It Was a Very Bad Year (18 page)

‘I'll tell you when we get in the car.'

‘Mr Sinatra,' Evans said, ‘if you'll tell me I can have some men—'

‘No,' Frank said, ‘no men. If these guys are amateurs, seeing a bunch of cops might make them kill Frankie.'

‘Sir, with all due respect, they might kill him anyway.'

‘I'm bettin' two hundred and forty thou they won't – and this ain't the biggest bet I ever made. Just the most important.' He turned and thrust the paper bag of loot into my hands. ‘Let's go.'

Frank, Jerry and I marched out to the car. I used the key to open the trunk for Jerry.

‘You got your piece, Jerry?' Frank asked.

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Good,' Frank said, ‘so do I.' He was wearing a wrinkled grey suit, as if he'd slept in it, a white shirt, no tie. He opened the jacket and showed us the revolver in his belt. Jerry and I were similarly clad in wrinkled jackets. We all needed a shave. All we needed was some booze on us to complete the look of winos.

‘Frank,' I said, ‘is that a good idea?'

‘If they hurt Frankie, Eddie,' he said. ‘Or . . . or worse, I'll kill 'em.' He gave me a hard look. ‘And don't get in my way.'

‘I won't, Frank.'

His look softened, then he touched my arm and said, ‘You're a good friend – both of you are.'

‘Anything for you, Mr S.,' Jerry said.

‘Good, big guy. Now get in the trunk.'

After we got away from the house and the reporters, Frank told me where we were going.

‘Phone booths,' he said. ‘If I'm any good at guessing, there'll be a coupla stops.'

‘Again?'

‘I'm sure once they're satisfied that we're not being watched they'll tell me where to deliver the money.'

‘OK.'

‘But pull over here, first,' he said. We were on a stretch of deserted highway. ‘We'll let Jerry out before he suffocates. He can crouch down in back and I'll sit up front with you.'

‘Gotcha.'

I pulled over and let Frank out. He released Jerry from the trunk. They both got situated and I started driving again.

‘This is it, guys,' Frank said. ‘This is where we either get Frankie back, or I'm gonna end up killin' somebody.'

I hoped with all my heart that the first part was true, and the last part would never happen.

T
he kidnappers ran us around LA until finally, at the last phone booth, Frank got excitedly back into the car.

‘OK, we got it,' he said. ‘Sunset Boulevard.'

‘What?'

‘That's what they said. “Leave the money between two school buses parked at a gas station on Sunset Boulevard.”'

‘Where on Sunset?'

‘Just drive,' Frank said, ‘I'll tell you where.'

He directed me, and we finally arrived at the site. I parked across the street. We sat there for a few moments.

‘OK,' he said. ‘Gimme the money.'

The bag was on the back seat with Jerry. He picked it up and passed it to Frank.

‘Frank,' I said, ‘do you want me to—'

‘No,' he said. ‘If they're watchin' I want them to see me deliver it. Just sit tight, boys.'

He got out of the car, crossed the street, walking quickly. I had the feeling it was all he could do not to break into a run. Frank Jr. might have been just feet away from him.

Frank looked around, set the package down, and hurried back to the car.

‘I couldn't see anything,' he said, getting in.

‘Neither did we,' I said.

‘What now?' Jerry asked.

‘Back to the house.'

‘Mr S.,' Jerry said, ‘Mr G. can pull around the block, and I can come back on foot to watch—'

‘No, Jerry,' Frank said. ‘We'll go home to wait for a call, or for Frankie to come home.'

‘Whatever you say, Frank.'

I started the car and headed to Bel-Air.

Once again we worked our way through the reporters to get to the house. Afterward, we just sat around and waited, as Frank asked us to. It was quite a motley crowd. Those of us who were part of Frank's circle all looked alike: unshaven and rumpled. The policeman and FBI agents were clean and sharply dressed. We all wore the same hangdog expression.

A few hours later a policeman came into the room to whisper into DA Evans' ear. Evans then came over to Frank and, within earshot of me, said, ‘We should go to the front door.'

‘What for?'

‘Come on, Frank.'

Evans and Frank started, I followed, Jerry followed me, and then suddenly everyone – Entratter, Jilly Rizzo, the FBI men, cops, bodyguards, Rudin – trudged to the front door.

