Neon Nights: Daymond Runyon meets James Ellroy in the Nevada Desert Read online

  "He's got a Sten gun wrapped up in some old burlap sacks."

  "That's interesting. Hawk said he tried to give him a machine gun. Does it look like it will shoot?"

  "I'm no expert but it seemed to be in good condition."

  "I'll get a firearms warrant and pick it up tomorrow. An illegal weapons charge is just that much more to charge Ryan with."

  It was after ten when we finished eating and Mike offered to show me some of the local hot spots. Since we were leaving early in the morning, I begged off.

  Dick's car was gone when I got back to the motel. I turned on the radio and was listening to a local station when the manager knocked on the door. He handed me a note and said, "They called an hour ago but no one was here."

  The note said, "Call the Clark County Sheriff's office immediately."

  I asked if I could use his phone, and the manager shrugged his shoulders and said, "Sure, if you pay for the call."

  Jimmy Johnson answered the phone and said, "I'm glad we got to you boys. The Sheriff's afraid all hell's about to break lose around here."

  "What's the matter?"

  "They found the head of "Two Ton Tony" Gatti this afternoon. You boys had better get back up here."

  "Two Ton Tony" Gatti was a pit boss and knee breaker who arrived in town a couple of months ago. He wasn't connected like Johnny but the fact two of Vinnie's employees had been killed in the last week made his death a serious matter. Maybe the long feared mob war for the control of Las Vegas had started. "We'll leave tonight," I said. "We should be back by tomorrow morning."

  Unfortunately, I had no idea where Dick was. I couldn't go looking for him because he had the car. All I could do was to wait for him to return.

  He stumbled in after midnight and he was happy to see me. He said, "Hey Kelly there's this place down the road and they got this dog that drinks beer. Can you imagine that? A drunken mutt, oh, you got to see this."

  I wasn't in a mood to put up with Dick's drunken babbling. "Forget the dog! We have got to go back to Las Vegas."

  "Why?"

  "Because somebody killed "Two Ton Tony" and the Sheriff wants us to come back."

  "Who killed him?"

  "I don't know that's why we're going back."

  "Okay, just let me catch a couple hours and I'll drive us back."

  After getting a whiff of Dick's breath, there was no way he was going to drive, and we couldn't wait until he got sobered up.

  "No, we have to go now. You stay here while I load up the car and then I'll drive us back to Las Vegas."

  I threw our luggage into the trunk, manhandled Dick into the car, and headed north toward Nevada. Dick snored like a bear with a broken nose and he didn't move until the sun was starting to chase the black out of the sky. He looked around and asked, "Where in the hell are we?"

  "About ten miles from the Nevada line."

  Dick stretched and said, "Why in the hell are we going to Nevada? We still have to look for that Ryan guy." I explained again about "Two Ton" Tony and Dick pretended to remember. "Oh yeah," he said. "That's right we're going back because he got killed." Dick didn't say anything for a couple of miles then he let out a loud yawn and said, "Despite his crocodile tears, I still think Vinnie Costello put Johnny down. We just haven't found the right piece of evidence yet."

  "You figure he put down "Two Ton Tony" too?"

  "An interesting question—and a damn interesting question--maybe we should ask him when we get back to Las Vegas."

  We went straight to the Sheriff's Office when we got in town. The place was hopping. Both the day and night shift were on duty. We were escorted into the Sheriff's private office as soon as we arrived. Sheriff Duncan maneuvered his huge frame behind the desk and dropped heavily into his chair. Beads of perspiration ringed his red face. Which he wiped off with his sleeve and said, "Boy's we got a real bad one here. Last night a dog dug up Tony Gatti's head. It had been buried in that vacant lot at the end of Front Street. We still haven't found the rest of him but we got people going over that lot with a fine tooth comb."

  Dick took out his note book and asked, "Any suspects?"

  "Nobody saw or heard anything and his wife claims he was loved by everyone. I'm afraid this is connected to that other hood's death and these guinea's are going to start killing each other wholesale. Now, I want you boys to find out what's going on!"

  Dick flipped his notebook shut and said to me, "Let's go see what Vinnie Costello got to say about this."

  We walked out into the squad room and I pulled on Dick's coat and said, "He's here."

