L.A. Confidential Part 34

"Yeah, I shot them in the back, plugged a dog and took off before my superior officers showed up. And here's a news flash: I've been drinking. Ellis, this is getting stale, so let's get to it. Who do you want me to touch?"

"Jack, lower your voice."

"What is it, boss? The Senate or the statehouse?"

"Jack, it's not the time to discuss this."

"Sure it is. Tell true. You're gearing up for the '60 elections." Loew, on the QT. "All right, it's the Senate. I did have some favors to ask, but your current condition precludes my asking them. We'll talk when you're in better shape."

An audience now: the whole suite. "Come on, I'm dying to run bag for you. Who do I shake down first?"

"_Sergeant, lower your voice_."

Raise that voice. "c.o.c.ksucker, I s.h.i.+t where you breathe. I put Bill McPherson in the tank for you, I cold-c.o.c.ked him and put him in bed with that colored girl, I f.u.c.king deserve to know who you want me to put the screws to next."

Loew, a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "Vincennes, you're through."

Jack tossed gin in his face. "G.o.d, I f.u.c.king hope so."

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

". . . and we're more than the moral exemplars that Chief Parker spoke of the other day. We are the dividing line between the old police work and the new, the old system of promotion through patronage and enforcement through intimidation and a new emerging system: the elite police corps that impartially a.s.serts its authority in the name of a stern and unbiased justice, that punishes its own with a stern moral vigor should they prove duplicitous to the higher moral standards an elite corps demands of its members. And, finally, we are the protectors of the public image of the Los Angeles Police Department. Know that when you read interdepartmental complaints filed against your brother officers and feel the urge to be forgiving. Know that when I a.s.sign you to investigate a man you once worked with and liked. Know that our business is stern, absolute justice, whatever the price."

Ed paused, looked at his men: twenty-two sergeants, two lieutenants. "Nuts and bolts now, gentlemen. Under my predecessor, Lieutenant Phillips and Lieutenant Stinson supervised field investigations autonomously. As of now, I will a.s.sume direct field command, with Lieutenant Phillips and Lieutenant Stinson serving as my execs on an alternating basis. Incoming complaints and information requests will be routed through my office first, I'll read the material and make my a.s.signments accordingly. Sergeant Kleckner and Sergeant Fisk will serve as my personal a.s.sistants and will meet with me every morning at 0730. Lieutenant Stinson and Lieutenant Phillips, please meet me in my office in one hour to discuss my a.s.suming command of your ongoing investigations. Gentlemen, you're dismissed."

The meeting dispersed in silence; the muster room emptied. Ed replayed his speech, hitting key phrases. "Absolute justice" hit with Inez Soto's voice.

Dump ashtrays, straighten chairs, tidy the bulletin board. Unfurl the flags by the lectern, check them for dust. Back to his speech, his father's voice: "Duplicitous to the higher moral standards an elite corps demands of its members." Two days ago, his speech would have been the truth. Inez Soto's speech made it a lie.

Flags, gold-fringed. Gold-plated opportunism: he killed those men out of a weak man's rage. As the Nite Owl killers they gave the rage meaning: absolute justice boldly taken. He twisted the meaning to support what the public was telling him: you're L.A.'s greatest hero, you're going to the top and beyond. Bud White's revenge, the man too stupid to grasp it: a simple cuckold accompanied by a woman's few words had him treading lies at the top, thras.h.i.+ng for a way to make his stale glory real.

Ed walked into his office: clean, neat--no order to secure. Complaint forms on his desk--he sat down, worked.

Jack Vincennes in big trouble.

1/3/58: while on a Surveillance Detail stakeout, Vincennes shot and killed two armed robbers--gunmen who had murdered three people at a southside market. Vincennes gave chase to a third gunman/robber, lost him, was approached by two patrolmen who did not know he was a police officer. The patrolmen fired at Vincennes, a.s.suming him to be a member of the robbery gang; Vincennes dropped his gun and allowed himself to be frisked--then a.s.saulted one of the officers and vacated the crime scene before Homicide and the coroner arrived. The third suspect remained at large; Vincennes went to a political gathering honoring D.A. Ellis Loew, his brother-in-law by marriage. Presumed to be drunk, he verbally abused Loew and threw a drink in his face--in full view of the guests.

