Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime is surely a work of fiction, but it is so full of name-dropping, supposition, and “cameos” with real historical figures and circumstances that it “fits right,” even though you know it isn’t so. I don’t know how Mr. Randisi was certain he wouldn’t be sued for his series of “Rat Pack” mysteries. I can’t imagine the estate of Francis Albert Sinatra could have been too happy with the unquestioned assertions that Frank was an “amici di amici” (I’m not sure I spelled “friend of a friend” or, as it came to be said, “a friend of ours” correctly.). Oh, yeah! I know he dated Judith Campbell, Sam Giancana’s girlfriend and I know that people like Sidney Korshak, the Chicago Outfit’s California-based mouthpiece, did favors for Sinatra. I know also that he introduced JFK to Judith when Frank was briefly part of the Cal-Neva Lodge. But I’m surprised that anyone would simply come out and say matter-of-factly that Sinatra was Giancana’s boy. [By the way, Giancana isn’t the guy that Jerry Lewis stated [in Dean and Me] was the fellow who, Godfather-style, told Tommy Dorsey that it would be his signature or his brains on the contract releasing Sinatra.]
The story is a flashback told from the perspective of Eddie G., Eddie Gianelli, a pit boss at the Sands Hotel and Casino during the days when the Rat Pack held court (the days of filming Ocean’s 11 in this novel). The prologue grabbed me by the nostalgia and yanked. Eddie G. has just spent a quiet moment standing in his old spot watching the blackjack tables prior to the implosion of the old casino. It grabbed me because I’ll never forget my first trips to Las Vegas to cover the Winter Consumer Electronics Show. Many vendors had hospitality suites in the Sands (This was before they built the big Sands Convention Center.) and, at one point, my company held a party at a poolside bungalow behind the Sands. As I was walking through there during those trips (and especially when I met Tom Clancy through MicroProse’s suite in the Penthouse of the Sands), I kept thinking of Martin and Lewis movies and, of course, imagining the Rat Pack appearing at any moment. It was like I was in a time-warp so that I was walking the casino floor in the 1950s, but I was covering the latest technology in the ‘80s and ‘90s. That was one way it grabbed me. The other way had to do with the implosion itself. I was covering a Comdex (I think) and I walked past the Sands. It had just closed but there was all sorts of detritus and destruction that looked like a war had been fought outside the main entrance. Just before the implosion, Tim Burton had used the then-closed Sands facility for one of the big scenes in Mars Attacks. I couldn’t get the Mars Attacks location with the closed casino out of my mind when the prologue began.
And, there was one other way the prologue (and epilogue) grabbed me. One of the characters wishing Eddie G. the best was none other than Sheldon Adelson, #14 among Forbes list of billionaires in the world, still CEO of the Sands, and big, big donor to conservative political action committees. So, even though I knew that the events in the novel weren’t “historical,” there were so many anchors to reality (and especially “my” reality) that I was hooked from the beginning.
But, if you were looking for a review of Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime, you’re probably losing patience with me. What’s the mystery like? The mystery itself is pretty obvious. There is adequate foreshadowing at the beginning and any reader who asks herself or himself the basic question about a person who has something to gain or follows the first lesson of crime investigation will know from very early on who the perpetrator is. That being said, however, there is a complex and irresistible “red herring” of a plotline to keep you wondering if your first inclination was correct. And, there is plenty of reason to distrust the very people that Eddie brings in to help him solve the case.
Of course, you’re probably wondering why a “pit boss” would have been brought in to solve a case. There were two reasons and both seemed plausible to me: connection and discretion. The former ties to the fact that Eddie G. was completely wired in the Las Vegas community and knew everybody involved in the world of the strip. The latter would have been desired because Sinatra wouldn’t have wanted the authorities brought into a situation because of his alleged ties to organized crime. Remember, even as late as 1966, corporations were not allowed to own casinos (much less “pension funds”) and Howard Hughes was buying up as much of Las Vegas as he could.
So, Eddie G. is requested by Sinatra to look into some death threats that Dean Martin has received. Even though he isn’t a detective, Eddie agrees to help as a favor (to both Sinatra and then manager/impresario of the Sands, Jack (Smilin’ Jack) Entratter (I well remember seeing billboards with Jack Entratter Presents on them in photographs and film.). Then, things get a bit wild. Even though he isn’t really a detective, Eddie ends up discovering bodies and, of course, immediately becoming a suspect. Even though he isn’t a hard-nosed private dick, he gets the requisite beat-down and warn-off. There are even attempts on his life.
He hires his buddy to help him, but you begin to wonder about how effective or how honest his buddy is. There is even another wrinkle about an investigative contractor that he hires. At times, the book takes on the complexity of the caper in “Ocean’s 11.” In short,
Everbody Kills Somebody Sometime is a light, intriguing, nostalgic mystery that even deals with JFK’s later annoyance with Peter Lawford. It’s more than a mystery; it’s historical fiction. That is, what little history is there rings true—even though Randisi is not trying to tie the plot to larger historical events. What is there is enough—enough that I’ll be reading the entire series.