by James Ellroy
"Call Noonan. Tell him you're handing your Narco dossiers over. Tell him to retract his warrant on me until I bring our witnesses in."
Do it--grab the bait--I'll run with _your_ money--
"Exley . . ."
"Yes. Move Bullock some place safe after dark, then call me."
"You'll call Noonan?"
"Yes, I'll call him now."
"I'm surprised you're trusting me."
"I've betrayed your trust before, and I'm running out of strategies. Just keep the shotgun and try not to kill him."
_______________________________________
I settled in.
Bullock talked pancakes and the Eyeball Man.
EVERYTHING spun me crazy--backward, forward--back to Meg, up to Glenda.
Escape plans. Buyouts. Schemes--nothing jelled.
Dusk came on--I kept the lights off Music somewhere--EVERYTHING spun me fresh.
Nothing jelled.
Bullock fell asleep cuffed to his chair.
Nothing jelled.
Bullock muttered gibberish in his sleep.
Shakes, shudders--something like a whimper ripping through me.
I braced myself against the wall--
Killings, beatings, bribes, payoffs, kickbacks, shakedowns. Rent coercion, muscle jobs, strikebreaker work. Lies, intimidation, vows trashed, oaths broken, duties scorned. Thievery, duplicity, greed, lies, killings, beatings, bribes, payoffs, Meg--
That whimper got loose--Bullock cocked his head to hear it better. Sobs then-choking back tears, sobs racking through me so hard the trailer shook.
EVERYTHING.
Spinning, falling, confessing.
I don't know how long it lasted.
I came out of it thinking:
NOT ENOUGH.
I made the call.
_______________________________________
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
The Sears & Roebuck parking lot: wide open, empty. A block off: my Eastside building.
Early. Arclights on asphalt--he'd see us.
683 grand stuffed in four attaché cases.
My .45 taped to my ankle.
Wylie Bullock in the front seat-cuffed with his hands in his lap.
Exley's cleaver beside him.
Headlights coming.
I laid the money bags on the hood. No suitcoat, no holster--frisk me.
Headlights up, brakes, lights off. Dudley Smith stepped out, smiling.
Coatless, empty holster--frisk me.
"Lad, you're early."
"I'm cautious."
"Given your circumstances, I would be, too. And that man I glimpse in your car?"
"He's a pilot. He's flying me south."
He looked in--the passenger window half down. Bullock stayed calm, my suitcoat draped over his cuffs.
"What grand briefcases! Have you tallied the amount?"
"Almost seven hundred thousand."
"Is this my share?"
"It's yours."
"In exchange for?"
"The safety of the people I leave here."
"You used the plural, lad. Have you loved ones beyond your sister?"
"Not really."
"Aah, grand. And Vecchio?"
"He's dead."
"Have you brought the verification I requested?"
"It's in with the money."
"Well, then given that Edmund Exley is unapproachable and somewhat compromised, I would say this is goodbye."
I stepped closer--blocking his view--cover for Bullock.
"I've still got those curiosities."
"Such as?"
Louder--_barely_--don't rile him yet:
"Madge Kafesjian told me about the blind man killings. I wondered how you cut your deal with J.C. and Phil Herrick."
Dudley roared--huge stage laughs.
I reached back and freed the door.
"I was brazen then, lad. I understood the metaphors of greed and blind rage, and the absurdity of a sightless man wielding a ten-gauge did not escape me."
"I wish I could have seen you cut the deal."
"It was fairly prosaic, lad. I simply told Mr. Kafesjian and Mr. Herrick that their thriftily brewed liquor caused four deaths and assorted untold suffering. I informed them that in exchange for a percentage of their bus iness holdings that suffering would remain strictly a point of contention between them and God."
"Just like that?"
Bullock mumbling.
"I also offered visual persuasion. A coroner's photograph of a young couple rendered headless expressed a certain shock value."
Mumbling louder--I coughed to cover the noise.
"Lad, is your pilot confrere talking to himself?"
Getting hinky--watch his hands.
"Lad, will you open the briefcase that contains my verification?"
