Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand)

Thirty-one

We found Helen Jaye working with some of her girls in the Golden Nugget ballroom.

“… two, three, four!” she was saying as we walked in. “Can’t anyone here count to four?”

“I can,” I called out.

“Me, too,” Jerry said.

Helen turned at the sound of our voices. She was getting ready to bite somebody’s head off for interrupting her, but when she saw me she smiled.

Up to a few years ago Helen Jaye was still a headliner at the Golden Nugget, but she had retired at the top of her game to take the job of ramroding the girls instead of being one of them.

“Take ten, girls,” she called, and came walking over to us. I knew she was in her mid-forties, but as far as I was concerned she could have still been performing as a headliner at any casino or club on the strip.

I knew some other ex-showgirls who were working the same kind of job-like Verna over at the Riviera, and Leelee at the Aladdin-but Helen was the best of ’em.

“Eddie G,” she said, looking Jerry up and down, “you brought me a present.”

Helen had a well-documented yen for big men.

“Jerry, meet Helen,” I said.

“Hey, big fella,” she said, batting her eyes at him, “you gonna be in town long?”

“Geez, I don’t know-” Jerry started, but I cut him off.

“Leave him alone, Helen,” I said. “He’s got too much work to do.”

“Yeah?” She took Jerry in like he was a six-and-a-half-foot ice cream cone and it was a very hot day. “Maybe some other time, huh?”

“Sure,” he said.

Then she turned her attention to me.

“What can I do for you, Eddie?”

I knew that, in addition to handling the showgirls at the Golden Nugget, Helen ran some girls on the side. I didn’t come right out and ask her to have her whores keep their ears open, but suggested in a roundabout way, which eventually got there.

“If I hear anything I’ll sure let you know,” she told me.

“I’d appreciate it, Helen.”

“See ya around, big guy,” she said to Jerry.

“Uh, yeah, sure …” Jerry said, and I pushed him out of there.

“Is that broad runnin’ whores?” he asked, as we walked through the casino.

“Just a few,” I said.

“What about her?” he asked. “She a whore?”

“Not that I know of,” I said. “Why, you interested?”

“She’s a good-lookin’ broad,” he said, “but a little too old for me, ya know?”

“What’s wrong with a broad who’s got a few miles on her?” I asked.

“Nothin’,” he said, “but if I’m spendin’ my dough, I like to spend it on young stuff, ya know?”

“Yeah, I do know, Jerry,” I said. “And speakin’ of young stuff, you just gave me an idea.”

“What?”

“Come on.”

We left the Golden Nugget and walked down the block to the Fremont Casino. A young girl stood on the corner wearing short shorts and a flimsy top. She was also sporting some goose bumps, because it got cool in the desert at night. I knew she was legal, but she looked all of thirteen.

“Hey, Amy,” I said.

“Eddie G,” she said. “How’s it hangin’, handsome?”

She smiled at me with lips painted crimson and batted eyelashes that were caked with mascara.

I took hold of her elbow and walked her away from Jerry so I could whisper what I wanted in her ear. Nobody knew the streets like Amy, and I wanted her to keep her ears open. I pushed a twenty into her hand and she grinned, tucking it into her top. I’d say she put it between her breasts, but she didn’t have any breasts to speak of.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything, Eddie,” she promised.

“Good girl.”

I walked over to where I’d left Jerry standing on the corner, and he said, “Now that’s too young.”

“She’s nineteen.”

“Yer kiddin’. She looks thirteen.”

“That’s what I think, but don’t tell her that. She thinks she looks twelve.”

We walked back down the block to the Nugget, wandering through it again to get to the parking lot.

Being on the street with Jerry, checking sources I hadn’t checked in a while, I noticed my Brooklyn accent creeping back into my speech. I’d been away from New York a long time, hadn’t been a CPA for a lot of years. Working at the Sands I always found myself adapting my speech patterns to whoever I was talking to at the time. When I was with Jack Entratter I became Brooklyn Eddie again, but with high rollers my speech smoothed out a bit. And with certain ladies.

“Where to now?” Jerry asked as we got into the car, with him in the driver’s seat.

“Hm? Oh, just head back to the strip and I’ll give it some thought.”

“Pull over here,” I said a few minutes later.

We were back on the strip, just outside of Wilbur Clark’s Desert Inn.

“Hey, Andy!” I yelled.

A kid who looked and was twelve-refreshing, wasn’t it? — came over to the car.

“Hey, Eddie G,” he greeted. “Whatcher doin’ in the passenger seat of yer own Caddy?”

“Got a friend of mine drivin’ it,” I said. “He appreciates good cars. Jerry, meet Andy.”

“Hey, kid.”

Andy leaned in, staring at the length of Jerry’s legs.

“Wow. What’s he go, about six-four?”

“Little bigger,” I said.

“What can I do for ya, Eddie? I gotta pass out the rest of these flyers.”

“I’m not going to interfere with your job, Andy. I just want you to stay alert for me.”

“Why?”

I gave him the same story I had given the others.

“You doin’ this for one of your whales?”

“That’s right.”

“Wouldn’t be Mr. Sinatra, would it?” he asked, his eyes lighting up. “I’d really like to do somethin’ for Mr. Sinatra, ya know?”

“Andy,” I said, “I can honestly tell you this isn’t for Mr. Sinatra.”

“Well, okay, Eddie,” the kid said, “I’ll just have ta do it for you.”

I handed the kid a sawbuck and said, “Thanks, Andy. I’ll appreciate anything you can do.”

“Here,” Andy said, reaching across me, “you look like you appreciate a good piece of ass.”

Jerry took the flyer and Andy backed away from the car.

“Phone numbers?” Jerry asked, looking at me. “He’s handin’ out phones numbers for whores?”

“It’s all legal here, Jerry,” I said. “Why not?”

Jerry thought that over a moment, then shrugged, folded the flyer and put it in his jacket pocket.

“Where to, Mr. G.?”

“Home, Jerry. The Sands.”