You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Thirty-three

We went down to a holding cell where they had Jerry, who was sitting on a bunk, looking very calm. Outside the cell was the uniformed turnkey and another uniformed cop.

“Open it,” Stanze told the turnkey.

“Yes, sir.”

He opened the cell door, then backed away. Stanze entered and I followed.

“Mr. Epstein,” Stanze said, “my name is Detective Stanze.”

Jerry looked up at him.

“Mr. Gianelli has explained to me that you didn’t know the two men were cops when you pointed your gun at them. Is that correct?”

I had no idea what I’d done but apparently I’d earned back my “mister.”

“He’s right.”

“I need to see your pistol permit.”

“It’s with my stuff,” Jerry said, “which they took away from me.”

Detective Stanze turned to the cop standing outside the cell.

“Get me his things.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked at Jerry. “Is there any point in me asking you the same questions I asked Mr. Gianelli?”

“Whatever Mr. G. said, I agree with.”

“That’s what I thought. What do you do in Brooklyn, Mr. Epstein?”

“This and that.”

Stanze looked at me. “Why is it every time I ask one of these guys what they do they say ‘this and that,’” he asked me.

“What guys are those?”

“One of these torpedoes,” Stanze said, “or hard guys, or whatever they call themselves these days. Gunsel. Wiseguys. Isn’t that what they call them back east?”

“I ain’t a wiseguy,” Jerry said, “and I’m nobody’s torpedo.”

“Oh, sensitive, huh?”

The cops returned with an envelope holding Jerry’s things. There was a table in the cell, so Stanze emptied the envelope onto it. Wallet, some change, a key ring with three keys. No gun. Jerry had not been dumb enough to carry it into the police station.

Stanze picked up the wallet. He went through it, found the permit and studied it.

“You know this is no good in the state of California,” he said.

“I know.”

“And yet you were carrying a gun.”

“I was gonna come in and register it,” Jerry said, “but I got busy.”

“Uh-huh. With Marilyn Monroe?”

“I’m just helpin’ Miss M.”

“Do what?”

“Stay safe.”

“Why did you point your gun at those two Palm Springs cops-after they identified themselves?”

“They was bein’ assholes.”

“They could have taken you in, you know.”

“They was out of their jurisdiction.”

“Oh, you know the law?”

“Some.”

“Well, I’m not out of my jurisdiction.”

“I ain’t carrin’ it now.”

“But you were, earlier today. You admitted it.”

“I’d be stupid to deny it,” Jerry said, “with them two Palm Springs dicks tellin’ you I pointed it at them.”

“For being assholes.”

“Yup.”

Stanze looked at me.

“They were,” I said. “I was there.”

Stanze put the wallet back on the table. He didn’t put the items back into the envelope. I took that as a good sign.

“What have you done about finding Danny Bardini?” I asked. “Have you been back to that motel?”

“I talked to the owner,” he answered. “He says he checked the records. There’s no sign of anyone by that name signing in.”

“Somebody could’ve erased it,” I said. “Did you check the airport?”

“Yes, your friend did fly into L.A. on the same flight with Miss Monroe. That’s the reason I believe you, that and I’m sure that clerk I talked to was lying through his teeth.”

“Is he still around?”

“He is. I saw him there earlier, when I talked to the owner.”

“He’d be silly to run,” Jerry said. “That’d prove he was a liar.”

“Very good, gunsel,” Stanze said.

Jerry took the name-calling impassively. The only one he really didn’t like was “torpedo.”

“Okay,” Stanze said, “pick up your stuff and go.”

Jerry collected his belongings and pocketed them.

“You never answered my question,” I said.

“What question was that?”

“Were you havin’ us followed until we left L.A.? And did your guys lose us?”

“If I was having you followed it was for your own protection.”

“That’s what the Palm Springs dicks said,” Jerry said.

“You fellas going to be at Miss Monroe’s house, even though she’s not there? I mean, if I want to reach you again?”

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” I said. “She gave me a key. We got permission.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “If I find out anything about your friend, I’ll call you there.”

“Thanks.”

He walked us out of the cell block and upstairs to the main floor. Before I could leave he grabbed my arm.

“You did drop Miss Monroe off at Frank Sinatra’s, right?”

“Why would I have done that, Detective?” I asked. “Didn’t you hear? They broke up.”