Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

Twelve

Hands were on me, shaking me.

“Eddie?”

The voice became insistent. It must not have been the first time she called my name.

“Come on, Eddie! Are you all right?”

The voice and the hands became more insistent.

“No,” I said.

“Thank God.”

I opened my eyes and looked up into the worried face of Dori Ellis, a showgirl who worked at the Sahara and, for the past few months, had been occasionally joining me in my bed.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Who were those guys?”

I peered up at her and realized I was seeing her with only one eye. There was something wet and sticky in my left one. I wiped at it with my hand, but that only made it worse.

“Oh, Jesus, you’re bleeding,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“Did they-did they hurt you?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “they just pushed me aside and ran out of here. I guess I scared ’em.”

“Help me up, Dori.”

She got her arm under my shoulder and helped me to my feet. Myknee screamed at me, my ribs ached, so did my back, and the wet, sticky stuff-my blood, I assumed-kept running down my face.

“Where to?” she asked.

“The sofa.”

“You might bleed on it.”

Just like a woman to worry about the furniture.

“I’ll risk it.”

With her help I limped to the sofa and dropped down onto it.

“Let me get something for your head,” she said.

While she was gone I took inventory. Everything seemed to hurt, but nothing was broken. I swiped at the blood in my eye, smearing it all over my hand and face without clearing my vision. Dori returned with a wet washcloth and a couple of towels.

“Since you weren’t worried about the sofa, I figured the same went for your towels,” she said.

Gently she began washing blood from my face. At one point I took over so she wouldn’t poke out my eyes trying to clean it. Once I could see I set the cloth aside and used a towel to wipe up the rest of the blood.

“Can you tell me what happened, now?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what happened,” I said. “I walked in, I got hit, two guys started working me over and then you showed up. End of fuckin’ story.”

“Did they rob you. Did they get your wallet?”

“It should be on the floor over there somewhere.”

She looked around, retrieved it for me and brought it over.

“Everything there?” she asked.

“Looks like it.” I set the wallet aside.

“Did they say anything?”

“They argued a bit.”

“Did they say anything to you?”

I thought a moment, then said, “Just shut up.”

“That’s odd,” she said.

“Yeah, it is odd. Did they speak to you?”

“Well, yes,” she said, “as they pushed me aside one of them said ‘Tell your boyfriend to mind his own business.’ What did he mean by that? Whose business have you been minding?”

“My own,” I said, “and I don’t usually have to be told to do it.” I touched my knee and found it swollen, stretched it out to try and ease the pain. There didn’t seem to be anything I could do for my back or my ribs.

“Your forehead is still bleeding,” she said, pressing the second towel to it.

I reached up and put my hand on it so she could let go.

“I better call the police,” she said.

“No-wait!”

She turned away from the phone and frowned at me. Dori was tall and statuesque, the way the casinos preferred their showgirls to be, and when she was all made up to go on stage she became beautiful. Freshly scrubbed the way she was now, though, she was simply achingly pretty.

“Why?”

“I need a minute to think.”

I was still feeling disoriented from being attacked. Did I want the police called in? What could I tell them? I couldn’t even describe the men.

“Would you be able to identify those two if you saw them again?” I asked.

“What? No, I don’t think so. They went by me so fast, and shoved me out of the way …”

“Then I don’t think it would do any good to call the police,” I said. I was starting to think more clearly. What of this was connected to the threats on Dean Martin? After all, that was the only thing happening in my life that was out of the ordinary.

“Are you sleeping with somebody’s wife, Eddie? Is that what this is about?”

Lately, we’d been having some problems and I’d started to think about ending our little arrangement-or what she had begun calling our “relationship.”

“No, I haven’t slept with anyone’s wife, lately.” Danny had askedme the same thing. When did I get that fuckin’ reputation? “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what this was all about, but they really seemed intent on hurting me.”

“Maybe I should take you to the hospital?”

I leaned forward and reached behind me to rub my back. The blow had not landed on either of my kidneys, so I doubted I’d be pissing blood like a fighter after a bout. I probed my ribs, which didn’t seem to be cracked. I’d had cracked ribs once before, so I knew from experience that it hurt like a bitch just to breathe. The worst problem seemed to be my knee, which had swelled up to about twice its size.

“I think some ice on my knee would be the best thing,” I said. “How does my head look?”

I removed the towel so she could take a look. She took hold of my face and leaned me toward the light.

“One of the girls fell one night and hit her head. The doctor said scalp wounds bleed a lot, but aren’t that serious. It doesn’t look like you’re going to need stitches.”

“Okay, then,” I said, “no cops and no doctors.”

“But Eddie-”

She was wearing jeans and a man’s shirt knotted below her large breasts. There was a considerable expanse of tummy showing, and I put my hand on her warm skin.

“I just think I need some tender loving care,” I said.

“From me?” she asked, with a smile.

“You’re the one who’s here,” I said, and then realized that may have been the wrong way to put it. “After all, you probably saved my life tonight. In some countries that makes you responsible for me.”

“Eddie,” she said, leaning forward so that her head came in contact with mine.

“Ow!” I said, and started bleeding again.