by James Ellroy
Meeks gulped. There—the fucking balance regained.
Dudley stood up. He got anchored. He weave-walked to the show-up room. It was elbow-to-elbow tight.
His lads. The nine eyeball wits. Low-life Meeks, waddling up.
A sideshow. A fashion show. Punks in slit-bottom khakis. Sideburns and duck’s-ass haircuts. A Mex in a full-drape zoot suit.
Jabber. Oppressive smoke. Dudley went light-headed. Dick Carlisle went Pipe down, now.
Dudley said, “Good evening, and thank you for your cooperation. We are forgoing the show-up we had originally planned, in favor of a more expeditious two-step procedure. You will view the suspect’s image on a mug-shot strip, and will later view the man himself through a blacked-out interrogation room mirror. In recompense, you will be given ten-dollar food and beverage chits for the much honored Kwan’s Chinese Pagoda.”
The lowlifes stomped and cheered. Dudley raised a hand and squelched it.
“To further express our appreciation, all of your extant bench warrants and parole holds will be rescinded.”
More cheers, more stomps. Dudley went queasy. Bette berated him. He shook his head and muzzled her.
Dougie Waldner passed out mug shots. The strips featured full-face and side-angle views. Bamboo Shoot Shudo ran pudgy. He had a loooooow hairline.
The mug shots went around. The wits scoped the slayer. Woooo, he’s ugly. Woooo, he’s scary. Wooooo, he’s evil—and dat’s no fuckin’ shit.
The strips ran back to Waldner. The Mex said, “He looks like a werewolf.”
Dudley said, “December 6, gentlemen. That was twelve days ago, and memories tend to falter with the passage of time. Paradoxically, memories cohere in the proximity of important events. We all remember where we were when we got the word on Pearl Harbor. That horrible occurrence has forever fixed the sighting of our suspect in your minds.”
Nods went around. The Mex howled like The Werewolf. It promoted boocoo laffs.
Dudley signaled Scotty: It’s you and me.
A black-and-white was pre stashed downstairs. Ditto a throwdown piece and two Ithaca pumps.
They took side stairs down. Dudley went on-and-off weavy. Scotty fiddled with his nose splint. It looked ridiculous. It marred his boy-man élan.
They piled into the sled. Dudley took the wheel. Scotty scanned the backseat ordnance and whistled. The Kyoto Arms was two-minutes close—1st and Alameda.
Dudley pulled out and goosed the lights and siren. Bette said “You inconvenienced me.” He went pins and needles. He kept hearing her.
They cut southeast. It was late-fall cool. Local business fronts were broken-windowed and dark. Little Tokyo had been raped. Unimprisoned Japs stayed indoors. It was a howlers’ night. No one out but us werewolves, boss.
Sid Hudgens and Jack Webb beat them there. They brought a camera geek along. The Kyoto Arms was a two-story fleabag. There’s Elmer Jackson on the fire escape.
Dudley pulled up across the street. Sid and Jack trotted over. He shook his legs limber. Scotty loaded the shotguns.
Sid said, “I’m glad you brought the Bennett kid. Our female readers will go for him. Mr. Hearst knows that beefcake sells papers.”
Jack said, “Mike Breuning showed me a mug shot. The cocksucker looks like a werewolf.”
Sid howled. “Jap Creature Apprehended! Fearless Cops Storm Monster’s Den!”
Dudley laughed. He felt fine-all-of-a-sudden. Scotty passed him a shotgun.
Sid said, “You’re a swell-looking kid, Scotty—but I don’t like that splint.”
Jack said, “Have you been off to Mars? Scotty KO’d Lee Blanchard.”
Dudley ripped off the splint and tossed it in the gutter. Scotty went Ouch! Blood trickled down his cheeks.
Sid and Jack went Ouch! Elmer yelled, “He’s in 216!” He waved his Ithaca pump.
Dudley grabbed the throwdown piece. The camera geek walked up. He said, “Watch the birdie.” He snapped the Dudster and the swell-looking kid.
Sid said, “Hollywood High Fullback Scores Crime Touchdown! Werewolf Slayer Sacked!”
Jack said, “Holy shit, this is kicks.”
Sid said, “Blast a few rounds, will you, Dud? Mr. Hearst likes action pix.”
Dudley winked at Scotty. “I’ll take the door. If he makes any sudden moves, kill him.”
The geek hooked a flashbulb strip to his camera. They ran across the street and went in the front door. No lobby, no desk man. Straight-up stairs to the second floor.