Ed skimmed Vincennes' personnel file. A 5/58 pension securement date--goodbye, Trashcan Jack--you were close. Stacks of his Narcotics Squad reports: thorough, detailed to the point of being padded. Between the lines: Vincennes had a hard-on for minor dope violators--especially Hollywood celebrities and jazz musicians--substantiating an old rumor: he called _Hush-Hush_ Magazine to be in on his gravy rousts. Vincennes was transferred to Administrative Vice as part of the b.l.o.o.d.y Christmas shake-up; another stack of reports: bookmaking and liquor infraction operations, no zeal, plenty of verbal padding. Ad Vice a.s.signment into the spring of '53: Russ Millard commanding the division, a p.o.r.nography investigation running concurrent with the Nite Owl. And a _big_ anomaly: a.s.signed to trace s.m.u.t, Vincennes repeatedly reported no leads, commented that the other men on the a.s.signment were coming up empty, twice offered the opinion that the investigation should be dropped.

Ant.i.thetical Jack V. behavior.

s.m.u.t brushed shoulders with the Nite Owl.

Ed thought back.

The Englekling brothers, Duke Cathcart, Mickey Cohen. s.m.u.t dismissed as a viable Nite Owl lead--three dead Negroes, case closed.

Ed read the file again. Years of padded reports, one a.s.signment bereft of paper. Vincennes returned to Narco in July '53--he went back to his old ways, continued them straight through to the end of his duty with Surveillance.

Big-time anomaly.

Coinciding with the Nite Owl.

Spring '53, another connection: Sid Hudgens was murdered then--unsolved. Ed hit the intercom.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Susan, find out who besides Sergeant John Vincennes was a.s.signed to the Fourth Squad at Administrative Vice in April of 1953. Do that, then locate them."

A half hour for results. Sergeant George Henderson, Officer Thomas Kifka retired; Sergeant Lewis Stathis working Bunco. Ed called his C.O.; Stathis walked in ten minutes later.

A burly man--tall, stooped. Nervous--an I.A. bracing out of nowhere was a spooker. Ed pointed him to a chair. Stathis said, "Sir, this is about . . ."

"Sergeant, this has nothing to do with you. This has to do with an officer you worked Ad Vice with."

"Captain, my Ad Vice tour was years ago."

"I know, late '51 through the summer of '53. You transferred out just as I rotated in on my floater a.s.signment. Sergeant, how closely did you work with Jack Vincennes?"

Stathis smiled. Ed said, "Why are you grinning?"

"Well, I read in the paper that Vincennes juked these two heist guys, and talk around the Bureau has it that he bugged out on the scene unannounced. That's a big infraction, so I was smiling 'cause it figured he'd be the Ad Vice guy you'd be interested in."

"I see. And did you work closely with him?"

Stathis shook his head. "Jack was strictly the single-o type. You know, the beat of a different drummer. Sometimes we worked the same general a.s.signments, but that was it."

"Your squad worked a p.o.r.nography investigation in the spring of'53, do you recall that?"

"Yeah, it was a colossal waste of time. Dirty skin books, a waste of time."

"You yourself reported no leads."

"Yeah, and neither did Trashcan or the other guys. Russ Millard got co-opted to that Nite Owl thing, and the skin book caper fell through."

"Do you recall Vincennes acting strangely during that time?"

"Not really. I remember he only showed up at the squadroom at odd times and that him and Russ Millard didn't like each other. Like I said, Vincennes was a loner. He didn't pal around with the guys on the squad."

"Do you recall Millard making specific queries of the squad when two printshop operators came forward with s.m.u.t information?"

Stathis nodded. "Yeah, something to do with the Nite Owl that didn't pan out. We all told old Russ that those skin books could not be traced h.e.l.l or high water."

One hunch going dry. "Sergeant, the Department was running a fever with the Nite Owl back then. Can you recall how Vincennes reacted to it? Any little thing out of the ordinary?"

Stathis said, "Sir, can I be blunt?"

"Of course."

"Well, then I'll tell you that I always figured Vincennes was a cheap-shot cop on the take somehow. Put that aside, I remember he was sort of nervous around the time of the skin book job. On the Nite Owl, I'd say he was bored with it. He was in on the arrest of those colored guys, he was there when our guys found the car and the shotguns, and he still seemed bored by it."

Coming on again--no facts, just instincts. "Sergeant, think. Vincennes' behavior around the time of the Nite Owl and the p.o.r.nography investigation. Anything out of the ordinary with him. _Think_."

Stathis shrugged. "Maybe one thing, but I don't think it amounts to--"

"Tell me anyway."

