by James Ellroy
She was carhopping now: roller skates, cowgirl outfits. A Fed fugitive-- fuck it--she spilled a malt on the Fresno DA--and he loved it. Good tips, getting gooood on skates--really gooood tray dips. Stylish Glenda, strong Glenda--tell me ANYTHING.
Her blue streak dwindled; her tough-girl shtick tapped out hoarse. Scared Glenda-chain-smoking to tamp down her nerves.
I told her:
You scared me.
You cut me loose from this woman I had no business loving.
_______________________________________
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Hollywood Ranch Market-- Fountain and Vine.
Open-air entrance, parking lot. Cars, shoppers, box boys pushing carts.
8:02 P.M.--standing curbside. Sweaty, chafing--my bulletproof vest fit tight.
Breuning walking toward me-across-the-lot diagonal.
Packing a suitcase.
Fatter than fat--_his_ vest bunched up at the hips.
Parking-lot lights: humdrum shoppers lit up. No backup types dawdling.
I cut over. Breuning clenched up-fat neck toady fuck.
"Show me the money."
"Dud said you should hand up Vecchio first."
"Just show me."
He opened the bag--just a crack. Cash stacks--fifty grand easy.
"Satisfied?"
A box boy circled by, hands in his apron. A toupee, familiar--
Breuning eyeballed him--Say what?
Black-and-white-glossy familiar--slot surveillance pix--
Breuning fumbled his piece up--
His suitcase hit the ground.
I snagged my .45 on my vest.
The box boy shot through his apron two-handed--Breuning caught two clean head shots.
Screams.
A breeze-money flying.
I got my piece free; the box boy swung my way--two hands out.
Point blank: three shots slammed my vest and pitched me backward. Muzzle smoke in his eyes--I shot through it.
Point blank--no way to miss--a bloody toupee sheared clean, Jesus fuck--
Screams.
Shoppers grabbing money.
Breuning and the box boy tangled up dead.
Another "box boy"--braced against a car hood, aiming at me.
People running/milling/huddling/eating pavement.
I threw myself prone. Shots--rifle loud.
Roof snipers.
That box boy blending in--human shields bobbing every which way.
Snipers--Exley backup.
Firing at the box boy--missing wide.
Bullhorn amplified: "Cease fire! Hostage!"
I stood up. "Hostage": box boy dragging an old lady backward.
Elbows flailing, clawing at him--resisting mean.
Blade flash--he slit her throat down to the windpipe.
Bullhorn roar: "Get him!"
Rifle shots strafed the old lady--box boy hit the sidewalk hauling dead weight.
Run--
Straight across diagonal--his blind side.
"DON'T SHOOT, HE'S OURS!"--somebody/somewhere.
On him, his shield up-this mouth-gaping, neck-severed thing. I shot through her face and ripped them separate; I matched his face as one more Fed-photo dead man.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
"The crime wave that has local authorities baffled continues. A scant hour ago four people were shot and killed at the picturesque Hollywood Ranch Market, two of them identified as Midwest-based criminals posing as market employees. An LAPD officer was also gunned down, as was an innocent woman taken hostage by one of the criminals. Thousands of dollars dropped from a suitcase were scattered in the ensuing pandemonium, and when calculating in the gangland slayings in Watts earlier today that also left four dead, the City of the Angels begins to seem like the City of the Devils."
My motel room, TV news. Call it for _real_:
Exley backup, Smith targets: Breuning and me. A Dudley charade: rogue cops slain, bag cash found. Movie time pending then: my rep even more trashable postmortem.
"... LAPD Chief of Detectives Edmund J. Exley spoke to reporters at the scene."
Recap-my Newton check-in call:
"Tommy and Lucille are still cruising Lincoln Heights, and they still haven't seen each other. And. . . uh.. . sir? Your pal Officer Riegle called in. . . and. . . uh. . . sir, he said to tell you he heard that Chief Exley issued an APB order on you 'cause you left that shooting scene without telling anybody."
Exley on camera: "At this time we are withholding the identities of the victims for legal reasons. I will neither confirm nor refute a rival television station's speculation on the identity of the officer who was killed, and at this time I can only state that he was killed in the line of duty, while attempting to entrap a criminal with marked LAPD money."
