“Forget about it.”
“You didn’t have to kowtow to him.”
“I didn’t disobey my CO.”
“Dave . . .”
“Dave nothing. Your father’s an inspector, he got you the Bureau, and my Ad Vice command was part of the deal. It’s a game. You owe your father, I owe your father, I owe Dan Wilhite. We both owe the Department, so we have to play things like Exley’s off the deep end on this deal. Do you understand?”
“I understand. But it’s your game, so just don’t tell me it’s right.”
Slap his fucking face–no–don’t. “You pull that idealistic shit on me and I’ll hand your father a fitness report that will bounce you back to a teaching job in record goddamn time. _My game got you where you are_. You play along or you see
‘ineffectual command presence,’ ‘overly volatile’ and ‘poor composure in stress situations’ on Daddy’s desk tonight. You call it, Sergeant.”
Punk bravado: “_I’m playing_. I called the Pawnshop Detail and gave them a description of the silverware, and I got a list of Kafesjian’s drycleaning shops. Three for you, three for me, the usual questions?”
“Good, but let’s see what the patrolmen turn first. Then, after you hit your three, go downtown and check the Central burglary files and Sheriff’s files for 459s with similar MOs. You turn some, great. If not, check homicide unsolveds–maybe this clown’s a goddamn killer.”
A stink, fly swarms–lab men hauled the dogs out, dripping garbage.
“I guess you wouldn’t tell me these things if you didn’t care.”
“That’s right.”
“You’ll see, Dave. I’ll prove myself on this one.”
Tommy K. honked his sax–spectators clapped. Tommy bowed and pumped his crotch.
Side 25
Ellroy – White Jazz
“Hey, Lieutenant! You come and talk to me!”
J.C. on the porch, holding a tray out. “Hey! We have an eye opener!”
I walked up. Bottled beer–Tommy grabbed one and guzzled. Check his arms: skin-pop tracks, swastika tattoos.
J.C. smiled. “Don’t tell me too early for you.”
Tommy belched. “Schlitz, Breakfast of Champions.”
“Five minutes, Mr. Kafesjian. Just a few questions.”
“I say all right, Captain Dan said you okay, this thing is not your idea. You follow me. Tommy, you go offer the other men Breakfast of Champions.”
Tommy dipped the tray a Ia carhop. J.C. bowed, follow-me style. I followed him into the den: pine walls, gun racks. Check the parlor– print men, carhop Tommy hawking beer.
J.C. shut the door. “Dan told me you just going to go through the motions.”
“Not quite. This is Ed Exley’s case, and his rules are different than ours.”
“We do business, your people and mine. He knows that.”
“Yeah, and he’s stretching the rules this time. He’s the Chief of Detectives, and Chief Parker lets him do what he wants. I’ll try to go easy, but you’ll have to play along.”
J.C.: greasy and ugly. Face scratches–his own daughter clawed him. “Why? Exley, he’s crazy?”
“I don’t know why, which is a damn good question. Exley wants the major-case treatment on this one, and he’s a better goddamn detective than I am. I can only bullshit him so far.”
J.C. shrugged. “Hey, you smart, you got more juice. You a lawyer, you tight with Mickey Cohen.”
“No. I fix things, Exley runs things. You want smart? Exley’s the best detective the LAPD’s ever seen. Come on, help me. You don’t want regular cops nosing around, I understand that. But some piece-of-shit burglar breaks in here and rips up-”
“I clean my own house! Tommy and me, we find this guy!”
Easy now: “No. We find him, then maybe Dan Wilhite gives you a shot. No trouble, nice and legal.”
Head jerks no-no. “Dan says you got questions. You ask, I answer. I play ball.”
“No you’ll cooperate, no you won’t?”
“I cooperate.”
Notebook out. “Who did it? Any ideas?”
“No”–deadpan–no read.
“Enemies. Give me some names.”
“We got no enemies.”
“Come on, you sell narcotics.”
“Don’t say that word in my home!”
Side 26
Ellroy – White Jazz
EASY NOW: “Let’s call it business. Business rivals who don’t like you.”
Fist shakes no-no. “You make the rules, we play right. We do business fair and square so we don’t make no enemies.”