  Standing across the room was Vinnie Costello and standing next to him was a cheap but really good looking blonde with a feather boa wrapped around her neck. The deputy they were talking to motioned for us to come over. The deputy said, "This is Gloria Gatti. She wants to know when you're going to release the body so she can make arrangements."

  "What body?" Dick replied. "All we found was his head. What's the rush? Trying to cover something up Vinnie?"

  Vinnie pointed his finger at Dick and said, "You got no respect do you? She's got a right to know about her husband without you cracking wise."

  Dick started to say something but I interrupted him "Let me find out for you."

  I talked to Digger Jones, the coroner, and he said he wouldn't release anything until the rest of the body was found. I asked about the post-mortem report but he said it wouldn't be ready until tomorrow. I pressed him for a few details and he reluctantly said, "I can place the time of death somewhere from forty-eight to sixty hours ago--either Friday night or Saturday morning. It also appears the head was severed after death and it was probably done with a cross cut wood saw."

  I found Vinnie sitting with "Two Ton Tony's" wife on the bench by the front desk. I told them what the corner said about releasing Tony's head and Gloria Gatti tearfully thanked me. Vinnie helped her up and his driver escorted her out the door.

  Vinnie smiled and said, "You got class kid and I appreciate you helping her. Is there something I can do for you?"

  "Tell me where you were Friday night and Saturday morning."

  "I was in Reno. I got there about noon on Friday and I didn't leave until Sunday night."

  "Where were you and what were you doing there?"

  "I was the guest of Moe Ravin at his Sliver Dollar club, and why I was there ain't any of your business."

  "I suppose that you have witnesses who can substantiate you being there."

  "I'm a friendly guy. I see lots of people and I'm sure some of them will remember seeing to me."

  "I'm sure they will."

  Vinnie took out a business card and wrote something on the back. "Here," he said shoving the card into my hand. "When they release Tony’s head have them call that number." He leaned over and whispered, "I'd put a muzzle on that mutt of a partner of yours. Because one day he's going to crack wise once to often and someone's liable to teach him a lesson in respect, because not everybody's got my restraint." Vinnie straightened up and said. "You'll have to excuse me. I've got to be going."

  As soon as Vinnie left, Dick motioned for me to come to his desk, "Well, what did that fat-assed grease ball have to say?"

  "He said he was in Reno when the murder happened. He was the guest of Moe Ravin at the Silver Dollar Club."

  "That son-of-a-bitch always has an answer doesn't he? But one day I'm going to nail him. You wait and see."

  I spent the rest of the day either looking for Tony's body or checking out Vinnie's story. By quitting time Tony still didn't have a body but Vinnie had an alibi. Moe Ravin confirmed that Vinnie was his guest from Friday to Sunday. Moe politely refused to say why Vinnie was there but he did offer a list of people who had seen Vinnie while he was in Reno.

  I was too tired to go on. It had been over thirty-six hours since I slept and I had to sleep. I told Dick I was going to sleep and he said, "Hang on, this came in for you about an hour ago and I forgot to give it to you." He shuffled through some papers and handed
me a note. It was from Danny Daily and it said, "Got something for you. I'll be at Frontier Club after 7 tonight. Important!"

  "Did he say what this was about?"

  "All he said was what I wrote down. Then he hung up."

  The last thing I wanted was to track down a snitch tonight. But Danny did say it was important and unlike Bottles Malloy when Danny said it was important it probably was.

  The Frontier Club was a throw back to another time. The sign out front announced this was the place to "Enjoy the Old West." Inside was a re-boped 1890’s saloon and gambling hall. Which was once how the city father's envisioned the future of Las Vegas, they thought if the town looked like a Hollywood movie set, tourists would flock here. They even proposed a law which said all new buildings had to look like they were from the 1890's. That concept went all to hell when Bugsy Siegel built his modern oasis in the desert. Bugsy figured people wanted glamour, not nostalgia. He was right and everybody soon forgot about the Old West idea.

  I got to the Frontier Club a few minutes before seven and ordered a beer and a chicken fried steak. My beer was about gone when I heard a familiar voice behind me. "Well, if it isn't the son of the old sod himself, Kelly O'Brien." Danny Daily smiled and said, "Why don't you buy a fellow countryman a beer?"

