by James Ellroy
Cardiac red--fat shitbird. Shipstad: "_Enough_. Lieutenant, where were you?"
"Refuse to answer."
"What happened to your service revolver?"
"Refuse to answer."
"Can you explain the unkempt condition we found you in?"
"Refuse to answer."
"Can you explain the blood on your shirt?"
Johnny begging--
"Refuse to answer."
Milner: "Something getting to you, hotshot?"
Shipstad: "Where were you?"
"Refuse to answer."
"Did _you_ torch Bido Lito's?"
"No."
"Do you know who did?"
"No."
"Did the LAPD do it as revenge for Stemmons' death?"
"No, you're crazy."
"Did Inspector George Stemmons, Sr., order the torch?"
"I don't--no, you're crazy."
"Did _you_ torch Bido Lito's to avenge your partner's death?"
"No"--getting light-headed.
Milner: "We don't smell liquor on your breath."
Shipstad: "Were you under the influence of narcotics when we found you?"
"No."
"Do you use narcotics?"
"No"--speaker lights on the wall--listeners somewhere.
"Were you forcibly administered narcotics?"
"No"--a good guess--JOHNNY CO-STAR. The door opened--Welles Noonan stepped in.
Milner walked out. Noonan: "Good morning, Mr. Klein."
Jack Kennedy hair--reeking of hairspray. "I said, 'Good morning.'"
JOHNNY BEGGING.
"Klein, are you listening to me?"
"I heard you."
"Good. I had a few questions before we release you."
"Ask them."
"I will. And I look forward to sparring with you. I remember that precedent you upbraided Special Agent Milner with, so I think we'd be evenly matched."
"How do you get your hair to do that?"
"I'm not here to share my hairdressing secrets with you. Now, I'm going--"
"Cocksucker, you spit in my face."
"Yes. And you were at the very least criminally negligent in the matter of Sanderline Johnson's death. So far, these are-"
"Ten minutes or I call Jerry Geisler for habeas."
"He'll never find a judge."
"Ten minutes or I engage Kanarek, Brown and Mattingly to file nuisance claims that entail immediate court appearances."
"Mr. Klein, did you--"
"Call me 'Lieutenant.'"
"Lieutenant, how well do you know the history of the Los Angeles Police Department?"
"Get to it, don't lead me."
"Very well. Who initiated what I'll euphemistically describe as the 'arrangement' between the LAPD and Mr. J.C. Kafesjian?"
"What 'arrangement'?"
"Come, _Lieutenant_. You know you despise them as much as we do."
Lead him, cut him slack. "I think it was Chief Davis, the chief before Horrall. Why?"
"And this was circa 1936, '37?"
"Around then, I think. I joined the Department in '38."
"Yes, and I hope that the fact that your pension is secure hasn't given you a false sense of invulnerability. Ueutenant, Captain Daniel Wilhite is the liaison between the Kafesjian family and Narcotics Division, is he not?"
"Refuse to answer."
"I understand, brother-officer loyalty. Has Wilhite operated the Kafesjians since the beginning of your arrangement?"
"The way I understand it, Chief Davis brought the Kafesjians in and operated them until Horrall took over as chief late in '39. Dan Wilhite didn't join the Department until mid-'39, so he couldn't have been their original operator, if he has fucking indeed ever been their operator."
Fey aristocrat: "Oh, come, Lieutenant. You know Wilhite and the Kafesjians are near-ancient allies."
"Refuse to comment. But keep asking me about the Kafesjians."
"Yes, we've heard they've piqued your interest."
JOHNNY BEGGING.
Shipstad: "You're looking queasy. Do you want a drink of--"
Noonan: "Did you tell Mickey Cohen to remove his slot and vending machines? He was lax, you know. We've got pictures of his men servicing them."
"Refuse to answer."
"We've recently turned a major witness, you know."
Don't bite.
"A _major_ witness."
"Your clock's ticking."
"Yes, it is. Will, do you think Mr. Klein torched Bido Lito's?"
"No, sir, I don't."
"He can't or won't account for his whereabouts."
"Sir, I'm not so sure he knows himself."
