‘This is unreal,’ he said.
‘Yeah.’
We were still standing there when a bellman carrying a tray appeared at the door.
‘Mr Entratter?’
‘Just put it on the desk.’
The young man did so, then looked at the TV.
‘Anything new?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Jack told him, ‘they still don’t know his condition. Or they’re not sayin’.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Jack nodded and the young man left.
‘Why don’t we sit down?’ Jack suggested.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I said.
We went to his desk and sat. Entratter was a good host, poured coffee for both of us, removed the covering from the plate of pastries.
‘Is Joey still in town?’ I asked.
‘Actually,’ Entratter said, ‘he left this morning. He probably heard the news on the plane.’
‘That’ll be a somber flight.’
‘Maybe we should call Frank?’ I asked. ‘See how he’s doing?’
‘No,’ Entratter said. ‘Let’s wait and see what else we can learn before we do that. He’s probably making a lot of calls of his own. He’s a lot more personally — ’ he groped for the word, finally came up with it — ‘invested in this than we are.’
‘I guess you’re right.’
‘So,’ Jack said, picking up his coffee.
‘So,’ I said, grabbing a pastry.
At 1.33 CST time — an hour and three minutes after he was shot — President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was pronounced dead at Parkland Hospital, in Dallas, Texas.
EIGHTEEN
After Kennedy was pronounced dead we graduated from coffee to bourbon. Jack and I had our own private wake for a while, and then his phone began to ring.
‘Not now,’ he said into the phone half a dozen times before he finally covered the mouthpiece and said, ‘I better take this one.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, getting up, ‘I’ve got things to do.’ I staggered a moment before righting myself.
‘You OK?’
‘Yeah, Jack, I’m OK.’
‘You wanna go home or work?’ he asked, and then didn’t wait for me to respond. ‘It’s up to you.’
He waved and went back to his call. I returned the wave and left his office.
When I got back to the lobby little had changed, except the pace. There were still people there, crying, slack-faced, but they were moving much slower. Some of them even seemed to be sleepwalking.
The casino floor was much the same. Even where people were gambling they were doing it — both the gamblers and the dealers — with little interest. I wasn’t needed there. As I was trying to make up my mind what to do I saw Jerry’s cousin, Billy, shooting craps. He towered over the table, throwing the dice with enthusiasm. He either hadn’t heard about the assassination, or he didn’t care.
My face felt tight, my eyes gritty, and suddenly I had to get off the casino floor. I went to a house phone and called Jerry’s room.
‘What’re you doin’?’ I asked.
‘Just hangin’ around,’ he said. ‘Watchin’ the reports on TV. You wanna come up?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I’ll be right there.’
Jerry had left the door ajar, so I knocked and walked in. He was sitting on the large sofa, in front of the color TV.
‘I thought you didn’t have a suite?’ I asked, looking around.
‘So did I,’ he said. ‘Billy was all excited, said a bellhop came up, told him we had to move, so he followed the guy here. I thought you arranged it.’
‘Not me,’ I said. ‘It must’ve been Jack.’
‘Well, I didn’t have the heart to drag Billy outta here,’ Jerry said. ‘He thought I pulled some strings, and was real impressed.’
I walked over, stood next to the sofa and looked at the TV.
‘Anything new?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘the Governor of Texas was in the car. He got shot, but he’s alive.’
‘Is he going to stay that way?’
‘Don’t know, yet.’
I looked over at the bar.
‘You want a drink?’ I asked.
‘I’ll take a beer.’
‘Any in the frig?’
‘I ain’t looked.’
I checked, got him a can of Piels. I briefly considered some more bourbon, but in the end took a can of beer for myself, too.
I joined him on the leather sofa and handed him a can.
‘Some shit, huh?’ he asked, indicating the TV.
‘Yeah.’
‘He was a good man,’ Jerry said. ‘A good president.’
I didn’t respond. I knew more about Kennedy the ladies’ man than I did about Kennedy the politician. But I didn’t think he handled the Bay of Pigs or the Cuban Missile Crisis the way an American president should have. The former turned out to be a fiasco, and he gave up too much in the latter. But of course we didn’t learn all the details until years later.
‘You don’t think so?’ Jerry asked.
‘I’ve met him a time or two,’ I said. ‘He seemed like a good guy.’
‘Mr S. thinks he’s a fucking great president.’
‘Yeah, I know he does.’
I could feel Jerry looking at me, but I kept my eyes on the TV. I didn’t want to start talking politics with him. It wasn’t something we had ever done before. And I wouldn’t have been able to explain why I wasn’t feeling much of what everyone else seemed to be feeling. Maybe I was in shock.
We ended up sitting there, staring at the TV, drinking beer, and before long we got around to business.
NINETEEN
‘So what are we gonna do?’ he asked.
I considered the question, coming as it did about three hours after JFK had been shot. Was that all the President of the United States was worth, three hours of our time? The truth was the nation would be mourning for weeks, maybe months. Even though the nation itself got back to business when Lyndon Baines Johnson had to be sworn in as the President of the United States aboard Air Force One at Love Field Airport, only two hours and eight minutes after JFK’s death.
‘I’m gonna call Danny, see if he’s come up with someplace quiet for us to take Irwin, so we can talk to him properly.’
‘Yeah, but first we got to get him to meet us,’ Jerry said. ‘Where’s that gonna be?’
‘I’m thinking one of those strip clubs on either side of his house.’
‘Don’t you think that’ll be suspicious?’ Jerry asked. ‘He won’t think that’s a coincidence, us wanting to meet him right near his house?’
‘I expect he already knows we were in his house, don’t you?’
‘Well, yeah,’ Jerry said, ‘once he sees those photos missin’ he’s gonna think of you right away.’
‘So I might as well call him and see where we can set up a meet,’ I said.
‘If he still wants to do it.’
‘He’s going to be pissed,’ I said, ‘but he’s also gonna want his ten grand. I’ll give him a call at his studio.’
I walked to the phone. Jerry got up and lowered the volume on the TV.
The phone in the studio rang almost eight times. I started to think maybe Irwin was home watching television like everybody else, but right at the start of that eighth ring he picked up.
‘Irwin Studios.’
‘It’s Eddie Gianelli, Barney,’ I said.
‘You sonofabitch!’ he spat. ‘You robbed my house.’
I could have pointed out that we didn’t steal his house, we simply broke into it, but decided he was already pissed off enough.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I know it was you who swiped my pictures. I want ’em back!’
‘We made a deal for the Abby Dalton photos, Barney,’ I said. ‘That’s what I’m calling about. If you lost some others I don’t know anything about it.’
‘I didn’t lose nothin’,’ he said. ‘You stole ’em.’
‘Do you want your ten grand or not?’
There was a moment of silence and then he said grudgingly, ‘Yeah, I want the money.’
‘All right, so let’s meet.’
‘Where?’
‘Not Clipper’s.’
‘Well, I ain’t lettin’ you pick the place,’ Irwin said.
‘You been watching the TV, Barney? Anyplace we go is gonna be in an uproar. We need someplace quiet.’