Flashback: that slot man eating that old lady's brains.
I called El Segundo. Ring, ring--"Yeah, who's this?"--Pete Bondurant.
"It's me."
"Hey, were you at the Ranch Market? Some news guy said Mike Breuning got it and one cop bugged out."
"Does Chick know about Breuning?"
"Yeah, and it's spooking him no end. Hey, _were you there?_"
"I'll be over in an hour and tell you about it. Is Turentine there?"
"He's here."
"Have him set up a tape recorder and ask him if he's got the equipment to monitor police calls. Tell him I want to tap into band 7 at Newton Street Station."
"Suppose he doesn't have the stuff?"
"Then tell him to get it."
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The stash pad--my low-rent unit.
Pete, Freddy T.; Chick Vecchio cuffed to a heat pipe. A tape rig and shortwave set--with band 7 pickup.
Mobile units calling in to Newton. Broadcasting base to cars: Exley himself.
Incoming:
Tommy and Lucille cruising separate--Lincoln Heights, Chinatown, moving south.
The point man at the K. house:
"I heard it out the boom mike. It sounded to me like J.C. just slapped the piss out of Madge. To top it off, there's Fed cars driving by on the QT every hour or so."
Unit 3-B71: "Lucille's walking around Chinatown asking questions. She's looking sorta distraught, and that last joint she went into--the Kowloon--it looked like a dope front to me."
Pete--wolfing spareribs.
Fred--nursing a highball.
Chick--purple bruises, half his scalp scorched.
Fred poured himself a refill. "The Kafesjians and you. I don't get it."
"It's a long story."
"Sure, and I wouldn't mind listening to something other than these goddamn radio calls."
Pete said, "Don't tell him shit, it'll end up in _Hush-Hush_."
"I'm just thinking twelve mobile tail cars and Ed Exley monitoring calls himself means it's some kind of big deal, which maybe Dave should elaborate on. Like for instance, who are these Tommy and Lucille chumps looking for?"
Light bulb:
Richie "Peeper" Herrick--Chino inmate/bugging know-how. Fred Turentine, drunk driver--Chino teaching gigs.
"Freddy, when were you teaching that electronics class up at Chino?"
"Early '57 up till I got bored and hung up my probation maybe six months ago. Why? What's that got to do with--"
"Did a kid named Richie Herrick take the class?"
Light bulb--dim--juicer Freddy. "Riiiight, Richie Herrick. He escaped, and some psycho chopped his family."
"So, did he take your class?"
"Sure did. I remember him, because he was a shy kid and he played these jazz records while the class worked on their projects."
"And?"
"And that's it. There was this other white guy that he palled with, and he took the class with Herrick. He stuck close to him, but I don't think it was a queer thing."
"Do you remember his name?"
"Nooo, I can't place it."
"Description?"
"Shit, I don't know. Just your average white-trash inmate with a
duck's-ass haircut. I don't even remember what he was in for."
Something?/nothing?--tough call. Chino files missing--
"Dave, what's this all ab--"
Pete: "Leave Klein alone, you're getting paid for this."
Band 7:
Tommy mobile--Chinatown.
Lucille mobile--Chinatown near Chavez Ravine.
I doused the volume and grabbed a chair. Chick edged his chair back.
In his face: "DUDLEY SMITH."
"Davey, please"--raspy dry.
"He's behind all the trouble in Niggertown, and he just sent Mike Breuning out to die. Spill on him, and I'll cut you loose and give you some money."
"Suppose I don't?"
"Then I'll kill you."
"Davey . . ."
Pete signaled me: feed him liquor.
"Davey . . . Davey. . . please."
I handed him Freddy's glass.
"You guys don't know Dudley. You don't know the kind of stuff he'd do to me."
Bonded sour mash--three fingers. "Drink it, you'll feel better."
"Davey . . ."
"_Drink_."
Chick guzzled it down. Grab the glass, refill it, watch him swill.
Instant booze panache: "So what kind of money are you talking about? I've got expensive tastes, you know."
"Twenty grand"--pure bullshit.
"That plays lowball to me."
Pete said, "Talk to Klein or _I'll_ fucking kill you."
"Okay, okay, okay"--refill gestures.