I stood up--my legs almost went. "I'll take a cab back to my car."
"Nonsense, Special Agent Shipstad will drive you. Will, I'm curious as to where the lieutenant has spent the past day or so."
"Sir, my guess is either a hell of a woman or a run-in with a grizzly bear."
"Aptly put, and the blood on his shirt suggests the latter. Do you know how I suggest we find out?"
"No, sir."
"We monitor Southside homicide calls and see which ones Edmund Exley tries to obfuscate."
"I like it, sir."
"I thought you would. It's empirically valid, since we both know that Dave here murdered Sanderline Johnson. I think it's a family enterprise. Dave does the scut work, sister Meg invests the money. How's this for an adage? 'The family that slays together stays--'"
I jumped him--my legs caved--Shipstad pried me off. Thumbs on my carotid, hauled across the hallway blacking out--
Locked in, snapping back fast--wide awake quick. A four-by-six space--quilt walls--no chairs, no table. A wall speaker outlet and mirrored spyhole--adjoining-room access.
A padded cell/watching post--scope it out:
Scarred glass--some distortion. Audio squelch--I slapped the speaker--better. Check the mirror: Milner and Abe Voldrich next door.
Milner: "... what I'm saying is that either J.C. and Tommy will be indicted, or the publicity they get when we make the grand jury minutes available to the press will ruin them. Narco is going to be cut off at the knees, and I think Ed Exley knows it himself, because he has taken no measures to protect them or to sequester evidence. Abe, without Narco the Kafesjians are just a bunch of stupes running a marginally profitable dry-cleaning business."
Voidrich: "I . . . am. . . not. . . an informant."
Milner: "No, you're a fifty-one-year-old Lithuanian refugee with a green card we can revoke at anytime. Abe, do you want to live behind the Iron Curtain? Do you know what the Commies would do to you?"
"I am not a snitch."
"No, but you'd like to be. You're letting hints drop. You told me you dried marijuana bales in one of the E-Z Kleen dryers."
"Yes, and I told you J.C., Tommy and Madge didn't know about it."
Cigarette smoke--blurred faces.
Milner: "You know that J.C. and Tommy are scum. You always go to lengths to differentiate Madge from them. She's a nice woman, and you're an essentially decent man who fell in with bad people."
Voldrich: "Madge is a very fine woman who for many reasons. . . well, she just needs Tommy and J.C."
Milner: "Did Tommy clip a drunk driver who killed a Narco cop's daughter?"
"I stand on that Fifth Amendment thing."
"You and the whole goddamn world--they never should have broadcast the Kefauver hearings. Abe--"
"Agent Milner, please charge me or release me."
"You got your phone call, and you elected to call your sister. If you'd called J.C., he would have found a smart lawyer to get you released on a writ. I think you want to do the right thing. Mr. Noonan explained the immunity agreement to you, and he's promised you a Federal service reward. I think you want it. Mr. Noonan wants to take three major witnesses to the grand jury, one of them you. And the nice thing is that if all three of you testify, everyone who could conceivably hurt you will be indicted and convicted."
"I am
not an informant."
"Abe, did Tommy and J.C. kill Sergeant George Stemmons, Jr.?"
"No"--hoarse.
"He died from a heroin overdose. Tommy and J.C. could have faked something like that."
"No--I mean I don't know."
"Which one?"
"I mean no, I don't think so."
"Abe, you're not exactly a poker face. Now, along those lines, we know that Tommy plays his horn at Bido Lito's. Is he tight there?"
"Fifth Amendment."
"That's TV for you. Kids break a window, they plead the Fifth. Abe, how well did the Kafesjians know Junior Stemmons?"
"Fifth Amendment."
"Stemmons and a Lieutenant David Klein were bothering them about a burglary that occurred at their house two weeks ago. What do you know about that?"
"Fifth Amendment."
"Did they try to shake down the Kafesjians for money?"
"No--I mean Fifth Amendment."
"Abe, you're an open book. Come on, Stemmons was a junkie, and Klein's as dirty as cops get."
Voldrich coughed--the speaker caught static. "_No. Fifth Amendment_."
