Free You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Kills You by Robert J. Randisi Page B

Danny, but I’ll come back each night. Meanwhile, Jerry will stay with you. Are you working right now?”
    “No, we’re still having some problems with that script, so I’m just … staying around here.”
    And drinking, I thought, maybe worse. I’d have to have Jerry keep an extra-careful eye on her.
    “Can’t Jerry look for your friend?”
    “No,” I said, “he’s my friend, my responsibility. I sent him here. If anything’s happened to him it’s my fault.”
    Marilyn looked from me to Jerry and dropped her hand from my arm.
    “All right, Eddie,” she said, in a little girl’s voice. “Whatever you say.”
    “Jerry, let’s get your suitcase from the car.”
    “Okay, Mr. G.”
    It wasn’t a two-man job, but he knew I wanted to talk to him outside.
    At the car I said, “I’m gonna go and talk to the local cops.”
    “And you don’t want me along?”
    “I know you don’t think the cops do any good, Jerry, but I’ve got to find out if anything happened to Danny. He could be in jail, or …”
    “Or the morgue.”
    “Right.”
    “Okay, Mr. G.,” he said, “but you call if you need me.”
    “Let’s go back inside. I’ll take down Marilyn’s number, and we’ll see if the guesthouse has a phone. Also, you can take a look around the grounds, see if it looks like anyone’s been here.”
    “Okay, Mr. G.”
    “Jerry,” I asked, “didn’t we talk about you callin’ me Eddie?”
    “Yeah, Mr. G.,” he said, “we talked about it.”

Twenty-two
    I PRESENTED MYSELF at the West Los Angeles Station of the L.A. Police Department.
    “You want to talk to a detective?” the desk sergeant asked. His name tag said his name was Clemmons.
    “That’s right.”
    “Do you want to report a crime?”
    “Not a crime, exactly.”
    “Then what?”
    “Well … maybe a missing person.”
    “Who’s missin’?”
    “A friend of mine.”
    “We only take missing persons reports from family members,” the sergeant said. “Are you a family member?”
    “Uh, I—look, I just need to talk to som—”
    “Can you produce a family member?”
    “I—no, look—um, I’m the closest thing to a family member.”
    “What’s your relation?”
    “Cousin—second cousin.”
    He stared at me.
    “Is that not close enough? Should I have just stuck with cousin?”
    “Sir—”
    “Can I give you his name and find out if he’s been arrested? Hospitalized? Killed?”
    “You think he might’ve been killed?”
    “I hope not. Look, I can’t find him, I’m just tryin’ to decide how worried to get. If you guys have him in a cell, I’d prefer that to the morgue.”
    “Can’t say I blame you,” Sergeant Clemmons said. “Let me have his name, your name and I’ll check. Have a seat.”
    I sat for half an hour when a tall, dark-haired, very slender man wearing a suit approached me. I stood up slowly, not liking the look on his face.
    “Mr. Gianelli?”
    “That’s right.”
    “I’m Detective Robert Stanze. I understand you’re looking for a man named Daniel Bardini?”
    “That’s right. Have you—” I almost said “found him,” but the words stuck in my throat.
    “We have two unidentified males in our morgue,” he said.
    “T-two?”
    “Well, we have more than that,” Stanze said, “but two match the description of your—of Daniel Bardini. At least, the description you’ve given us.”
    “I see.”
    “Would you be willing to take a look and see if … ?”
    I felt my eyes burning, the foyer we were standing in closed in on me.
    “Sir, are you all right?”
    “I—” I cleared my throat. “I am, yes. And yes, I’ll take a look.”
    “Come with me, please.”
    The morgue was cold. I had been to a morgue in Vegas once. It hadn’t felt this cold.
    Two bodies, covered by sheets on separate tables.
    “Ready?” Stanze asked.
    “Is anybody ever ready for this?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Okay,” I said, “then I’m ready.”
    The attendant grasped the sheet on the first body and rolled it