Location: Twin Palms, Palm Springs, CA

I figured they'd show up sooner or later. I've got casinos bein' built, I'm chummy with Momo again, I'm flyin' around the world, hell, I'm Frank Sinatra (and I'm supposed to be as stiff as a starched shirt). So, it wasn't a surprise when 4 black suits show up at my door this morning.

"Good morning Mr. Sinatra, may we come in?" They had their badges out and their shades on, cheap Sears & Robuck suits with worn out faux wing-tip shoes. The shoes were brown! Brown shoes with black suits! Pathetic.

"Sorry kids, Halloween's next week. Come back then and I'll have some candy ready for ya'."

"Mr. Sinatra, we're from the FBI, here on official business."

"Do your parents know you guys are out dressed like this? Look at your shoes. I wouldn't donate those to the poor."

In unison (because they do EVERYTHING in unison), they all looked down at their shoes. While they were preoccupied, I took the opportunity to close the door on 'em and head back to my breakfast drink. It's amazing how slow these guys are. I was pouring my 2nd glass when they finally knocked again. I took my breakfast with me as I headed back to the door, grinning ear to ear and shaking my head.

"I already gave at the office guys." I said as I opened the door. I could see Mickey, my attorney coming up the walkway behind them. This had to be more than a pester job by the government, hassling me about Momo. He ran up to the door, between me and the mini goons.

"I represent Mr. Sinatra, what is the nature of your visit gentlemen?" Then he turned to me, "Not a word Frank."

"We have a warrant to search the premises," the oldest one answered.

Mickey shot back, "Yeah, well, I don't see it. Produce it or we're filing harassment charges, and believe me fellas, we can get real public and vocal about this."

One of the "Hoover carbon copies" pulled the warrant out from his suit pocket and handed it to the goon that was talkin' to Mickey. Mickey, God love him, grabbed it out of the agent's hands and started reading it.

I still saw a little levity in the scenario and said, "Easy Mick, these guys had a rough morning. Just look at their shoes." Again, in unison, four government heads went down in unison.

Mickey finished reading the warrant and handed it back to the agent, "OK boys, you break anything and you'll wish you were mailmen. I am going to accompany you throughout your search as a representative to Mr. Sinatra, that's not negotiable. Frank, you may want to go hang out by the pool or something. We'll talk after."

At that point, the brown shoe squad started to enter. I decided to go for one more stick at 'em and put my hand up. "Uh-uh. If you're walking through my house, you lose the shoes at the door boys."

"Mr. Sinatra, don't make this any more difficult than it has to be..."

"Hey, I can make it real difficult kid. You're not bringing those shit kickers in my house. I knew Hoover and he'd a sent your ass to Siberia for dressin' like that, believe me."

Mickey interceded, "Guys, Mr. Sinatra is willing to comply with your baseless warrant, the least you can do is comply with his one wish that no shoes touch his carpet. It's simply a house keeping issue gentlemen."

"No, it's a taste issue Mick," I said, staring straight at the older agent. "You better be wearin' black socks under those slippers boys."

They looked at each other and then again, in unison, started removing their shoes. I turned to walk back to the pool. It was all I could do to keep from laughing my ass off. Sinatra 1, G-Men 0.

They're still goin' through the house, I've got no clue what this is about yet, so I'll fill you in as soon as I get the word from Mickey.

Location: Sands Casino East, Atlantic City, NJ

Rough day. First Joey, then this. Not that it was a surprise. I knew about The Sands East going down. Hell, Momo and I agreed that it needed to go if we were gonna' build another one in Vegas. I'm even pushin' the button for the detonation. Figured I built the place, why not be the guy who knocks it down, right? That's not to say there isn't a little nostalgia that goes with bringing the joint down. My last shows before I walked were there in the Copa Room.

I was gonna' pick up Sammy, but I couldn't get him on the phone. Apparently, he's gone into mourning over Joe. I left word that he needs to buck up, we don't know if Joey's gone for real or not, and there's no need to start bawling like a girl over it until we know. I didn't even try Dino, he never answers his phone. However, the "Telethon Jew" has been lightin' up my voice mail like a Christmas tree. I need to get that friggin' iPhone up and runnin'

Location: 1147 S. Wenonah Ave. Oak Park, Il.

As you can tell since I've listed my location, my mini-hibernation stint is over. I'm over at Sam's house, gettin' ready to head back to Twin Palms, but I figured I'd fill you in on how the deal went down.