I stepped closer.
Dudley flexed his hands one single beat too quick.
I pivoted to slam a knee shot; he sidestepped me.
Shivs dropping out his shirt cuffs--grab a briefcase, swing it--
Two stilettos palmed deft.
Stabbing at me--ripping leather--two blades stuck.
I dropped the briefcase.
Dudley stood wide open.
Bullock piled out, hands on the cleaver.
"EYEBALL MAN! EYEBALL MAN!"
I slammed a knee shot.
Dudley went down.
Bullock went at him cleaver-first.
Wild swings--the handcuffs fucked his grip up--the blade ripped Dudley's mouth ear to ear. Roundhouse coup de grace--the cleaver hit asphalt.
"EYEBALL MAN!"--Bullock on Dudley:
Biting.
Clawing.
Ripping at his eyes.
Look:
One gushing red socket.
"NO!"--my scream/my gun out/aiming at them tangled up together.
I fired twice-two misses--ricochets off the pavement.
Two more shots braced against the hood--Bullock's face exploded.
Bone spray in my eyes.
Firing blind--ricochet zings, a jammed slide.
Dudley on Bullock--prying at his hands.
Dudley weaving, screaming exultant--his eye cupped back to his face.
I grabbed the money and ran. Echoes boomed behind me: "EYEBALL MAN! EYEBALL MAN!"
_______________________________________
A week--backtrack it:
I ran that one block to my building. Old bookie stash holes in the basement--I tucked the money away.
Calls from the janitor's phone:
Glenda, long distance: come down, grab the cash, hide. Pete in El Segundo: cut Chick loose--Glenda's got twenty grand for you.
Pandemonium at Sears--prowl cars responding to shots. Bullock dead, Dudley rushed to Queen of Angels. My explanation: ask Chief Exley.
I was arrested--bagged on Exley's APB. I was allowed one phone call--I buzzed Noonan.
A custody battle ensued--LA.PD vs. Feds--Noonan victorious.
Material witness protection--no charges filed on me yet.
A Statler Hilton suite, friendly guards: Jim Henstell and Will Shipstad.
A TV in my room--dig the news:
Mickey Cohen--solid-citizen Fed helper.
Gas Chamber Bob G.--nine days missing, where's the DA?
Frequent visits from Welles Noonan.
My tack: total silence.
His tack: threats, lawyer logic.
Exley called him the day we glommed Bullock; dig the deal he offered:
A joint LAPD/Fed effort--Narco swings and Dave Klein brings in four witnesses. Cooperation assured; Exley quoted verbatim: "Let's bury the hatchet and work together. One of the witnesses will be a high-ranking LAPD man, more like a hostile interrogatee. He has intimate knowledge on the Kafesjian family, and I would call him federally indictable on at least a half-dozen charges. I think he will more than make up for the loss of Dan Wilhite, who regrettably committed suicide last week. Mr. Noonan, this officer is very dirty. All lask
is that he be portrayed as a contained, totally autonomous entity within the LAPD, just as you've agreed to portray the Narcotics Division."
Coming up: an LAPD/Fed press conference.
My "witnesses":
Wylie Bullock--dead.
Chick V--probably hiding.
Madge--grieving somewhere.
Dudley Smith--on the critical list.
"Critical" PR--Exley press manipulation--no word on the Bullock thing issued. No City charges filed on me; Bullock cremated.
No "witnesses "--and Noonan was furious.
Threats:
"I'll prosecute your sister on tax charges."
"I'll give the DA's Office my bugging tapes--Glenda Bledsoe goddamn admitted she killed Dwight Gilette."
"I have you on tape telling a man named Jack to 'kill him. 'If you refuse to talk to me, I'll have Federal agents comb a list of your known associates for that man."
My tack: total silence.
My ace: sole-witness status--I knew EVERYTHING.
Days dragged. No more L.A. "crime wave" news--Noonan and Exley put the fix in. Tommy and J.C.--under Fed surveillance, untouchable.
A visit from Ed Exley.
"I think you stole money from me. Cooperate with Noonan and I'll let you keep it. You'll need money-and I won't miss it."
