White Jazz Part 19

I tore in. Neat paper stacks--fastidious Junior. Slow, inventory them pro-- Carbons: Johnny Duhamel's Personnel file. Dudley Smith fitness reports--all Cla.s.s A. Co-opt requests--Johnny to the fur job--fur-heist references checkmarked. Strange: Johnny _never_ worked Patrol--he moved straight to the Bureau post-Academy.

More Duhamel--boxing programs--beefcake deluxe. Academy papers, Evidence 104--Junior told Reuben Ruiz he taught Johnny. Straight A's, blind f.a.g love-Duhamel's prose style stunk. More fur-job paper: Robbery reports, figure Junior scooped Dudley--_he_ made Johnny as the thief and Dud never tumbled.

A formal statement: Georgie Ainge rats Glenda on the Dwight Gilette 187. Lieutenant D. D. Klein suppresses the evidence; Junior tags the motive: l.u.s.t. Grab those pages, safe-deposit-box info underneath: figure Junior had backup statements stashed at some bank. No mention of the gun or Glenda's prints on a gun--maybe Junior stashed the piece as a hole card.

Plaster dust settling--my shots grazed some pipes. Miscellaneous folders, file cards: Folder number one--Chief Ed Exley clippings--the Nite Owl job. Number two--odd Exley cases '53--'58. Concise--the _Times_, _Herald_-- fastidious.

WHY?

The cards--LAPD FIs--four-by-six field questioning forms. "Name," "Location," "Comments"--filled in shorthand. I read through them and interpreted: All locations "F.D.P."--make that Fern Dell Park. Initials, no names. Numbers--California Penal Code designations--lewd and lascivious behavior.

Comments: h.o.m.o coitus interruptus, Junior levies on-the-spot fines-- cash, jewelry, reefers.

Sweaty, close to breathless. Three cards clipped together--initials "T.V." Comments: the Touch Vecchio roust-credit Junior with extortion skill: Touch calls Mickey C. power-broke and desperate. He's hot to do something "on his own"; he's got his own shakedown gig brewing. Feature: Chick Vecchio to pork famous women; Touch to pork celebrated fruits. Pete Bondurant to take pix and apply the strongarm: cough up or _Hush-Hush_ gets the negatives.

Chills--bad juju. The phone--once, stop, once--Jack's signal.

I grabbed the bedside extension. "Yeah?"

"Dave, listen. I tailed Stemmons to Bido Lito's. He met J.C. and Tommy Kafesjian in this back room they've got there. I saw them shake him for a wire, and I caught a few words before they shut the window."

"_What?_"

"What I heard was Stemmons talking. He offered to protect the Kafesjian family--he actually said 'family'--from you and somebody else, I couldn't catch the name."

Maybe Exley--that clip file. "What else?"

"Nothing else. Stemmons walked out the front door counting money, like Tommy and J.C. just palmed him. I tailed him down the street, and I saw him badge this colored guy. I think the guy was selling mary jane, and I think he palmed Stemmons."

"Where is he now?"

"Heading your way. Dave, you owe me--"

I hung up, dialed 111, got Georgie Ainge's listing. Dial it, two rings, a message: "The number you have reached has been disconnected." Junior's story held: Ainge blew town.

Options: Stall him, threaten to rat him as a h.o.m.o. Maim him, trade him: depositions and print gun for no expose.

s.h.i.+t logic--psychos don't barter.

I doused the lights, packed the Luger. Kill him/don't kill him. Pendulum: if he walks in on the wrong swing he's dead.

Think--queer pinup fever--psycho Junior hates heartthrob Glenda.

Time went nutso.

My ribs ached.

The morning paper hit the door--I shot a chair. Bullet logic: this grief for a woman I never even touched.

I walked outside. Dawn--milkman witnesses nixed murder.

I dropped the Luger in a trashcan.

I primped--don't think, just do it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I knocked; she answered. My move--she moved first. "Thanks for yesterday."

Set ready: gown and raincoat. My move--she moved first. "It's David Klein, right?"

"Who told you?"

She held the door open. "I saw you on the set, and I saw you following me a few times. I know what unmarked police cars look like, so I asked Mickey and Chick Vecchio about you."

"And?"

"And I'm wondering what you want."

I walked in. Nice stuff--maybe f.u.c.k-pad furnished. TVs by the couch-- Vecchio stash.

