girls in Vegas, Jerry,” I said. “One man can’t hit ’em all.”

He grinned and said, “You could try.”

I sipped my beer, frowning as something he said hit me.

“You know, you’re right.”

“About what?”

“I do know a lot of people in this town,” I said. “Maybe I should start using some of those contacts.”

“To do what?”

“To find out what the hell is goin’ on.”

“That,” he said, popping a potato into his mouth, “would be real helpful.”