You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Forty-two

In the morning we had breakfast together and, before Jerry and I left, I called Fred Otash’s office. I had to remind his girl who I was before she’d put me through.

“Mr. Gianelli,” he answered without saying hello, “I tried to call you last night.”

“I’m in Palm Springs.”

“Miss Monroe?”

“Yes.”

“Is she all right?”

“For now. Why were you lookin’ for me? Any news?” I asked.

“No,” he said, “just checking in, as I said I would. I have a couple of leads I’m going to follow up today. Will you be in later?”

“Should be back in a couple of hours.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll call you then.”

I hung up, told Jerry it was time to leave.

“Hopefully,” I said to Marilyn, “you’ll be able to go home soon.”

“I trust you, Eddie,” she said, hugging me.

As we drove away I hoped that I would end up being worthy of that trust.

“You promised you’d do what?” Jerry asked.

“I told Marilyn I’d go and talk to Clark Gable’s widow to see if she blamed Marilyn for Gable’s death.”

“And you think this woman is gonna agree to talk to you?”

“I don’t know, Jerry,” I said. “But I won’t know until I ask. I hope she will.”

“Well, better you than me,” Jerry said.

“Yeah,” I said, “what if Marilyn had looked at you with those big, beautiful eyes and begged you to help her?”

“Like I said,” Jerry replied, “better you than me.”

When we got on Highway 111 Jerry asked, “Where did Clark Gable live?”

“Encino,” I said. “Marilyn gave me the address.”

“When are we goin’?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I told her I’d do it, I didn’t say when.”

As we got off 405 Jerry asked, “Where is Encino from here?”

“It’s north, past Mulholland Drive. When we get to Ventura Boulevard, we’ll be there. Probably won’t take as long as it did to get from here to Palm Springs.”

“We goin’ now?”

“I’m a little tired of drivin’, aren’t you?”

“This car?” Jerry said. “Hey, I could drive it all day.”

“Usually, I could, too,” I said, “but right now I’m hungry and Otash is gonna give us a call later.”

“There’s a deli,” Jerry said.

“A corned beef sandwich sounds good.”

Jerry pulled over and we went inside. By the time we left we had two bags with sandwiches, fries and some cans of soda and beer. Within ten minutes we were sitting at the table in Marilyn’s guesthouse.

“I wonder if anybody’s been around here while we were gone?” he said.

“That’d be hard to know unless we were Daniel Boone and could read the ground.”

“I was just wonderin’-I mean, if the main house is bugged.”

“Well, either they’d have microphones in the house and a tape recorder nearby or maybe they’d have to come in and collect tapes.”

“I could tell if someone jimmied a lock or a window,” Jerry said.

“Why don’t you take a look, then?” I suggested. “I’ll wait by the phone.”

“Want me to make some coffee first?”

“No,” I said. “I’ll have another cream soda.” The beer was in the fridge for later.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll get to it as soon as I finish my second sandwich. This ain’t New York deli, but it ain’t half bad.”

“No, it isn’t.”