"Be careful with those televisions, Miss Bledsoe."

"Tell your sister that. Touch told me he sold her a dozen of them."

I sat on the couch--hot Philcos close by. "What else did he tell you?"

"That you're a lawyer who dabbles in slum property. He said you turned down a contract at MGM because strikebreaking appealed to you more than acting."

"Do you know why I was following you?"

She pulled a chair up--not too close. "You're obviously working for Howard Hughes. When I left him, he threatened to violate my contract. You obviously know Harold Miciak, and you obviously don't like him. Mr. Klein, did you. . . ?"

"Scare off Georgie Ainge?"

"Yes."

I nodded. "He's a pervert, and fake kidnaps never work."

"How did you know about it?"

"Never mind. Do Touch and his boyfriend know I scared him away?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Good, then don't tell them."

She lit a cigarette--the match shook. "Did Ainge talk about me?"

"He said you used to be a prost.i.tute."

"I was also a carhop and Miss Alhambra, and yes, I used to work for a call service in Beverly Hills. A very expensive one, Doug Ancelet's."

Shake her: "You worked for Dwight Gilette."

Stylish--that cigarette prop helped. "Yes, and I was arrested for shoplifting in 1946. Did Ainge mention anything--"

"Don't tell me things you might regret."

A smile--cheap--not _that_ smile. "So you're my guardian angel."

I kicked a TV over. "Don't patronize me."

Not a blink: "Then what do you want me to do?"

"Quit stealing from Hughes, apologize to him and fulfill the stipulations of your contract."

Her raincoat slid off--bare shoulders, knife scars. "Never."

I leaned closer. "You've gone as far as you can on looks and charm, so use your brains and do the smart thing."

Smiling: "Don't _you_ patronize me."

_That_ smile--I smiled back. "Why?"

"_Why?_ Because I was _dismissable_ to him. Because last year I was carhopping and one of his 'talent scouts' saw me win a dance contest. He got me an 'audition,' which consisted of me taking off my bra.s.siere and posing for pictures, which Mr. Hughes liked. Do you know what it's like to get screwed by a man who keeps naked pictures of you and six thousand other girls in his Rolodex?"

"Nice, but I'm not buying."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I think you got bored and moved on. You're an actress, and the style angle of jilting Howard Hughes appealed to you. You figured you could get yourself out of trouble, because you've been in s.h.i.+tloads of trouble before."

"_Why_, Mr. Klein?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you putting yourself to such trouble to keep me out of trouble?"

"I can appreciate style."

"No, I don't believe you. And what else did Georgie Ainge say about me?"

"Nothing. What else did the Vecchio brothers say about me?"

Laughing: "Touch said he used to have a crush on you. Chick said you're dangerous. Mickey said he's never seen you with a woman, so maybe that rules out the standard reason for your being interested in me. I'm only thinking that there must be a payoff involved somewhere."

Scope the room--books, art--taste she got somewhere. "Mickey's on the skids. If you thought you traded Hughes up for a big-time gangster, you're wrong."

She chained cigarettes. "You're right, I miscalculated."

"Then square things with Hughes."

"Never."

"Do it. Get us both out of trouble."

"No. Like you said, I've been in trouble before."

Zero fear--daring me to say I KNOW.

"You should see yourself on camera, Miss Bledsoe. You're laughing at the whole thing, and it's real stylish. Too bad the movie's headed for drive-ins in Dogd.i.c.k, Arkansas. Too bad no men who can help your career will see it."

A flush--one split second. "I'm not as beholden to men as you think I am."

"I didn't say you liked it, I just meant you know it's the game."

"Like being a bagman and a strikebreaker?"

"Yeah, wholesome stuff. Like you and Mickey Cohen."

Smoke rings--nice. "I'm not sleeping with him."

"Good, because guys have been trying to kill him for years, and it's the people around him who get hurt."

"He was something once, wasn't he?"

"He had style."

"Which we both know you appreciate."

This portrait on a shelf--a ghoul woman. "Who's that?"

"That's Vampira. She's the hostess of an awful horror TV show. I used to carhop her, and she gave me pointers on how to act in your own movie when you're in someone else's movie."

Shaky hands--I wanted to touch her.

"Are you fond of Mickey, Mr. Klein?"