They ran up, single file. Elmer stood outside 216. They formed a crash line. The camera geek took the rear slot.
Dudley kicked in the door. There’s The Werewolf.
He’s on the bed. He’s dolled up in skivvies. He’s slurping muscatel.
Note the bamboo shoots, propped on the nightstand. They’re covered with dried blood and shit.
They ran in. They stood three across. A flashbulb popped.
The Werewolf snarled. Dudley triggered a round and blew out a window. Bulb no. 2 popped. Elmer triggered a round and blew up a wall. Scotty triggered two rounds and blew up the bed legs. The mattress and Werewolf crashed to the floor.
Bulb no. 3 popped. Dudley charged Bamboo Shudo and kicked him in the head. Shudo screeched. Elmer crowded up and stepped on his neck. Bulb no. 4 popped. The room went phosphorescent. Dudley went light-headed and glare-blind.
Scotty crowded up and grabbed Shudo’s wrists. Dudley heard bones shear. His head cleared. Scotty cuffed Shudo’s hands behind his back.
They dragged him.
They dragged him facedown. It was clumsy. Their shotguns got in the way. Dudley grabbed a foot. Elmer grabbed a foot. Scotty grabbed an arm and walked backward.
Shudo screeched and ate floor wood. They dragged him down the hall and down the stairs. His face bounced off the steps. Tooth stubs hit Scotty’s shoes.
Dudley saw a crowd outside. He dropped the foot and pulled Shudo up by his hair. Elmer and Scotty held his arms and steered him. Dudley got the door and shoved him outside.
Local Japs ghoul-shrieked. White squares cheered. They steered Shudo up to the black-and-white. Sid and Jack stood by.
The photo geek snapped a shot. Pop!—he got Dudley’s mitts in The Werewolf’s mane and The Wolf in full snarl.
Shudo flailed. Elmer sapped him in the balls. Shudo gasped and went two-second meek. Dudley laid down his shotgun and popped the trunk.
Elmer shoved Shudo in. Scotty slammed the door. City Hall—Code 3.
Dudley drove. Scotty rode up front. Elmer took the backseat. The Werewolf thrashed in the trunk.
Dudley lit a cigarette. Scotty chewed gum and blew a big bubble. Dudley stabbed his cigarette. The bubble blew all over Scotty’s face.
Scotty laughed. Elmer laughed. They all laughed and went WHEW! The siren whooped loud.
They made City Hall. Dudley idled the car by the lift. Elmer and Scotty popped the trunk and hauled Shudo out.
They kicked his legs wide. They manhandled him and got him into the lift. The doors slid shut.
Dudley sat in the car. He popped sweat and felt it freeze. He blinked and saw Bette. She said, “You inconvenienced me.”
He tasted Huey Long’s booze. His breath was off. His trousers fit slack. His feet swam in his shoes.
Rest, now—just a bit.
He parked the car and worked the seat back. Bette said those words again. He said, “Hush, dear. I’ve work to do.”
He caught his breath. He wiped his face and walked to the lift. He pushed the button. The doors slid wide. Dudley Liam Smith—a task beckons you.
He went up six floors. He primped and stepped into the hallway. His audience awaited him. They jammed the sweat-room row.
Now, they turn. Now, they applaud. Now, they honor you.
Call-Me-Jack Horrall. Lieutenant Thad Brown. Ray Pinker and Hideo Ashida. A glum Bill Parker.
The eyeball wits. All his lads. Sid Hudgens and Jack Webb. Werewolf watchdog Elmer Jackson.
He walked
over. They pumped his hand. They clapped his back. They attaboy’d him. He heard Werewolf! Werewolf! Werewolf! He looked in mirror-front no. 1.
Fuji Shudo was cuffed to a bolted-down chair. He dripped blood on a bolted-down table.
Dudley smiled at his colleagues. Dudley winked at young Hideo and dour Whiskey Bill. He tapped the speaker above the mirror. Shudo’s breath eked.
Breuning lobbed a syringe. Dudley snapped it out of the air. He motioned Scotty over. They stepped into the room.
Shudo stuck out his tongue and wagged it. Scotty huddled close. He smelled like fresh bubble gum.
Dudley said, “Walk the witnesses by the look-see, individually. Get their eyeball confirmations and write the precise time and date in your notebook. Go to the property room and filch a pair of Nancy Watanabe’s panties and one of Aya Watanabe’s brassieres. Go back to Shudo’s room, drag the articles over the floor and create a coating of particles. Place the articles in one of Shudo’s coats, return here and talk to Sergeant Jackson. Tell him that he’s green-lit to toss the room.”
