I'm a fool to kill you

SIXTY

Jerry wanted to go with me.

‘If this is about poppin’ those two Chicago goons I should tell ’em I did it,’ he said. ‘I can’t let them pin that rap on you.’

‘They’re not gonna pin anythin’ on me, Jerry, because I didn’t do it. And I’m not about to give you up.’

‘I never thought you would, Mr G.,’ he said.

‘OK,’ I said, ‘so I’m gonna drive back now, and I’ll return tomorrow.’

‘If you’re not in jail,’ Ava said.

‘I won’t be in jail.’

‘If you are,’ she said, ‘it’ll be my fault.’

We were sitting on the deck, staring out at the darkening sky.

‘I leave now I can make most of the drive before it gets dark,’ I said. I handed my wine glass to Jerry.

Ava stood up abruptly, set her glass down, and put her arms around me. Once again, what could have been a sexual situation was really just a warm one.

‘Be careful.’

‘I will.’ I hugged her back. ‘Look after the big guy.’

‘I will.’ She let me go and stepped back. ‘Call if you’re not in jail.’

I smiled.

‘See ya, big guy.’

‘Mr G?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You got Miss Ava’s gun on ya?’

‘I do.’

‘Don’t take it into the police station with you.’

‘Thanks for reminding me,’ I said. It was so light in my pocket that I might have done just that.

I drove to the police station on West Russell, just off Las Vegas Boulevard. Inside I asked for Detective Hargrove. When the desk Sergeant asked me my name I gave it to him, half expecting to be handcuffed moments later and dragged to the floor. Instead he said, ‘Wait here.’

Moments later Hargrove’s partner of the month came out. I recognized him from the casino. He was young, white and polite.

‘This way, Mr Gianelli,’ he said. ‘My name is Detective Holman.’

‘Really?’ I asked.

‘I’m afraid so,’ he said.

I followed him to an interview room where, I knew from experience, Hargrove would let me cool my heels for up to an hour.

‘Detective Hargrove will be with you in a minute.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ I said. ‘Tell him to bring coffee, black, no sugar.’

Holman nodded and backed out.

Fifty minutes later Hargrove came walking in. To my surprise he had two cups of coffee with him. To my further surprise, he pushed one across the table to me.

‘Black, no sugar.’

‘Thanks.’

He sat down across from me.

‘What’s this about, Hargrove?’ I asked. ‘It’s been awhile since you came lookin’ for me.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘You been keepin’ your nose clean, huh?’

I shrugged.

‘I’ve pretty much been bein’ myself.’

‘Which, to me, is enough reason to throw you in jail,’ Hargrove said.

‘Luckily, you need more than that,’ I said. ‘You need evidence that I did something illegal.’

‘You’re right, I do.’

‘Do you have it?’

‘I have some questions.’

‘About what?’

He sat back in his chair. I sipped the coffee. It was hot, and toxic. I put it down on the table. Maybe he was trying poison so he wouldn’t have to figure out how to jail me.

‘I’ve got two dead wise guys from Chicago on my hands,’ he said. ‘What do you know about them?’

‘Dead? How?’

‘Shot,’ he said. ‘In the front seat of their car, with a.45’

‘How do you know who they were?’

‘We found the hotel they were stayin’ in,’ Hargrove said. ‘Their registration card said Chicago. We found their guns on the roof of their car, more in their room, and their names. Checked them out with Chicago P.D. Wise guys.’

‘Workin’ for who?’ I asked.

‘Whoever has the money to hire them, apparently.’

‘Did you ask Jack Entratter about them?’

‘No,’ Hargrove said, ‘I wanted to talk to you first.’

I’d been trying for a couple of years to convince Hargrove that I was no wise guy just because I worked for the Sands casino.

‘Why me?’

‘Because of where we found them.’

‘Where?’

‘The same place you and your big friend found a body in a dumpster a couple of years ago, when your buddies were here makin’ Ocean’s Eleven.’

‘And you think that’s enough of a reason to try to connect me to this? That’s not evidence, Detective.’

Now he leaned forward.

‘You’re at the top of my list, Eddie, for whenever somethin’ happens in this town that concerns the mob, the boys, whatever you want to call them. This was enough for me to want to ask you some questions.’

‘And that’s it? That’s all you’ve got to?’

‘No, I’ve got one more thing,’ he said.

‘What’s that?’

‘I checked on your buddy, Jerry Epstein, in Brooklyn. He’s not there. You got any idea where he is?’

‘No,’ I said, without hesitation, ‘I have no idea, at all.’

Hargrove sat back again.

‘And why don’t I believe you?’