[Rat Pack 02] - Luck Be a Lady, Don't Die by Robert J. Randisi

Author:Robert J. Randisi [Randisi, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780312360436
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2007-12-10T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Six

I TRULY BELIEVED that the only person Jack Entratter was afraid of was Sam Giancana. On a strictly physical level, of course, Jack could crush MoMo, but there was something much more going on.

I was initially impressed with Frank and Dino because of their celebrity. Later, I became more impressed with them because of their loyalty to each other. I could’ve been afraid of Jerry simply because of his size, but he had proven to me more than once that he was about much more than size. I felt that we were friends.

Sam Giancana scared me. Why? Because on his word alone my friend Jerry would probably take me out. That made him—not Jerry—the frightening one. On his say-so Jerry would probably even take out Frank Sinatra. One man shouldn’t have that much power. The power to frighten somebody like Jack Entratter, or to snuff out lives like Frank Sinatra, or just me.

On the other hand, what had MoMo shown me by saying he didn’t care if Frank was sleeping with Mary? Was he a man void of petty jealousy, or were women just not that important to him? And if so, why did he care what was happening to her now?

To get to the casino I had to take the elevator down and pass the front desk. On my way I heard somebody call my name. I turned and saw Charlie Slater, one of the concierges, waving me over to his desk.

“Yeah, Charlie?”

“There was a girl here lookin’ for you earlier, Eddie,” he said.

“A girl?”

“Well, a woman,” he said. “A looker, too.”

“What did she want?”

“She didn’t say.”

“What did she say?”

“She asked if a man named Eddie Gianelli worked here. I said you worked in the casino.”

“Did she check in?”

“Not that I know of.”

“When was this?”

“About an hour ago.”

“I’ll be in the building for another hour or so,” I said. “In the casino. If she comes back, page me.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks.”

I went to find Jerry. He was just outside the Garden Room, watching the blackjack players. I hoped he wasn’t going to get hooked. He was a very good handicapper of horses but I didn’t know how he’d handle having his twenty beaten so many times by the dealer’s twenty-one. That takes a special kind of temperament. From my pit I’ve seen gamblers who were very good at other games—craps, roulette—have meltdowns at the blackjack table.

I sidled up next to him and asked, “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About blackjack?”

He seemed to give it some thought, then said, “I think I’ll stick to horses.”

“Probably a good idea.”

He looked at me.

“You think I ain’t smart enough?”

“Smart’s got nothing to do with it,” I said. “I’m one of your biggest fans, Jerry. No, I just think you’re better suited for the horses. And you’re good at it. If you try to learn blackjack and become good at that, it could mess you up for the horses.”

“Cards ain’t for me,” Jerry said, “but it’s interestin’ to watch.”

I didn’t think much of blackjack as a spectator sport.

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