Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime Read Online Free

probably didn’t have the legs to be a showgirl, but she sure had everything else. Her red hair seemed natural, her green eyes sparkled, and she had full, kissable lips. I knew from other conversations that she was the sole support of a kid, although I didn’t know if it was a boy or girl, or how old the child was.
    I slid the two tickets from my pocket and said, “How would you like to go to a Rat Pack show with me tonight, doll?”
    “Really?” She sighed and her eyes got wide. “I love Frank Sinatra.”
    “Have you been to see the show?”
    “I haven’t had the time,” she said, “or the money—not for tickets, and not for a babysitter.”
    “Well, I’ve got the tickets,” I said, waving them, “and I’ll pay for the babysitter. Whataya say?”
    “Eddie,” she said, breathlessly. “I don’t know what to say.”
    I looked down at the creamy white of her swelling cleavage and replied, “Please say yes.”
    She took a deep breath—which inflated her cleavage even more—and said, “Yes!”

Six
    D EAN MARTIN PICKED Sammy Davis Jr. up, walked to the microphone with him and said, “I want to thank the NAACP for this award.” The audience—and Sammy—cracked up.
    Frank, Dean, Sammy, Joey and Peter sang, danced, joked, did impressions (Sammy), smoked, stood around (Lawford) and the crowd loved it. This was Frank’s “Summit of Cool,” as he called it, because during that same month Eisenhower, de Gaulle and Khrushchev were having their summit conference in Paris.
    Beverly hung on my arm and released it only to clap her hands together gleefully at the Rat Pack’s on-stage antics. She was also excited to see some of the celebrities in the audience, specifically some of the other players in Ocean’s 11 like Angie Dickinson, Henry Silva and Richard Conte who, I later learned, was called “Nick” by Dean and other friends.
    When the show was over I leaned over and whispered in Beverly’s ear, “I have to go back stage. Would you like to come?”
    “Oh, my God!” she said, which I took as a yes.
    There was a security force to keep the Rat Packers safe—Frank alone had eight guards. I wondered if he was sharing them with Dean. All I had to do was give my name to one and he allowed us to
go backstage, where it was already crowded with celebrity well-wishers and hangers-on.
    Booze flowed freely, and I saw Frank standing in a corner with a brunette stunner named Judith Campbell on his arm. I was able to introduce Bev formally to Joey Bishop, and then said to Joey, “Bev would love to meet Frank and Dean.”
    “Dean’s already gone up to his suite,” Joey said, “but we can do Frank.”
    Joey tugged us over to where Frank was holding court with Henry Silva and Nick Conte. I looked around, but Angie Dickinson was nowhere to be seen. She had been the one I wanted to meet. I wanted to see if she was as sexy off-screen as on. Maybe another time …
    “Frank,” I said, as he looked at me, “the show was great.”
    “Who’s the pretty lady, Eddie?” Frank asked, and I felt Bev’s nails dig into my arm.
    “Frank Sinatra,” I said, “meet Beverly Carter.”
    “It’s my pleasure,” Frank said, graciously. He took Bev’s hand and kissed it. He didn’t bother to introduce Judith Campbell to either of us, and the buxom brunette stood there staring daggers at the equally buxom Beverly, who didn’t notice at all. She only had eyes for Frank.
    “Hey, Frank,” Henry Silva said with a rakish smile, “this redhead’s a knockout. You should give her a part in the film.” Silva had two young dolls hanging off each arm. I later found they were con-ventioneering teachers he had plucked from the audience.
    “Are you an actress, sweetheart?” Frank asked Bev.
    “No,” Bev said, “I’m just a waitress in the lounge, Mr. Sinatra.”
    “Hmph,” Judith said, “a waitress.”
    “Would you like to be in a movie, Beverly?” Frank asked.
    “Oh my God,” Beverly said.
    “Frank—” Judith