It Was a Very Bad Year

FIFTY-TWO

After about seventy-four hours of panic, the mood in the house lifted sky high.

Bobby Kennedy called to tell Frank how glad he was Frank Jr. was home. Frank was very polite and thanked him for his concern, and again for his offer of help.

Frank called his mother, Dolly, to tell her that her grandson was home and safe.

Frank Jr. had to sit with the DA and the FBI, who subjected him to some rigorous questioning, in an attempt to get enough facts to catch the kidnappers. I was listening to the interview, as most of us were, when Frankie mentioned that he was held in a house in Canoga Park. He also said the kidnappers referred to each other by their first names: Joe, Barry, and Johnny.

It hit me then like a clap of thunder.

I pulled Jerry aside.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘That piece of paper I found in Barney Irwin’s desk had those names on it.’

‘What names?’

‘Barry. Johnny. And Canoga Park.’

‘Do you have it on you?’

‘No, damn it,’ I said, ‘it’s at my place.’

‘Whataya think it means?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘There was some other stuff on it, too, but I can’t remember.’

‘You wanna tell the FBI? And the DA?’

‘If I tell them, it’ll get back to that ass, Raggio,’ I said. ‘I don’t wanna help him, at all.’

‘So what do we do?’ Jerry wanted to know.

I rubbed my jaw, gave it some thought.

‘Frankie’s home,’ I said. ‘There’s nothin’ we can do here about findin’ the kidnappers. So we head back to Vegas, check out that note, and find Barney Irwin. Figure out what his involvement is, if any. And maybe we can also find out who killed Wayne. If I can I’d like to hand that killer to Hargrove on a platter. And, hopefully, Irwin’s right in the middle of it all. Including the attacks on us.’

‘OK, so when do we leave?’

‘Now,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to Frank about his plane.’

‘OK,’ Jerry said, ‘I’m with you, Mr G.’

‘Thanks, Jerry.’

I went to find Frank.

Frank agreed to have his plane take us back to Vegas. He was so happy about having Frankie home, he didn’t even ask why.

‘You did a great job, pally,’ he said, hugging me, ‘A great job. I owe you, big time.’

I stopped by Entratter’s side and told him what we were doing.

‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘We’re leavin’ now,’ I said.

‘What’s the hurry?’

‘I’ll tell you when we’re on the plane.’

‘OK, lemme say goodbye to Frank.’

Frank gave us a limo and a driver to run us out to the airport. In an hour and a half we were back at the Sands.

During the plane ride I had given Entratter all the facts. Or so I thought.

‘But you don’t have any facts, Eddie,’ Jack said. ‘Where’s that piece of paper?’

‘At home,’ I said, ‘somewhere.’

‘It better have more on it than you remember,’ he said. ‘Just some names are not gonna connect the dots for the cops. Why didn’t you just give your info to the FBI?’

‘Raggio,’ I said. ‘That asshole pissed me off. I don’t wanna see him get any credit.’

‘You’d rather give it to Hargrove?’

‘In a heartbeat.’

‘OK, then,’ Jack said. ‘Keep me clued in.’

I agreed, although I didn’t know why. This part was really my problem. If Barney Irwin had tried to frame me for murder, I wanted his ass.

And I was gonna get it.

We got to my house before seven p.m. I pried my fingers from the dashboard, because Jerry had made it in record time.

When we got in the house Jerry said, ‘So where’s the note?’

‘It was in my windbreaker,’ I said. ‘The one I wore that day.’

He followed me to the hall closet, where I grabbed the windbreaker from a hanger. I went through the pockets, found a couple of business cards, a restaurant receipt, a book of matches, all the crap you stuff into your pockets.

No note.

‘It’s gotta be here,’ I said. I went through the pockets again.

‘You sure this is the jacket you wore when we searched his place?’ Jerry asked.

‘Positive.’

‘Well, I know you took it, because you showed it to me. So it’s gotta be here someplace.’

We started to search. Kitchen drawers and cabinets; bathroom waste basket and counter, behind the bowl, under the sink; hall and bedroom, closets; beneath the cushions of the living-room chairs and sofa.

‘Nothin’,’ I said, frustrated.

‘We looked everywhere, Mr G. How about your locker at the Sands?’

‘We can look, but I doubt it.’

‘Then let’s go.’

We left the house and went back out to the Caddy. It was getting dark and, suddenly, I got an idea.

‘You got your pen light on ya?’

‘Yep.’

‘Let me have it.’

He passed it over. I clicked it on, shined it on the front seat. I stuck my hand between the back rest and the cushion on the passenger side, and then on the driver’s side.

‘Bingo,’ I said, feeling something. I grabbed it between my index and middle finger and pulled. It was crumpled, but I smoothed it out and saw it was the piece of paper I’d found in Irwin’s desk.

‘There you go,’ I said. ‘Look.’ I handed it over.

‘Sinatra,’ Jerry said, ‘and Canoga Park.’

‘That can’t be a coincidence,’ I argued. ‘Also, Frankie said the kidnappers called each other by name. Joe. Barry. And John — or Johnny.’

‘What about November twenty-second?’ Jerry asked.

‘The day JFK was shot.’

‘You think this photographer was involved in the assassination?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I said, ‘I think he was either involved with or knew about the kidnapping.’

‘What about Keenan and Amsler?’

‘Could be last names to go with the first names we’ve got,’ I said.

‘So Barry Keenan or Barry Amsler? Or Joe Keenan, Joe Amsler? And what about the date?’

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Maybe that was the original planned date of the kidnapping.’

‘And when JFK got shot they called it off?’

I nodded.

‘So whataya wanna do with this, Mr G.? Give it to that Hargrove asshole?’

‘I’d rather give it to that asshole than Raggio. He’s a bigger asshole. But before we do, let’s see what Danny’s found out. I’ll call him to meet us.’

We went back inside.