Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The THE BIG NOWHERE

His mind went nicely blank; miles passed. Then, hitting the Strip, he got terrified like the half second at the beach house–this time around Man Camera short takes.

Cy Vandrich vamping him.

Breuning going strange over the zoot sticks, like one of the things was slashing at him.

Niles and his two parolees; his “I got a County pal who says you’re not the goody two shoes you pretend to be.”

“Make it good you County fuck” and an LAPD man bloody at his feet.

The chase, like a car thief gig reversed; it had to be him, it couldn’t be him, it was too wrong to be him and too right not to be him.

Gordean making like a mind reader.

Strong-arming a pathetic homo.

The takes dissolved into a cold craving for a drink that saw him the rest of the way home. Danny opened the door and blinked at unexpected light in his living room; he saw the bottle on the coffee table and thought he was entering a hallucination. He drew his gun, snapped that it was a crazy-man stunt and put it back; he walked up to the table, saw a note propped against the jug and read:

Ted–

You were brilliant at the picket line today. I was camped out at a Side 123

Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The surveillance spot on De Longpre and saw the whole thing. By the way, I told the Academy man to call you a “County fuck,” hoping it would give you an added incentive to kick ass. Your ability exceeded my expectations, and I now owe that officer a good deal more than a bottle of whiskey–you broke all his fingers and nicely enlarged his nuts. I wangled him a commendation, and he’s mollified for now. More good news: Captain Will Bledsoe died this morning of a massive stroke, and DA McPherson has promoted me to Captain and appointed me Chief DA’s Investigator. Good luck with the UAESers (I saw Kostenz approach you). Let’s nail them good, and after the grand jury I’ll recommend you for an interim LASD

Sergeantcy and start pulling strings to get you to the Bureau. I need a good exec, and the lieutenant’s bars that come with it will make you the youngest brass hat in City/County history. Meet me tomorrow night at midnight at the Pacific Dining Car– we’ll celebrate and you can update me on your work.

Yours,

Mal.

Danny began sobbing, racking sobs that wouldn’t go into tears. He kept sobbing, forgetting all about the liquor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Chief DA’s Investigator.

Two Silver Bars, an extra 3.5 grand a year, prestige for the custody battle. The command of twenty-four detectives culled from other police agencies on the basis of their brains and ability to collect evidence that would stand up in court. Substantial say-so in _the_ decision process: when or when not to seek major felony indictments. The inside track for LAPD Chief of Detectives and Big Chief. Power: including rank over Dudley Smith and the noblesse oblige to make an afternoon of shitwork with Buzz Meeks tolerable.

Mal walked into the Los Angeles office of the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service. Ellis Loew had called early; he and Meeks were to meet at INS, “Try to bury whatever hatchet exists between you,” and check the service’s files on UAES sympathizers born outside the United States for deportation levers. Loew had phrased it like an order; captain or not, he had no choice. The DA had also requested a detailed memo on his non-UAES questionings and an update on the overall investigation–which he was late on–eyeballing Danny Upshaw’s performance had cost him an afternoon–he’d been playing operator boss while Dudley was out shaking down the Pinkos Lenny Rolff ratted on.

Mal settled into the file room the records supervisor had arranged for them to use. He checked his watch and saw that he was early: Meeks wasn’t due until 9:00; he had forty minutes to work before the fat man slimed in. Stacks of files had been arranged on a long metal table; Mal shoved them to the far corner, sat down and started writing.

Memo– 1/10/50

To: Ellis Loew

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