Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The THE BIG NOWHERE

Buzz said, “Hell in a bucket maybe,” saw Mickey going into his patented low simmer–nostrils flaring, jaw grinding, eyes trawling for something to smash–and handed him the half-full Bloody Mary Johnny Stompanato left behind.

Cohen took a gulp and licked lemon pulp off his lips. “Spill it. _Now_.”

Buzz said, “Lucy’s shack job’s been squeezing Solly with some dirty pictures. I broke it up, strong-armed the boy a little. Lucy needs a safe place to flop, and I know for a fact that the Greek’s got pals on the West Hollywood Sheriff’s–your pals. I also know he used to push reefer in Dragna territory–which made old Jack D. real mad. Two damn good reasons for you to leave him alone.”

Cohen was gripping his glass with sausage fingers clenched blue-white.

“What . . . kind . . . of . . . pictures?”

The big wrong question–Mickey might be talking to Sol Gelfman and get the true skinny. Buzz braced himself. “Lucy and a dog.”

Mickey’s hand popped the glass, shards exploding all over the table, tomato juice and vodka spritzing Buzz. Mickey looked at his bloody palm and pressed it flat on the tabletop. When the white linen started to turn red, he said, “The Greek is fucking dead. He is fucking dog food.”

Two waiters had approached; they stood around shuffling their feet. The squarejohns at the next table were making with shocked faces–one old lady with her jaw practically down to her soup. Buzz waved the waiters away, slid next to Cohen and put an arm around his twitching shoulders. “Mickey, you can’t, and you know it. You put out the word that anybody who bucks Jack D. is your friend, and the Greek did that–in spades. Audrey saw me work him over–and _she’d_ know.

And the Greek didn’t know how stand-up you are–that your woman’s friends are like kin to you. Mickey, you got to let it go. You got too much to lose. Fix Lucy up with a nice place to stay, someplace where the Greek can’t find her.

Make it a mitzvah.”

Cohen took his hand from the table, shook it free of glass slivers and licked lemon goo off his fingers. “Who was in it besides the Greek?”

Buzz showed him his eyes, the loyal henchman who’d never lie; he came up with two gunsels he’d run out of town for crashing Lew the Jew Wershow’s handbook at Paramount. “Bruno Geyer and Steve Katzenbach. Fairies. You gonna find Lucy a place?”

Cohen snapped his fingers; waiters materialized and stripped the table dervish fast. Buzz sensed wheels turning behind the Mick’s blank face–in _his_

direction. He moved over to cut the man some slack; he stayed deadpan when Mickey said, “Mitzvah, huh? You fucking goyishe shitheel. Where’s Audrey and Lucy now?”

“Out by my car.”

“What’s Solly pay you?”

“A grand.”

Mickey dug in his pants pockets and pulled out a roll of hundreds. He peeled off ten, placed them in a row on the table and said, “That’s the only mitzvah you know from, you hump. But you saved me grief, so I’m matching. Buy yourself some clothes.”

Buzz palmed the money and stood up. “Thanks, Mick.”

“Fuck you. What do you call an elephant who moonlights as a prostitute?”

Side 16

Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The

“I don’t know. What?”

Mickey cracked a big grin. “A two-ton pickup that lays for peanuts.”

“That’s a riot, Mick.”

“Then why ain’t you laughing? Send the girls in _now_.”

Buzz walked over to the bar, catching Johnny Stompanato working on another shot. Turning, he saw Cohen being gladhanded by Tom Breneman and the maitre d’, out of eyeshot. Johnny Stomp swiveled around; Buzz put five Mickey C-notes in his hand. “Sifakis snitched you, but I don’t want him touched. And I didn’t tell Mickey bubkis. _You owe me_.”

Johnny smiled and pocketed the cash. “Thanks, pal.”

Buzz said, “I ain’t your pal, you wop cocksucker,” and walked outside, stuffing the remaining hundreds in his shirt pocket, spitting on his necktie and using it to daub the tomato juice stains on his best Oviatt’s worsted. Audrey Anders was standing on the sidewalk watching him. She said, “Nice life you’ve got, Meeks.”

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