Tommy: _in with his own key_, weed bags stashed by slot machines. I called Lester Lake: glom me skinny on Tommy’s known associates.
Happy chatter–the party crowd swelling. Meg and Jack Woods talking–they’d probably start up again. Jack muscled our rent; we cut a percentage deal: his dice game, our Westside vacant. Holding hands: my sister, my hood friend.
Exhausted–I shifted to Glenda Overdrive–
Hooked bad–I couldn’t subcontract the Hughes job. Moonlight work: I tailed her, watched for tails on me, ditched some maybes. Movie set skulks, rolling stakeouts:
Glenda raids Hughes’ fuck pads; Glenda donates stolen food to “Dracula’s” rest Side 59
Ellroy – White Jazz
home. Frequent Glenda guests: Touch V. and Rock Rockwell– Georgie Ainge nowhere in sight. Last night, Good Deed Glenda: foie gras for the oldsters at the Sleepy Glade dump.
R&I–Bledsoe, Glenda Louise:
No wants, no warrants, no prostitution arrests. 12/46: ten days, juvie shoplifting. A Juvenile Hall file note: Glenda beat up an amorous bull dyke.
LAPD Homicide-Dwight William Gilette, DOD 4/19/55 (unsolved)– ZERO ON GLENDA LOUISE BLEDSOE.
Fake reports to Bradley Milteer: Glenda’s thefts deleted, her publicity date lied off–a “friendly outing.” Glenda Overdrive driving me: good scary/scary good.
I edged up to the crowd. Gallaudet had a new haircut: that Jack Kennedy/Welles Noonan style. A nod my way, but no shake–bad-press cops rated low. Walter O’Malley sidled by–Bob almost genuflected. Chavez Ravine, ballpark, ballpark–loud, happy.
“Hello, lad.”
That brogue–Dudley Smith.
“Hello, Dud.”
“A fine evening, is it not? Mark my words, we are celebrating the beginning of a splendid political career.”
An envelope passed: Dodger man to DA’s man. “Bob was always ambitious.”
“Like yourself, lad. And does the prospect of a stadium for our home team thrill you?”
“Not particularly.”
Dud laughed. “Nor I. Chavez Ravine was a splendid place to purchase spic trinkets, but now I fear it will be replaced by traffic jams and more smog. Do you follow baseball, lad?”
“No.”
“Not interested in athletics? Is extracurricular money your only passion?”
“It’s this Jew name I got stuck with.”
Howls–his suitcoat gapped. Check the ordnance: magnum, sap, switchblade. “Lad, you have the power to amuse this old man.”
“I only get funny when I’m bored–and baseball bores me. Boxing’s more my sport.”
“Ah, I should have known. Ruthless men always admire fisticuffs. And I phrase
‘ruthless’ as a compliment, lad.”
“No offense taken. And speaking of boxing, Johnny Duhamel’s working for you, right?”
“Correct, and a splendidly fear-inducing addition to the Mobster Squad he is.
I’ve given him work on my fur-robbery job as well, and he is proving himself to be a splendid all-around young policeman. Why do you ask, lad?”
“His name came up. One of my men used to teach at the Academy. Duhamel was a student of his.”
“Ahh, yes. George Stemmons, Jr., am I correct? What a memory for students past that lad must have.”
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“That’s him.”
Exley nailed me–a curt nod. Dud caught it: “Go, lad, Chief Exley beckons from across the room. Ah, the gaze of a shark he has.”
“Good seeing you, Dud.”
“My pleasure entirely, lad.”
I walked over. Exley, straight off: “There’s a briefing day after tomorrow. Nine o’clock, all Bureau COs. Be there–we’re going to discuss the Fed probe. Also, I want you to get ahold of the Kafesjian family’s tax records. You’re an attorney–find a loophole.”
“Income tax records require a Federal writ. Why don’t you ask Welles Noonan?
It’s his district.”
White knuckles–his wineglass shook. “I read your report, and the john names interest me. I want a trick sweep on Western and Adams tomorrow night. Set it up with University Vice, and detach as many men as you need. I want detailed information on Lucille Kafesjian’s customers.”
“Are you sure you want to risk riling that family with the Feds around the goddamn corner?”
“Do it, Lieutenant. Don’t question my motives or ask why.”
Pissed–I hit the lobby steaming. A phone, a dime-buzz the Bureau.
“Administrative Vice, Officer Riegle.”
“Sid, it’s me.”
“Hi, Skipper. You telepathic? Hollenbeck just left you a message.”
“Hold on, I need you to set something up first.”
“All ears.”
“Call University and set up a trick sweep. Say eight men and two whore wagons.