1961
DECEMBER 31, 1961
I suppose I should say it’s January 1, because it’s 6:30 in the morning. I’m still a little shell-shocked. The drive back to L.A. from Las Vegas was a blur. It’s a miracle I didn’t have an accident. I don’t remember much of the trip. But here I am in my apartment.
I don’t know what I’m going to do next. Not today, not tomorrow, not next week. Things are bad, dear diary. Really bad.
Yesterday I tried to sleep a little before noon. I think I got three hours’ worth, but I was too anxious for any more. So I grabbed my Stiletto outfit—which I hoped I wouldn’t need—and got in the Sunliner to head for Nevada. I filled up with gasoline and I drove out to the desert. It was a long, lonely trip.
I’d never been to Las Vegas. I scoped out where DeAngelo’s ranch was located, but since I was too early, I drove into town to have a look around. It was dusk, so all the neon lights I’d heard so much were just beginning to shine. I went to Fremont Street and saw the big casinos there—the Golden Nugget, the Lucky Strike, the Mint—and of course, DeAngelo’s place, the Sandstone. I was impressed by the famous “Vegas Vic” neon cowboy that was outside the Pioneer. If I hadn’t had a serious mission ahead of me, I might have parked, gone inside one of the casinos, and tried my luck. But seeing as how my luck hasn’t been too good lately, I probably would have lost all my money.
I stopped to get some dinner at Biff’s Famous Food because I hadn’t eaten much all day. By the time I’d finished, it was after 10:00. The neon lit up the streets. It was indeed spectacular. I vowed to myself that I would return someday when I could have some fun and enjoy it. But it wouldn’t be so great by myself. I needed someone to accompany me. Las Vegas seemed to be a glamorous, romantic destination. Who’d want to go alone?
DeAngelo’s ranch was on the north side of town, just outside the city limits. It was easy to find, but only one road led to the big, stone fence that surrounded the property. I didn’t have an invitation, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to drive through the gate and park inside with the other guests. Getting in the party would be the hardest part, so I parked some distance away off-road and in the dark, turned off my headlights, and watched as guests drove up to the gate. There were two men on duty there, checking the identities of passengers before letting them through. There appeared to be not enough parking spaces for all the guests within the fence perimeter, so men were directing drivers to park on a flat, dirt space just outside the gate. There were already sixteen cars there. Once cleared and directed to a parking spot, guests walked from there through the gates.
I left the Stiletto outfit in the car and locked it. I didn’t even bring the knife. I was Judy Cooper, and I was simply going to be a guest at Vincent DeAngelo’s New Year’s Eve party. I’d dressed in one of the cocktail dresses I’d worn in New York when Lucy and I would go to the Village Vanguard or other nightclubs. High heels. Black stilettos, as a matter of fact. I’d spent an hour on my hair this morning after I awoke, and made sure I looked fabulous. Even after the six-hour car ride and dinner, I thought perhaps I still did.
I walked along the road toward the ranch, but stayed in the shadows. My timing was perfect. I skirted around to the makeshift dirt parking lot just as a Rolls pulled in and parked. A man and two women got out, dressed to the nines. I didn’t know them.
“Nice night for a party,” I said, approaching them.
“Ain’t it?” the man said. I could tell he liked the way I looked. His two companions were younger than him and very pretty. They smiled and one of them said, “Hello.”
“Hi, I’m Judy.”
“I’m Candy. This is April.”
“Glad to meet you.” I turned to the man. “And you are?”
“Stan.”
“And I’m glad to meet you as well.”
By then we’d started walking toward the gate together. I simply became part of their group as we chatted and passed right by the two gatekeepers, who gazed at me, Candy, and April, lasciviously. They figured I’d been in the Rolls, too. It was a gamble, but it worked. And my three companions must have thought I belonged there, too.