Since I was right behind Frank I had a clear view of the driveway. A patrol car drove up and stopped in front of the house.

‘What's goin' on?' Frank asked.

A lone patrolman got out of the car, walked to the back and opened the trunk. As if by magic, Frank Jr. stepped out.

‘Oh my God!' Frank said, and ran to him. As we all watched he gave the boy a bone-crushing hug, which had Frankie grinning shyly. Or maybe he was just embarrassed by the attention. I figured he was gonna have to face a lot more from his mother and sisters.

Frank dragged the boy into the house as we all added back slaps and applause.

The prodigal son was home.

A
fter about seventy-four hours of panic, the mood in the house lifted sky high.

Bobby Kennedy called to tell Frank how glad he was Frank Jr. was home. Frank was very polite and thanked him for his concern, and again for his offer of help.

Frank called his mother, Dolly, to tell her that her grandson was home and safe.

Frank Jr. had to sit with the DA and the FBI, who subjected him to some rigorous questioning, in an attempt to get enough facts to catch the kidnappers. I was listening to the interview, as most of us were, when Frankie mentioned that he was held in a house in Canoga Park. He also said the kidnappers referred to each other by their first names: Joe, Barry, and Johnny.

It hit me then like a clap of thunder.

I pulled Jerry aside.

‘What?' he asked.

‘That piece of paper I found in Barney Irwin's desk had those names on it.'

‘What names?'

‘Barry. Johnny. And Canoga Park.'

‘Do you have it on you?'

‘No, damn it,' I said, ‘it's at my place.'

‘Whataya think it means?'

‘I don't know,' I said. ‘There was some other stuff on it, too, but I can't remember.'

‘You wanna tell the FBI? And the DA?'

‘If I tell them, it'll get back to that ass, Raggio,' I said. ‘I don't wanna help him, at all.'

‘So what do we do?' Jerry wanted to know.

I rubbed my jaw, gave it some thought.

‘Frankie's home,' I said. ‘There's nothin' we can do here about findin' the kidnappers. So we head back to Vegas, check out that note, and find Barney Irwin. Figure out what his involvement is, if any. And maybe we can also find out who killed Wayne. If I can I'd like to hand that killer to Hargrove on a platter. And, hopefully, Irwin's right in the middle of it all. Including the attacks on us.'

‘OK, so when do we leave?'

‘Now,' I said. ‘I'll talk to Frank about his plane.'

‘OK,' Jerry said, ‘I'm with you, Mr G.'

‘Thanks, Jerry.'

I went to find Frank.

Frank agreed to have his plane take us back to Vegas. He was so happy about having Frankie home, he didn't even ask why.

‘You did a great job, pally,' he said, hugging me, ‘A great job. I owe you, big time.'

I stopped by Entratter's side and told him what we were doing.

‘Good idea,' he said. ‘I'll come with you.'

‘We're leavin' now,' I said.

‘What's the hurry?'

‘I'll tell you when we're on the plane.'

‘OK, lemme say goodbye to Frank.'

Frank gave us a limo and a driver to run us out to the airport. In an hour and a half we were back at the Sands.

During the plane ride I had given Entratter all the facts. Or so I thought.

‘But you don't have any facts, Eddie,' Jack said. ‘Where's that piece of paper?'

‘At home,' I said, ‘somewhere.'

‘It better have more on it than you remember,' he said. ‘Just some names are not gonna connect the dots for the cops. Why didn't you just give your info to the FBI?'

‘Raggio,' I said. ‘That asshole pissed me off. I don't wanna see him get any credit.'

‘You'd rather give it to Hargrove?'

‘In a heartbeat.'

‘OK, then,' Jack said. ‘Keep me clued in.'

I agreed, although I didn't know why. This part was really my problem. If Barney Irwin had tried to frame me for murder, I wanted his ass.

And I was gonna get it.

We got to my house before seven p.m. I pried my fingers from the dashboard, because Jerry had made it in record time.

When we got in the house Jerry said, ‘So where's the note?'

‘It was in my windbreaker,' I said. ‘The one I wore that day.'