  I told the bartender to set Danny up, and Danny plopped himself down next to me. "You know, Danny," I explained. "I'm only half Irish. My mother is German."

  "I'm a mongrel myself old son. My mother is Greek, but I never let that stop me from claiming my true heritage--especially when beer is involved." Danny gulped down half his beer and turned around to look at the pool table. He studied the players and smiled a knowing smile. The waitress slid my steak in front of me and Danny slipped off the stool. He softly said, "After you finish eating, go to the rest room and wait for me. I got something good for you." Danny gave me a leering grin and said, "Who knows you might like it."

  After I finished eating, I turned around and watched Danny playing pool. When the game ended, I walked to the rest room. About thirty seconds later Danny came in. "I only got a few seconds," he said breathlessly. "This guy ripe for the plucking and I don't want him--cooling off."

  "Then tell me what you got, so you can go back to your pigeon."

  "Not so fast, old son. There's the little matter of compensation." I took out a ten and handed it to Danny. He looked at it and handed it back. "Not this time--I want fifty."

  "You're crazy! You've never known anything that's worth fifty!"

  "This time I do and you'll be sorry if you don't buy it."

  "Prove it."

  "Okay, how much is it worth to you to know who killed Johnny Del Rio?"

  "How about twenty?"

  "I won't do it for that. The guy I'm ratting on is the type who doesn't like people talking about him. If he finds out, I've been whispering in your ear, he'll break my arms and then kick me in the teeth for yelling." Danny shook his head and said, "It's a lot safer keeping my mouth shut than risking my health for a lousy twenty."

  I didn't like Danny shaking me down, but if I wanted to hear what he had to say, I'd have to pay. The problem was fifty was about all I had and it had to last until next payday. I took out the money and said, "This better be good or I'll give you fifty good reasons why you never should have been born.”

  Danny held up his hands and said, "There's no reason to get nasty, if the information doesn't help, just tell me and I'll get your fifty back to you.--sometime soon."

  I handed him the money and Danny looked around to make sure we were alone. "You ever heard of Carmine Tonelli?" he asked.

  "Who is he?"

  "He's a professional killer out of Los Angeles who just happens to show up the night before Johnny gets killed and is gone the next day. It occurred to me that just maybe he might have something to do with the tragic death of Johnny boy."

  Danny's mark is howling for him to come back so he can lose his money. Danny grabs the door and gives me a big grin. "See, I told you it was worth fifty."

  I needed to talk to Dick. I found a phone booth and dialed Dick's number. It probably was useless to call his house. At this hour he'd be in the honky-tonks down on Fremont Street.

  To my surprise he answered the phone on the first ring. "I got something to tell you."

  He sounded half asleep and mumbled, "What's so damn important? Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

  By the time I finished tell him about Carmine, he was wide awake. "This is big Kelly. Let's talk about it at the station."

  "I'm not coming to the station. I'm going home to bed."

  "But Kelly..."

  "There's no but's about it. I'm going home."

  "Okay, but tell me just one more time what your snitch said.” I went over everything again and when Dick started speculating on what everything meant, I said goodnight.

  I hadn't slept in over forty hours and I was sinking fast. I walked slowly toward the door. My legs felt like I was walking in oatmeal. Behind me, Danny apologized for winning another game from his hapless victim, and he'd keep right on apologizing until his pigeon didn't have any money left. Then Danny would send the guy home with the gambler's dream. If his money hadn't run out, he could have turned his luck around. Danny and the town both made a good living off that dream, and as long as suckers believed it, they always will.

  Chapter Nine

  A Visit to La La Land

  I figured I'd put in more than enough time this week so I slept in late. I didn't have enough money to eat out so I had oatmeal for breakfast. I didn't hurry into the office, and Dick didn't ride me about being late when I reported in after ten.

  We talked for awhile about what Carmine Tonelli's visit to Las Vegas could mean. Dick still seemed to think Vinnie Costello was behind Johnny's murder. Before he launched into a dissertation on why Vinnie was guilty for everything from the bombing of the Maine to Johnny's murder, I changed the subject to "Two Ton Tony's" murder. "Have they found his body yet?" I asked.

