Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand)

Thirty

Our first stop was the Dunes. I knew a car jockey there who had two older brothers who worked dodges all over town. They were small time, but they had their fingers in lots of pies.

“Hey, Billy,” I called as he started to get into a car.

“Hey, Eddie G.,” Billy said, with a big grin. Billy Sykes had red hair and a face full of freckles that made him look sixteen, even though I knew he was thirty. His baby face made for even better tips. “What’s shakin’?” He looked past me at Jerry. “Whoa, who’s the man mountain?”

“Billy, this is Jerry,” I said. “He’s watchin’ my back.”

“Watchin’ your-what’s goin’ on, Eddie? You in trouble?”

“A little bit,” I said.

“What can I do?”

During the walk over I had been trying to think of a way of explaining my problem. I knew Billy wasn’t the type who would ever talk to the police, but I also didn’t want him connecting me to four dead bodies, if and when they showed up.

“I’m lookin’ for somebody working a blackmail dodge,” I said.

“Some high roller gettin’ the squeeze?”

“Yeah, and he doesn’t like it. He’d rather pay to find these guys than pay these guys.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“My gratitude,” I said, “and a hundred bucks.”

“Groovy,” he said, then frowned. “You ain’t thinkin’ about my brothers, are ya? Their meat is usually tourists, not high rollers.”

“No, I wasn’t thinkin’ about them, Billy, but maybe they heard somethin’ helpful. They’ve always got their ears to the ground, right?”

“Hey, Billy, get that car out of here!” his boss yelled.

“I’ll talk to ’em, Eddie, and I’ll keep my ear to the ground,” Billy promised. “I gotta get to work.”

“Sure, Billy,” I said. “Just call me at the Sands, okay?”

“Okay, Eddie.”

Billy got in the car and drove it away.

“Can you trust that guy?” Jerry asked.

“I didn’t really tell him anything,” I said. “Even if those bodies show up, Billy will never connect them to me.”

“What’s next?” he asked.

“We were gonna walk up to the Stardust, but let’s get the car. I wanna go downtown after that.”

“Ain’t we goin’ inside?” Jerry pointed to the Dunes.

“No,” I said, “but we’ll go into the Stardust, and cross over to the Riv.”

We got the Caddy and drove it over to the Stardust, parking behind it. We had to walk through the entire casino to get to where I wanted to go, the hotel lobby. I was hoping Gary Hogan was on the concierge’s desk that night, and he was.

“That’s our man,” I said to Jerry.

“The mousy-lookin’ bald guy?”

“That mousy-lookin’ bald guy can get you anything you want in Vegas.”

Gary looked up as we approached the desk. He’d been working the Vegas strip for years before I got there. He’d known everybody then and knew everybody now. In fact, he claimed that he was there the night Herb McDonald invented the buffet at the El Rancho Vegas.

“Hey, Eddie, man,” Gary said, grinning. Though he was in his fifties his balding head was no sign of age. He told me once he’d gone bald in his thirties. “Who’s your friend?”

“Gary Hogan, this is Jerry Epstein. Jerry’s helping me out with something.”

“Must be a big somethin’,” Gary said. “Somethin’ I can do?”

“Since you ask, yeah, there is.”

“Need a big game?” he asked. “A girl? Two girls? Somethin’ … kinkier?”

“Blackmail.”

“You want to blackmail someone? I know a good photographer-”

“I thought maybe you might,” I said, “but I’m kinda workin’ for somebody on the other side of the play.”

“Oh,” Gary said. “So whataya need from me?”

“I need to know who in town works that kind of dodge-you know, with photos? Somebody not afraid to work a high-roller, highprofile type?”

“High profile? So you mean somebody with more balls than brains?”

“Right,” I said, “and who doesn’t work alone.”

“Lemme give it some thought, Eddie,” Gary said. “Maybe I’ll have some ideas tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Gary,” I said. “You can get me at the Sands or leave a message anytime.”

“Gotcha.”

His phone rang then, as if on cue, and Jerry and I backed off and went out the front door.

We crossed over to the Riviera, where I had basically the same conversation with a bartender in the lounge. Pete Tynan had been tending bar in Vegas for twenty years, and had been at the Riv for three. He liked to spread his talents around. He either quit his jobs to go elsewhere, or ended up fired when he got caught sleeping with a guest.

I told him what I needed and he promised to give me a call if he thought of some names.

From the Riv we went back through the Stardust to retrieve the Caddy and drive downtown to the Golden Nugget.

“I hope this place got a new house dick,” Jerry said, as we entered.

The old house dick had been killed the last time Jerry was in Vegas.

“I’m sure they’ve hired somebody, but I’m more interested in a woman who works here.”

“Who’s that?”

“Her name’s Helen Jaye,” I said. “She’s the den mother to all the Golden Nugget showgirls.”

“We gonna talk ta some showgirls?”

“We’re going to talk to Helen,” I said. “Chances are there’ll be some showgirls around. Come on. Let’s see how lucky we get.”