Authors: Robert Randisi

I'm a Fool to Kill You (10 page)

BOOK: I'm a Fool to Kill You

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âCome on in, Jerry. It's good to see you, big guy.'

âGood to see you, too, Mr G.,' he said, pumping my hand. âI was surprised when Mr S. said I had to come out to L.A. I thought you'd had enough of this place since Miss Monroe died.'

âYeah, I did,' I said, âbut something came up. Did Frank tell you what's going on?'

âNope. Just told me to get here. Said you was staying here with some broad named Lucy Johnson.'

âWell, Jerry,' I said, walking him to the table where Ava was sitting in her silk robe, âmeet Lucy Johnson.'

âPleased ta meet ya, Miss Johnson. Jeez, you sure look a lot like that broad who was in that movie â the one in the jungle with Clark Gable?'

â
Mogambo
,' I said.

âYeah, right,' Jerry said. âThat's it. Ya look likeÂ .Â .Â . Ava Gardner!'

âReally?' Ava asked, playfully. âDon't you think I'm prettier than her?'

âUh, wellÂ .Â .Â .' Jerry looked at me for help. He wasn't very good talking to women, unless they were waitresses or whores. â.Â .Â .Â sure, sure, you areÂ .Â .Â . Mr G.?'

âJerry,' I said, âthis is Ava Gardner.'

Jerry gaped at me, then at her.

âYou was playin' games with me,' he said to her, finally.

âYes, I was,' she said, âand I'm sorry, Jerry.' She stood up and Jerry averted his eyes because the flimsy robe was clinging to her. âEddie, I'll go get dressed and you can talk to Jerry.'

âOK, Ava.'

We both watched her walk to the bedroom door, closing it behind her.

âJesus, Mr G.,' Jerry said, âare you nuts? You shackin' up with Mr S.'s wife?'

âEx-wife,' I said, âand it's not what you think. Frank sent me here. Frank sent me to help Ava. She's in some kind of trouble.'

âMr S. knows you're here with her?'

âWell, he sent you here, didn't he?'

âUh, yeah, I guess he did.'

âSit down, Jerry,' I said. âLet me fill you inÂ .Â .Â .'

TWENTY-SIX

I
f I'd had my pick of somebody to watch over Ava I would have picked Jerry Epstein, my big leg-breaker buddy from Brooklyn. He'd had my back in most of the things I've done for Frank, Dean and Sammy. It just didn't occur to me to call him out to L.A. for this. I was glad Frank had thought of it. At least now I knew Ava would be safe when I went to the studio.

âSo, jeez, she can't remember forty hours?' Jerry said when I was done.

âIt might come back to her,' I said, âbut meanwhile I'd like to find out what happened during that time. She's afraid she might have hurt somebody.'

âOr killed 'em?'

âYeah, that, too.'

âSo whataya want me to do, Mr G.?'

âStay with Ava, keep her safe.'

âFrom who?'

âFrom anybody,' I said. âI don't want anyone in here, Jerry. Not even hotel personnel.' I added to what I had already told him that I didn't think we could trust the manager or the desk clerk.

âOne of them gave me up,' I said, âand the cab driver caught my beatin'.'

âSo nobody in?' he asked. âAnd nobody out?'

âOut? Ava won't go out. You don't have to worry about that.'

âCan Iâ' he started, then stopped.

âWhat?'

âCan I order something from room service?' he asked. âI'm pretty hungry.'

âSure, Jerry,' I said. âOrder anything you want. All the pancakes you want.'

âThanks, Mr G. Food any good here?'

âNot great, but I've only tried the steak and hamburger platter.'

âOK, then,' he said. âI'll get some pancakes, maybe some bacon. And coffee. Think Miss Gardner would want anything?'

âAsk her,' I said.

âI canÂ .Â .Â . talk to her?'

âSure, Jerry,' I said. âShe talks.'

âMr G., this ain't gonna be like Miss Monroe, is it?' he asked.

âWhat do you mean?'

âYou know, how she got to be likeÂ .Â .Â . a sister? You pretty much ruined her for me, ya know?'

