Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

Thirty-nine

I watched as Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and Peter Lawford shot a scene around a pool table. Off to one side sat Henry Silva on a sofa with an actor named Richard Benedict. Joey Bishop, Richard Conte, Buddy Lester and Norman Fell sat at a table, supposedly playing gin. I looked around in vain but did not see Angie Dickinson anywhere. Akim Tamiroff was standing off to one side, watching, waiting for his cue to stalk around the room, mug and grunt. They were pretty much dressed alike, jackets and shirts with ties.

The room was set up as an expensive rumpus room in a Beverly Hills home. Sinatra was playing “Danny Ocean,” who had gathered all eleven of the men who were in his unit in World War II, the 82nd Airborne, to Las Vegas to knock off five casinos. That was the basic premise of the film Ocean’s 11.

At the moment the cameras were on Sinatra, Dino, Sammy Davis and Peter Lawford, who were having an inane conversation around the pool table about what they would each do with their take from the job. I noticed that all but Peter Lawford were holding a cigarette along with their pool cue.

Peter Lawford was talking about buying votes and making himself into a politician while the others made fun of him. Lawford was richboy “Jimmy Foster,” who was tired of asking his mother for money every time he needed it. Dino was Ocean’s closest friend, “Sam Harmon.” That part seemed true to life. All I heard them call Sammy in that scene was “Josh.”

Director Lewis Milestone called “Cut and print,” but he didn’t look happy. From what brief by play I had seen between him and Sinatra it was clear that Frank was calling the shots.

“Let’s set up for the next scene,” Milestone called out.

Frank walked over to Dean, said something and then the two crooners started over towards me. My heart thumped faster, and I started to sweat. I had nothing solid to report to them, and knew I was going to disappoint them. I was also upset that Sammy wasn’t coming with them. I wanted to meet him. I didn’t care to meet Lawford. He struck me as a hanger-on with not an ounce of the talent the other three had, but it was my understanding that he had brought the script to Sinatra. I also figured out, from the papers and scuttlebutt around the Sands, that he was Frank’s connection to John F. Kennedy and his whole family. Sinatra was a big Kennedy booster and was trying his best to help JFK get into the White House as the first Irish Catholic President of the United States.

But that was politics, and I hated politics.

“Eddie,” Sinatra said, as they reached me. He put a friendly hand on my shoulder.

“Hello, Eddie,” Dean Martin said, shaking my hand.

“Frank,” I said, “Dean.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was wondering why I had been brought there, to the Ocean’s 11 set?

“We only have a few minutes,” Frank said. “We have to shoot another scene around the pool table.”

“We heard you’ve had a rough couple of days,” Dean said.

“You heard?” I asked, before I realized they must have heard it from Jerry.

“What’s this other thing you’ve gotten involved in?’ Frank asked.”A couple of dead broads?“

“And a dead guy,” I said. “He worked at the Riviera … but I’m not involved.”

“You found one of the girls, didn’t you?” Frank asked.

“I did,” I said, “but I was lookin’ for a guy I know, who might have had some information about …” I lowered my voice and looked around. “ … you know, that thing we talked about.”

“So those broads are connected to our problem?” Frank asked. “Can we expect the police to visit us?”

“No,” I said. “I haven’t mentioned either of your names to the them.”

“Why not?” Dean asked. “Seems to me it might have made things easier for you.”

“That may be,” I said, “but I didn’t think you wanted me to, and I also don’t think the two things were related.”

“So you haven’t told the police anything about us?” Frank asked.

“No, Frank, I haven’t.”

Frank looked at Dean and said, “I told you he was a stand-up clyde.

“Did Jerry tell you, well, everything that happened?” I asked.

“Yeah, he did,” Frank said. “I guess you’re pretty happy with my gift, eh?”

“Well,” I said, “considering he probably saved my life, yeah.”

“Look, we have to shoot this scene,” Frank said. “Dean and I wanted you here so we could tell you we’ll understand if you want to pull out.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a pretty crazy time,” Dean said.

“I’ve had more excitement in the past two days than I’ve had in a lifetime.”

Frank looked amused.

“And that’s a good or a bad thing?”

“I’ll have to let you know, Frank,” I said. “Look, I appreciate the opportunity to pull out, but I think I’ll pass. I still want to help.”

“Keep Jerry with you, pally,” Dean said. “I don’t want anything to happen to you on my account.”

“Have you had anymore notes?” I asked him.

“No, nothing since we talked.”

“No calls?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t see any extra security around,” I said. There was a guard on the door when we arrived, but he had stepped aside and let us enter.

“We don’t want anybody askin’ questions about bodyguards,” Frank said. “We all made sure we were with Dean on the way here, and Nick and Henry and I will be takin’ him back to the Sands.”

“I’m not sure what-”

“There’s the director,” Frank said, cutting me off. “He’s already pissed off at me, so we better go and shoot this scene.”

Dean put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Take care.”

They turned and walked back to the pool table. I noticed that all the actors had stood and were approaching the table, including one guy I hadn’t noticed before, a blond man with large ears I later found out was named Clem Harvey.

I stayed and watched the scene, and at the end of it they all placed their hands in the center of the table, one on top of the other. When Sammy Davis placed his hand on the pile last Lewis Milestone once again yelled, “Cut and print!”

“We better go,” Jerry said, looming behind me and speaking in my ear.

I nodded and we headed for the door.