Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand)

Ten

I almost pulled a muscle trying to lift Jerry’s single suitcase when we claimed it from the baggage check. He had told me he had only one bag because he “liked to travel light,” but there was nothing light about it. Or small. But then there was nothing small about Jerry, either.

He was wearing lightweight gray slacks and a short-sleeved striped t-shirt that struggled to cover his torso and biceps. He was a big, thick, powerfully built man who might eventually go to fat with age. I figured with that thick center of gravity he had, he was probably more powerful than any muscle-bound bodybuilder.

“I’ll take it, Mr. G.,” he said, grabbing the suitcase one-handed from my two-handed grip and holding it easily.

Back then the McCarran Airport was one terminal, not much of a walk to the parking lot. People were rushing by us, though, to cars and cabs, in a hurry to get to a casino, and Jerry shook his head.

“I never saw people so anxious to lose their money than in this burg,” he said.

“That’s what this burg is for.”

“That why you came here the first time?” he asked. “To lose money?”

“It wasn’t my intention,” I answered, “but that’s the way it went down.”

“Guess you was pretty smart to get on the other side, huh?”

“I wanted to live here,” I told him, “and I couldn’t have done that if I kept on gambling. So I got a job, and pretty soon I found out it wasn’t the gambling I liked, it was just the overall atmosphere.”

“Still pretty smart,” he said.

When we got to the parking lot he easily installed his suitcase in the trunk of my Caddy and I tossed him the keys. He said he remembered the way to the strip, and we were off.

“You know, Mr. G.,” he said, keeping his eye on the road, “I really think you coulda done this thing by yerself.”

“You think so?”

“You handled yerself pretty well last year,” he said, “both times.”

“Why did you come, then?”

“Well, first, you asked me.”

“And second?”

He tapped the steering wheel.

“I really wanted to drive your car again.”

I got Jerry checked in, we dropped his bag in his room, and then went to the Garden Room.

“They gave me somethin’ on the plane, but I’m starvin’,” he said as we sat down.

A waitress came over and, since it wasn’t yet noon, we ordered two steak-and-egg breakfasts. I’d only had a cup of coffee before leaving for the airport. She quickly brought us two cups, and a large orange juice for Jerry.

“Okay, Mr. G.,” he said, “start from the beginning and tell me as much as you want to.”

“Jerry, I can’t-”

“I know you can’t tell me everything,” Jerry said. “I’m used ta that. Just tell me what I need ta know.”

I’d almost forgotten that Jerry was much smarter than he usually let on.

I told him about going to dinner with Joey and Buddy Hackett, about Joey delivering Frank’s message and my flying to Tahoe. The waitress came with our breakfasts and I gave him the rest while we ate.

“Yeah,” he said, when I was done, “sounds like you got a rat on the inside somewhere, either somebody workin’ for Mr. S. or somebody workin’ for Mr. Davis.” Then he peered across the table at me. “You ain’t said nothin’ to nobody, have you, Mr. G.?”

“Not a peep,” I said. “I haven’t even told you the whole story.”

“I was just kiddin’ around with you,” he said. “I know you wouldn’t let nothin’ slip.”

We had some coffee and Jerry had two pieces of apple pie.

“Are you full yet?” I asked.

“That should hold me for a while,” he said. “So what do we do between now and the meet?”

I sat back.

“I’ve never done this before. Have you?”

“I ain’t never made a blackmail payoff before,” he said, “but I been to some meets.”

“What did you do leading up to them?”

“I went and checked out the places that was picked,” Jerry explained. “You never wanna walk into a situation like that blind.”

“That sounds like a sound idea.”

“And you wanna do it in the daylight,” Jerry added, “because the meet’s gonna take place at night.”

“Well, why don’t we go and do that right now?” I proposed.

“I drive?” he asked, brightening.

“Yep,” I said, “you drive.”