I filled the glass. "Chick, _give_."
"Okay okay okay"--sipping slow.
I propped the tape rig up by his chair and hit Record.
"_Dudley_, Chick. The furs, Duhamel, the Kafesjians, the whole takeover story."
"I guess I know most of it. Feature Dudley likes to talk, 'cause he figures everybody's too scared of him to tattle."
"_Get to it_."
Booze-brave: "I say Domenico 'Chick' Vecchio knows when to talk and when to shut up. I say fuck 'em all except six, and save them for the pallbearers."
Pete said, "Will you _please_ fucking give?"
"Okay okay, feature Dudley, he was the boss at Robbery Division. Exley, he had this hard-on for him, because he made Dud for lots of stuff over the years--"
"Like the Nite Owl job?"
"Yeah, like the Nite Owl. Anyway, Dudley always took the most interesting robbery cases for himself, 'cause that's just the way he is. So Exley shot the Hurwitz Fur case to Robbery, and Dud grabbed it, and he got some leads that he later on figured out were planted by Exley, and those fucking leads led him to his very own so-called protégé, Johnny Duhamel."
Freddy and Pete noshing spareribs--rapt.
"Keep going."
"Okay, now Dudley, he'd recruited Schoolboy Johnny for the Mobster Squad. You know how he drools for tough boys, and when Johnny was in the LAPD Academy he showed some meanness that Dud really liked. So he stayed mean on the Mobster Squad, and now Dudley sees that he's a fucking badass heist guy, which, being Dudley, pleases him no fucking end. So, Dud called Johnny on the heist, and Johnny admitted it, but he refused to snitch his partners, which also impressed Dud. So, feature, Dudley gave Johnny a skate on the fur job and confided some of his own crime gigs to him, which meant that so far Exley's trap was working."
Tape hiss. Chick, snitching nice and loose now: "So feature that Dudley bagged Johnny's furs and stored them at a storage locker joint. A couple got out, 'cause Dudley told Johnny to get next to Lucille Kafesjian when Exley assigned you and that punk Stemmons to that burglary job. Johnny, he got a little lightweight boner for Lucille and gave her one."
"Dudley told Johnny to become intimate with Lucille?"
"Yeah, sort of like a safeguard if you started leaning on the Kafesjians too hard."
"Then what?"
"Then that goddamn Stemmons blundered in. He was Johnny's teacher at the Academy, and Johnny made him for a closet fruit back then. So Junior, he saw this striptease that Lucille did with this mink Johnny gave her, I think he was working Bido Lito's on the burglary job. Johnny was there, and him and Junior talked, which resparked this fucking faggot torch Stemmons had for Johnny."
"So at first Junior came on like a pal."
"Right, and feature that all that Mobster Squad strongarm stuff wasn't really Johnny's style, it was just this role Exley had him playing. Anyway, Johnny, he was stretched pretty thin and feeling pretty bad about it, and he told Stemmons about how brutal the work was, and Junior started figuring out that somebody was running him undercover. Johnny never flatout snitched Dudley to him, but he told him about these 'auditions' Dudley was doing without naming no names."
"What 'auditions'?"
"Dud was bringing these out-of-town guys in. He needed them to work the Southside coin, and he _wanted_ the Feds to see them. Dud said later that Johnny figured out the guys were going to get clipped when Mickey went public with his Fed witness bit."
Haverford Wash--four dead. "But Johnny didn't confide _that_ to Junior."
"Right."
"And the coin men were just pigeons set up to get clipped later?"
"Right."
"What about the 'auditions' themselves?"
"Dudley told the out-of-town guys they had to earn the right to work for him. He said that meant enduring pain. He paid them money to let Johnny hurt them while he watched and talked this philosophical shit to them. Dick Carlisle said Dud broke their spirits and made them goddamn slaves."
Pete said, "Holy shit."
Freddy said, "I don't believe this."
"Who clipped the slot guys?"
"Carlisle and Breuning. You want to hear a nice Dudley touch? He had them soak their buckshot in rat poison, then repack the shells."
"Get back to Johnny."
