You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Sixty-five

Stanze finally let me take Marilyn back to the main house.

“Eddie,” she said, when we got inside, “it’s going to be in the newspapers that I killed a guy.”

“No,” I said, “it’s gonna be in the paper that I killed two men in your guesthouse … in self-defense.”

“B-but, you can’t take the blame for something I did,” she said.

“Sure I can,” I said. “Nobody cares about me. This will all be in the papers because it’s your house, but it’ll soon become old news. The other way, if we tell them you killed one, it’ll be in the news forever.”

“But I’ll always know,” she said. “It was terrible. I can still hear the sound and see all that blood-”

“Marilyn, those guys were gonna kill me,” I said, “and if they found you in the house, they might’ve killed you, too. I told you before. You saved our lives.”

“Okay,” she said, “okay, Eddie. I think I’m going to go to my room and lie down.”

“That’s a good idea.”

As she left the room somebody knocked on the front door. I went and let Otash in.

“How is she?”

“Shaken up,” I said. “She went to lay down.”

“You’re taking a chance, you know, taking all the blame,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Looks pretty cut-and-dried to me. They were gonna kill me, for sure, and who knows what they would’ve done to her if they’d found her there.”

“I agree.”

“You can feel pretty safe though,” I said.

“How’s that?”

“They said you were too high-profile to kill.”

“I’ll try not to let that go to my head. So, let’s see where we stand now?”

“I killed the only two men who might’ve told us what they did with Danny, that’s where we stand-officially.”

“There’s still the Lavender and the guy who manages it,” Otash said. “We could sweat him.”

“I don’t think we have time for that, Fred. After all this if Danny’s still alive they might decide to get rid of him.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I’ve got a phone number,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s still good, but I can try it.”

“And who would be at the other end of that number?”

“Well,” I said, “last year it was Joseph Kennedy, but I actually got a call back from JFK.”

“The president?”

“That’s the only JFK I know of,” I said.

“And these are the sort of contacts you make as a pit boss in Vegas? Who else, besides show business people and politicians?”

“Those are pretty much my specialty.”

I took out my wallet and extracted a slip of paper with a phone number on it that had been there for months.

Otash lowered his voice and asked, “You sure you want to make that call from here?”

He was referring to the fact that I felt sure the house was bugged.

“Oh, yes,” I said, “I want everybody involved to know about this phone call.”

I dialed and was pleased to hear it ring. I waited for someone to answer.

Otash and I played gin for more than two hours before the phone rang.

I had just checked on Marilyn, found her asleep in her bed, lying atop the comforter. Next to her, on the night table, were some pill bottles, all with the caps on tight. I looked at the labels, recognized a couple that were for sleeping, and then I saw Nembutal and chloral hydrate. There was no water or any liquid on the table, no glass, but she could have gone into the bathroom and taken them there. The bottles, however, all had a healthy amount of pills inside.

At that moment she opened her eyes and smiled when she saw me. Her eyes were sleepy, but clear. “Is everything all right, Eddie?”

“Sure, kid, everything’s fine,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”

She closed her eyes and seemed to fall back to sleep in seconds. I had the feeling she was exhausted, and that being home was going to be good for her after all.

I leaned in close to her. She smelled wonderful and I could see the pulse beneath the pale flesh of her throat beating strongly. Everything I saw led me to believe she was sleeping peacefully.

“How is she?” Otash asked when I came out.

“Sleeping,” I said. “She’s got a lot of pills on her night table, but I don’t think she took any.”

“She breathing okay?”

“Fine,” I said.

“I mean, I’ve heard stories-”

“She’s fine, Fred.”

I didn’t bother telling him what pills were on her table, but I vowed to look into it myself later on.

So we went on playing gin after I checked on Marilyn and when the phone rang we both jumped.

“Jesus,” he said.

We stared at the phone as it rang a second time.

“That could be the president,” he said.

“Could be.”

“Of the United States.”

I snatched it up so it wouldn’t ring a third time and maybe wake Marilyn.

“Hello?”

“Eddie?”

“That’s right.” I recognized the broad Massachusetts accent.

“Eddie, I know you wanted to speak to Jack, but he’s unavailable. Will I do?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, realizing I was talking to Bobby, “the attorney general will do just fine.”