Ellroy – White Jazz

Tracks inside: movie star, thug, shakedown man. I skimmed the radio dial: news, religious shit, bop.

Memory jog: rolling Gardena drunks back in high school. Bop to ballads, memory lane-zipping Meg’s prom gown too slow.

Fuck it–spare the battery–I turned the music off and dozed. Pete at the door:

“Wake up, they’re leaving.”

The Caddy rolled, ragtop up. Pete pulled out–not too close.

East, north-cool air woke me up. Easy tailwork–collusion–Pete drove nonchalant. One arm out her window, oblivious: Joan fucking Crawford.

Due north–Compton, LYNWOOD–spooky turf.

Chick out front: left turn, right turn–Spindrift Drive.

48, 4900–curb plates pulsing weird/nuts/strange. 4980–Johnny D.–“Why meet there?”

Hard to breathe-I rolled the window down.

Left turn, right turn.

Empty courtyards.

Dry-ice chills: hot and cold.

Pete: “Jesus, I never made you for such a fresh-air fiend.”

Chick stopped–brake-light taps, signallike.

Memory lane:

Needle stabbed.

Toasty-warm tingly doped up.

Chick and Joanie, walking love-draped:

Into a vacant courtyard, up the RIGHT side walkway.

Then:

Carried, treading air.

RIGHT turn–a skanky room–MOVIE TIME.

Now:

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Ellroy – White Jazz

Sucking air–hard to breathe-Johnny replays zinging me.

Pete pulled up curbside. “Chick passed me a note. He knows some guys making smut films here, so he thought Joanie’d like that angle. Movie stars never fail to fucking amaze me.”

Memory clicks–brutal late:

Glenda said Sid Frizell was shooting stag films.

“At some abandoned dive.”

“Down in LYNWOOD.”

“Hey, Klein, are you okay?”

Weapon check: .45, sap, knucks. “Let’s go.”

Pete loaded his camera. “It’s all set. We go in on ‘Baby, it’s so good.'”

Ready: knuck teeth scraped my law-school ring.

Pete: “Now.”

We ran in: stucco cubes, walkways, grass.

Place it then and now: Movie time, Johnny begging: “PLEASE DON’T KlLLME.”

Sex grunts–a right-side shack midway down. Tiptoes up, listen: Smut moans, Chick: “Baby, it’s so gooood.”

Pete camera ready.

Looks, nods, kicks–we snapped the door clean.

Pitch black half a second.

Flashbulb pops: Joan Crawford gobbling Chick V. tonsil-deep.

Speedo:

Bulb blips–Joanie running out the door bare-ass, shrieking.

Chick pawing at a wall switch–the lights on.

A magnum on the nightstand–I grabbed it and scoped the room: Mirrored walls.

Linoleum floor–maroon dots-dried blood.

Chick on the bed, zipping his fly.

Knucks/gun butt–quick–

I bashed his face, racked his nuts, cracked his arms. Bone jar up my hands–Chick balled himself tight.

A shadow on the bed–Pete restraining me. “_Ease off_. I gave Crawford some clothes and some money. _We’ve got time to do this right_.”

Chick doubled up, quaking, good cause: two giant fists flexing straight at him.

Canned shtick–Pete gleeful:

“The left one’s the hospital, the right one’s death. The right one steals your Side 192

Ellroy – White Jazz

life while the left steals your breath. These hands are bad juju and the bad boogaloo, they’re the teeth of the demon as he slides down the flue.”

Chick stood up–bloody, trembly. “I am Outfit. I am a made guy. Feature you are both dead for this.”

Pete: “Dave, ask the man a question.”

I said, “You set me up. I told you I was meeting a ‘pretty-boy strongarm cop’ in Lynwood. Now, for starters you tell me who you told and how they got that home-movie idea.”

“Feature I will tell you nothing.”

Pete grabbed him by the neck. Flick: two hundred pounds airborne. Chick hit the far wall–mirror glass shattered.

Rag doll Chick–this “huh?” look.

Pete right there–stomp, stomp–fingers cracking under his heels. Chick showed balls: no audible grief.

I knelt down. “You set me up with the Kafesjians.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Chick, we go back. This doesn’t have to be ugly.”

“Feature you _are_ ugly.”

“You fingered me to the Kafesjians. Cop to it and go from there.”

“I didn’t clue nobody you were meeting that cop you told me about. So you got set up, what the fuck, they set you up. Feature I knew they set you up, but feature it was after the goddamn fact.”

“You said ‘they.’ You mean the Kafesjians?”

“I mean it’s a figure of goddamn speech. You got set up ’cause you were born for it, all the shit you pulled and walked on. You got set up, but feature I didn’t do it.”

Pete: “I didn’t know you knew the Kafesjians. I thought you were strictly a Mickey guy.”