“I heard you.”
“You won’t tell Mickey?”
“No, I won’t tell him.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Lots of them.”
* * *
Ghost chaser–
The Observatory lot–phone work.
Dime one: Jack Woods–set to bird-dog Junior post–trick sweep. Two: Ad Vice/Sid Riegle/confirmation: everything set, Junior told to stick at University Station.
Orders: walk over to Robbery, skim the fur-heist file. Riegle: sure, I’ll call you back.
_Tick tick tick_–my pulse outran my watch. Eleven minutes, Sid with stale news: No suspects, fences leaned on–no furs surfacing. Three to five men, a truck, solid knowhow: electronics and toolworking. Dud Smith ruled out fraud–no profit motive-Sol Hurwitz packed low payoff-rate insurance. Sid–“Why the interest?”–cut him off, work dime three–a Personnel clerk who owed me.
My offer: your debt wiped for a file check: Officer John Duhamel. He agreed; I asked one question: did Duhamel possess technical expertise?
I held the line–twenty long minutes. Results: Duhamel, cum laude grad–engineering–USC, ’56. Straight-A average–rah, rah, fellow Trojan.
Side 68
Ellroy – White Jazz
Duhamel–possible fur thief. Possible partners: Reuben Ruiz and his brothers–Reuben and Johnny fought amateur together. Nix it on instinct: Ruiz boosted pads, ditto his brothers–the family topped out at auto theft. More likely:
Dudley co-opts Johnny to the fur heist; Johnny gloms some solo leads and gloms some furs. Smart into dumb–he offers Mickey Cohen the goods–the kid doesn’t know Mickey’s scuffling.
_My_ scuffle–rat him to Dud?–think it through. _Tick tick tick_–not yet–too circumstantial. My priority: sort Junior and Johnny out, ease Junior off Glenda.
Ghost chaser.
Glenda.
Results.
Time before the trick sweep–tail her.
* * *
The park road–wait her out.
Her routine: drive home at 2:00, pilfer later. Time to kill, time to think–
Easy: my “crush” stretched me too thin–catch her stealing and snitch her–TODAY. Kicks: get her a Commie lawyer enraged at big money–Morton Diskant, just the ticket. Arraignment, trial–Glenda pays cunthound Morty off in trade.
“Guilty,” State time, Dave Klein there with flowers when they boot her.
Play the radio, drift.
Bop–maybe queer cops prowling Darktown–too jangly, too frantic. Skim the dial, ballads–“Tennessee Waltz”–Meg. ’51, that song, the Two Tonys–Jack Woods probably knew the whole story. Him and Meg back on; I dumped a witness and she got suspicious–and Jack wouldn’t shit her. She’d know, she’d be scared, she’d forgive me. Her and Jack–I wasn’t jealous–call him dangerous and safe–safer than me.
Back to bop–jangly good now–think:
Lucille on tape: “I’ll be the daughter and you’ll be the daddy.” Lucille, nude: fleshy like this boot camp whore I had. Big-band tunes, the war, schoolgirl Glenda–_close her out_–
Noon, 1:00, 1:30–I snoozed and woke up cramped. Stomach growls, a piss in the weeds. Early: her Vette zooming by with the top down.
I rolled–a brown Chevy cut between us–weird familiar. Squint, make the driver: Harold John Miciak.
Three-car tail string–absurd.
Up to the Observatory; down to street level. Glenda carefree, her scarf billowing. Pissed: hit the siren, ream that shitbird.
Miciak gunned it–bumper-to-bumper close. Glenda looked around; he looked around–sixty miles an hour, kill the siren, hit the mike: “Police! Pull over now!”
He swerved, banged the curb, stalled out. Glenda slowed down and stopped.
I got out.
Miciak got out.
Glenda watched–see it her way:
Side 69
Ellroy – White Jazz
This big goon walks up shouting; this shoulder-holster shirtsleeves guy shouts back: “This is mine! You’ll get your results! Tell your fucking boss that!”
The goon stutters, kicks the ground, U-turns off.
The cop goes back to his car–his B-movie goddess is gone.
* * *
Time to kill, time to figure her route. I tried due east: Hughes’ Glendale fuck pad.
I drove there. Paydirt: a Tudor mansion flanked by airplane-shaped hedges. A circular driveway–her Vette by the door.
I pulled up. Drizzling–I got out and touched the rain. Glenda walked out carrying groceries.
She saw me.
I just stood there.
She tossed me a tin of caviar.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Western and Adams–the whores briefed nice–quasi-deputies for the night.
Bluesuits out in force: popping tricks, impounding trick cars.
Prostie vans behind Cooper’s Donuts; Vice bulls bagging IDs. Men stationed southbound and northbound–hot to foil sex prowlers hot to rabbit.
My perch: Copper’s roof. Ordnance: binoculars, a bullhorn.