Jack Shortell was still scribbling; Mike Breuning was looking up at him strangely, eyes narrowed to slits. Danny turned back to Niles. “Got that, Sergeant?”
Niles had another cigarette going; he was scorching his desk with the tip. “You’re really in tight with the Jews, huh, Upshaw? What’s Mickey Kike paying you?”
“More than Brenda paid you.”
Shortell laughed; Breuning’s strange look broke into a smile. Niles threw his cigarette on the floor and stamped it out. “Why didn’t you report your lead on Marty Goines’ pad, hotshot? What the fuck was happening there?”
Danny’s hands snapped a piece of wood off the lectern. He said,
“Dismissed,” with some other man’s voice.
o
o
o
Considine and Smith were waiting for him in Ellis Loew’s office; big Dudley was hanging up a phone with the words, “Thank you, lad.” Danny sat down at Loew’s conference table, sensing the “lad” was flunky Mike Breuning with a report on his briefing.
Considine was busy writing on a yellow legal pad; Smith came over and gave him the glad hand. “How was your first morning as Homicide brass, lad?”
Danny knew he knew–verbatim. “It went well, Lieutenant.”
“Call me Dudley. You’ll be outranking me in a few years, and you should get used to patronizing men much your senior.”
“Okay, Dudley.”
Smith laughed. “Lad, you’re a heartbreaker. Isn’t he a heartbreaker, Malcolm?”
Considine slid his chair next to Danny. “Let’s hope Claire De Haven Side 89
Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The thinks so. How are you, Deputy?”
Danny said, “I’m fine, Lieutenant,” picking up something wrong between his superiors–contempt or plain tension working two ways–Dudley Smith in the catbird seat.
“Good. The briefing went well, then?”
“Yes.”
“Have you read that paperwork we gave you?”
“I’ve got it practically memorized.”
Considine tapped his pad. “Excellent. We’ll start now, then.”
Dudley Smith sat at the far end of the table; Danny geared his brain to listen and _think_ before speaking. Considine said, “Here’s some rules for you to follow.
“One, you drive your civilian car everywhere, on your decoy job _and_
your homicide job. We’re building an identity for you, and we’ll have a script ready by late tonight. You’re going to be a lefty who’s been living in New York for years, so we’ve got New York plates for your car, and we’ve got a whole personal background for you to memorize. When you go by your various station houses to check reports or whatever, park on the street at least two blocks away, and when you leave here, go downstairs to the barbershop. Al, Mayor Bowron’s barber, is going to get rid of that crew cut of yours and cut your hair so that you look less like a cop. I need your trouser, shirt, jacket, sweater and shoe sizes, and I want you to meet me at midnight at West Hollywood Station.
I’ll have your new Commie wardrobe and script ready, and we’ll finalize your approach. Got it?”
Danny nodded, pulled a sheet of paper off Considine’s pad and wrote down his clothing sizes. Dudley Smith said, “You wear those clothes everywhere, lad.
On your queer job, too. We don’t want your new Pinko friends seeing you on the street looking like a dapper young copper. Malcolm, give our fair Daniel some De Haven lines to parry. Let’s see how he fields them.”
Considine spoke directly to Danny. “Deputy, I’ve met Claire De Haven, and I think that for a woman she’s a tough piece of work. She’s promiscuous, she may be an alcoholic and she may take drugs. We’ve got another man checking out her background and the background of some other Reds, so we’ll know more on her soon. I spoke to the woman once, and I got the impression that she thrives on banter and one-upmanship. I think that it sexually excites her, and I know she’s attracted to men of your general appearance. So we’re going to try a little exercise now. I’ll feed you lines that I think would be typical of Claire De Haven, you try to top them. Ready?”
Danny shut his eyes for better concentration. “Go.”
“But some people call us Communists. Doesn’t that bother you?”