Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

Twenty-five

I watched my rear-view mirror all the way home. I didn’t know if Ravisi and Davis had followed me home last night or had been waiting for me there, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Not that I knew what I was doing. Several times I thought I spotted a car following me, only to have it turn and disappear. When I got home I pulled into the driveway of my little house, then waited a few moments before I got out. When I got to my front door I fitted the key into the lock and opened it very carefully. When nobody grabbed me and pulled me inside I stepped through the doorway, then closed and locked the door behind me.

My house is small, and all on one level. It didn’t take me long to go through it and determine that I was alone. When I was reasonably sure I was safe I went to the kitchen, scraped the Chinese I’d brought home with me onto a plate, got myself a beer and sat down to eat. I went over the day again in my head and decided that if I was going to do Dean Martin any good I had to forget about finding the body of Misty Rose. Like Jack Entratter had said, I had to chalk it up to experience.

However, the fact remained that somebody out there didn’t want me helping Dino, and they had sent two gorillas to make their point. It seemed logical to me-not being a detective, and all-that whoever sent them was behind the threats. And I had two names, whichDanny Bardini and Mike Borraco also had. I decided to let those two keep their ears to the ground and wait for them to get back to me. Going out on my own to find some other contacts had not turned out so well today.

But there was nothing I could do about my curiosity. Why had Carla DeLucca run away when she heard I wanted to talk to her? What I had to find out from Verna was what she’d said to Carla. Had she told her, “There’s a man outside to see you,” or had she said my name? If she’d told Carla my name, then the woman had run from me and that was something I didn’t understand.

Women didn’t always swoon over me, but they didn’t usually run from me, either.

I finished what was in my plate, left the rest in the boxes and put those in the refrigerator. I pulled out one more beer and took it into the living room with me to catch the news.

They covered the discovery of Misty Rose’s body, but kept my name out of it. I learned that Misty not only danced at the Riv, she stripped at one of the local clubs, as well. Police suspected that some amorous Romeo had followed her home from work, pushed his way into her apartment, and ended up killing her. They didn’t say whether or not she’d been dead when she went into the water.

More curiosity on my part, or maybe just an inability to believe in coincidence. Did Misty’s murder have nothing to do with Carla running from me? Was Misty dead when Carla heard I wanted to talk to her? Did Carla think I was a cop or, worse yet, the killer? And where was Unlucky Lou Terazzo? What was his part in all this? Could he have been the amorous Romeo?

By the time I refocused on the TV a movie had started. I was about to turn it off when I realized it was an old John Wayne western. I decided to go ahead and watch it, but I hadn’t gotten a half hour into it when my eyes began to droop, and then I dropped off to sleep. I didn’t know I was asleep, though, until someone pounding on my door woke me up.

I leaped to my feet, eyes wide, in a cold sweat, and stood there wondering what was going on. The move did nothing for the pain inmy side which, amazingly, had left me alone for most of the day. Now it was back, though, and so was the headache.

When I realized someone was knocking I looked around for a weapon. I had to choose between the beer bottle and a lamp. I decided on the bottle, reversed it so I could hold it by its long neck and went to the door.

When I peered out the small eye level window in my door I saw Detective Hargrove standing on my doorstep with his partner.

I opened the door and looked at them through the screen door.

“Detective Hargrove,” I said. “What brings you here at-”

“Midnight,” he said, cutting off my question. “Don’t tell me a casino bigwig like you hits the sack at midnight, Mr. Gianelli.

“Fell asleep in front of the TV.”

“Did ya watch the news to see if they’d mention your name?” the other detective asked. I’d forgotten his name. “Guess you were disappointed, huh?”

“No,” I said, “as a matter of fact, I wasn’t. I was glad not to hear my name. You guys want to tell me why you’re here?”

“We’d love to,” Hargrove said. Apparently, he thought that was an invitation to enter. He opened the screen door and stepped through. I had no choice but to back off or let him walk into me. His partner followed and closed the door behind them.

“Where’d you go today, Gianelli?” Hargrove asked.

I noticed he wasn’t calling me “Mister” anymore. I’d seen enough old movies to know that wasn’t a good sign,

“When?”

“After you left us this afternoon,” Hargrove said. “Account for your movements.”

“Why?”

“Humor us,” his partner said. I suddenly remembered his name was Smith, and then felt stupid for forgetting it.

I thought about resisting, then figured, what the hell? I wasn’t guilty of anything.

I told them I went back to the casino to check in with my boss and get my work done.

“And you were there the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“Can anybody vouch for that?”

“My boss.”

“Jack Entratter?” Hargrove asked.

“That’s right.”

“Yeah, he’s a reliable witness.”

“Some of the other employees saw me.”

“Don’t lie to us, Gianelli,” Smith said. “If we go down there and ask around and find out you lied-”

“I’m not lying.” Actually, I wasn’t, but I wasn’t telling the whole truth, either. I was still leaving the Rat Pack out of all my explanations. But I had gone back to the Sands, and I had gone home from there. “Go ahead and ask them.”

“Oh, we will,” Smith said. He turned and headed for the door.

I looked at Hargrove. “Can you tell me what this is about?”

He considered it for a moment, almost followed his partner, then turned back with a kind of “what-the-hell” shrug.

“The other girl,” Hardgrove said, “the one you were lookin’ for?”

“Carla DeLucca?”

“We found her in a Dumpster out behind the Riviera.”

“Dead?”

“Mr. Gianelli,” he said, “we don’t often find live girls in Dumpsters.”