Scotty walked. The steno rolled in his machine. Shudo tongue-wagged him. The steno said, “Really, sweetheart.”
Dudley roared. The steno arranged his machine. Shudo studied him and rattled his cuff chain. Dudley blindsided him.
He grabbed Shudo’s head. He jammed the syringe into his neck and siphoned blood. Shudo screamed. Dudley pulled out the spike and waved at the mirror.
Breuning walked in. Dudley tossed him the syringe.
“Good Samaritan, lad. The fastest typing you can get.”
Breuning scrammed. The steno slid his chair outside spit-glob range. Dudley straddled his chair. Shudo sat two feet away.
Dudley reached under the table. Flip—the hallway-speaker switch.
Shudo queer-eyed the steno. Dudley laid his cigarettes and matches on the table. He faked a cough and popped three bennies. Shudo shook his chain.
Dick Carlisle rolled in a coffee cart. He poured two cups and left the cart close. The steno grabbed his. Dudley grabbed his. Carlisle left the room.
Dudley lit a cigarette. Shudo made gimme eyes. Dudley slid the pack and matchbook over. Shudo lit up.
His lips were lacerated. His teeth were cracked bloody. He smoked stylishly. He was almost-but-not-quite effete.
Dudley said, “To begin, I am Sergeant D. L. Smith, assigned to the Homicide Division of the Los Angeles Police Department. The stenographer is Mr. George T. Eggleton, a licensed and board-certified employee of the county of Los Angeles. It is now 9:23 p.m., on Thursday, December 18, 1941. We are in the Detective Bureau offices of the Los Angeles Police Department. This is our first interview of Mr. Fujio Shudo. Mr. Shudo’s local address is 682 East 1st Street.”
Shudo killed off his cigarette. Dudley slid him the ashtray. Shudo crushed the butt.
“I want to go home.”
“To the Kyoto Arms, Mr. Shudo? To Imperial Japan?”
“No. Atascadero. I had a sweet berth there. I didn’t have to think about nothing. I think too much when I’m on the outside.”
“What do you think about, sir?”
“Crazy things. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I would, sir. My enlightened perspective might surprise you.”
Shudo said, “Okay, then. I did it.”
Dudley said, “Did what, sir?”
Shudo said, “I bootjacked three rumdums from a he-she bar on East Fifth. I fed them terpin hydrate and got them all sleepy. I stole a car and took them up the ridge route. There was a pretty forest outside of Castaic. I was in the honor farm there. You know my MO, chief. I’m the Sheriff of the Brown Trail.”
Dudley said, “Would you explain your last comment, please.” Shudo said, “Bamboo shoots. The dirt road. Figure out the rest for yourself.”
Dudley said, “Are you admitting sodomy or other forms of sexual deviance, sir?”
“Okay, chief. If that’s what gets me back home, I admit it.”
“And where did you go after you performed the sexual assaults that you have just elliptically, but colorfully, described?”
“I left the winos in the pretty forest. I gave them a buck each for car fare and got a pizza pie at a diner on the ridge route. The old bat behind the counter was real friendly. She said she didn’t usually like Japs, because we were in with the Krauts, and she was a Jew. She said she liked me because I look like a werewolf, and Lon Chaney flirted with her at a sneak peek in Burbank back in ’34. She didn’t charge me for my coffee. She was nice, so I left her a big tip.”
Dudley said, “And then, sir? You presumably left the diner. Where did you go then?”
Shudo said, “Back to the hotel.”
Dudley said, “The Kyoto Arms Hotel, at 682 East 1st Street?”
“Right.”
“You’ve described the abduction and its aftermath quite concisely. Will you tell me when it occurred? The date, sir. Do you recall the date or the day of the week?”
Shudo scrunched up his face. Dudley slid his cigarettes and matches over. Shudo lit up.
“Two weeks ago. Wednesday. They kicked me loose at Atascadero. I got off the bus and rented that hotel room. I started drinking terp and got the hankering. My dick started talking to me, so I went to the Murakami Nursery and got some shoots.”
Dudley said, “That’s Wednesday, December 3rd, that you’re describing. You were released from Atascadero on that date. You rented a room at the Kyoto Arms on that date, you purchased bamboo shoots at the Murakami Nursery on that date, you abducted the three men and performed the sexual assaults that you described on that date, you returned to your hotel room after you left the diner, on that date?”
