Pete hung up. His head dance went stereophonic.
Strange: Boyd in a Committee-rented car. Strange because: Hoover and Bobby Kennedy were rivals. Boyd as FBI man and Committee cop?–Hoover would never allow him to moonlight.
Boyd was stylish working on slick–and a good man to front friendly warnings.
A good man to spy on Bobby?–”Maybe” working on “Yes.”
o o o
Sol Maltzman lived in Silverlake–a dive above a tax rental joint.
Pete knocked. Sol opened up, pissed–this knock-kneed geek in Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt.
“What is it, Bondurant? I’m very busy.”
“Bohn-dew-rahn”—the little Commie prick said it French-style.
The pad reeked of cigarettes and cat litter. Manila folders dripped off every stick of furniture; a wooden cabinet blocked the one window.
He’s got Hollywood dirt files. He’s just the type to hoard scandal skank.
“Bohn-dew-rahn, what is it?”
Pete grabbed a folder off a lamp stand. Press clippings on Ike and Dick Nixon–snoresville.
“Put that down and tell me what you want!”
Pete grabbed his neck. “You’re fired from Hush-Hush. I’m sure you’ve got some dirt files we can use, and if you point them out and save me trouble, I’ll tell Mr. Hughes to shoot you some severance pay.”
Sol flipped him off–the double bird, twirling at eye level.
Pete let him go. Dig his neck: 360’d by a jumbo hand print.
“I’ll bet you keep the good stuff in that cabinet.”
“No! There’s nothing in there you’d want!”
“Open it for me, then.”
“No! It’s locked, and I’m not giving you the combination!”
Pete kneed him in the balls. Maltzman hit the floor gasping. Pete tore his shirt off and stuffed a wad of fabric in his mouth.
Check that TV by the couch–gooood audial cover.
Pete tamed it on full blast. A car huckster hit the screen, screaming shit about the new Buick line. Pete pulled his piece and shot the padlock off the cabinet–wood chips sprayed out craaaazy.
Three files fell out–maybe thirty skank pages total.
Sol Maltzman shrieked through his gag. Pete kicked him unconscious and turned the TV down.
o o o
He had three files and a bad case of the post-strongarm hungries. The ticket was Mike Lyman’s and the Steak Lunch De-Luxe.
Dirt De-Luxe pending: Sol wouldn’t hoard bum information.
Pete took a back booth and noshed a T-bone and hash browns. He laid the folders out for easy perusal.
The first file featured document photos and typed notes. No Hollywood gossip; no Hush-Hush feature ammo.
The pix detailed bankbook tallies and an income tax return. The tax filer’s name came off familiar: Mr. Hughes’ pal George Killebrew, some Tricky Dick Nixon flunky.
The name on the bankbook was “George Killington.” The 1957 deposit total was $87,416.04. George Killebrew’s reported income for the year: $16,830.00.
A two-syllable name change–hiding over seventy grand.
Sol Maltzman wrote: “Bank employees confirm that Killebrew deposited the entire $87,000 in five to ten thousand dollar cash increments. They also confirm that the tax identification number that he gave was false. He withdrew the entire amount in cash, along with six thousand odd dollars in interest, closing out the account before the bank sent out its standard notification of interest income to the Federal tax authorities.”
Unreported income and unreported bank interest. Bingo: felony tax fraud.
Pete made a late snap-connection.
The House Committee on Un-American Activists fucked Sol Maltzman. Dick Nixon was a HUAC member; George Killebrew worked for him.
File #2 featured blow-job pix galore. The suckee: a teenage pansy. The sucker, Sol Maltzman identified: “HUAC counsel Leonard Hosney, 43, of Grand Rapids, Michigan. My souldebilitating work for Hush-Hush finally paid off in the form of a tip proffered by a bouncer at a male brothel in Hermosa Beach. He took the photos and assured me that the boy is a minor. He will be supplying additional documentation photos in the near future.”
Pete chained a cigarette butt to tip. The Big Picture came into focus.
The files were Sol’s revenge against HUAC. It was some kind of fucked-up penance: Sol wrote right-wing-slanted smears and stashed this shit for belated payback.
File #3 packed more photos: of canceled checks, deposit slips and bank notes. Pete shoved his food aside–this was smear bait supreme.