You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Kills You (6 page)

“So you moved to Vegas,” Jerry said. “No crazy there, right?”

I bit into my pizza. “At least I’m not related to it.”

I
SPENT THE FIRST DAY
of the wake in front of Jerry’s TV.

After we finished most of the pizza and all of the beer he asked me what I wanted to do. I told him I didn’t want to hold him up, that if he had business he needed to take care of, go ahead.

“I got nothin’ doin’, Mr. G.,” he said. “I’m pretty much free and clear for a coupla days, at least.”

“Well, you don’t have to entertain me, Jerry.”

“You just lost yer mother, so I feel kinda, ya know, obligated ta at least sit with ya.”

“Well, that’s nice but—”

“I think I got a bottle of bourbon around here, someplace,” he said. “We could watch some TV.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said. “Sort of our own private wake right here—at least, for a while.”

So we drank bourbon—Jack Daniel’s—and watched television. I was having a much better time than I would have had at the funeral parlor, trying to defend my life to my family.

Next thing I knew it was morning, and I was sprawled on the couch. There was a pillow under my head, and a blanket
draped over me. I could smell coffee and bacon. I sat up, bumping into a coffee table that stood right in front of the sofa.

“You got time to jump inta the shower, Mr. G. I put fresh towels in there for ya. I’m makin’ omelets. Ya want toast with yours?”

God, he sounded perky—not a word I would have previously associated with Big Jerry. If I didn’t know better I’d think he was happy to have the company.

“Toast would be good,” I said. “I’ll be quick.”

I grabbed my toiletries from my bag and stumbled into the bathroom. It was small, stark, very white. It smelled as if it had recently been cleaned. In the shower I found a fresh bar of soap next to a bottle of shampoo. There was also a bottle of something that seemed to be for the treatment of thinning hair. Was Jerry concerned about a receding hairline?

Used the soap, my own shampoo, got dressed and shuffled to the kitchen with damp hair.

“Just in time,” Jerry said. He put a mug of coffee in front of me. No milk, no sugar, which meant he remembered how I took it. Food was always a main concern with Jerry, so he obviously had a good memory about it.

He put a plate on the table piled with a stack of white toast, and then set two plates of omelets down. I could see green peppers, onions and bacon in the eggs.

“You want hot sauce or somethin’?” he asked.

“No, this is great. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I don’t mind. I like cookin’. Ya probably wanna have a diner breakfast while you’re here, though, so we can do that tomorrow.”

As with the pizza I hadn’t been to a Brooklyn Greek diner in a long time. I hadn’t thought about it, but he was right. I would like a diner breakfast before I went back to Vegas. Who knew if I’d ever be back to Brooklyn after this? That depended on how I got along with my father, my brother and my sister. If things
went as badly as I expected them to, I knew I’d never be back, no matter what.

I added salt and pepper to my omelet, which Jerry didn’t seem to mind. He did the same with his. I buttered some toast to go with it.

“Hey, I forgot,” he said, getting up quickly. He came back with a pitcher of orange juice he’d obviously prepared earlier.

“Well,” I said, as he poured two glasses, “now it’s perfect. Thanks, Jerry.”

“Sure, Mr. G.”

“I guess I’m kind of surprised you didn’t make pancakes.”

“Pancakes is my thing,” he said. “You’re my guest.”

“You, uh, entertain often?”

“Naw,” he said, “never.”

He was a pretty good host for somebody who never had company.

After breakfast Jerry cleaned his kitchen while I went into the living room to watch some TV. When he was done he came in and sat with me.

“You goin’ to the wake today, Mr. G.?”

“I don’t know, Jerry,” I said. “I haven’t decided.”

“Whataya wanna do today, then?”

I had been thinking about that while I was watching television.

“I’ll tell you what I wanna do,” I said. “I wanna walk down to the bay, take a look at the boats, walk past Lundy’s and some of the other old hangouts, and end up at Randazzo’s for some clams for lunch. How’s that sound?”

“Didja bring a coat from Vegas?” Jerry asked. “It’s gonna be cold today.”

“I did remember that it was winter in New York, Jerry,” I said.

I
HADN’T REALLY PACKED
a coat, but I did bring some thermal underwear to go under the jacket I had brought, as well as a heavy sweatshirt. When I was properly layered I was ready to go. Jerry donned a long overcoat, and we left his place to walk the two blocks down to the bay.

