They took Western Avenue up to L.A. proper. Lenny swung west on Wilshire and north on Doheny. Traffic had thinned out– Pete hung back and cut the boy some slack.
Lenny turned east on Santa Monica. Pete grooved on the string of fruit bars–the 4-Star, the Klondike, some new ones. It was Memory Lane turf–he extorted every joint on the row back in his Sheriff’s days.
Lenny hugged the curb, slooow cruising. He passed the Tropics, the Orchid and Larry’s Lasso Room.
Lenny, don’t wear your hate so fucking outré and naked.
Pete dawdled two car lengths back. Lenny pulled into the parking lot behind Nat’s Nest
Big Pete’s got X-ray eyes. Big Pete’s like Superman and the Green Hornet.
Pete circled the block and cruised through the lot. Lenny’s car was parked by the back door.
Pete wrote out a note.
If you get lucky, send him home. Meet me at Stan’s Drive-In at Sunset & Highland. I’ll stay there until after bar closing time.
Pete B.
He stuck the note to Lenny’s windshield. A fruit swished by and checked him out head-to-toe.
o o o
Pete ate in his car. He had two chili burgers, French fries and coffee.
Carhops skated by. They wore leotards, push-up bras and tights.
Gail Hendee used to call him a voyeur. It always jazzed him when women nailed his shit.
The carhops looked good. Hauling trays on skates kept them trim. The blonde lugging hot fudge sundaes looked like good shakedown bait.
Pete ordered peach pie a Ia mode. The blonde brought it to him. He saw Lenny walking up to the car.
He opened the passenger door and slid in.
He looked stoic. The prima diva was one tough little fruitfly.
Pete lit a cigarette. “You told me you were too smart to fuck with me. Does that still hold?”
“Yes.”
“Is this what Kemper Boyd and Ward Littell have on you?”
“‘This’? Yeah, ‘this’ is.”
“I don’t buy it, Lenny, and I don’t think Sam Giancana would care in the long run. I think I could call Sam right now and say, ‘Lenny Sands fucks boys,’ and he’d be shocked for a couple of minutes, then sit on the information. If Boyd and Littell tried to bluff you with that, I think you’d have the brains and the stones to call them on it.”
Lenny shrugged. “Littell said he’d spill to Sam and the cops.”
Pete dropped his cigarette in his water glass. “I’m not buying. Now, you see that brunette on skates over there?”
“I see her.”
“I want you to tell me what Boyd and Littell squeezed you with by the time she gets over to that blue Chevy.”
“Suppose I can’t remember?”
“Then figure everything you’ve heard about me is true, and take it from there.”
Lenny smiled, prima-diva-style. “I killed Tony Iannone, and Littell made me for it.”
Pete whistled. “I’m impressed. Tony was a rough boy.”
“Don’t string me along, Pete. Just tell me what you’re going to do about it.”
“The answer’s nothing. All this secret shit of yours goes no further.”
“I’ll try to believe it.”
“You can believe that Littell and I go back awhile, and I don’t like him. Boyd and me are friendly, but Littell’s something else. I can’t lean on him without pissing off Boyd, but if he ever gets too rowdy with you, let me know.”
Lenny bristled and clenched up. “I don’t need a protector. I’m not that kind of…”
Carhops zigzagged by. Pete rolled down his back window for some air.
“You’ve got credentials, Lenny. What you do in your spare time is your business.”
“You’re an enlightened guy.”
“Thanks. Now, do you feel like telling me who or what you’re snitching for Littell?”
“No.”
“Just plain ‘No’?”
“I want to keep working for you. Let me out of here with something, all right?”
Pete popped the passenger door latch. “No more fag stuff for Hush-Hush. From now on you write anti-Castro, anti-Commie stuff exclusively. I want you to write the pieces directly for the magazine. I’ll get you some information, and you can make the rest of the shit up. You’ve been to Cuba, and you know Mr. Hughes’ politics. Take it from there.”