You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Kills You Read Online Free

Eddie,” she gasped. She hugged me, laying her head against my chest. I put my arms around her. The scent of her filled my nostrils. I felt like a sinner and a saint at the same time. Millions of men would have willingly changed places with me at that moment.
    “It’ll be okay, kid,” I said.
    “I know,” she said, squeezing me tightly. “I feel as safe with you as I did with Robert Mitchum in the Canadian Rockies when we were shooting
River of No Return.”
    Huh, I thought, Robert Mitchum. I guess it could’ve been worse.
    “You bastard,” I said to Dean when I got back in the car.
    “I told you,” he said.
    “You still could’ve warned me.”
    “I had to let you see for yourself,” he said. “She’s more than just a hot broad, isn’t she? She’s more than just Marilyn Monroe.”
    “Yeah,” I said, “she’s more—a helluva lot more. Now let’s get back to Vegas. I’ve got some phone calls to make.”
    “My man, Eddie G!” Dean said happily. “You’re gonna help her?”
    “I’m gonna help her,” I said, “but first I gotta take a cold shower.”

Six
    B ACK IN VEGAS, DRIVING from McCarron Airport to the Sands, I asked Dean about his relationship with Marilyn.
    “I met her before Joe DiMaggio, and before Frank did. It was back in ‘53, when I was still making films with Jerry. She was a sweet kid. She’s still a sweet kid, Eddie, but there’s something … broken about her. She’s been taken advantage of … a lot! I’ll really appreciate it if you can help her. Even if you just ease her mind some.”
    “What about this new picture she’s supposed to make with you?” I asked.
“Something’s Got to Give?”
    “Jesus, what a mess,” he said, shaking his head. He lit a cigarette, let the smoke drift out his nose, then held the cigarette between the first two fingers of his right hand. “I’d love to make a film with Marilyn and Cyd, but this one’s a mess. We’re on our second producer and third writer. Everybody involved with this film feels trapped.”
    “Including you?”
    “Hell, not me, pally,” he said, picking a piece of tobacco from his tongue, “I don’t even think it’s gonna get made.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because as soon as they try to replace Marilyn,” he said, “I’m gonna walk.”
    When we reached the Sands, Dean went to see if the guys had checked in.
    “You gonna rehearse?” I asked.
    He laughed. “Pally, I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask that. And don’t forget, we’re havin’ dinner tonight with Frank and Sammy. Nine sharp. Be out front, we’ll pick you up in a limo.”
    In the lobby of the Sands we split up. I didn’t have an office of my own, so whenever I needed to sit down and use a phone I’d go to Marcia Clarkson’s office. Marcy—which was what her friends called her—made sure everybody at the Sands got paid.
    As I entered her office, she pointed without looking and said, “Use that desk over there.”
    “What makes you think I need—”
    She looked up at me and smiled. She was pretty, with frizzy hair and thick glasses. We’d dated a few times and, when she was dressed for the evening, she was downright beautiful. We never clicked romantically, but stayed friends—even after I introduced her to my buddy, Danny Bardini. He was a bigger player than I was and had the added cachet of being a private eye.
77 Sunset Strip, Peter Gunn
and
Hawaiian Eye
had made private eyes cool and romantic.
    “Eddie, you never come to my office just to say hello, do you?”
    “Well … no, but I’ll start.”
    “Yeah, sure,” she said, “right after today.”
    I stopped to kiss the top of her head and then went to the desk she’d offered. Dialing Danny Bardini’s number, I reminded myself to keep my voice down. Even though she’d stayed friends with me, Marcy’s opinion of Danny wasn’t very high. That wasbecause he’d slept with her before deciding to move on. I keep telling myself it pays to be a gentleman.
    “Bardini