The layering just barely worked, but I wasn’t about to complain to Jerry that I was cold. It was too early for Lundy’s to be open, but walking by the building did make me feel kind of nostalgic for my misspent youth.

We walked down by the water. Most of the boats had gone out already, and wouldn’t be back until dinnertime. My brother and I had worked on some of the boats for a few years. That was back when we were still kind of friendly, before he became a crazy clone of my father.

By lunchtime I was almost frozen, so the inside of Randazzo’s Clam Bar was a welcome relief. We split a huge order a
clams and washed it down with beer. Jerry asked me what was going on in Vegas.

“Seen much of Mr. S., or Dino lately? Or any of those guys?”

“As a matter of fact,” I said, “Frank, Dean and Sammy are in Vegas now, playin’ the Sands.” I told him about having dinner with them, and meeting Tony Curtis and Janet Leigh.

“She was in
Prince Valiant
, right?”

“That’s right.”

“She’s a real babe,” he said. “Ya know, them pointy tits.”

“I know, Jerry.”

“Any trouble with them guys?”

“No, but …”

“But what?”

I figured, what the hell? I was in Brooklyn and Marilyn was in L.A.

“Dean did ask me to see if I could help out a friend of his.”

“Who?”

“Marilyn Monroe.”

His jaw dropped—which wasn’t pretty, because he had a mouthful of clams.

“Yer shittin’ me!”

“No.”

“You met her?”

“I went to Tahoe—remember the Cal Neva Lodge in Tahoe? Well, she was stayin’ in one of those cabins.”

“You was in a cabin alone with her? Is she a nympho like they say? Did she jump ya?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jerry,” I said, “but she didn’t jump me. She’s more of a scared kid than a nympho.”

“What’s got her scared?”

“Well, for one thing, folks are sayin’ she caused the death of Clark Gable while they were makin’
The Misfits.”

“That’s crazy,” he said. “Gable was an old guy doin’ his own
stunts. I read about all that stuff. Sure, she kept ‘em waitin’ a lot in the desert—but how could that kill him? Don’t they have fancy, air-conditioned dressing rooms?”

“That’s just what I told her, Jerry.”

“Jeez, folks are mean, ya know?”

“Yeah, I do know.”

“So, whataya gonna do for her?”

“I don’t know, really. I’ve already spent time on the phone, kinda talkin’ her down. Right now I got Danny keepin’ an eye on her. She seems to think she was bein’ followed.”

“Lucky dog,” Jerry said. “I mean, followin’ behind Marilyn Monroe. Ya know, because of that ass—”

“I get it, Jerry,” I said. “I get it.”

We finished our clams and I paid the tab, then we walked back to Jerry’s place. I took off my jacket, but he left his coat on.

“Mr. G., I gotta go down the street and pick up my laundry, and then I gotta make another stop. Ya wanna come along?”

“No, Jerry, that’s okay,” I said. “I told you, I don’t wanna mess with your routine. Just go and do what you gotta do. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, Mr. G.” He headed for the door, then stopped. “I’ll be walkin’, so the car keys’ll be here in case ya wanna, you know, go somewheres.”

“Thanks, Jerry.”

He nodded and left. I turned the TV on and sat down to watch, but I wasn’t concentrating. I looked at my watch. If I drove over to the funeral home now I’d find everybody there. There’d be crying, and some laughing, funny stories to tell. Only when I walked in, it would all stop. They’d stare at me as I walked up to the coffin and looked down at my mother. Then there’d be some snide remarks, mostly behind my back, some to my face. My father probably wouldn’t even talk to me.

When the phone rang I jumped, then felt silly. I picked it up after the second ring. Probably for Jerry, anyway.

“Hello?”

“Eddie, is that you?”

“Penny? Yeah, it’s me. What’s wrong?”

“Maybe nothing, but …”

“Go ahead.”

“I haven’t heard from Danny,” she said. “I—I can’t get ahold of him.”

“Is he still in L.A.?”

“Supposed to be.”

“Was he stayin’ at a hotel?”

“He got a cheap motel room near where Marilyn lives,” she said. “I’ve been calling, but there’s no answer. I’ve left several messages.”

“All of this yesterday and today?”

“Yes. Eddie, I’m sorry to call you at a time like this. I mean, with your mother and all, but—”

“It’s okay, Penny,” I said. “Look, the funeral’s tomorrow. I’ll head back right after that. Don’t worry, I’ll find out what’s goin’ on.”

