You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Thirty

What do you think about hiring a PI?” I asked Jerry.

“For what?”

“To help find Danny.”

We were on Route 111, heading for 10. The ride back to L.A. gave us time to talk about the situation.

“You wanna hire a PI to find a PI?” Jerry asked. “That don’t seem outta line.”

“No?”

“Mr. G.,” he said, “you ain’t a PI, and I don’t know nothin’ about L.A. We need help.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

“But who you gonna get?”

“Well, if Penny was in Danny’s office we’d ask her who he uses here,” I said.

“I guess we shoulda looked while we was there.”

“Frank gave me a business card for Fred Otash.”

“Hey, I know that name.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of famous out here,” I said.

“No,” he said, “there’s a newspaper in the backseat. I took it from Miss. M.’s place.”

I reached back on the seat and brought it up front.

“There’s an ad in there, someplace.”

I started leafing through the pages and found what he was talking about.

The top line said: “It is important to choose your investigator with as much care as you choose your doctor or lawyer.”

“Do we want somebody that famous?” Jerry asked.

I closed the newspaper and tossed it back onto the rear seat.

“We don’t know who we’re dealin’ with, Jerry. Secret Service, FBI, Mafia-”

“You think Mr. Giancana is buggin’ Miss M.? Why?” he asked, quick to defend.

“My point is we don’t know, Jerry,” I said. “What we need is somebody who can find out, somebody connected, and if he happens to be famous I guess we’ll have to live with that.”

Jerry shrugged. “It’s up to you, Mr. G.,” he said. “I’m just here to back you up.”

“You do more than that, Jerry, believe me.”

He took a quick look away from the traffic and at me.

“Thanks, Mr. G.”

“Sure.”

We drove for a while, then stopped for gas again near West Covina because Jerry didn’t like to let the needle go below the halfway point. He said that was the way dirt got into the lines.

While we stood there waiting for the attendant to fill the tank I said, “Let’s go back to that motel first. Maybe we’ll find that clerk, or the maid, and learn something from them.”

“Fine with me,” Jerry said. “You find me that clerk and I’ll make him talk.”

“That I’d like to see, Jerry,” I said, “especially after that man looked right through me and lied about ever meeting me.”

“We’ll get the truth out of him, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “I guarantee it.”

I paid for the gas while Jerry got back in the car. When I turned to get in I saw something familiar. After I’d slammed the door Jerry said, “I saw it, too.”

“Blue Chrysler?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Looks like two men in the front seat. It’s been behind us since we got on this highway-what is it, 10?”

“They didn’t follow us from L.A.?”

“No.”

“Then how the hell did they get onto us comin’ back?”

“I don’t know,” Jerry said. “Maybe at Mr. S.’s?”

“Shit, I hope not,” I said. “That means we’ll have to go back and get Marilyn.”

“Mr. S. has construction guys, bodyguards, and George there all the time,” Jerry pointed out. “She’ll be safe.”

“Yeah, and so far all they’ve been doin’ is watchin’ her-whoever they are.”

“So what do we do?”

I looked at him and said, “Let’s find out who these bastards are.”