Mickey Lion, this bamboo bungalow his den.
Side 110
Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The Buzz put away his notepad, taking a last look at the four names Dudley Smith had called him with earlier: Reds to be background-checked, more shitwork, probably more padding. Mickey Lion and Johnny Lion were schmoozing by the fireplace now, a picture of Audrey Lioness in pasties and panties on the wall above them. The Mick hooked a finger at him; he walked over.
The comedian had some schtick ready. “A guy comes up and asks me,
‘Mickey, how’s business?’ I tell him, ‘Pal, it’s like show business, there is no business.’ I make a pass at this ginch, she says, ‘I don’t lay for every Tom, Dick and Harry.’ I say, ‘What about me? I’m Mickey!”
Buzz laughed and pointed to the picture of Audrey, eyes hard on Johnny Stomp. “You should put her in your routine. Beauty and the Beast. You’ll bring the house down.”
Goose egg from Johnny; Mickey screwing up his face like he was actually considering the suggestion. Buzz tested the water again. “Get some big jig to play sidekick, make like he’s giving it to Audrey. Coons are always good for a laugh.”
More nothing. Mickey said, “Shvartzes I don’t need, shvartzes I don’t trust. What do you get when you cross a nigger and a Jew?”
Buzz played dumb. “I don’t know. What?”
Mickey sprayed laughter. “A janitor who owns the building!”
Johnny chuckled and excused himself; Buzz eyed the Va Va Voom Girl at twenty and made quick book: a hundred to one he knew less than nothing about them. Mickey said, “You should laugh more. I don’t trust guys who don’t have no sense of humor.”
“You don’t trust anybody, Mick.”
“Yeah? How’s this for trust. February eighth at the haberdashery, my deal with Jack D. Twenty-five pounds of Mex brown, cash split, food and booze.
All my men, all Jack’s. Nobody heeled. _That_ is trust.”
Buzz said, “I don’t believe it.”
“The deal?”
“The nobody heeled. Are you fuckin’ insane?”
Mickey put an arm around Buzz’s shoulders. “Jack wants four neutral triggers. He’s got two City bulls, I got this Sheriff’s dick won the Golden Gloves last year, and I’m still one short. You want the job? Five hundred for the day?”
He’d spend the money on Audrey: tight cashmere sweaters, red and pink and green and white, a size too small to show off her uplift. “Sure, Mick.”
Mickey’s grip tightened. “I got a storefront on the Southside. County juice, a little sharking, a little book. Half a dozen runners. Audrey’s keeping the ledgers for me, and she says I’m getting eaten alive.”
“The runners?”
“Everything tallies, but the daily take-in’s been short. I pay salary, the guys enforce their own stuff. Short of shaking down the guys, I got no way to know.”
Buzz slid free of Mickey’s arm, thinking of lioness larceny: Audrey with a hot pencil and a wet brain. “You want me to ask around on the QT? Get the squad boss at Firestone to shake down the locals, find out who’s bettin’ what?”
“Trust, Buzzchik. You nail who’s doing me, I’ll throw some bones your way.”
Buzz grabbed his coat. Mickey said, “Hot date?”
“The hottest.”
“Anybody I know?”
“Rita Hayworth.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, trust me.”
“She red downstairs?”
“Black at the roots, Mick. There’s no business like show business.”
o
o
o
His date was for 10:00 at Howard’s spot near the Hollywood Bowl; Mickey and Johnny’s no-take and the skim story had him running jumpy, his watch set to Audrey standard time, which made killing an hour somewhere pure horseshit. Buzz drove to the lion woman’s house, parked behind her Packard ragtop and rang the bell.
Audrey answered the door, slacks, sweater and no makeup. “You said you didn’t even want to know where I lived.”
Buzz shuffled his feet, making like a swain on a prom date. “I checked Side 111
Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The your driver’s license while you were asleep.”
“Meeks, that’s not something you do to somebody you’re sleeping with.”
“You’re sleepin’ with Mickey, ain’t you?”
“Yes, but what does–”
Buzz slid past Audrey, into a bargain basement front room. “Savin’ money on furnishings to bankroll your shopping center?”