It Was a Very Bad Year

FORTY-SEVEN

‘Eddie,’ Frank said, when we got to the living room, ‘this is District Attorney Douglas Evans.’

Evans was a smooth-faced man in his forties, with a perfect haircut and an expensive suit. He put his hand out and after a moment I shook it.

‘This is Eddie Gianelli, Doug,’ Frank said. ‘He’s gonna make the delivery for me.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Eddie,’ Evans said.

‘I think you’ve heard of Eddie before, haven’t you, Doug?’ Frank asked.

Evans blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I said you’ve heard Eddie’s name before,’ Frank said.

Evans looked over at the lawyer, Rudin, who just shrugged.

‘Yeah,’ Frank said, ‘Raggio, from Nevada, he called you about Eddie. Told you some things that I think may not be true.’

‘I usually make my own decisions and opinions, Mr Sinatra,’ Evans said, smoothly. ‘If my Nevada counterpart did call me, I’m sure he was just trying to be helpful.’

‘I just want you to know I trust this man completely,’ Frank said, pointing at me. ‘I trust him to do the right thing.’

‘That’s good enough for me, Mr Sinatra,’ Evans said. ‘My priority is to get your son back safely. I’m sure Mr Gianelli intends to do everything he can to make sure that happens.’

‘I do,’ I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I didn’t find Evans to be as distasteful or stupid as the Nevada DA, Raggio, but I was leaving room for error on my part.

‘Mr Sinatra-’ Evans said.

‘Just call me Frank, Doug,’ Frank said. ‘It’ll make things easier.’

‘Frank, we’ll need you to stay here by the phone-’

‘Don’t worry,’ Frank said, ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

But he was.

A call came in an hour later, and the voice — according to Frank the same voice as the other calls — told him to go to a pay phone somewhere in LA and make a call.

We were all sitting around at that point, so we heard Frank’s end of the conversation.

‘I’ll send a man with you, Frank-’ Evans said, but Frank cut him off.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I’ll take Eddie.’

‘He’s not a cop,’ Evans said, ‘and I assume he’s not armed-’

‘And I don’t have the money on me,’ Frank said. ‘They’re not gonna try anythin’ funny. They just want to run me around a little. I’m willing to do anything for Frankie.’

Evans didn’t like it, but Frank was adamant.

‘What about me, Mr S.?’ Jerry asked.

‘I appreciate the offer, Jerry, but I’ll just take Eddie.’ He looked at me. ‘You ready?’

Obviously, somebody had brought Frank’s black-on-black Ghia L6.4.

‘You drive,’ he said, tossing me the key. The Ghia was a powerful sports car, and the engine growled when I turned the key. Under other circumstances I would have enjoyed driving that car.

‘In case anybody’s watching,’ he said to me as we started out, ‘I’ll say you’re my driver.’

‘OK, Frank.’

He had the roll of dimes in his left hand, flexing and unflexing around it. He had to direct me, since I didn’t know my way around.

They had told Frank to go to a pay phone on North Beverly Glen Boulevard. When we got there it was obvious why. It was sitting out in the open along the side of the road, surrounded by hills. Anyone could keep watch from a distance without being seen.

‘Stay in the car,’ he told me.

I watched him take a dime from his pocket and drop it in the phone. It did not come from the roll of dimes. He still held that in his left hand.

He dialed, waited, spoke briefly, then hung up. When he came back he was scowling.

‘They’re playin’ games,’ he said. ‘Drive.’

I drove.

‘They sound like amateurs, Frank.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ he said. ‘With pros I’d be fairly confident about gettin’ Frankie back safe. But now, with these guys. . Eddie, I just don’t know.’

‘Look, Frank,’ I said, ‘let’s do what they tell us to do. Whatever, to get Frankie back. That’s all we’ve got.’

‘Yeah, OK,’ Frank said. ‘Drive.’

He directed me to the next phone booth.

They ran us around to three more phone booths. Eventually, Frank had to crack his roll of dimes. Finally, they told us to go back to the house. I guess they had satisfied themselves that we didn’t have cops following us wherever we went.

As we drove to Bel-Air I asked, ‘How did they have the phone number of the house in Bel-Air in the first place?’

‘I gave it to them,’ Frank said, ‘the last call in Reno.’

‘So they’re gonna call you there again?’

Frank nodded.

‘That’s when they’ll tell me where to bring the money,’ he said.

‘And that’s what we’ll do,’ I said. ‘But we’ll need a bigger car.’

Frank frowned at me.

‘No way is Jerry gonna fit in the trunk of this one.’

Frank actually laughed.