‘How do they look for Wayne?’
‘They have alibis,’ Hargrove said, ‘but we’re still checking those out.’
‘How come you never asked me for my alibi?’
‘Because I knew you’d have one. Probably unbreakable. That wouldn’t mean you didn’t do it.’
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That’s quite an attitude for a detective to take. That could apply to anyone.’
‘Not everyone has your friends, Eddie. For instance, you got a hotshot lawyer outside, makin’ all kinds of noise about wanting me to let you go.’
‘Mickey Rudin.’
‘Yeah, Sinatra’s mouthpiece, right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘That means you ain’t gonna call your buddies, the Kennedys, to get you out this time?’
That had happened some time ago, and it obviously still stuck in his craw.
‘No,’ I said, ‘it means you’re gonna bust my balls for a while and then let me go.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Which one? Bust my balls, or let me go?’
‘Both,’ Hargrove said, ‘in any order you like.’
‘Well, you’ll bust my balls because you’re a sonofabitch, but you’ll let me go because you’re a good detective.’
He seemed to be surprised by one of those statements.
‘Eddie, Eddie. .’
‘I didn’t kill Wayne Whatsisname, Detective,’ I said, ‘and neither did Jerry. Let me out of here and I’ll prove it.’
‘Now you’re a detective?’
‘You’re the detective,’ I said. ‘Let’s just call me the assistant detective.’
He studied me for a moment.
‘Whataya say?’
SIXTY-THREE
Forty-eight hours.
That’s what Hargrove gave me. When they were gone he said he’d be bringing me and Jerry in for some line-ups.
I rode back to the Sands with Mickey Rudin in a car Jack Entratter had sent.
‘Thanks for comin’ along, Mr Rudin,’ I said.
‘Mickey, please,’ Rudin said. ‘I don’t think Detective Hargrove will be bothering you anymore, Eddie. If he does, just give me a call.’
I studied Rudin’s profile, because he didn’t look at me when he spoke. I was sure he thought his presence had gotten me sprung, but the fact was I had gotten myself out. Since Frank was nice enough to send his lawyer with me, though, I didn’t do anything to disappoint him.
When we got to the Sands I took Mickey to the front desk to get him the key to his suite. He went upstairs to freshen up, once more assuring me that he was at my disposal.
When he was gone I called Jerry’s room. I had lied to Hargrove. Jerry was on Frank’s plane, but when he saw the uniformed cops coming, he chose to stay behind until they left — with me in tow.
‘Hey, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘That was fast.’
‘Believe it or not, Hargrove was reasonable,’ I said.
‘What did you promise him?’
‘The killer of good ol’ Wayne.’
‘How we gonna find that out?’
‘You and me,’ I said, ‘are gonna find Barney Irwin.’
‘How?’
‘This is my town, Jerry,’ I said. ‘I’m gonna pull out all the stops.’
‘This I gotta see, Mr G.’
‘Well, meet me in the lobby,’ I said, ‘and be ready to drive.’
My contacts in town were extensive.
Before JFK’s death I had put the word out to some of my people, but I’d never really had a chance to cash in. The assassination had taken up most of their time and attention.
This time around, I was gonna hit everybody, and stay on their asses.
We made the rounds on the strip of valets, car hops, bellmen and doormen and waitresses, not to mention the maitre d’s.
After that I directed Jerry to drive off the strip. Every few blocks I had him pull over so I could talk to a vendor, a street performer, a cabbie, a truck driver. I had him wait outside buildings while I talked to reporters, photographers, doormen, security guards, reporters; people I knew had their own ears on the streets.
‘Now what?’ he asked, when I hopped back into the car after talking to a waitress at a downtown restaurant.
‘Now we’re really gonna get down and dirty,’ I said. ‘Drive.’
I directed him to a part of town he felt very comfortable in.
‘Now these are my people,’ he said, looking at the hookers and stoners.
‘Down boy,’ I said. ‘You’re a lot better than this.’
‘Thanks, Mr G.,’ he said, ‘but sometimes I ain’t so sure.’
I directed him down a side street and immediately a couple of girls approached the car, one on each side.
‘Wow,’ one girl said to him, ‘you’re a big one.’ She was a blowsy blonde with big breasts squeezed into a top two sizes too small.
‘Call off your friend, Darla,’ I said to the skinnier brunette on my side.
‘Back off, Candy,’ Darla said. ‘Eddie here is a friend of mine, not a client.’
‘What about you, sugar?’ Candy said to Jerry. ‘Wanna do some business?’
‘Not right now, thanks, baby,’ he said. As tongue tied as Jerry was around Ava Gardner and Abby Dalton, he knew how to talk to hookers. ‘Maybe some other time.’
‘What’s on your mind, Eddie?’ Darla asked.
‘I’m lookin’ for a guy who’s probably hidin’ out,’ I said. ‘A photographer named Barney Irwin.’
‘I know Barney,’ she said. ‘He’s a sleazeball, always tryin’ to get me to strip for his camera.’
‘He hasn’t succeeded?’
‘I don’t do nothin’ for nothin’, Eddie, you know that.’
‘I do know that.’ I handed her a twenty. ‘Keep an eye out, put the word out. A C-note for anybody who finds him and lets me know.’
‘You got it, handsome.’
The double sawbuck disappeared into her bra.
‘Bye, sweetie,’ Darla said to Jerry.
‘So long.’
‘Your friend knows where to find my friend, if you get the time,’ she said.
‘I’ll remember.’
Jerry put the car in drive and I directed him up a few more blocks.
‘Pull over here.’
He pulled to the curb and stopped.
‘What’s here?’
‘Wait for it.’
We waited a few minutes and then a guy came staggering down the street. When he got to the car he sort of lurched, bounced off the hood and ended up by my door.
‘Hey, Eddie.’
‘Dewey.’
‘You’re not lookin’ ta score, so what’s up?’
I told him what I told Darla. He didn’t know Irwin, but took his description and promised to be on the lookout, and pass the word. After that he staggered off.
‘I hate stoners,’ Jerry said.
‘He’s not a stoner,’ I said. ‘He’s a dealer. Never uses his own stuff, just acts like it.’
‘Don’t like dealers, either.’
‘Well, you don’t have to deal with him, I do.’
‘Where to?’ Jerry asked. ‘Time to eat?’
‘Yeah, but not around here. Drive. I’ll tell you where.’
SIXTY-FOUR
I asked Jerry if he wanted hot dogs but he said not unless they were from Nathan’s of Nedicks. We settled on burgers and I directed him to a small burger shack I’d never taken him to before.
‘For a guy who’ll eat anythin’ you’re a real hot dog snob,’ I said to him when we sat down at an outdoor table with baskets of burgers and fries.
‘Ain’t my fault,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘Stuff in Brooklyn is real good. Come on, Mr G. Pizza? You got good pizza out here?’
I had to admit, Brooklyn pizza was still the best I’d ever had.
‘We gonna call the dick today?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘right after this. He doesn’t have as many ears on the street as I do, but he’s got a network.’
‘You know a helluva lot of people, Mr G.,’ Jerry said. ‘This photographer ain’t got a chance of stayin’ hid — unless he left town.’
‘Even then we might be able to find out where he went.’
‘What about hired help?’ Jerry asked. ‘If he hired them two jamokes at the warehouse he could hire some more.’
‘Cheap labor,’ I said. ‘He either can’t or won’t lay out the dough for prime help.’