Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

Forty-two

We parted company in front of the Horseshoe. Danny walked to his office while Jerry and I drove back to the Sands. This time I got behind the wheel of my own Caddy.

“That guy any good?” Jerry asked in the car.

“He’s very good at what he does,” I said.

Jerry nodded, but didn’t comment.

As I drove down the strip, Jerry craned his neck to look at all the marquees. Nat King Cole was in town, along with Alan King and Shecky Greene. Buddy Hackett and Patrice Munsel were at the Riv. Donald O’Connor was playing the Sahara.

The one he paid special attention to, though, was the big Sands marquee that said Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop.

“I don’t get it,” he said as I pulled the Caddy into the Sands lot.

“Get what?”

“The actor,” he said, “Lawford. What’s he doin’ up there with the rest of those guys?”

“He’s part of the group, isn’t he?”

“I guess,” Jerry said. “I don’t get it, though. He ain’t got no talent.”

“He’s an actor.”

“So what’s he doin’ on stage with those guys?” he asked again. “Ican even see Joey Bishop, he’s a comedian, he kibbitzes with them. What’s the actor do?”

“I guess you’ll have to take in the show and see for yourself.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

As we entered the casino Jerry asked, “Whatta we gonna do now?”

“You can take some time off,” I said. “I’ve got to talk to somebody in the employment department, get Danny that list of names he needs.”

“You don’t need me to watch your back?”

“I don’t think I need my back watched while we’re inside the Sands,” I said.

“And whatta ya gonna do after you get the list?” he asked.

“That’s when I’ll have to talk with Frank.”

“I can arrange that.”

I was about to say no, and then I thought, why not? He was working for Frank and could probably get in to see him easily.

“Okay,” I said. “Okay. See if you can set it up for later today.”

“Consider it done.”

“I’ll have to talk to Dean, too. Then Sammy and Joey Bishop.”

“Those guys I don’t know so good.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll set it up with Frank. I just need a few moments of his time tonight.”

“You got it.”

“I’ll meet you in the lounge in two hours,” I told him. “Can you get in to see him and be back by then?”

“No problem. He wants me to report to him each day, anyways.”

“On me?” I asked.

“Not on you,” he said, “just … about you. You know, whether you’re okay or not. How you’re holdin’ up.”

That was how Frank and Dean knew I’d been through something “intense.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said. “So I’ll see you later.”

“In the lounge,” he said. “You need me before the two hours, that’s probably where I’ll be.”

So just as we’d done with Danny a little while before, we split up and went our separate ways.

There was two ways I could go about what needed to be done. I could go to Jack Entratter and have him get me the list. Or I could go to the source itself. Marcia Clarkson worked in employment, kept the records of everyone who worked in the Sands. Without Marcia nobody at the Sands would get paid. Next to Jack Entratter, she was probably the most important person in the place. Hell, maybe she was the most important. I didn’t know Jack’s deal with Frank Costello, so maybe Marcia controlled his paycheck as well.

I went to the second floor, where the Sands’ business offices were. I walked past Jack’s office and headed down the hall to Marcia’s inner sanctum. When I entered she looked up from her desk and smiled at me.

Marcia was pretty, there was no two ways about it. Her brown hair was kind of frizzy, and her glasses were so thick they magnified the beautiful blue of her eyes. She was in her mid-thirties and one might have called her mousy, but I knew her better than most. We’d gone out a few times. Nothing had developed romantically; now we were friends.

“Hello, Eddie,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a big favor, Marcy.” Yeah, I knew her well enough to call her by her nickname, the one family members usually used.

“Is this gonna get me in trouble?” she asked, raising one eyebrow.

“I don’t think so.”

“Is it something I’m gonna have to check with Mr. Entratter about?”

“Definitely not,” I said. “I’ve got carte blanche from Jack. Access to anything I need.”

“For what?”

“A favor I’m doing.”

“For Mr. Entratter?”

I shook my head.

“For Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.”

Her eyes widened and for a moment I thought they’d leap right through her glasses at me.

“Is this on the level?”

“Cross my heart.”

She looked around her small office, even though it was just her and me in the little room, and lowered her voice.

“Can you get me in to meet him?”

“Meet who?”

“Frank Sinatra, of course.”

“Well …”

I almost felt bad now that I had taken Bev to see the Rat Pack show and not Marcia.

“We might be able to take in their show and then go back stage.”

“Might?”

I nodded.

“First I have to do this favor for you?”

“Right.”

“And I have to do it without asking any questions?”

“Right again.”

“I’d feel better if you let me clear this with Mr. Entratter.”

“Sweetie,” I said, “I want you to feel better, so call him.”

“Really?”

“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

She picked up her phone, dialed three numbers, spoke to Jack’s girl and then got put through to him. They talked for only about a minute and then she hung up.

“He says I’m to give you whatever you want.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“And,” she added, “he says for you to get your ass into his office the minute you’re done here.”

Still not surprised.