"Without your testimony Dudley can't be touched."
"If this agreement with the Feds falls through, the Department will look disgracefully ineffectual."
My tack: total silence.
A visit from Pete B. Whispers: Glenda's got the money--and she paid me my cut. Word's out you're a Fed snitch--Sam Giancana just issued a contract
A visit from two Sheriff's dicks: "We like Glenda Bledsoe for the Miciak job."
My tack--confession--I killed him solo. I dropped knife wound details-- they bought it--they said they'd file Murder One on me.
Noonan right there: "I will use the full power of the Federal Government to keep this man in my sole custody."
A phone call--Jack Woods checking in:
"Meg's okay. Sam G. put the word out--you're dead."
Stale news.
Long days--playing cards with Will Shipstad killed time. Instincts: he hates Fed work, he hates Noonan. I threw out a bribe flyer: erase the Glenda tape for thirty grand.
He agreed.
Noonan confirmed it the next day: "Incompetent technicians!"--a huge tantrum.
Long nights--bad dreams--killings, beatings, bribes, shakedowns, lies.
Bad sleep, no sleep.
Afraid to sleep, nightmares on call: Johnny begging, one-eyed Dudley.
Glenda--hard to conjure--easy to hear:
"You want to confess."
Two nights, six legal pads--Dave "the Enforcer" Klein con fesses-- Killings, beatings, bribes, payoffs, shakedowns--my police career up to Wylie Bullock. Lies, intimidation, vows trashed, oaths broken. Exley and Smith--my accessories--tell the world.
Ninety-four pages--Shipstad leaked it to Pete B.
Conduit Pete, copies to: _Hush-Hush_, the L.A. _Times_, the State AG.
Time ticking, Noonan crazed: the press conference is pending, Ineed you to talk.
Threats, offers, threats--
I talked:
"Give me two days of freedom under Federal guard. When I return to custody we'll prepare my testimony."
Noonan--reluctant, half crazy: "Yes."
_______________________________________
L.A. _Herald-Express_, 12/6/58:
LAPD--FEDERAL PRESS CONFERENCE CANCELLED
The announcement last week surprised everybody: the Los Angeles Police Department and the U.S. Attorney's Office, Southern California District, were holding a joint press conference. Adversaries during U.S. Attorney Welles Noonan's still ongoing Southside rackets probe, the two law enforcement agencies had recently come across as anything but friendly. Federal officers charged the LAPD with allowing vice to rage in South-Central Los Angeles, while LAPD Chief of Detectives Edmund Exley accused Mr. Noonan of mounting a politically motivated smear campaign against his Department. That dissention ended last week when both men issued identical statements to reporters. Now, tomorrow's press conference has been precipitously called off, leaving many members of the Southern California law enforcement community baffled.
Last week's press release was carefully worded; it hinted only that a cooperative Federal-LAPD effort had been mounted, one perhaps aimed at securing indictments against members of the LAPD's Narcotics Division. Much more was to have been revealed tomorrow, and an anonymous source within the U.S. Attorney's Office stated that he thought the joint effort was scotched due to breach of official promises. Queried as to exactly what "promises," the source stated: "A Los Angeles police officer skipped Federal custody. He was to have testified against members of the LAPD Narcotics Squad and a criminal family they have long been allied with, and he was also to have induced a total of four other potential witnesses into testifying. He did not deliver those witnesses, and when allowed two days out of custody to take care of personal matters, he attacked his guard and escaped. Frankly, without him the Federal Government has only Mickey Cohen, a former gangster, to offer testimony."
CRIME WAVE SPECULATION
This situation occurs in the middle of a statistically staggering Los Angeles crime wave, much of it Southside based. The City homicide rate for the past month soared 1600%, and although neither the LAPD nor U.S. Attorney's Office will confirm it, speculation has linked last week's gangland killings in Watts to the Hollywood Ranch Market shootout that also left four dead. Add on the mysterious disappearance of Los Angeles District Attorney Robert Gallaudet and the November 19 Herrick family slayings, still unsolved, and you have what Governor Goodwin J. Knight has called "a powder keg situation. I have every confidence in the ability of Chief Parker and Deputy Chief Exley to maintain order, but you still have to wonder what could cause such a drastic upsweep in crime."
