You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Thirty-eight

I signed Otash’s contract and agreed to his fee. I had no idea if he was giving us any kind of discount or not because of Dean, but he seemed expensive.

“All right, gentlemen,” he said, when Leona left with the signed document and I had a copy in my pocket. “Do you have any objection to my talking to Detective Stanze?”

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“No,” he said, “but I do know a few guys at the West Los Angeles Station.”

“Anyone with rank?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to thumb my nose at this detective,” I said.

“Leave it to me,” he said. “I can talk to him without damaging his ego. And believe me, he’d probably rather I do this than you flounder around on your own. No offense.”

“None taken,” Jerry said.

Otash looked at him. “That’s good, big guy,” he said. “I’d hate to offend you.” He looked at me, pushed a pad of lined paper my way. “I need the address of that motel, the name of the manager, the clerk, the address you had on the clerk … any place else you’ve already gone.”

“Okay.”

“Any objection to my talking with Miss Monroe?”

“No,” I said, “but I’ll have to set that up. She’s … delicate.”

“So I hear,” Otash said. “I’ve dealt with stars before, Mr. Gianelli. I know how to handle them.”

“That may be,” I said, “but I’ll still have to set it up. If you want to talk to her in person, I’ll have to be there.”

“That’s fine with me. Where is she now?”

Oh, yeah, I had left out that part. I hesitated.

“Is that something you don’t want to tell me?” he asked.

“Um, no,” I said. “She’s in Palm Springs, staying with … a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Okay, well I’ll start with the police, and then look into that motel. Oh, and would you write down there a complete description of your friend?”

“Sure.” I wrote down as complete a description as I could.

“Very good,” Otash said, accepting the pad back.

“If you gentlemen don’t mind I’d like to ask what Mr. Epstein’s interest in all this is?”

“He’s with me,” I said.

“Yes, but why?”

“I help Mr. G. when he needs help,” Jerry said.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Vegas,” Otash said.

“I’m from New York.”

“Brooklyn, if my ear is right.”

“That’s right.”

Otash looked at me. “Did you know each other when you lived in Brooklyn?”

“No,” I said, “we only met a couple of years ago, in Vegas.”

“I see.”

“My relationship with Jerry has no bearing on what we’re doin’ here, Mr. Otash,” I said. “He just volunteered to come here and help me.”

Otash nodded. “Very well then,” he said. “Where can I contact you?”

“We’re staying in Marilyn Monroe’s guesthouse,” I said. “I’ve written the number down there.”

“Excellent,” Otash said. “I’ll try to have something for you by the end of the day.”

“Thank you,” I said, standing up. Jerry did the same. We both shook hands with Otash again, and then he walked us to his door.

“Will you fellas be staying in, or … going sightseeing? Something?”

“We’re not interested in sightseeing,” I said, “but we might be in and out.”

“I see. Well, if I don’t get you the first time I’ll just try again.”

“That’d be good.”

We walked past the secretary, who didn’t pay any attention to us, and left.

“What’d you think?” I asked, when we got to the street.

“I don’t like him,” Jerry said. “He’s too slick.”

“Like an agent,” I said.

“Or a lawyer,” Jerry said. “He asks a lot of questions.”

“Part of his job.”

“Yeah, but why does it matter why I’m here?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He does seem to need a lot of information. Maybe he’s just bein’ thorough.”

“Yeah,” Jerry said, “maybe. So what do we do now?”

“You got any suggestions?”

“I do,” he said, “but you probably won’t like it.”

Since we’d only had toast and coffee for breakfast I thought I knew.

“Let’s go find some pancakes,” I said.

A big grin split Jerry face.

“There ya go, Mr. G.”