"Well, back then Vincennes had the cubicle next to mine, and sometimes I could hear him pretty good. I was at my desk and heard part of a conversation, him and Dudley Smith."

"And?"

"And Smith asked Vincennes to put a tail on Bud White. He said White'd gotten personally involved in a hooker homicide and he didn't want him doing nothing rash."

Skin pricldes. "What else did you hear?"

"I heard Vincennes agree, and the rest of it was garbled."

"This was during the Nite Owl investigation?"

"Yes, sir. Right in the middle of it."

"Sergeant, do you remember Sid Hudgens, the scandal sheet man, being killed around that time?"

"Yeah, an unsolved."

"Do you recall Vincennes talking about it?"

"No, but the rumor was that him and Hudgens were buddies."

Ed smiled. "Sergeant, thank you. This was off the record, but I don't want you to repeat our conversation. Do you understand?"

Stathis got up. "I won't, but I feel bad about Vincennes. I heard he's topping out his twenty in a few months. Maybe he vamoosed 'cause shooting those heist guys got to him."

Ed said, "Good day, Sergeant."

Something old, wrong.

Ed sat with his door open. Gold-braided flags just outside-- opportunities knocked.

Vmcennes might have dirt on Bud White.

Instincts: Trash running scared in the spring of '53.

Connect the "skin-book caper" to the Nite Owl.

Inez Soto's indictment--he killed three innocent men.

If he cut Vincennes a break on his l.A. investigation-- Ed hit the intercom. "Susan, get me District Attorney Loew."

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Mickey Cohen said, "I got my own problems to worry about. The fershtunkener Nite Owl case and fershtunkener dirty books I don't know from the Bible, another book I never read. That rebop bored me five years ago, now it is an even further distance from hunger. I got my own problems, such as look at my poor baby."

Bud looked. A raggedy-a.s.sed bulldog by the Mickster's fireplace--wheezing, his tail in a splint. Cohen said, "That is Mickey Cohen, Jr., my heir who is not long for this canine world. A bomb attempt in November he survived, though a goodly number of my Sy Devore suits did not. His poor tail has remained steadily infected and his appet.i.te is dyspeptic. Cops resurrecting old grief is not good for his health."

"Mr. Cohen--"

"I like a man who addresses me with proper decorum. What did you say your name was again?"

"Sergeant White."

"Sergeant White then, I will tell you there is no end to the grief in my life. I am like Jesus your goy savior carrying the weight of the world on his back. Back in prison these fershtunkener goons attack me and my man Davey Goldman, Davey gets his brains scrambled, gets paroled and starts walking around in public with his shlong hanging out, it's big, I don't blame him for advertising, but the Beverly Hills cops ain't so enlightened and now he's doing ninety days observation at the Camarillo nut bin. As if that is not enough grief for your yiddisher Jesus to undergo, then feature that while I was in prison some colleagues looking after my interests were b.u.mped off by persons unknown. And now my old boys won't form back together with me. My G.o.d, Kikey T., Lee Vachss, Johnny Stompanato--"

Kill the tirade. "I know Johnny Stomp."

Cohen hit the roof. "Ferstunkener Johnny, Judas from the best-selling Bible is his middle name! Lana Turner is his Jezebel and not his Mary Magdalene, his c.o.c.k leads him to grovel for her like a dowsing rod. Granted, he is even better hung than Davey G., but my blessed Jesus I took him away from being a two-bit extortionist and made him my bodyguard, and now he refuses to re-enlist, he'd rather nosh grease at Kikey's f.u.c.king deli and hobn.o.b with Deuce Perkins, who I have it on good authority plays hide the salami with members of the canine persuasion. Did you say your name was White?"

"That's right, Mr. Cohen."

"Wendell White? _Bud_ White?"

"That's me."

"Boychik, why didn't you tell me?"

Cohen Junior p.i.s.sed in the fireplace. Bud said, "I didn't think you'd heard of me."

"Heard, shmeard, word gets out. Word is you're Dudley Smith's lad. Word is you and the Dudster and a couple of his other hard boys been keeping L.A. safe for democracy while this so-called crime drought's been going on. A motel in Gardena, a little blackjack work to the kidneys, va va va voom. Maybe now, maybe if I can get my old guys to quit nos.h.i.+ng grease and a.s.sociating with dog f.u.c.kers, I can get business going again. I should be nice to you so's you and the Dudster reciprocate. So what's with this Nite Owl rehash?"