“It’s open!”
I walked in. Cozy: a mattress, one chair. Rockwell cranking push-ups on the floor. THE LOOK: cop, oh fuck.
“It’s not a roust, I’m friends with Touch.”
“Did I hear my name?”
Touch stepped out of the bathroom. No fixtures–just TV sets stacked high.
“David, you didn’t see those.”
“See what?”
Rockwell slid up on the mattress; Touch tossed him a towel. “Meg’s my first customer. She told me she wants to put TV’s in all your furnished vacancies so she can raise the rent. Oh, excuse me. Rock Rockwell, David Klein.”
No hello–Rock toweled off. Touch: “Dave, what’s this about?”
Eyes on Rockwell–Touch caught the drift. “He can keep police-type confidences.”
“I had some questions about activities in Fern Dell Park.”
Rockwell scratched the mattress–Touch sprawled beside him. “_Vice_-type activities?”
I pulled the chair up. “Sort of, and it gets tricky because I think one of my men might be pulling shakedowns in Fern Dell.”
Touch tensed up.
“What? What is it?”
“David, what does this man of yours look like?”
“Five-ten, one-sixty, long sandy hair. Sort of cute–you might like him.”
No laugh–Touch coiled toward Rockwell.
“Come on, tell me. We go back–you know nothing you say leaves this room.”
“Well . . . since it sort of involves Mickey, and you’re his friend…”
Coax him: “Come on–like the magazine says: ‘off the record.'”
Touch stood up, threw a robe on, paced–“Last week, that guy, that policeman you just described to a T, he rousted me in Fern Dell. I told him who I was, _who I knew_, including Mickey Cohen, which _he_ was oblivious to. Look, I was cruising–you know what I am, David–Rock and I, we have this arrangement–”
Rockwell–BAM!–out the door pulling on pants.
“It’s the way our kind of people have to be to get along, and this. . . oh shit, this _policeman_ said he’d seen me installing slots and coin hardware on the Southside a while back, and he said that Fed probe would happen and he’d snitch me to it if I didn’t cooperate with him, so all right, _we_ both know how to do business, David, but _this policeman_ was acting so hopped-up and crazy that I _knew he didn’t_ so I listened. He said, ‘You must know Darktown pretty well,’ I said yes, I got the impression he was messed up on Bennies or goofballs _or both_, and _then_ he started rambling about–and I quote you, David–this
‘gorgeous’–he actually used the word ‘gorgeous’–other policeman working the Mobster Squad–”
“Gorgeous” Johnny Duhamel. My head throbbed–queer lilt synchronized–
“_This policeman, he just kept rambling_. He wouldn’t tell me details, he just Side 67
Ellroy – White Jazz
… kept rambling. He told me this crazy story about a whore in a mink coat stripping and how the gorgeous Mobster Squad cop got panicky and made her stop.
David, here’s where it gets strange and funny and sort of . . . well.. .
incestuous, because the crazy policeman saw that the fur-coat spiel made me just a tad suspicious. He came on strong, and he found a gun on me and threatened me with a concealment charge, and I said the fur thing spooked me because Johnny Duhamel, that sort-offamous ex-boxer, he tried to sell Mickey a bulk load of hot furs, which Mickey refused. The crazy cop, he laughed and laughed and started muttering ‘Gorgeous Johnny,’ and then he just sort of warned me off and walked away, and David, that policeman, he is one of us, if you catch my drift, dear heart, and I only told you all this because our mutual friend Mickey played just a tad of a supporting role.”
Touch–hands in his robe, out with a piece-bet he almost shoved it up Junior’s ass.
Think:
Junior shakes down a guy at Bido Lito’s.
Hobnobs with Johnny Duhamel–Bido Lito’s.
Scopes out Lucille’s fur strip–Bido Lito’s.
More:
Junior–Kafesjian work fluffed off.
Fern Dell Park shakedowns–faggot Junior–Touch knew the turf– call it a maybe.
Touch: “I don’t want you to tell Mickey what I told you. Duhamel just approached Mickey because he’s Mickey. Mickey doesn’t know anything about that extortionist policeman of yours, I just know it. Dave, are you listening to me?”