Milner: "Let's change the subject."
"How about politics?"
"How about Mickey Cohen? Do you know him?"
"I have never met the man."
"Maybe not, but you're an old Southside hand. What do you know about Mickey's coin racket down there?"
"I know buppkis. I know that slot machines play to a nickel-and-clime mentality, which explains their allure to stupid shvartzes."
Milner: "Let's change the subject."
"How about the Dodgers? If I was a Mexican, I'd be happy to leave Chavez Ravine."
"How about Dan Wilhite?"
"Fifth Amendment."
"We've looked at his tax records, Abe. J.C. gave him twenty percent of the E-Z Kleen shop on Alvarado."
"Fifth Amendment."
"Abe, every man working Narco owns unaffordable items that we think J.C. gave them. We've audited their tax returns, and when we call them in to explain those items and say 'Tell us where you got them and you'll skate,' J.C. will be sunk on twenty-four counts of bribery and suborning federal tax fraud."
"Fifth Amendment."
"Abe, I'll give you some advice: _always plead the Fifth across the board_. Conversational answers interspersed with the Fifth simply serve to single out the responses that indicate guilty knowledge."
Silence.
"Abe, you're looking a little green at the gills."
No answer.
"Abe, we heard Tommy's been looking for a guy named Richie. We've got no last name, but we've heard that he and Tommy used to play jazz together and pull B&E's."
I pressed up to the glass--smoke, distortion--"Fifth Amendment."
"Abe, you never won a dime at poker."
Pressing up--squinting, ears cocked.
"You really do want to help us out, Abe. Once you admit it you'll feel a lot better."
Door clangs--I eased off the wall.
Two Feds flanking Welles Noonan. I hit first: "You want to turn me as a witness."
Noonan patted his hair. "Yes, and my wife's pulling for you. She saw your picture in the papers, and she's quite smitten."
"Quid pro quo?"
"You're not desperate enough, but try me."
"Richie Something. Tell me what you've got on him."
"No, and I'll have to upbraid Agent Milner for leaving that speaker on."
"Noonan, we can deal on this."
"No, you're not ready to beg yet. Gentlemen, escort Mr. Klein to a taxi."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Bido Lito's--daybreak.
Scorched rubble, the bandstand dead center. Ash heaps, shattered glass.
Sidewalk phones intact. One dime in my pockets--be there, please.
Six rings--"Hello?" sleepy-voiced.
"It's me."
"_Where are you?_"
"I'm all right."
"I didn't ask you--David, where _were_ you?"
Tingles--just hearing her.
"I can't--look, were you questioned?"
"Yes, two Sheriff's men. They said it was routine, that all the Hughes contract actresses were being questioned. They didn't seem to know that Howard had me under surveillance, and I didn't have to give an alibi for a specific time, because they couldn't establish the time Miciak died. They--"
"Don't say names."
"Why? Where are you calling from?"
"A pay phone."
"David, you sound frightened. Where _were_ you?"
"I'll tell you if--I mean when it's over."
"Is this the Kafesjian thing?"
"How did you know that?"
"I just did. There's things you don't tell me, so--"
"There's things you don't tell me."
Silence.
"Glenda?"
"Yes, and there's things that I won't."
"Talk to me, then."
"Come over."
"I can't, I have to sleep."
"What kind of things should I tell you?"
"I don't know, good things."
Soft, sleepy-voiced: "Well, when I was seeing H.H. I pumped him for some stock tips and bought low. Those stocks are rising now, so I think I'll make a nice profit. When you stood me up night before last, I had dinner with Mickey. He's still enamored of me, and he had me critique his acting style, something to do with his making an important speech soon. My car has a loose clutch, and I--"
"Look, it's going to be all right."
"Is it _all_ going to be all right?"
"Sure."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I'll call you when I can."
o o o
Vandals got my hubcabs. Movie time encore:
"PLEASE DON'T KILL ME."
"PLEASE DON'T KILL ME LIKE YOU KILLED ALL THE OTHERS."
Happytime Liquor two doors down.
I walked in, bought a pint of Scotch. Back to the car--three shots quick.