“I was probably silly to call you,” she said. “I could’ve just called a local PI out there, have them check—”

“Okay, do that,” I said, “but I’m still comin’ back. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, Eddie.”

She started to hang up and I said, “Penny, wait a minute?”

“I’m here.”

“Let me have the phone number of Danny’s motel,” I said. “I’ll keep tryin’ him there.”

“Good idea,” she said, and read it off to me.

“Thanks, Eddie,” she said. “I—I feel better after talking to you.”

I hung up, not knowing why she felt better. I really hadn’t told her anything that would make her less fearful. I knew Danny could take care of himself, but he usually checked in
with Penny when he was away. If anything had happened to him it would be my fault—only what could have happened? All he did was follow Marilyn home.

Unless … unless Marilyn was being followed, as she suspected, and Danny had run into whoever it was.

J
ERRY CAME BACK
a couple of hours later during a commercial for Chunky Chocolate Bars. I turned off the TV and told him about the phone call. I had to talk to somebody about it, and anyway, it was better than trying to make inane conversation in order to avoid talking about the funeral.

Jerry listened, nodding the whole time, not interrupting.

“She was gonna call a PI from L.A. to check it out?” he asked, when I was done.

“Yeah, that’s what she was thinking. But I’m thinking I’ll find him.”

“Then we will, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “We’ll find him.”

“You’re probably right,” I said, “but Danny … he’s …”

“I know,” Jerry said. “He’s your friend. You can worry, if ya want, but ya ain’t gonna know nothin’ for sure—at least, not until tomorrow.”

“With all the craziness in my family, Jerry, Danny’s like … the last family I have.”

“I know, Mr. G. I know.”

“But you’re right,” I said. “There’s nothing I can do now.”

“What about the funeral, Mr. G.?”

“Why do you keep askin’ me about it, Jerry?”

“Because I think you’re thinkin’ about not goin’.”

“So?”

“So you flew all this way. Yer gonna kick yourself if ya don’t go.”

He was right. I was thinking about not going at all, especially after the call about Danny. My return ticket was for Friday, I could change it to Thursday with no problem. But I could change it and still make my mother’s funeral.

“Listen, Mr. G.,” Jerry said, “I don’t like flyin’, but I do it a lot. Like when I fly out to Vegas when you call me. So I got a travel agent takes care of all that for me an’ I don’t gotta bother. I could call ‘im and—”

“Okay, go ahead,” I said. “Call him.”

“Whataya wanna do?”

“My mother’s funeral is tomorrow mornin’,” I said. “Change my flight to tomorrow afternoon. I’ll head back right after the funeral.”

“That’s good, Mr. G. Gimme your ticket.”

I got my ticket out of my jacket pocket and handed it over. He dialed the phone, then waited for it to be picked up.

“This is a good idea, Mr. G. Believe me, if ya didn’t go—hey, Artie? Jerry Epstein. I need a favor …”

As always, since I’d met him, Jerry proved he wasn’t as dumb as he liked people to think he was.

After he hung up he handed back my ticket.

“He’s makin’ the change. You can show that at the ticket desk and they’ll give ya a new one.”

“Thanks, Jerry.”

“I can drive ya to the funeral tomorrow, Mr. G., and then take ya right to La Guardia. Or …”

“Or what?”

He looked at the clock.

“I could drive ya over there tonight,” he said.

“Tonight?”

“I’ll even go in with ya,” he said. “How’s that?”

At first it sounded like my idea of hell, but then I thought about the look on my sister’s face when I walked in with Jerry.

“You know what?” I said. “Let’s do it. Maybe you don’t play host very often, but you make a damn good one.”

“Hey, I learned from you, Mr. G.,” he said with a smile. “You always show me a good time when I come to Vegas.”

Yeah, I thought, but at least I never had to kill anybody.

I
WAS THE CENTER
of attention as soon as I entered LaPolla’s Funeral Home on Rockaway Parkway in Canarsie. Of course, it helped that Jerry came in with me, wearing a houndstooth jacket, which he said was the closest thing he had to black.

Cousins shook my hand and asked how the hell I was.

My brother and brother-i n-law stayed on the other side of the room, glowering.

My sister had a tissue to her face, looked like she had just finished crying. When she saw me she started all over again.

“There’s a lot of people here,” Jerry said.