Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

Twenty-eight

I called Danny Bardini and he agreed to meet me for breakfast at the Horseshoe, Benny Binion’s place on Fremont Street. Benny had arrived in Vegas the same month Bugsy Seigel opened the Flamingo. He’d left a violent past behind in Texas, where he had a reputation as a gambling king and a killer. They say he arrived with two million dollars in a suitcase. Four months later he bought the old Eldorado Club, changed the name to the Horseshoe Club and turned it into one of the most popular casinos in Las Vegas.

Danny was waiting at a booth in the back of the Horseshoe’s coffee shop.

“Who’s he?” Jerry asked, as we entered.

“A friend of mine.”

“A cop?”

“No,” I said, “he’s not a cop. He’s a P.I.”

Jerry made a face.

“Same difference.”

“Jerry, why don’t you sit at the counter and have what you want.”

“You buyin’?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m buyin’.”

He looked over at the counter, and then at the booth Danny was sitting in.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You can see me from there.”

“Okay.”

As he settled onto a stool-almost two stools-I walked over to where Danny was waiting.

“Who’s the giant?”

“That’s Jerry,” I said, sliding in across from him. “He’s a gift from Frank Sinatra.”

“Frank never heard of jewelry?” Danny asked. “Or cars? You know, I heard that Elvis Presley gives everybody cars, even people he doesn’t know. Why don’t you work for Elvis Presley?”

“Give Elvis my number,” I said. “If he calls I’ll work for him. Meantime, what did you find out?’

“Can we order, first?”

“Sure.”

As I looked at the menu a waitress came over.

“You Eddie G?” she asked.

I looked up at her. A waitress in the Horseshoe’s coffee shop and she looked like she should be a showgirl-but considering how many showgirls had shown up dead lately, maybe she was better off where she was.

“That’s right.”

“Um, the big man at the counter? He says you’re payin’ for his breakfast?”

“He’s right.”

“Mister,” she said, “he ordered two dozen pancakes.”

I turned and looked at Jerry, who was staring into a mug of coffee. As if he felt my eyes on him he turned his head and looked over, his face expressionless.

“So give him his pancakes,” I said.

She shrugged and said, “Okay.” She turned and nodded to the man behind the counter, then looked at us. “You boys ready to order?”

“Yeah,” Danny said. “Pancakes sound good but I’ll just have a stack.”

I ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, home fries, toast, juice and coffee.

“Two dozen pancakes,” Danny said as she walked away. “This I gotta see.”

“Danny,” I said, “tell me you found somethin’ for me, because I’d hate to have to rely on Mike Borraco.”

“That weasel?” he asked. “He’s scammin’ you, Eddie, if he says he can get you somethin’.”

“Probably,” I said. “I just have him looking for Unlucky Lou Terazzo.”

“You and the cops,” Danny said. “What did you get yourself into, pal?”

“The cops talked to you?”

Danny nodded.

“A dick named Sam Hargrove. I know him, and he knows we’re friends.”

“What’d he ask you?”

“Wanted to know if you were violent,” Danny said. “Have you ever beat up any women? Did you have somethin’ against showgirls.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“‘No, no and no,’”he quoted. “Those words, exactly. So what’d you walk into, bub?”

“Danny, I don’t know. I went lookin’ for Lou Terazzo just to see if he might know somethin’ about the two goons who worked me over.”

“Why Lou?”

I shrugged. “I just figured they were members of the same fraternity, you know?”

“And?”

“And I never found him. Instead, I get put onto a showgirl named Carla and while I’m lookin’ for her I find her dead roommate.”

“And now she’s dead, too.”

“That’s what Hargrove and his partner told me last night.”

“What does this have to do with Dean Martin?”

“Fuck if I know,” I said. “Nothin’, probably.”

“You mean this is all a coincidence?”

“It’s got to be.”

He sat back in his chair and stared at me.

“What?”

“I hate coincidences, Eddie. You know how I hate coincidences.”

“What else could it be?” I asked. “I just happen to go looking for Lou Terazzo, and he’s involved with the threats on Dean Martin? Isn’t that a coincidence, too?”

“Those two girls got killed for some reason.”

“That’s got nothin’ to do with me or the Rat Pack,” I insisted.

“So you’re still lookin’ into this for Sinatra and Dino?”

“I gave my word.”

I’d given a lot of thought to quittin’, but the truth was I didn’t want either Sinatra or Dino to think badly of me, or even Entratter. It might have been an ego thing, but there it was. I couldn’t quit.

The waitress came with our breakfast and set it all down. Danny was lookin’ past me, so I turned and saw that Jerry had started in on his two dozen pancakes.

“Maybe he needs a shovel,” Danny said to the waitress.

She laughed and walked away.

“Danny …”

He dumped some butter and syrup on his cakes and said, “I’ve got nothin’ on Ravisi or Davis, Eddie. They’ve disappeared.”

“What about who they were workin’ for?”

“They’ll work for anybody who can run two dollars together.”

“What about big boys like Costello or Giancana?”

“Why would they give work to bums like that,” Danny said, “when they’ve got Man Mountain Jerry, over there? By the way, what’s his last name?”

“Epstein.”

“A Jew? Maybe he works for Lansky?”

“He says he’s from New York, where he works for Giancana. Now he works for Frank.”

“Mo Mo sent Frank one of his boys? Guess they’re as close as everybody says, huh?”

“I don’t care,” I said. “Frank can be friends with anybody he wants.”

“They say the mob got him From Here to Eternity.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked. “He made the most of it, didn’t he? Got his career back on track?”

Danny shrugged around a mouthful of pancakes. He had asmudge of syrup on one corner of his mouth. I piled some eggs and bacon onto a piece of toast and shoved it into my mouth.

“If they bought him the movie, they coulda bought him the Oscar, too.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but they can’t sing for him. He does that on his own.”

“I hear he’s pushin’ for Kennedy,” Danny said. “That’s some triangle, huh? Frank, Mo Mo and JFK?”

“We’re gettin’ off the subject, Danny.”

“Okay, okay,” Danny said. “I’ll keep lookin’ for these guys. I don’t think we’re gonna find out who they’re workin’ for until we actually meet them face to face.”

“What if they’re in a hole in the desert somewhere?” I asked.

“You better hope they ain’t,” he said, licking the syrup off his lip. “They sound like your only lead.”