Shudders--no toasty-warm tingles.
I tossed the rest--booze was for perverts and cowards.
Meg taught me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
My place: neat and clean. I holstered up replacement goods: my Marine .45.
A scream then:
My Jap sword on a bookshelf--blood-flecked.
Five grand beside it.
o o o
Sleep--JOHNNY BEGGING.
o o o
Noon--I woke up reaching for the phone. A quick reflex call: Lynwood City Hall.
Inquire:
4980 Spindrift--vacant four-flat--who's it belong to? A clerk shuffle, the word:
Lynwood City foreclosed--the owner died circa '46. Abandoned for twelve years, rebuilding bids out: potential Chavez Ravine evictee housing. A title search?--impossible--storage-basement floods destroyed those records.
Lynwood--why meet there?
Duhamel: "Evidence."
Out for the papers, back for coffee. Four L.A. dailies full of Darktown:
The after-hours shootout--five dead, no clues, no suspects. Four shines ID'd--"Negro" Steve Wenzel deleted. Exley: "Experienced Homicide detectives are working this case full-time. It is a top LAPD priority."
A flash:
Movie time-mirrored walls--familiar somehow--
The _Herald_:
"Three Dead in Jazz Club Fire: Arson Cops Tag Blaze 'Accidental.'" Exley: "We believe that the fire at Bido Lito's is in no way connected to the tragic heart attack death of Sergeant George Stemmons, Jr., two days before on those same premises."
Instinct: Junior hotshot--by THEM.
Instinct: potential evidence torched.
The _Mirror-News_--skank-slanted:
Dead cop/niteclub inferno-what's shaking? Stemmons, Sr., quoted: "Negro hoodlums killed my son!" Exley's rebuttal: "Pure nonsense. Sergeant Stemmons died of cardiac arrest pure and simple. The Coroner's Office will release findings along those lines within twenty-four hours. And the notion
that the Los Angeles Police Department set fire to Bido Lito's as revenge for Sergeant Stemmons' death is simply preposterous."
Junior RIP--a Catholic service upcoming. Officiating: Dudley Smith, lay chaplain.
Snide:
"With a Federal rackets probe in full swing down in South Central Los Angeles (and one generally believed to be aimed at discrediting the Los Angeles Police Department), Chief of Detectives Edmund J. Exley certainly is doing his best to pooh-pooh the current Southside crime wave to members of the press. Local sources say that there are as many Federal agents on the streets as there are LAPD men, which one would think bodes for diminished crime statistics. Something is fishy here, and it certainly isn't the catfish gumbo which used to be served at the recently scorched Bido Lito's Club."
Exley, L.A. _Times_: "I feel sorry for the Federal authorities currently seeking to manufacture a successful rackets investigation in Los Angeles. They will fail, because the enforcement measures employed by the Los Angeles Police Department have proven successful for many years. Apparently, Welles Noonan has targeted the LAPD's Narcotics Division for indictments, and I was recently asked why I have not sequestered the men working that division. My answer? Simply that those men have nothing to hide."
BIG instinct--Narco, Fed bait.
The _Times_/_Herald_/_Mirror_--no male DB's found. The Examiner: "Sewer Worker Makes Grisly Discovery."
Skim it:
A storm drain on the Compton/Lynwood border--Sheriff's turf. Found: a white male DB--tall, pale, 160--headless, no fingers, no feet. Dead for twenty-four to thirty-six hours--EVISCERATED, SPINE SEVERED.
"No identifying marks were found on the body. Sheriff's detectives believe that the killer or killers decapitated the victim and cut off his hands and feet to render a forensic identification impossible."
"If you have information regarding this man, John Doe #26-1958, County Homicide Bulletin 141-26-1958, call Sgt. B.W. Schenkner, Firestone Sheriff's Station, TU 3-0985."
I could call that number. I could plead:
No location or exact time-frame knowledge--I was drugged and coerced.
My assumed coercers: the Kafesjians. Two-man coercion minimum-- logistics dictated it.
THEM:
Dope access.
A motive-rogue cop orbits--Duhamel linked to Junior linked to me.
I could plead details:
