Slow and cool: two pseudo-snakeskin bags turned out. Felony tilt: tinfoil Benzedrine.
Change-up: “Okay, you’re clean.”
Darky:
“Sheeeit!”
High Yellow: “Man, what you–?”
I flashed the Lucille pix. “Seen her?”
Purse debris zoomed back; High Yellow chased Bennies with coffee.
“_I said_, have you seen her?”
High Yellow: “No, but this other po-lice been–”
Side 52
Ellroy – White Jazz
The dark girl shushed her–I felt the nudge.
“What ‘other police’? And don’t you lie to me.”
High Yellow: “‘Nuther officer was aroun’ asking questions ’bout that girl. He didn’ have no photographs, but he had this, this .. . po-lice sketch, he called it. Very same girl, good picture if you asks me.”
“Was he a young man? Sandy-haired, late twenties?”
“That’s right. He had this big pom-po-dour that he kept playin’ with.”
Junior–maybe working off a Bureau likeness sheet. “What kind of questions did he ask you?”
“He ask did that mousy little white girl ho’ roun’ here. I say, ‘I don’t know.’
He ask did I work the bars down here, and I say yes. He ask ’bout some Peepin’
Tom, I say I don’t know ’bout no jive Peepin’ Tom.”
Brace the dark girl: “He asked you the same questions, right?”
“Tha’s right, an’ I told him the same answers, which is the righteous whole truth.”
“Yeah, but _you_ nudged your friend here, which means _you_ told her something else about that policeman, because _you_ are the one acting hinky. Now spill before I find something else in your purse.”
Cop-hater rumbles–the whole room. “Tell me, goddamn it.”
High Yellow: “Lynette tol’ me she see that po-liceman shake down a man in Bido Lito’s parking lot. Colored man, an’ Lynette say the pom-podour cop take money from him. Lynette say she see that same po-lice at Bido’s talkin’ to that pretty-boy blond po-liceman who works for that mean Mr. Dudley Smith, who jist loves to have his strongarm men roust colored people. Am’ all that whooole truth, Lynette?”
“Sho’ is, sugar. The whoooole truth, if I’m lyin’, I’m flyin’.”
Flying:
Junior–shakedown artist?–“If you want to steal, steal big.” “Prettyboy blond cop”–??????
“Who was the colored man at Bido Lito’s?”
Lynette: “I don’t know, an’ I ain’t seen him before or since.”
“What did you mean by ‘shakedown’?”
“I mean he put the arm on that poor man for money, and he be usin’ rude language besides.”
“Give me a name for that blond cop.”
“Am’ got a name, but I seen him with Mr. Smith, and he so cute I _give_ it free to him.”
Lynette laughed; High Yellow howled. The whole room laughed– at me.
* * *
Bido Lito’s, 68th and Central–closed. Mark it: a lead on crazy man Junior.
I staked the parking lot–no suspicious shit–music out a door down the block.
Squint, catch the marquee: “Club Alabam–Art Pepper Quartet Nitely.” Art Pepper–_Straight Life_–a Tommy K. smashed record.
Side 53
Ellroy – White Jazz
Strange music: pulsing, discordant. Distance distorted sounds–I synced a beat to people talking on the sidewalk. Hard to see faces, easy to imagine them: I made all the women Glenda. A crescendo, applause–I hit my brights to get a real look. Too bright–jigs passing a reefer–gone before I could blink.
I pulled up and walked in. Dark–no doorman/cover charge–four white guys on stage, backlit. Sax, bass, piano, drums–four beats–not music, not noise. I bumped a table, bumped a left-behind jug.
My eyes adjusted–bourbon and a shot glass right there. I grabbed a chair, watched, _listened_.
Sax solo–honks/blats/wails–I poured a shot, downed it.
Hot–I thought of Meg–juicehead parents scared us both away from liquor. Match flare: Tommy Kafesjian at ringside. Three shots quick–my breath timed itself to the music. Crescendos, no break, a ballad.
Pure beautiful: sax, piano, bass. Whispers: “Champ Dineen,” “The Champ, that’s his.” Tommy’s broken record: _Sooo Slow Moods_.
One more shot–bass notes–skipped heartbeats. Glenda, Meg, Lucille–some booze reflex warmed their faces.
Exit-door light–Tommy K. walking out. Validate this slumming, pure cop instincts:
Peeper/prowler/B&E man–all one man. Jazz fiend/voyeur–the noise fed the watching.
Noise/music–go, follow it–
* * *
Hot-sheet row–motels pressed tight–one long block. Stucco dives– bright colors–an alley behind them.
Ladder roof access: I parked, climbed, looked.