Ellroy – White Jazz

Ellroy – White Jazz

testified as a Federal witness, assuming that your testimony would damn both himself and this aging Irishman who bears quite a grudging fondness for you.

Noonan was furious, of course, and Bob quite wisely retreated to a more judicious footing: he said that the film threat stood, but he would not enter the attorney general’s race if Noonan promised no open-court mention of him.

Noonan, bright lad that he is, agreed.”

“Gallaudet ratted _you_ to Noonan?”

“No, Allah be praised, he just evinced panic and spoke nebulously of complex criminal conspiracies. I’m sure Noonan considers me just an aging policeman with a gift for language and a stern reputation.”

Shouts down below. Stray headlights blipped Dudley smiling benign.

“Who gave Bob that movie copy?”

“Mike Breuning. He was afraid our enterprises were in jeopardy, so he gave Robert a copy to cut a deal for himself. Alas, Mike confessed what he had done before I sent him out to meet you, which is why I set him up so harshly.”

“Gallaudet?”

“Ensconced with Allah, lad. Neatly dismembered and unreachable. Kill Vecchio, if you haven’t already, and there’s just Exley sans hard evidence.”

“Chick told me Duhamel snitched Exley.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“He said Exley kept money in a safe?”

“Yes, Chick is correct.”

“Inside his house?”

“Yes, lad, that would be logical.”

“Big money?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Lad, get to the point, you’re tantalizing me.”

“I can tap that safe. I’ll kill Vecchio and steal Exley’s money. We’ll split it.”

“You’re very generous, and I’m surprised that you haven’t expressed rancor over my machinations at the Ranch Market.”

“I want you to like me. If I run, I don’t want you coming after the people I leave here.”

“You’re perceptive to assume my survival.”

“The money?”

“I’ll accept half graciously.”

Commotion down the hill: cops kicking in shack doors.

“Chick told you the thrust of my plans, did he, lad?”

“Yes.”

“Did you infer that I enjoy watching?”

“Yes.”

“I view it as a dispensation for the grand work of containment I’ll be doing. I Side 221

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view it as a means to touch compelling filth without succumbing to it.”

FLASH: Lucille nude.

“You’re a watcher, lad. You’ve touched your own dark capacities, and now you enjoy the surcease of simple watching.”

FLASH: whore-pad windows.

“I empathize with your curiosities, lad.”

FLASH–peeper tapes–pictures synced to sounds.

“It pleases me that the Kafesjians and Herricks seem to have piqued those curiosities. Lad, I could tell you many grand stories about those two families.”

FLASH–bright open windows–TELL ME THINGS.

“Lad, do you feel the basis of an understanding starting to form? Are you beginning to see the two of us as kindred souls, brothers in curious–”

Shouts, flashlights converging–

I ran down–tripping and stumbling. Shacks pressed up tight together–lights fixed in one doorway.

Tail men huddled outside–push through, look: Lucille and Richie Herrick–DOA.

Tourniquet tied/veins pumped/mouths frozen gasping.

Entwined on a mink coat bed.

H bindles, spikes and Drano on a fox pelt.

CHAPTER FIFTY

8:01 A.M.–Federal fugitive.

Fugitive pad, fugitive car–a ’51 Chevy bought off a junker lot. Fugitive calls: Glenda safe–style vs. fear–style winning.

Sid Riegle, panicked–Exley men rousted my men.

Bureau talk: Lucille and Richie died from heroin-Drano cocktails. Sid: “Ray Pinker said she hotshot him, then killed herself. Doc Newbarr said no way was it murder, then suicide–everything was too nice and neat.”

More talk:

Tommy and J.C.–Fed-rousted and released at 4:00 A.M. Madge K. gone for parts unknown–the point man lost her.

A call to Pete–find me that woman, she can TELL ME things. Fugitive wheels: the Cahuenga Pass south. Rearview panic checks– everything looked strange and wrong.

Radio news: Hot L.A. Crime Wave! Mickey Cohen Federal Witness! DA Gallaudet Misses Breakfast Talk–Assembled Scribes Baffled!

Last night–Dudley’s farewell:

“I’ll require verification on Chick. His right hand should suffice–it bears quite a recognizable tattoo.”

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Brain teaser:

_Vampire_ gore/the Kafesjian-Herrick case–who?/why?

South: Hollywood, Hancock Park. Left turn–432 South McCadden.

Virgin–no cars curb or driveway.

I walked up and knocked. Nobody watching–knife the keyhole, work the lock.

In.

Close the door, bolt it–lights on, go.

I checked the living room walls: no pictures, no fake panels.

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