Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand)

Forty-eight

Peter Lawford hadn’t called, and Sammy hadn’t, either. That worried me, but I had to get Jerry out to that meeting place.

It was on the outskirts of town, not that long a drive at all, but once we got there it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere.

Jerry did a quick check of the two buildings-or the building-and-a-half-and pronounced us all alone.

“You sure about this, Jerry?”

“Dead sure, Mr. G. It’s the best way.”

“And if they find you out here?”

“They may not be pros, but it probably won’t surprise them that we’re bein’ careful.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be back about fifteen minutes before the meet.”

“Bring a flashlight, Mr. G.,” Jerry said.

“I’ll get one from my buddy, Jim.”

“Okay,” Jerry said. “Drive careful.”

“I’ll see you later, Jerry,” I said. “Watch your back.”

“That ain’t what I’m out here for, Mr. G.,” he said. “I’m out here to watch your back.”

“Yeah, well, do me a favor and watch ’em both, huh?”

“You got it.”

I started up the car, turned it around, and headed back down the dirt road.

I was walking through Harrah’s casino when I saw her. You couldn’t miss her. The blond hair, pale skin, red mouth, all those curves-and the crowd she was drawing. It was Marilyn Monroe, all right, wearing a long-sleeved checkered shirt tucked into tight jeans. She was alone, trying to clear a path for herself to walk as people crowded in around her, trying to talk to her or touch her. I thought the look in her eyes was confused, or … kind of vacant. She also looked scared. I remembered what Frank said about the movie company having trouble with her being on time for her scenes in The Misfits.

But right now she was just trying to walk, and having a tough time of it. I could see she was on the verge of panic, so I did the only thing I could think of.

“Okay, okay, clear the way,” I shouted, wading in with my arms waving like a windmill.

Everybody turned to look at me, wondering who the hell I was. They shrunk back from me, because I looked like a madman.

“Outta the way, outta the way!” I yelled.

Marilyn looked at me, too, as I reached her and put my arm around her. Good God, but she felt good, a beautiful, solid girl who really filled out her clothes.

“Wha-who are you?” she asked. I could feel her breath on my face.

“My name’s Eddie,” I said. “I’m a friend of Frank’s. Come on!”

I pulled her along, still waving my free arm. People pulled back from my perceived authority, and I knew I had to get her out of there before she realized I was nobody.

“Are you staying here?” I asked her.

“Yes, but … I couldn’t find the elevators.”

“Stay close,” I said, and felt one of her arms go around me.

I took her to the elevators as some of the crowd started to follow us.

“… the hell is he …”

“… he think he’s doin’?”

I heard the words behind us as I pressed the button for the elevator. Luckily, the car was already on the ground floor, so the doors opened.

“In you go,” I said, giving her a gentle push. “Got your room key?”

“Oh, yes, but …”

“What floor?”

“Four.”

I leaned in and pressed four, then started to step out. She reached for me as the doors closed. Her hand caught the front of my shirt and she kissed me quickly on the cheek. I admit it, my head swam.

“Eddie … thanks, honey.”

“Any time,” I said, and she was gone.

As the doors closed I looked around the casino to see if Clark Gable or Montgomery Clift were anywhere. I wondered if they were staying in the hotel, too.

Once Marilyn was gone, people started gambling again and I continued on to the hotel lobby. Things were back to normal for everyone but me. I had Marilyn’s kiss on my cheek, her scent in my nose and still had the feel of her weight against me.

Oh boy …

When I got to the room I called Sammy. While it rang I cleaned Marilyn’s lipstick off my face with my handkerchief, folded it carefully, and put it in my pocket.

“I called but you weren’t there,” Sammy said.

“You must’ve tried after we left.”

“Yeah, I was late,” he said. “I was on the phone with Rod Serling. We met a while back and got pretty friendly. You know Serling?”

“Just what I see on The Twilight Zone,” I said.

“I was all set to do an episode early last year,” he explained, “about a white bigot who wakes up in the morning a black man. The censors wouldn’t go for it and nixed the deal. I was feelin’ pretty low and that was when Frank came to me with Ocean’s Eleven.”

“Sammy,” I said, cutting him off before he could continue the story, “did you get to Peter?”

“Sorry, sorry, I did,” he said. “I got a number for you to call.”

I wrote it down.

“Can I call it right away?”

“Yeah, he’ll be there. He doesn’t want his wife or his in-laws to know he’s talkin’ to you, though.”

“I can understand that.”

“He’ll be there-” He stopped, probably looking at his watch, or a clock, “-for about another hour.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll call him and then get back to you.”

“I’ll be here.”

I hung up and dialed the number. After two rings a man answered and said cautiously, “Hello?”

“Peter? This is Eddie Gianelli, from Vegas-”

“Yes, Mr. Gianelli, I know who you are,” he said. “I recall our meeting once or twice last year.”

“Right.”

“Look, I am only talking to you because Sammy asked me to.”

“I understand that.”

“However, I advise you to choose your questions wisely.”

“Wisely,” I repeated. “Okay, how’s this? Who’s sending men out to Nevada to kill some people who have a photo to sell, JFK or Bobby?”

“Jesus, Eddie, what are you talking about?”

“I want to know if the Kennedy family has been approached to buy some potentially damaging photos? And, if instead of buying them, they decided to kill the fuckers. Who would okay something like that, Peter? Would it be Joe, the old man? Or Bobby, the attorney general? Or maybe it’s just the President himself?”

There was nothing from the other end, and then Peter’s British accent asked in a hushed whisper, “Eddie, how the fuck did you know about the photos?”

“I didn’t really,” I said. “I was guessing. You just told me, Peter.”

“Yes, I did,” he said, “and I could get in a lot of fucking trouble for telling you.”

“Well, we’ll just keep it between us, then. How’s that? Us and Sammy, that is.”

“And Frank.”

“What about Frank?”

“Would you, uh, tell Frank I helped you?”

I’d been hearing some things about Frank and Peter falling out, remembered what Frank had said the night we all went to Dino’s show, how we didn’t need Peter.

“Is that what you want, Peter?” I asked. “You want me to put a good word in with Frank for you?”

“Ah … I would appreciate it, Eddie.”

“Well then, let’s see if you actually do tell me something helpful.”

He hesitated, then asked, “What do you want to know?”