Pink satin sheets and sweat bound them together. Buzz rolled over on his side, hooking a finger around Audrey’s wrist so they’d keep on touching while he got his breath. Eight years without a cigarette and he was panting like a track dog–and she was lying there all still and calm, a vein on the back of her arm tapping his finger the only thing that said she was still racing inside. His chest heaved; he tried to think of something to say; Audrey made finger tracks on his knife scars. She said, “This could get complicated.”
Buzz got his wind. “That mean you’re thinkin’ angles already?”
Audrey made like her nails were animals’ claws and pretended to scratch him. “I just like to know where I stand.”
The moment was slipping away from him–like it wasn’t worth the danger.
Buzz grabbed Audrey’s hands. “So that means we’re lookin’ at a next time?”
“You didn’t have to ask. I’d have told you in a minute or so.”
“I like to know where I stand, too.”
Audrey laughed and pulled her hands away. “You stand guilty, Meeks. You got me thinking the other day. So whatever happens, it’s your fault.”
Side 85
Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The Buzz said, “Sweetie, don’t underestimate Mickey. He’s sugar and spice with women and kids, but he kills people.”
“He knows I’ll leave him sooner or later.”
“No, he doesn’t. He figures you’re an ex-stripper, a shiksa, you’re thirty-somethin’ and you’ve got no place to go. You give him a little bit of grief, maybe it gets his dick hard. But you stroll, that’s somethin’ else.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. Buzz said, “Sweetie, where would you go?”
Audrey pulled a pillow down and hugged it, giving him both baby browns.
“I’ve got some money saved. A bunch. I’m going to buy some grove property in the Valley and bankroll rentals on a shopping center. They’re the coming thing, Meeks. Another ten thousand and I can get in on the ground floor with thirty-five acres.”
Like his acreage: fourteen dollars per on the sure thing that should have made him rich. “Where’d you get the money?”
“I saved it.”
“From Mickey’s handouts?”
Audrey surprised him by chucking the pillow away and poking his chest.
“Are you jealous, _sweetie_?”
Buzz grabbed her finger and gave it a little love bite. “Maybe just a tad.”
“Well, don’t be. Mickey’s all wrapped up in his union business and his drug thing with Jack Dragna, and I know how to play this game. Don’t you worry.”
“Sweetie, you better. Because it is surely for keeps.”
“Meeks, I wish you’d quit talking about Mickey. You’ll have me looking under the bed in a minute.”
Buzz thought of the .38 in the other room and the fruit lawyer with the bruised neck and tear-mottled cheeks. “I’m glad bein’ with you is dangerous. It feels good.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Acting Supervisor Upshaw.
Task Force Boss.
Skipper.
Danny stood in the empty Hollywood Station muster room, waiting to address _his_ three men on _his_ homicide case–running the titles down in _the_
single place where the Brenda Allen job caused the most grief. A cartoon tacked to the notice board spelled it out: Mickey Cohen wearing a Jew skullcap with a dollar sign affixed to the top, dangling two uniformed Sheriff’s deputies on puppet strings. A balloon elaborated his thoughts: _Boy, did I give it to the LAPD! It’s good I got the County cops to wipe my ass for me!_ Danny saw little holes all over Mickey’s face; LA’s number-one hoodlum had been used as a dartboard.
There was a lectern and blackboard at the front of the room; Danny found chalk and wrote “Deputy D. Upshaw, LASD,” in boldface letters. He positioned himself behind the stand like Doc Layman with his forensics class and forced himself to think of his other assignment so he wouldn’t get antsy when it came time to lay down the law to _his_ men, three detectives older and much more experienced than he. That job was coming on like a snooze and a snore, maybe a little shot of elixir to keep bad thoughts down and business on; it was why he was standing triumphant in a spot where the County police were loathed more than baby rapers. The deal was like pinching yourself to make sure the great things that were happening weren’t just a dream–and he pinched himself for the ten millionth time since Lieutenant Mal Considine made his offer.