Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

Nine

“I wanna know what’s goin’ on,” Mack Gray said to me, after sitting down but refusing coffee.

“Ask Dean.”

“He ain’t talkin’.”

“Well, then I can’t, either, Mack. If Dean wanted you to know, he”ve told you.”

Mack slammed his fist down on the table, rattling everything around us and attracting attention. It was like a small earthquake. He had a pained look on his face.

“Mack-” I said, warily.

“This ain’t right.” Mack pressed the fingers of one hand to his head. “I been with him for eight years. He shouldn’t keep anything from me.”

“Maybe he’s got his reasons, Mack,” I said. “Maybe he’-”

Abruptly, he got up and walked off, leaving me in mid-sentence. I understood he felt hurt, maybe even a little betrayed, but it wasn’t my place to tell him anything.

I paid for breakfast and left the restaurant. I did not have the day off, but I wondered if I could have-and more?

Jack Entratter regarded me from behind his desk and a fat cigar. “So you’ve got a job to do for Frank?”

“More like a favor for Frank, and for Dean Martin, Jack,” I said.

“What’s it about?”

I hesitated, then said, “I think that would be better coming from Frank or Dean.”

Entratter took the cigar out of his mouth and peered at me through a haze of blue smoke.

“You work for me, son,” he said. “Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t, Jack,” I said, “but it’s my guess you want to keep Frank and Dean happy, right?”

“Well … yeah …”

“Then I’ve got to keep their confidence,” I asked. “Don’t I?”

He stuck the cigar back in his face and sat back in his chair.

“You’re a smartass, Eddie,” he said. “That’s probably why I like you-but don’t push it.”

“Look,” I said, checking my watch, “I have to go to work, so I won’t be able to do anything for Frank or Dean until-”

“Whoa,” he said, holding up his hand. “Didn’t we just talk about keeping them happy?”

“Well, yeah, but I’ve still got a job-”

“You’re off the clock,” Entratter said, “as of now. Got it?”

“Well, sure, Jack,” I said. “That’s real nice of you to offer-”

“Offer, my ass,” he said, “That’s what you came in here to get, only you wanted me to think it was my idea, right?”

I guess I looked a bit sheepish then.

“I said you were a smartass, Eddie,” he said, “I didn’t say you were smarter than me. Understand?”

“I understand, Jack.”

“Now get outta here.”

I stood up to leave.

“One more thing,” he said, before I got to the door.

“What’s that, Jack?”

“You report to me at the end of each day,” he said. “I wanna know what’s goin’ on.”

“I think I can do that.”

“If you can’t,” he said, “you better have a good reason why. Capice?”

Jack Entratter wasn’t Italian, and that was one of the only words he knew.

“Capice, Jack.”