Asked to comment on the press conference cancellation, Chief Exley refused. Queried on the recent crime wave, he stated: "It was simply coincidental and non-tangential, and now it's over."
L.A. _Mirror_, 12/8/58:
LAPD PRE-EMPTS FEDS IN DARING MOVE
The Los Angeles Police Department's famously stern Chief of Detectives Edmund J. Exley called an impromptu press conference this morning. He was expected to digress on the recent Federal Southside crime investigation and offer comments on why the LAPD and local U.S. Attorney's Office have apparently abandoned their short-lived "cooperative venture" into probing both Southside malfeasance and the Los Angeles Police Department's own Narcotics Division.
He did neither. Instead, in a terse prepared statement, he blasted the Narcotics Division himself and said that he would personally deliver incriminating evidence to a specially convened County grand jury, then offer tax fraud information unilaterally to the U.S. Attorney's Office.
Describing "Narco" as a "police unit autonomously run amok," Exley stated that he was certain its "long-standing tradition of graft" did not extend to other LAPD divisions, but Internal Affairs Division, under his supervision, was going to "comb this police department like a bloodhound sniffing out graft to make sure."
Stunned reporters asked questions; Exley refused to answer them. He did state that the commanding officer of Narcotics Division, Captain Daniel Wilhite, 44, recently committed suicide, and that Internal Affairs detectives were currently interviewing various "Narco" officers with an eye toward securing voluntary grand jury testimony.
Asked just how "dirty" "Narco" was, Chief Exley said, "Very. I am personally stating that it has been in collusion with a vicious dope-pushing family for over twenty years. It is my desire to reform the Narcotics Division from the ground up and take that family down. I will be passing pertinent Federal venue information on to U.S. Attorney Welles Noonan, but he should know that I am taking the primary responsibility for cleaning my own house."
_Hush-Hush_ Magazine, 12/11/58:
FREEDOM O
F SPEECH GAGGED!!!!!
J'ACCUSE! J'ACCUSE!
Journalistic nitroglycerine-that's the only way to describe it. 94 pages that arrived at _Hush-Hush_ ten days ago, atom bomb accusations that were also sent to a Los Angeles newspaper and the State Attorney General's Office.
They chose to ignore it; we chose to print it. The confidential source that transmitted this literary A-bomb verified its authenticity--and we believed him. 94 pages: scorching, scalding, burning hot revelations, the confessions of a crooked Los Angeles policeman on the run from the mob, the cops and his own violent past. You _would have seen it here_ on December 18th--but something happened.
Kats and kittens, we're on dicey legal ground here. We can describe the "legal" machinations that have censored us; our lawyers tell us that the vague description of the material covered in the preceding paragraph does not violate the "legal" injunction filed against us by the Los Angeles Police Department.
And we'll go just a tad further in our description: those 94 pages would have brought the LAPD to its knees. Our (regrettably) anonymous author, unflinching in his portrayal of his own corruption, also charged celebrated Los Angeles policemen with felony malfeasance on a spectacular scale and claimed that LAPD off icials covered up a complex web of circumstances surrounding the recent L.A. crime wave. Scalding, scorching hot revelations-- verifiably true--and we can't print them.
That's as much as our attorneys will permit us to tell you about those 94 pages. Is your appetite whetted? Good, now let us stoke your rage.
An employee of ours, a man charged with gathering electronic information, has a drinking problem. He saw those 94 pages, recognized them as dynamite and called an LAPD acquaintance. Our employee, a probation absconder ducking drunk driving warrants, leaked those pages to his acquaintance. Word spread to the LAPD hierarchy; a restraining order was secured. Our employee was rewarded: his warrants were rendered null and void. Those scalding 94 pages were seized; we cannot print any portion of them under threat of "legal" injunction.
The newspaper? The State Attorney General's Office?