Shudo pouted. “That’s right, chief. You don’t have to be so quick with the questions, though. It’s not like I don’t want to go back. That, and you and your pals didn’t have to be so rough. I had a sweet berth at the Big A.”
Dudley said, “I apologize, sir, but you do resemble a werewolf. My colleagues and I were unprepared for your fearsome appearance, and acted out of sheer panic. Again, sir, my deepest apologies.”
Shudo grinned. His cracked teeth wobbled. His lips oozed blood.
“I like you, chief. You got that funny accent, and you talk nice.”
Dudley said, “Thank you, sir. You are a man of considerable insight, and I appreciate your kind regard for me. On that note, I would like to discuss your apprenticeship in the knife-sharpening trade.”
Shudo said, “That’s me. ‘Fuji, the Werewolf.’ ‘Fuji, the Knife Man.’ ”
Dudley lit a cigarette. “How long have you practiced the trade, sir? As I understand it, you peddle your wares door-to-door.”
Shudo said, “ ‘Fuji, the Knife Man.’ I’ve been at it since ’31. I was in Preston for 459 and indecent exposure. I learned the trade in metal shop.”
Dudley blew a smoke ring. It sent him light-headed.
“You were out with your cart two weeks ago, weren’t you, sir? That would be Thursday, December 4th, and Friday, December 5th. You were in Highland Park, a few miles north of Chinatown, on the west side of the parkway. Is that correct, sir?”
Shudo yawned. “Yeah, that’s correct. But I don’t get it. I told you what I did. I confessed. I told you I bootjacked them winos and had fun with them. You don’t need to talk so much. I’m ready to go back, and all you got to do is give me the paper, so I can sign it and go to my cell and go to sleep.”
Dudley crushed his cigarette. He felt bilious. His wedding band slipped off and hit the table.
He grabbed it. He saw spots in front of his eyes.
“I’m curious, Mr. Shudo. You were released from Atascadero on Wednesday, December 3rd. You rented a room in Little Tokyo, kidnapped three winos and sexually assaulted them at a remote location sixty miles north of Los Angeles, ate a pizza pie at a nearby diner and returned to your room, all on Wednesday, December 3rd. The following day, Thursday, December 4th, you were spotted in Highland Park, with your knife-sharpening cart. I’m curi
ous, sir. You’re fresh out of a mental institution, and you’ve been quite the busy lad. My question is, where, when, and from whom did you secure the knife-sharpening cart you were seen with?”
Shudo yawned. “Too many dates. Days and dates get blurry, you know? I’m a terp man. I drink terp and lose track of things. It’s not my fault. Nobody’s that good with dates. People don’t remember what they did on Tuesday, three weeks ago. This is all Sanskrit you’re talking.”
Dudley drummed the table. “Normally, you would be correct about that, sir. But the Japanese attack of Sunday, December 7th, has served to embed a unique sense of chronology within all of us. We recall our movements preceding and following that event with enhanced clarity. Do you understand that, sir?”
Shudo yawned. “Too many words. Too much talk and too many dates. You got to slow down, chief. I’m a terp man. I’m losing track of things.”
Dudley saw spots. Bette said, “You inconvenienced me.” The spots dispersed.
“The cart, sir. Where did you buy the knife-sharpening cart?” Shudo yawned. “Outside the Shotokan Baths. This old nip named Kenji. He sold me the cart, wheels, sample knives, the megillah.”
“And when was this?”
“The morning. I was hungover. I thought, Shit, I’m back here again. Shit, I should go home.”
Dudley smiled. “And that would be the morning of Thursday, December 4th?”
Shudo yawned. “That’s right, chief. The Werewolf’s at the Shotokan Baths, and he’s one day out of stir.”
The door light blinked. Dudley walked over. Breuning and Scotty B. stepped inside.
Scotty said, “I planted the items. I gave Elmer the green light on the toss.”
Breuning said, “We hit paydirt on the typing. The Wolf’s AB negative, so he could have knocked Nancy up. I called Atascadero, on a hunch. Get this. The Wolf was out on a work furlough at the approximate time that Nancy would have been impregnated, so we’re golden there.”
Dudley smiled. “Reserve a padded cell at Central Station. Call the jailer. Tell him it’s a straitjacket deal.”
The boys tore off. Dudley walked back to the table.
Shudo said, “I’m hungry. I’ll cop to the Lindbergh baby job if you get me a pizza pie.”