  "Not yet. You'd think something that big and weighs four hundred pounds would be easy to find but it isn't."

  "Has the coroner come up with anything new?"

  "Not really. Most of the damage done to the head was done by the dog. He even ate some of it."

  "Woo…I just ate. I don't want to hear this." Dick smiled and giggled. Mentioning food brought me back to my meager breakfast and the reason for it. "I need to be reimbursed for fifty dollars."

  "For what?"

  "I had to pay fifty to get the information about Carmine."

  "That could be tough. Since the Attorney General doesn't like paying for information. Sometimes I can get it out of petty cash but all I get is fifty a month and most of that has been spent." That wasn't what I wanted to hear. I knew Carson City didn't approve of paying snitches, they thought that everyone should be glad to tell what they knew as an act of good citizenship. They didn’t have to deal with the hookers, hypes and night crawlers we did and the only way to get them to talk was to wave cash at them. I’d hoped Dick had some kind of arrangement with the Attorney General’s Office but apparently he didn’t. "Maybe Hoyt Turner can help." Dick said. "He'll be here this afternoon."

  "Why's he coming here?"

  "To talk about Carmine, he thinks Johnny's murder may have something to do with the current situation in Los Angeles."

  "What's going on in Los Angeles?"

  "Beats the hells out of me, the big shots don’t give me squat."

  Hoyt Turner was a big shot all right. He was one of J. Edgar Hoover's star agents back in the thirties. He had helped catch some of the worst of the worst criminals. He was personally involved in catching Alvin "Creepy" Karpis, "Machine Gun" Kelley, and he was one of the agents who arrested Al Capone. After the war, he retired and was now advising the Nevada Attorney General's office about the mob. I'd never met him and I hoped my information was worth his trip down here.

  When I returned from lunch, Dick pulled me into Ted Kemper's office. Sitting behind the de
sk was a distinguished looking grey-haired man. He stood up as soon as I entered the room. He extended his hand and said, "Patrolman O'Brien, I'm Hoyt Turner." We shook hands and he asked Ted Kemper if he knew me.

  Kemper scowled at me, "We've met."

  Hoyt Turner motioned for me to sit and he said, "I understand you've come up with some information that might explain this whole Del Rio matter. I'd enjoy hearing about it." Hoyt Turner eyes didn't seem to fit with the mild mannered look of face. They were the eyes of a predator. I told him what Danny told me and he said, "Just how reliable is this informant?"

  "He's never lied to me up to now."

  "Then, we may have a big problem on our hands. Have either one of you ever heard of the Havana meeting of nineteen-forty six?" I hadn't and neither had Dick. "It was an important meeting for the mob. It was so important, that even though it violated his parole, Lucky Luciano was there. So was Meyer Lansky, Frank Costello and most of the mob bosses from the major cities. We believe one of the subjects was what to do with Ben Siegel. Allegations had been made he'd been stealing money while building the Flamingo. He also had supposedly been refusing to pay Luciano his cut off the West Coast racing wire. Even though Lansky tried to save his friend, the decision was ultimately made to kill Siegel, but Siegel's elimination posed a problem as to what Mickey Cohen might do."

  "I not sure I understand," said Dick. "Why would they care about Cohen? Wasn't he just Bugsy's hired help?"

  "Cohen was a bit more than hired help. Siegel had promised him that once the hotel was built that Cohen was going to play a major role in running of the Flamingo. But the commission wanted someone more accountable to them--Frank Costello's nephew Vincent. If Mickey felt he was being shut out, he could and would have made life rough for everyone, and that was the last thing the mob wanted especially in Las Vegas. They knew they were unwelcome guests here and if a mob war started, the good citizens of the state of Nevada might demand that they be kicked out. The morning after Siegel was shot, a friend of both Cohen and Lansky, Jeff Saperstien, visited Cohen. We believe he offered Cohen Siegel's rackets in Los Angeles. Providing Cohen didn't make any claims on Las Vegas and he also offered east-coast backing against any problems Cohen might encounter from Jack Dragna. Who might want to try and take back what Siegel took from him when Siegel took over Los Angeles."