âThat's not gonna be a problem this time, Jerry,' I said. âTrust me. Ava Gardner's not your little sister.'

âGood,' he said.

âWhat's going on?' Ava asked, coming out of the bedroom. She was wearing a tight skirt and a chunky sweater. The combination sort of said âlook, but don't look'.

âAva, Jerry's gonna stay with you. You can trust him like you'd trust me.'

âI just met you yesterday, Eddie,' she reminded me.

âI know,' I said, âbut Frank vouched for me, and I vouch for Jerry. He's got a big appetite, though. You gotta feed him to keep him happy.'

âHe looks like he'd take some feeding.'

âJust a couple of dozen pancakes,' I said.

âAre you kidding?'

âWatch him,' I said. âMeanwhile, I'm gonna go over to the studio and find out if anyone's lookin' for you.'

âAnd if they're not?'

âThat'll be good news.'

âWill it?' she asked.

âIt's always good news if the cops ain't lookin' for ya, Miss Gardner.'

âJust call me Ava, Jerry,' she said.

Jerry looked away and said, âI can't do that, Miss Gardner. Mr G.'ll tell ya that.'

âMr G?' Ava said, looking at me. âIs he for fuckin' real?'

âCan't get him to call me Eddie,' I said. âBeen trying for a couple of years. Yep, Jerry's for real. What you see is what you get, pretty much.'

âOK,' she said, âthen call me Miss G.Â .Â .Â . no, you call Eddie Mr G.. It would get confusing. Call meÂ .Â .Â . Miss Ava. OK, Jerry?'

âI could do that, Miss Gar â Miss Ava.' He smiled like a lovesick kid.

A big kid.

Jerry walked me out to Larry's cab. I had Ava's bloody clothes wrapped in the towel under my arm.

âNot as good as your Caddy, Mr G,' Jerry said, looking disappointed.

âNo, but it'll get me where I want to go. I'll give it back to Larry when he gets out.'

âWhen'll that be?'

âProbably a week or so. But I'll probably give it back to him sooner. I want to get Ava to Vegas.'

âGonna fly?'

âI don't know,' I said. âMaybe we'll rent a car and drive.'

âI liked that drive last time,' he said.

âYup, but that was in the Caddy,' I reminded him.

I opened the door to the cab to get in.

âCan I ask ya a question, Mr G.?'

âSure, Jerry.'

âYou said the cabbie got beat up because he picked up a call for you?'

âRight.'

âWell, somebody musta been watchin', and heard him pick up the call, figured he was you, right? Which meant they was lookin' for ya?'

âRight.'

âSo how'd they know you was here?' Jerry asked.

âI'm figuring either the desk clerk or manager gave me up.'

âSo you told them your name when you got here?'

I thought for a moment, then looked at him and said, âJerry, did you know you're a genius?'

âI ain't no genius, Mr G.,' he said. âI just sometimes know what questions ta ask.'

TWENTY-SEVEN

J
ust like in the movies I had to drive through a big front gate with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer above it, which meant I had to talk to a portly uniformed guard. Before going there, though, I had found an out of the way garbage dumpster to stash the towel and clothes. There was no reason anyone would look for it there, and if anyone found it they couldn't connect it to Ava.

âWho you here to see?' the guard asked.

âLouis B. Mayer,' I said, even though I knew he had died in 1957.

âSorry, you're out of luck,' the man said. âHe's dead.'

âSo who's in charge?'

The guard must have been having a bad day â or week, or life â because he was ready to bitch to anyone who'd listen.

âYou know, that's a good question,' he said. âRight now this place has got a lot of Indians and no Chief, if you know what I mean.'

âHard times?' I asked.

âHard? There are more cartoons and TV shows comin' out of here than movies,' the guard said. âMGM ain't what it used to be, pal.'

âWell, I need to talk to somebody about Ava Gardner.'

âWhat about Miss Gardner?'

âFrank Sinatra sent me to talk to somebody about Ava Gardner.'

The man stared at me for a minute, then asked, âYou serious?'

âI am.'

He stared some more. âWait here.'

âSure.'

He stepped into his booth and made a phone call. Then leaned out the booth.

