“I did everything I could, Frank!” Lawford protested. “I told the president all the work you’d done to the place, that you’d had a switchboard put in for his calls, that you’d built him a heliport. I said that you’d even erected a flagpole just for the presidential flag after you saw the one flying in Hyannis Port!”

Sinatra started rubbing his cheeks with his right hand, up and down, as if feeling his beard, up and down, as if he were trying to wring an answer from his own head. He stopped, raised a finger, and shook it as if he’d come up with the one solution to all of this. He strode to the door to the pool, swung it open, and marched off. Charlie and Lawford looked at each other, then began scrambling after their friend. In his present state, who knew what he was capable of?

It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to disappear behind Mount San Jacinto. Charlie followed Lawford around a corner of the mansion. Sinatra had grabbed a sledgehammer from the construction equipment scattered around and was walking toward the helipad.

“What are you doing, Frank?” Charlie asked.

“Don’t, don’t do that, Frank!” Lawford pleaded.

The singer was not exactly in top physical shape, his diet and exercise regimen consisting of whiskey, cigarettes, and poker. He focused the giant hammer on the paved circle of the helipad, hoisted the sledgehammer above his head, then brought it down with every ounce of strength he had. It made a thick sound, an ugly clunk!

He was already sweating as he brought the hammer down again. And again. A hole appeared in the asphalt; cracks spidered out from there, destroying the pristine construction. He looked up at Lawford and Charlie, wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his bathrobe, and lifted the tool high above his head once more.

“You having fun watching this, you pieces of fucking shit?” Sinatra snarled at them. “You fucking traitors? Get the fuck out of here!”

The two men backed away from the helipad and returned to the house. After bidding Jacobs a quick adieu, they rushed into Lawford’s sports car, and he stepped on the gas.

A few blocks away they both exhaled.

“Jesus Christ,” said Charlie.

“That went about as well as we expected,” said Lawford.

“And now it’s your turn to do me a favor,” Charlie said.

“Oh, goody,” said Lawford.

Chapter Nineteen

Anaheim, California

April 1962