Pete grabbed the phone and dialed it. A man answered, “Otash.”
“It’s Pete Bondurant, Freddy.”
Otash whistled. “This has to be interesting. The last time you made a sociable phone call was never.”
“I’m not starting now.”
“This sounds like we’re talking about money. If it’s your money for my time, I’m listening.”
Pete checked the report. “In August of ‘60 you allegedly helped Rock Hudson out of a jam. I think the whole thing was a setup. I’ll give you a thousand dollars to tell me the story.”
Otash said, “Go to two thousand and throw in a disclaimer.”
Pete said, “Two thousand. And if push comes to shove, I’ll say I got the information elsewhere.”
Funny noise hit the line. Pete ID’d it: Freddy tapping his teeth with a pencil.
“Okay, Frenchman.”
“Okay, and?”
“Okay, and you’re right. The setup was Rock was afraid of being exposed as a queer, so he cooked up a deal with Lenny Sands. Lenny brought in this number Barb Jahelka and her ex-husband Joey, and Barb and Rock got between the sheets. Joey faked a break-in and took some pictures, Barb made a fake extortion demand, and Rock fake called me in.”
“And you fake called the Beverly Hills PD.”
“Right. They popped Barb for extortion one, then Rock got fake sentimental and dropped the charges. Lenny wrote the thing up for Hush-Hush, but for some reason it never got published. Lenny tried to leak the story to the legjt press, but nobody would touch it, because half the goddathn country knows Rock’s a homo.”
Pete sighed. “The whole caper went nowhere.”
Otash sighed. “That’s correct. Rock paid Barb and Joey two Gs apiece, and now you’re paying me an extra two just to tell you the whole sorry tale.”
Pete laughed. “Tell me about Barb Jahelka while you’re at it.”
“All right. My take on Barb is that she’s slumming, but she doesn’t know it. She’s smart, she’s funny, she looks good and she knows she’s not the next Patti Page. I think she’s from the Wisconsin boonies, and I think she did six months honor farm for maryjane possession about four or five years ago. She used to have a thing going with Peter Lawford”–
Jack’s brother-in-law–
“and she treats her ex-husband Joey, who’s a piece of shit, exactly the way he ought to be treated. I’d have to say she likes kicks, and I’ll bet she’d tell you she likes danger, but my take is she’s never been tested. if you’re interested in her whereabouts, try the Reef Club in Ventura. The last I heard, Joey Jahelka was fronting some kind of cut-rate Twist show up there.”
Pete said, “You like her, Freddy. You’re an open book.”
“So are you. And while we’re being candid, let me heartily recommend that girl for whatever kind of shakedown you’ve got in mind.”
o o o
The Reef Club was all driftwood and fake barnacles. The clientele was mostly college kids and low-rent hipsters.
Pete snagged a table just off the dance floor. Joey’s Swingin’ Twist Revue went on in ten minutes.
Wall speakers churned out music. Twist geeks flailed and bumped asses. Pete’s table vibrated and shook the head off his nice glass of beer.
He called Karen Hiltscher before he left L.A. Sheriff’s R&I had a sheet on one Barbara Jane (Lindscott) Jahelka.
She was born 11/18/31, in Tunnel City, Wisconsin. She had a valid California driver’s license. She went down on a reefer beef circa 7/57.
She did six months County time. She was suspected of shanking a bull dyke at the Hall of Justice Jail. She was married–8/3/54–1/24158–to:
Joseph Dominic Jahelka, born 1/16/23, New York City. New York State convictions: statch rape, flimflam, forging Dilaudid prescriptions.
Joey Jahelka was probably a slavering hophead. He’d probably drool for the Dilaudid he just copped back in L.A.
Pete sipped beer. The hi-fl blared jungle-bunny music. A loudspeaker blared, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Reef Club is proud to present for your twisting pleasure–Joey Jahelka and his Swingin’ Twist Revue!!!”
Nobody cheered. Nobody applauded. Nobody stopped twisting.
A trio jumped on stage. They wore calypso shirts and mismatched tuxedos. Pawnshop tags dangled off their equipment.