Guests were led into the house and then through a large foyer, a hallway, and into a space that was one of the most luxurious living rooms I’d ever seen. There was a beautiful, large, lit fireplace, a full-size polar bearskin rug, and a magnificent Christmas tree, its strings of lights brightly casting a rainbow over the room. Very few guests were indoors; everyone was outside where the food and drinks were. Apparently, there would be fireworks at midnight. Even though it was New Year’s Eve, the weather outside was nice. Not terribly hot like it would be in the summer, but pleasant enough that you could have a party outdoors.
From there, we moved to a very large porch enclosed by walls with big screen panels, through which I could see the entire backyard. I guess you’d call it a veranda, and there were a lot more people gathered there. The men wore tuxedos; the women were in formal gowns or cocktail dresses. They held glasses of booze and smoked cigarettes. No one I knew. I heard music from a band playing outside, so I opened the screen door and stepped into what I feared would be a nest of peril.
The decorations and lighting were tasteful and lovely. Four rows of candlelit tables lined the area closest to the house. They were covered by a huge, open-air tent. A twelve-piece band was set up on a platform beyond the tables, facing a “dance floor” on neatly-cut grass. The band was in full swing, playing the kind of music that was popular during World War II and the ’40s. Glenn Miller stuff.
Behind the bandstand was a gigantic swimming pool. No one was in it; this was a dress-up party. There appeared to be a tennis court beyond that, and then the edge of the yard and the stone fence.
On the opposite side of the dance floor was the food. A long line of tables jutted out from the tent, facing the bandstand. A buffet was set up there; the bar was next to it, and that’s where the biggest lines were. Maybe six couples were dancing. Most people were sitting at the tables, eating or drinking or talking.
Beyond the dancing area, the yard went on into darker spaces. Guests could walk back there if they wanted, for it was romantically lit with twinkle lights, providing just enough illumination to see where you were going. I imagine that’s where couples would stroll if they wanted to engage in a little hanky-panky. I could make out a gazebo in the distance; it, too, had strings of twinkle lights on it. The fireworks would most likely be shot from that back section of the yard.
I walked along the tables and spotted some familiar faces. There was Sal Casazzo, Shrimp, and Mario, with three women. Their wives? They looked too young to be their spouses. I didn’t particularly want those guys to see me. They might wonder how I’d received an invitation. I’d never seen Vince DeAngelo before, but I knew what he looked like. Barry had shown me photos. I found him standing near the bar, holding court and talking to a group of men. His son, Paulie, the skinny gangster I saw the night before at the warehouse, was by his side. Ricky Bartlett was part of the group, too. Barry knew who he was, and I was right. He’s one of the top gangsters in West Texas, even though he masquerades as a legitimate businessman in his part of the state.
My watch told me it was 11:40. I didn’t see Leo anywhere. He and his new bride were not on the grass. They weren’t at any of the tables. I hadn’t seen them in the house. They had to be out farther, in the twinkle-light lover’s lane of the yard. That suited me fine. I didn’t really want to make a scene when I confronted him, although it was altogether possible that’s what it would be.
First, I needed a drink. I walked past DeAngelo and stood in line for a few minutes, and then I ordered a gin and tonic from a handsome bartender who called me “Glamour-puss.”
I walked back to the veranda entrance, so I could skirt around the perimeter of the yard, behind the pool and tennis court, and around the fence toward the gazebo. But suddenly, there was Christina. Right in my face. She’d been walking toward the porch to go inside the house.
I have to say she looked gorgeous in a strapless, low-cut cocktail dress that was shockingly short and revealed more cleavage than I’d ever dare to do.
Needless to say, she was surprised to see me.
“Judy! What … what are you—? How did you get invi—uh, I didn’t know you were invited.”
“Yeah, I was,” I lied. “I got an anonymous invitation in the mail. You didn’t send it, did you?”
“Uh, no.”
I jerked my head toward Casazza’s table. “Then I think it was one of Sal’s friends. They always flirt with me at Flickers. They’re constantly asking me out, but I’m not supposed to date customers. But I suppose at a party like this, that rule wouldn’t apply. I’m trying to figure out which one of them did it.”
She stared at me, trying to decide if I was telling the truth. “Does Leo know you’re here?”
“Not yet. Do you know where I can find him?”
Christina’s eyes narrowed. “Judy, you should leave. This is not your place. You know about Leo and Maria.”
“Sure, I just want to congratulate them. Tell him we can still be friends.” That was a tough one to say.
She leaned in, inches from my face, and, as menacingly as she could, whispered, “Judy, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you better leave. Now.” I wanted to punch her in the face and ruin her pretty makeup, but I controlled myself. I was Judy Cooper, not the Black Stiletto.
“Fine,” I said.
“That’s all I have to say.” She turned and went through the screen door.
Well, nuts to her. I wasn’t about to leave. In fact, that gave me the nerve I needed to stay on course. A quick glance at my wrist-watch told me it was five minutes until midnight. If I wanted to get it done before the noisy fireworks began, I had to get going. I maneuvered toward the bandstand, walked behind it, and headed into the darker area of the spacious yard. The twinkle lights did provide a pretty, holiday atmosphere back there. Three or four couples strolled along the edge, next to the fence, but they weren’t my prey. At first, I was afraid I might not find them, but then I spotted Leo and a blonde woman standing near the gazebo. I was too far away to get a good look at her, but she was wearing a lovely brown cocktail dress that flattered her figure. They both held champagne glasses, and he had an arm around her waist. They appeared to be looking up at the stars.
How romantic.
So I approached them. Actually, the first thing my eyes went to was a huge, glittering diamond that hung around Maria DeAngelo’s neck. It caught the lights beautifully, and was truly dazzling. I almost lost my train of thought, but I recovered quickly.
“Hello, Leo. Happy New Year,” I said.
He reacted with horror. His eyes grew as wide as saucers and his jaw dropped. A cigarette fell out of his mouth to the grass.
“Oh, and congratulations on your marriage.”
Leo was speechless. The blonde woman was indeed very pretty, but I really wanted to pick up that cigarette and burn a few holes in her face with it. She looked at me and at him and back at me.
Finally, he found his voice. “Judy, what … what are you doing here?”
Maria’s eyes narrowed. “Is this … is this her? That slut you were seeing in L.A.?”
“Judy, what—how did you get in? You can’t—”
“Shut up, Leo. You goddamned liar. Did you tell your wife how you came over to my apartment on Thursday and spent the night?”
Then her mouth dropped. “What?” She looked at him. “Is that true?”
In the background, the crowd at the tables started counting down, “10, 9, 8—”
“Maria, no. I was—no, she’s crazy. Judy, get out of here. I’m going to call one of Vince’s men to—”
“It’s true, Maria. He came over, screwed me, spent the night, and then broke up with me the next morning. And if I’m counting correctly, that was three days after your wedding.”
“4, 3, 2—”
She kept jerking her head back and forth from me to him. Leo muttered protestations and looked as if he was going to hit me.
“Go ahead, Leo,” I said. “You going to slug me? Punch me in the face?”
“Judy, get out of here!”
But before anything else happened, what sounded like a soaring missile split the sky, followed by a loud pop. A gigantic canopy of red and-blue sparkles formed against the starry backdrop. There was a cheer from the crowd back at the tables.
“I mean it, Judy, go!”
Another firework went off. This one was louder, with a series of crackles, similar to exploding flashbulbs above our heads. Then there were more pfffttt sounds as bottle rockets flew into the air and detonated. Within seconds, a cacophony of bangs followed one another, over and over, as the grounds lit up from the colorful display in the sky. All eyes were on the magic formations filling the panorama over the ranch. The band started playing “Auld Lang Syne.” Leo, Maria, and I could no longer hear ourselves.
And then it happened.
A dark figure appeared from the gazebo. I didn’t know if she had been there the entire time and was hiding, or what. It seemed like she materialized out of thin air.
It was the Black Stiletto.
Well, of course, it wasn’t the Black Stiletto, but a woman dressed like her. Same mask, same jacket—almost—a backpack, but no belt.
She leaped out in front of us and brandished a handgun. First, she pointed it at me and shouted, “Back away!” The noise of the fireworks was so loud I could barely hear her. I had no choice but to take a few steps back, although I considered attempting to disarm her. But that would give me away. I lifted my hands.
The phony Stiletto then pointed the gun at Leo and Maria. They both dropped their champagne glasses and raised their hands, too.
“The diamond! Let’s have it!”
“No!” Maria cried. “Leo! Do something!”
He just stood there, probably too scared to move, but I saw his lips move. “Give it to her, honey. Do it now!”
I quickly turned my head to survey the rest of the yard. Nobody was watching us. The people near the house were all looking up.
The “Stiletto” didn’t wait for Maria. She moved close, grabbed the diamond necklace, and roughly yanked it off the woman’s neck. Maria cried out in pain, and then she started screaming. Really screaming, loud enough for people to hear.
The gun barked once. No one noticed. The bang blended with all the other blasts and pops.
The screaming stopped.
Maria fell.
“No!” Leo shouted. He immediately got to his knees to tend to his wife.
By then, the phony Stiletto had jumped into the gazebo, and I swear it looked like she sank into it. Snapping out of my shock, I bolted after her, and saw that there was a trapdoor in the gazebo’s floor.
I went back to Leo, who was lightly slapping his wife’s face. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Then he stood and shouted, “Help! Vince! Help! The Black Stiletto just shot Maria!”
That got some attention. Men started running across the lawn toward us. The fireworks kept going.
I backed away from the scene. Who was impersonating me? Why would they kill Maria DeAngelo? Was it just for that diamond?
Several men, including Vince DeAngelo, crowded around us. I became one of the bystanders. No one noticed me, so I slowly inched my way toward the house. But I was too mortified and stunned to leave yet.
DeAngelo cried to the heavens. “Mariaaaaaaaa! My God! Maria!”
Leo stood and helplessly watched his father-in-law break down. Men started running about, shouting, “The Black Stiletto! The Black Stiletto is here! She killed Maria! Find the Black Stiletto!” Some of the men opened the gazebo trapdoor and went down. More ran to the house.
The fireworks eventually halted. Paulie ran up and stopped when he saw his sister lying on the grass. I heard a man say that one of the servants was found knocked out in the wine cellar. I suppose that’s where the trapdoor led. That meant the fake Stiletto was somewhere in the house.
“Bring me her head!” DeAngelo hollered. Tears ran down his face. “Bring me the Black Stiletto’s head! A million dollars to anyone who brings me her head!”
I figured I needed to get out of there fast. Leo had forgotten all about me. The place had erupted into chaos. Guests were trying to get close to the scene, but DeAngelo’s men tried to hold them back; it was easy to weave my way through the crowd and reach the back to the house.
Just as I approached the veranda screen door, Christina emerged.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“The Black Stiletto just shot Maria,” I managed to say.
“What?” Then she bolted past me and ran toward the gazebo along with everyone else.
Had she been in the house the entire time?
I was literally shaking when I made my way through the mansion to the front door. I walked out the open front gate—the guards were no longer there—and stepped into the shadows to follow the road out to where I’d parked my car. I heard sirens approaching in the distance. Police? Ambulance?
My Sunliner was still hidden in the dark where I’d left it. I got in and sat, trying to make sense of what had just happened. An ambulance and two police cars, their lights flashing and sirens blazing, rushed past me on the road. When I thought it was safe enough, I started the car, left the headlights off, and drove away from DeAngelo’s property. I waited until my taillights could no longer be seen from the gate before turning them on. Once I was back in Las Vegas, I stopped—I don’t know where—and tried to get hold of myself. I’d found I had spontaneously started sobbing.
I wasn’t crying for Maria. I certainly wasn’t crying for Leo.
No, the tears were for me. Only me.
Happy New Year.