âHey, what's your name?'

âEddie Gianelli, from Las Vegas.'

âWhere in Vegas?'

âThe Sands.'

He went back inside, spoke into the phone some more, listened, then hung up and came back out.

âPull inside and park there,' he said, pointing to some parking spots.

âOK.'

âSomebody'll be along to take you inside.'

âThanks.'

He gave me a short salute, prepared to turn his attention to the next car.

I pulled into one of the parking spots he'd pointed to and waited. Lots of MGM's talent spent time in Las Vegas. I wondered if I'd see anybody I knew?

I had my head back and my eyes closed when somebody knocked on the window. I looked up at a grim, striking face dominated by nose and chin. I opened the door and stepped out.

âWhat the hell,' George C. Scott said, âI thought that was you, Eddie.'

âGeorge,' I said, grabbing his hand. Scott had been to the Sands more than once, and we usually took good care of him. âHow are ya?'

âNot bad. What are you doin' here?'

I shrugged.

âGotta see a man about a debt.' It was a good enough story. âHow about you. New movie?'

âTV,' he said, a little sheepishly.

âYou're kiddin'.'

âI know,' he said. âA show called
East Side, West Side
. What are you gonna do? Everybody needs work, right? At least I get to work with a babe. She's a tall drink of water named Barbara Feldon.'

âThe one that does the commercial in the tiger suit?'

âThe same.'

âYeah, not a bad gig, I guess.'

âAh,' Scott said, âit won't last, but it'll keep me busy for a year or so. MGM ain't what it used to be.'

âSo I heard.'

âAre you Mr Gianelli?' a voice asked.

I looked at a man with a pencil thin mustache, black hair that came to a widow's peak, and piercing blue eyes. His mouth was a thin, straight line. I rolled the window down.

âThat's right.'

âWhat are you doing driving a cab?'

âTryin' to make some extra money?' I asked. He didn't enjoy the joke. âI borrowed it. I needed a set of wheels.'

âI gotta go, Eddie,' Scott said. âNice seein' you.'

We shook hands and he moved off. The other man didn't seem impressed. Then again, he worked there.

âYou got some I.D.?'

I gave him my driver's license. He looked at it then gave it back.

âOK,' he said, âcome with me.'

I rolled the window back up, got out and closed the door behind me.

âWhat's your name?' I asked.

âVargas,' he said.

âWhat do you do, Mr Vargas?'

âI talk to strangers who want to talk to the man in charge,' he said. âOnce you talk to me, I'll decide if you get to talk to him.'

I thought that over and then said, âThat sounds fair.'

âI'm glad,' he said. âFollow me.'

TWENTY-EIGHT

W
e walked across the parking lot to a two-story building with lots of doors in it. Apparently, it had been broken up into many small office spaces.

âThis is where all the writers used to work when we had them under contract,' he told me. âWilliam Faulkner wrote in here.'

He opened a door and we stepped into a small office sparely furnished with a desk, two chairs and a file cabinet.

âYou mentioned some big names to the guard,' Vargas said, seating himself behind the desk. âWhy should we believe that you have any connection to Frank Sinatra or Ava Gardner?'

âCome on, Mr Vargas,' I said. âI had time to take a little nap in the cab. That means you spent that time checking me out.'

Vargas stared at me.

âLook, I know things are in an upheaval around here, and I'm not lookin' to take up your time. I just need to ask somebody a question.'

âWhat kind of question?'

âAbout Ava Gardner.'

âWe haven't had anything to do with her since nineteen sixty.'

âBut there are people who don't know that,' I said. âIf somebody was interested in talking to her they'd most likely come here.'

âWhat's your question, Mr Gianelli?' he asked.

I was thinking the only reason I hadn't been kicked out was because Vargas had probably talked to Jack Entratter at the Sands. Also, Vargas knew who owned the Sands. He wasn't exactly being polite to me, but he was giving me more time than he normally would have.

âHas anyone been askin' about Ava Gardner lately?' I asked.

âAsking about herÂ .Â .Â . how?'

BOOK: I'm a Fool to Kill You

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