Chick stretched--his cuff chain rattled. "Dud had Johnny monitoring the slot guys--you know, watching them service the machines. He was doing that one night or something, and Dick Carlisle saw Junior come up to him and start talking this nutso rebop. Carlisle got this feeling that Johnny might be a plant, so he told Dudley, and Dud had Carlisle and Breuning keep this loose tail on him. Now, I don't know who killed Stemmons--probably Tommy or J.C. Kafesj ian--but around the time Carlisle got hinky, J.C. told Dudley that Stemmons was acting crazy, shaking down pushers, shaking down him and Tommy and telling them he could monkey-wrench your burglary investigation. So, this nutty faggot Junior, he's talking up his own Niggertown takeover stuff, and in my opinion Dud would have clipped him himself, if he hadn't of OD'd or got snuffed by the Kafesjians."
"Then what?"
"Then Dud got a tip that Johnny called you to set up a meet--_and I didn't tell him_. So now he _knew_ Johnny was a fucking traitor or decoy or something."
The meet: Chick knew. Bob Gallaudet knew.
"Then what?"
"So Johnny told you to meet him at that pad in Lynwood. Dud used to own it years ago, so I guess Johnny just wanted to meet you someplace close to the bungalow where.. . you know."
Change-up: "Phillip Herrick."
"Who's that?"
"He was murdered in Hancock Park last week. Dudley co-owned 4980 Spindrift with him."
"So?"
Easy call: no Herrick knowledge.
"So Johnny told me to meet him there, and your little movie set was close by. What do you figure he wanted to show me?"
"Maybe the smut-movie setup."
"Maybe, but you told me Sid Frizell wasn't connected to any of Dudley's plans."
"He's not, but Dud _loves_ stag stuff, and when he got tight with Mickey, Mickey told him about this batshit horror movie he was bankrolling and how Sid Frizell wanted to shoot smut films, but he couldn't find a spot. Dud told Mickey to tell Frizell to use one of the rooms in that court, so down the line Sid did, but feature I know for a fact that he doesn't even know Dudley."
SOMETHING--some CONNECTION--knifing me.
"Does Dudley own those bungalows?"
"Feature yes he does, throu
gh dummy partners. Feature he owns about twenty other abandoned dives, just bought dirt fucking cheap off the Lynwood City Council."
"And?"
Leering at me ugly drunk: "And feature Dudley Liam Smith does not get his rocks off on girls, boys or Airedale terriers. Feature he likes to watch. Feature the mirror walls in that flop where you rousted me and feature he's got a shitload of other flops just like it. Feature he's got this idea to film these on-the-sly smut movies where the fuckers and fuckees don't even know they're being watched. Feature he's got bids in with the Bureau of Land and Way to house the spics evicted from Chavez Ravine in those pads and that dump on Spindrift. Feature Dudley's going to film all these taco benders fucking and sell the movies to geeks like himself who dig all that voyeuristic horseshit."
Rumors:
Sid Frizell shooting LYNWOOD stag films.
LYNWOOD spic relocation maybe looming.
That SOMETHING--click:
_Atomic Vampire_.
Movie gore: incest/eye poking/blinding.
Kafesjian 459-dogs blinded.
Herrick 187--three victims eye socket blasted.
Ski Frizell--ex-con type.
Non-Dudley-connected--Chick convinced me.
Non-click: SOMETHING missing.
I said, "Dudley and Mickey."
"You mean what's the skinny on Dudley's rackets thing?"
Shortwave sputter: "Chinatown, Chinatown, Chavez Ravine."
"Right."
"Well, feature the word 'containment.' That's Dud's big word, and what he wants to do is build up this empire on the Southside, maybe stretching into Lynwood, where he's got all this property. He'll only sell dope to niggers, and he'll run whores and smut on the QT, and he'll run all the coin hardware that Mickey so-called divested. His big deal is supposed to be district gambling, with Mickey as his front man. Feature he killed all of Mickey's guys except me and Touch, and feature he tucking manipulated Mickey into cozying up to the Feds. The Mick's a hero now, he's a lovable shmuck, and Dud thinks he can buy up more Lynwood property and start so-called 'containing' the economy down there, then set Mickey up to front his district gambling franchise, all nice and legal."
"District gambling won't pass the State Legislature."
"Well, feature Dudley thinks otherwise. Feature he's got a political guy with very large juice in his pocket to make sure it does get passed."