It wasn't an hour after I last posted that Momo sent word my way that the coast was clear and that I was to meet him at his place. I lit out of Shivaji International like a thief on the run. I landed at Chicago's Midway and took a cab out to Sam's neighborhood, getting off a couple of blocks north of his place. I entered his house through the back basement door and there was Sam, cooking sausages in his basement kitchen, the very same one he 'checked out' in.

"Want some sausage & peppers Frank?" he asked, not even looking up from the pan. The guy had eyes in the back of his head.

"Nah, thanks Sam, I could use a drink, though. Long assed flight."

"Suit yourself," Sam said and nodded his head toward the bar area. I went and fixed myself a Jack Daniel's and then sat down at the folding card table he had set up in his basement for use as a dining table.

Sam pulled up a chair at the table and set down his plate of sausages and escarole. He fell on his dinner like a lion that hadn't eaten in a week, while at the same time, filled me in on the score.

"It's done."

I waited for more, but that's all he said. He just kept on eating.

"Wanna' give me a little more to go on Sam?" He just looked up for a moment, chewing on his sausage, then went back to cutting his next bite. I wasn't going to get any more detail on the 'who, what, where and when', so I figured I wouldn't push it."

After a few minutes he said, "A friend of mine is da' new management at Da' Greek. Dey like dat fake act you hired in, don't worry 'bout dem anymore."

"Sam, I owe you one pally. I appreciate it"

"Frank, you owe me more den one and I got work for ya' to do."

I always hated that phrase. Playing with Momo was like playing with napalm, "I'm all ears Sam," I said.

"Relax Frank, you ain't gotta' whack nobody, Jeziz. You gonna' like dis work." He took a few more bites. Sam was taking his time getting it out and it was killing me. Finally he went on, "I got da' Cal Neva in my wallet too. I want you to be da' face. Front it, own it. Just like before."

Apparently Sam wasn't worried about his house being bugged. We never talked this openly in a building before. It makes sense. Everyone still thinks he's dead.

"I wanna' build a new one too Frank. One in Vegas. You design it, build it, whatever the fuck, just get it up and running. I'll send you da' crew and shit. Don't worry 'bout da cost, just get what you need through dem, but don't hire nobody either."

"Sam I gotta' hire an architect, interior designers, you know, guys you don't have."

"Yeah, ok, you handle that. Have 'em bill you personally. Dat'll be your investment. Once you get what you need from dem, my guys take over buildin' it though. Also, we'll take care of da' employees 'n shit once its done. You be da' face on dat one too. We'll take care of da' accountin' 'n management."

"I'm gonna' need some time, Sam. Especially if I'm running the Cal Nev too. Plus there's a little thing called tellin' the world that I'm back among them, you know?"

"Get it goin' fast as ya' can Frank. Faster. We gotta' get it up and runnin'. There's shit you don't know about, but we're comin' back in a big way. No more linen napkin joints and pinball machines. We gonna' make da' sixties look like peanuts." He looked up still chewing and said, "You wid me Frank?"

What was I gonna' do? Tell him no? Risk being whacked by a guy who technically didn't exist? Hell, technically I wouldn't be missed either, you know? Plus I can't deny it. Getting my hands on the casinos again played right into my dreams baby. So I shook the devil's hand and said, "You bet Sam, all the way."

Location: Another Undisclosed (Still foreign, still warm and sunny)

It's nice here. Can't say where of course, but trust me, its almost got it all, including some dynamite sunrises like this one. No word out of Momo yet and I'm gettin' itchy.

Don't get me wrong, I like this place, hell I've even sung about it once, but it ain't the good old U.S. of A. I got none of my pallies around. The women here aren't quite my cup of whiskey and the accent the people have here is a little irritating, but hey, I'm off again in the morning to another 'undisclosed' location... that is if I haven't got word from Sammy G. by then.

Something he said when I saw him got me thinkin' last night. He said, "By this time next month Frank, I'm gonna' be listenin' to you sing 'Chicago' in my new casino. Ya' gonna' have a piece of it too, just like before. It's gonna' be better then ever and no one will be able to touch us, ever." This is got my wheels spinnin' baby.

Casinos, like broads are my addiction. I love bein' in them, singin' in them and more importantly, owning them. You can't beat the high, it's literally better than knowing a president (and I outta' know, I've known a few), so the idea of owning part of a casino again has got the old grey matter pulsing with new ideas. I hope Sam wasn't just blowin' smoke up my shorts.

Well, I've got a good supply of Jack on hand, enough smokes to take me to next Wednesday, but only enough patience to get me through to Saturday. If I don't hear anything by tomorrow, I may just stir up the dust myself. George, wherever you are... you'da' loved it here pal.

Location: Undisclosed (Foreign, warm and sunny)

Not even mom said there'd be days like these. Wow-ee, where to start boys and girls?

First I want to thank all of my fans and readers who went out to see the replacement act I booked at The Greek. I'm touched by your support. There's a "Thanks Sinatra" lighter to each and every one of you.

Now, on to the big news. Last time we had a chit chat, (or rather when I last spoke and you listened) I was leavin' Sammy's residence at Cedars. Jilly had to swing by his house to get fresh duds so we split up. I was headed back to the Twin Palms.




I'm rarely tired at 4:00 AM, but being under the pressure cooker all of the sudden, made me wanna' give the night a point in the win column. Once home, I headed straight to the bar to pour myself a nightcap.





After killing the Tennessee milk in one gulp, I poured another. That's when I found out I wasn't alone.

"Whatsa madda' Frank? You nervous or somthin'?"

I looked up and near pissed my drawers. There in a chair, not ten feet away from me, sat a dead man and he'd just talked to me.

The dead man giggled at me while I stood as if I was etched in stone. I hate to say it, but Bobby K. was right. This guy giggles like a little girl. It was Momo. Finally I got my wits back enough to start talkin'.

"Either I'm dead, pal or your..."

"You ain't dead Frank. Not yet anyways." More giggling. This was beyond Creepy-ville, baby.

"But Sam, I saw the photo of you, lyin' in a pool of your own blood on the floor. Seven bullets Sam. Seven to the head."

"Since when do you believe evrathin' you read in da papers? You know for a man of da world Frank, you ain't dat fuckin' bright."

"So you walked?" I asked, still shocked.

"No, I gotta' great plastic surgeon... what da' fuck you think Frank?"

"But no one uses photos when they walk. Just a death certificate and a news clipping."

"Not everyone whose a walker's ditchin' the F-fuckin'-B-I and da outfit."

He got up from the couch and walked up to me holding his arms open, almost like Christ. He was laughing again. I ain't scared of much, but this was a bit too much.

"Ain't you gonna show me some respect you fuck, or should I be givin' you your real walkin' papers?"

Yep, I wasn't hallucinating, it was Sammy G., alive and in the flesh. I gave the guy a good back slapping hug. "You sly bastard," I said, "Only you could pull off the greatest escape of the 20th century."

The shock was wearin' off, but I started to worry and wonder. What the fuck did he want with me after more than 30 years? Sam only came around when he wanted you around him and that usually involved walking a razors edge.

"So what's the scoop Sam? What ya' doing back?"

"Pour me a drink Frank." I grabbed another tumbler and poured while he talked, "You in a world a shit right now, ya know Frank?"

I stopped pouring. My nerves were still enough on edge to think he was gonna' clip me.

"Relax Frank. Jesus. If I wanted ta whack ya, you'da looked like my walkin' picture by now." Relieved, I resumed my bartendin' duties while he continued.

"So nigga' Sam went and popped off to "tall, dark and handome" and got 'imself punched for his troubles, and now you's all fucked good. Am I right Frank?"

"Where'd you hear?" I said, handing him his drink. He went to the couch and sat, taking his hat off and setting it next to him.

"I hear everything Frank, you know dat. Whaddaya' fuckin' care? Anyways, you's in dutch but good and I know abouddit. So what, right? So now you know I know, so we're all upta speed on da bullshit and da chit chat. Let's talk business."

Sam's always got an angle. He's got a degree in street smarts. I've dined with Presidents and with Kings. I've met every giant in the business world, but none of them, not a one of them is half as smart as Sammy G. He is, hands down the sharpest person in any room. It's made him wealthy. It's also what makes him deadly. Sharp like a knife and it cuts both ways.

I pulled up a chair in front of from him, pulled a sip out of my drink and said, "I'm all ears Sam."

"When me 'n some of da other big guys walked outta' da life, we put some guys in for us. Ya' know, some markers, puppets, guys we could control no matta' where we was."

I nodded, "Smart."

Sam snapped back, "Nah, it was fuckin' stupid. Deez guys start thinkin' dat they're real bosses, ya' know? But not a one of 'em had a brain between 'em. Dey start makin' moves wit out approval from on high. Eventually we ended up wit da special olympics of our thing and dat idiot Gotti wuz da' capt'n of da team. Fucked da whole thing up real good. Fuckin' talk more then broads dose guys. So membership was down, money went down and all da' power followed da' money. Fuckin' Chinks & Spooks running da' neighborhood, thinkin' they got da' muscle, and for a while they do. Big fuckin' mess. Took us fifty fuckin' years to build our thing here and ten to waste it. We all got fuckin' lazy."

I was curious, "So you're not the only one who's back?"

"Uh-uh, not by a long shot, and don't even think 'bout askin' who else. We gotta' new rule and believe me, da' less you know, da' better. Anyways, let's just say da' brains all got back together and we drove out da' dumb muscle. Almost everybody. No walk outs, only one way tickets for dose bums.

I was starting to see where this was heading. If everything Momo was telling me was true, then he must know the 'quiet guys' who were behind The Greek. I was gettin' hopeful. Cautiously hopeful.

"So that's how you heard about my little predicament," I said.

Sammy laughed, "now ya gettin' smart again, Frank. Keep dis up and maybe we let you run anotha casino. Yeah, dats how I heard abouddit." Then he leaned forward and dropped his voice. "See, the thing is, da' boys runnin' that joint, Da Greek? Dey are what's left of da' dumb asses dat we flushed. Dey figure deys well hid in a little joint, skim some cash and no one's gonna' find 'em or fuck wid 'em there."

"And you intend to show them the error of their ways."

"Give dis man a dolla'. Yeah, they gettin' took down."

"Well I couldn't agree with you more Sam. But what can I do?"

"Nothin'"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I want you to lay low, don't stay anywhere you can be found, become impossible to get a holda'. Find some broad in a foreign country and fuck 'er brains out, whatever. Let dis beef between da' Candyman and da' Crooner stew. Don't tell no one, not even Jilly and especially that dizzy broad Marilyn about it, just vanish. Then, after a couple a days, dos guys are gonna' try 'n put pressure on ya', ya' know, muscle ya'. "They'll threaten everything but ya' socks. Fuck 'em. When dey do, send word back that dey can suck ya' dick, ya' got it?"

"How will I know?"

"You'll know."

I knew it was a mixed blessing that Sam was back. It's always a mixed blessing. This time, there was less of a bless in the mixin'.

"So how long do I let this go on, until I DO get whacked?"

"Nah, nah, nah. You ain't gettin' whacked. Listen, you keep up da' routine like I said 'til I tell ya' udderwise."

"I don't know Sam, this is soundin' like a dangerous game."

"Ya' gonna' fuckin' trust me or ya' gonna' wish it was a game. It's already more than you want to play wit. Look, who ya' fuckin' think shielded you after I walked outta' da' life? You do it my way and we'll all get real well at da end of dis. Ya' don't, and you start to regret ya' came back at all, capiche?"

I nodded, "Yeah, alright Sam. My chips are on you, Pal. Like you said, what have I gotta' lose?"

"Believe me Frank, you ain't got nothin' to lose and everything to gain. I wouldn't have brought ya' in if I didn't think you were da' man for da' plan." He rose from the couch and grabbed his hat. "I ain't gonna' tell ya' anymore for now. Ya' know enough. You'll hear from me when ya' hear from me. Right now, ya' gotta' pack ya' bags and fly the fuck outta' here."

We hugged goodbye and then he said, "By this time next month Frank, I'm gonna' be listenin' to you sing 'Chicago' in my new casino. Ya' gonna' have a piece of it too, just like before. It's gonna' be better then ever and no one will be able to touch us, ever." He headed toward the back door and then stopped and said, "Hey, I almost forgot. Dat butler a yours? George?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"He wrote a book. Dey gonna' make a movie outta' it."

"That fuckin' asshole!"

"Nah, I heard he was pretty easy on ya'. He kept da' main secrets out of it, even da' one's about King Arthur, which is why George lives to see his movie. He threw in a few lies too. Said you was hung like a horse." Sam started laughing that maniacal laugh.

"Get da' fuck outta' here Sammy," I said laughin'.

He turned to walk out and I said, "Hey Sam. Thanks Pally."

"Leave town Frank." Then he walked out.

And so here I am. In an undisclosed location like that lard ass Vice-President we got. I can't complain, but you know I will. I'm in a place that looks like paradise, even though in reality, I'm limbo. When I think about it, that's pretty much where I've been all my life, somewhere between heaven and hell.