Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The THE BIG NOWHERE

Two shots splintered the wood above his head; a muzzle flickered from a dark back room. Buzz hit the floor; Mal piled on top of him and fired twice blindly; Buzz saw a man spread-eagled on the carpet, his yellow silk robe soaked red from sash to collar. Cash wrapped in bank tabs surrounded the body.

Side 173

Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The Mal stumbled and charged. Buzz let him go, heard thumping, crashing, glass breaking and no more shots. He got up and checked the stiff–a fancy man with a neat beard, a neat manicure and not much of a torso left. The bank tabs were marked Beverly Hills Federal, and there was at least three thousand in half-grand packets within grabbing distance. Buzz resisted; Mal came back, panting. He wheezed, “Car waiting. Late model white sedan.”

Buzz kicked a pack of greenbacks; they hit an embroidered on the dead man’s sleeve. “Beverly Hills Fed. That where Loftis withdrew his money?”

“That’s the place.”

Sirens in the distance.

Buzz waved goodbye to the cash. “Loftis, Claire, the killer, what do you think?”

“Let’s hit their place now. Before the Sheriffs ask us what we’re–”

Buzz said, “Separate cars,” and took off running as fast as he could.

o

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Mal got there first.

Buzz saw him standing across the street from the De Haven house, U-turned and killed his engine. Mal leaned in the window. “What took you?”

“I run slow.”

“Anybody see you?”

“No. You?”

“I don’t think so. Buzz, we weren’t there.”

“You’re learnin’ this game better every day, boss. What’d you get here?”

“Two cold cars. I looked in a window and saw De Haven and Loftis playing cards. They’re clean. You make the killer for it?”

Buzz said, “Nix. It’s wrong. He’s a psycho fuckin’ rat worshiper, and it’s my considered opinion that psycho rat worshipers don’t carry guns. I’m thinkin’ Minear. He fits with Loftis, and there was a line on him from the files, said he liked to buy boys.”

“You could be right. The Masskie woman next?”

“236 South Beaudry, boss.”

“Let’s do it.”

o

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Buzz got there first; he rang the bell and went eyeball to eyeball with Delores in a long white robe. She said, “Did you bring monetary tribute for Sister?”

Buzz said, “My bagman’s comin’ in a minute.” He took out the picture of Dudley Smith. “Ma’am, is this the fella who was inquirin’ after Coleman?”

Delores blinked at the photograph and crossed herself. “Get behind me, Satan. Yes, that’s him.”

Seven come eleven, one more for Danny Upshaw. “Ma’am, do you know the name Reynolds Loftis?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Anybody named Loftis?”

“No.”

“Any chance you messed with a man named Loftis around the time Coleman was born?”

The old girl harumphed. “If by ‘messed’ you mean engaged in breeding activities for Sister Aimee, the answer is no.”

Buzz said, “Ma’am, you told me Coleman went lookin’ for his daddy when he took off in ’42. If you didn’t know who his daddy was, how’d the boy know where to look?”

Delores said, “Twenty dollars for Sister Aimee and I’ll show you.”

Buzz slid off his high school ring. “Yours to keep, sweetie. Just show me.”

Delores examined the ring, pocketed it and walked away; Buzz stood on the porch wondering where Mal was. Minutes dragged; the woman returned with an old leather scrapbook. She said, “The genealogy of my slave breeding. I took pictures of all the men who gave me their seed, with appropriate comments on the back. When Coleman decided he had to find his father, he looked at this book for pictures of the men he most resembled. I hid the book when the brogue man came by, and I still want twenty dollars for this information.”

Buzz opened the scrapbook, saw that the pages contained stapled-on photographs of dozens of men, held it up to the porch light and started looking.

Side 174

Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The Four pages down, a picture caught his eye: a spellbinder youthful, spellbinder handsome Reynolds Loftis in a tweed knicker suit. He pulled the photo out and read the writing on the back.

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