“Just a few blocks away from here is where Johnny Stompanato was killed.” Stompanato, a World War II veteran, had been an enforcer for Mob boss Mickey Cohen and an abusive beau of Lana Turner until her fourteen-year-old daughter stabbed him in what was eventually ruled justifiable homicide.

“Where is Mickey Cohen these days?” Margaret wondered.

“Prison,” said Charlie. “Just a few months ago.”

“Alcatraz,” added Goode. The streets around them were changing from lush opulence to dingier commercial fare.

“For tax evasion, I assume?” Margaret asked.

“Of course,” said Goode.

“People lie,” Charlie said. “Numbers don’t.”

“Isn’t it odd that mobsters are just, y’know, hanging out with these big stars?” Margaret asked, fishing.

“Handsome Johnny even got a producing credit on a few pictures!” Goode said.

“Who?” asked Margaret.

“Johnny Rosselli,” Goode said. “Indicted with the head of the Theatrical Stage Employees Union. Racketeering. He was with you guys tonight!”

“Who?” Charlie asked.

“‘Handsome’ Johnny Rosselli and Wassy Handelman,” Goode said. “They were the two thugs with Frank tonight. Handsome and Harry Cohn at Columbia are thick as thieves. Also tight with Giancana, of course. But then, everyone’s friends with Momo.”

“Momo?” asked Margaret.

“Giancana,” Charlie said.

“Momo has tons of friends,” Goode said.

“Like Sinatra?” asked Margaret.

“Sinatra,” said Goode. “Dino…”

“How connected is Frank, really?” Margaret blurted out, looking at Charlie to gauge his reaction. She couldn’t tell in the darkness of the car, but Charlie was surprised and a bit pleased. Why not just ask? Charlie’s careers in academia and politics required finesse and diplomacy, but Margaret was a scientist. She pursued facts, and she thought the dances around obtaining them were nonsense. Even if she did make a fine dancer.

“That’s a complicated question,” Goode said. “I mean, take the world of nightclubs that he grew up in. Can’t really make it without some shadiness, whether the artist knows it or not. Then, of course, for about a decade he’s been a two-percent owner in the Sands.”

“Bugsy built the whole town,” Charlie noted.

“Precisely,” Goode said. “So nothing too crazy there. The real juiciness happened in Cuba in ’47!”

“What happened in Cuba in ’47?” Margaret asked.

“I am constantly amazed at how effectively he had this buried,” Goode said, shaking her head. “This is why he punched Lee Mortimer in the nose, because of the big Cuba exposé.”

She looked at Margaret, who shrugged.

“So 1947 was before Revolución cubana, obviously. Sinatra was with Tommy Dorsey’s band. He flew to Havana with a buddy from Hoboken who just happened to be Al Capone’s cousin. They checked in at the Hotel Nacional and later that night were photographed eating and drinking with various known members of the Mob, including Lucky Luciano.”

“Wow,” said Charlie. “But maybe they just ran into them?”