He followed me to the hall closet, where I grabbed the windbreaker from a hanger. I went through the pockets, found a couple of business cards, a restaurant receipt, a book of matches, all the crap you stuff into your pockets.

No note.

‘It's gotta be here,' I said. I went through the pockets again.

‘You sure this is the jacket you wore when we searched his place?' Jerry asked.

‘Positive.'

‘Well, I know you took it, because you showed it to me. So it's gotta be here someplace.'

We started to search. Kitchen drawers and cabinets; bathroom waste basket and counter, behind the bowl, under the sink; hall and bedroom, closets; beneath the cushions of the living-room chairs and sofa.

‘Nothin',' I said, frustrated.

‘We looked everywhere, Mr G. How about your locker at the Sands?'

‘We can look, but I doubt it.'

‘Then let's go.'

We left the house and went back out to the Caddy. It was getting dark and, suddenly, I got an idea.

‘You got your pen light on ya?'

‘Yep.'

‘Let me have it.'

He passed it over. I clicked it on, shined it on the front seat. I stuck my hand between the back rest and the cushion on the passenger side, and then on the driver's side.

‘Bingo,' I said, feeling something. I grabbed it between my index and middle finger and pulled. It was crumpled, but I smoothed it out and saw it was the piece of paper I'd found in Irwin's desk.

‘There you go,' I said. ‘Look.' I handed it over.

‘Sinatra,' Jerry said, ‘and Canoga Park.'

‘That can't be a coincidence,' I argued. ‘Also, Frankie said the kidnappers called each other by name. Joe. Barry. And John – or Johnny.'

‘What about November twenty-second?' Jerry asked.

‘The day JFK was shot.'

‘You think this photographer was involved in the assassination?' he asked.

‘No,' I said, ‘I think he was either involved with or knew about the kidnapping.'

‘What about Keenan and Amsler?'

‘Could be last names to go with the first names we've got,' I said.

‘So Barry Keenan or Barry Amsler? Or Joe Keenan, Joe Amsler? And what about the date?'

‘Maybe,' I said. ‘Maybe that was the original planned date of the kidnapping.'

‘And when JFK got shot they called it off?'

I nodded.

‘So whataya wanna do with this, Mr G.? Give it to that Hargrove asshole?'

‘I'd rather give it to that asshole than Raggio. He's a bigger asshole. But before we do, let's see what Danny's found out. I'll call him to meet us.'

We went back inside.

I
tried Danny at home first. When he didn't answer I called his office, not really expecting to find him there. I was surprised when he answered.

‘I have some info,' he said. ‘Let's meet.'

‘OK,' I said. ‘The Horseshoe. Fifteen minutes.'

Since he was down the street, he got there before us. We slid into the booth across from him.

‘You fellas wanna order?' the waitress asked.

‘Burger and fries,' Danny said. He looked at us. ‘I haven't eaten today.'

‘Burger and fries sounds good,' I said.

‘Two,' Jerry said.

‘Don't you mean three?' the waitress asked.

‘No,' Jerry said, ‘I mean I want two burgers, and a double order of fries.'

‘OK,' she said, ‘four hamburgers, four fries. Drinks?'

We all ordered Cokes. What was a burger without a Coke?

‘Here's what I got—'

‘Before you tell us, let me tell you what we got,' I said. ‘Frank Jr. is home, the cops and the FBI are still looking for the kidnappers.'

‘Frank Sr. must be relieved.'

‘He is,' I said, ‘but we rushed back here because of this.'

I pushed the crumpled piece of paper over to his side of the table. He smoothed it, read it.

‘What's this?'

‘Frankie says he was held in Canoga Park.'

Danny looked down at the note paper.

‘Canoga Park,' he said. ‘Sinatra. November twenty-second?'

‘Mr G. thinks that might be the original date of the kidnapping.'

‘And they called it off when JFK got shot,' Danny said, nodding. ‘Makes sense. Amsler & Keenan? You know those names?'

‘I don't,' I said.

‘What about Barry, Joe, or Johnny?'

‘Irwin's name is Barney, but I doubt he would've misspelled his own name.'

‘Wait a minute,' Danny said. He took his note pad from his pocket, flipped a few pages. ‘Here it is. Barney Irwin has a brother.' He looked at both of us. ‘His name's John.'