You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Kills You by Robert J. Randisi Read Free Book Online

here,” I said. “Because I had to.”
    That reminded me. I had to call the Sands, let them know how to get in touch with me.
    “Can I use your phone to call Vegas?”
    “Sure, Mr. G. It’s right there.”
    Jack’s girl made me wait, but finally put me through to him.
    “I’m at this number, Jack,” I said, reading the digits off the dial.
    “What hotel is that?”
    “I’m … stayin’ with a friend.”
    “Not family?”
    “Hell, no.”
    “Okay, Eddie,” Entratter said. “I hope it’s not all too … bad for you.”
    “Thanks, Jack. I’m sure I’ll be back by Friday.”
    “Okay.”
    Next I called Danny’s office, got Penny, his secretary.
    “Eddie, where have you been?” she asked.
    “Busy. Is he around?”
    “No, he’s in L.A.”
    “He is? Still?”
    “Well, you gave him permission to tail Marilyn Monroe. I think he’s taking full advantage of it.”
    “Is somethin’ wrong?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    “Okay, if he wants to talk to me he can get me here.” Once again, I read the number off the center of the dial.
    “What hotel is that?”
    “Why does everybody want me to spend money on a hotel?” I asked. “I’m stayin’ with a friend.”
    “Not family?”
    “Good-bye, Penny.”
    I looked at Jerry, who had one slice of pizza left in his box. There were four still in mine. I went over and picked one up.
    “Startin’ already, huh?” he asked.
    “What?”
    “All the questions.”
    “Questions I don’t want to answer.”
    “I know,” Jerry said. “People used ta ask me about my family all the time. They wuz always shocked to find out I didn’t have one. Guineas, they got so many family members, ya know? Oops, sorry, Mr. G.”
    “That’s okay, Jerry,” I said. “I know Italian families are large.
    Nothin’ I can do about that. All I can do is steer clear of the crazy.”
    “So you moved to Vegas,” Jerry said. “No crazy there, right?”
    I bit into my pizza. “At least I’m not related to it.”

Thirteen
    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 blanketdraped 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