“What about a _fur coat?_”
Side 75
Ellroy – White Jazz
Hophead nerves–Junior twitched a cuff link clean off.
“No, no fur coat. I mean, Christ, she’s a Western Avenue whoo-er.”
Change-up: “So you said the girl talked dirty to you.”
“Yeah. She said Mr. Big Dick sure deserved his nickname.”
“Forget about your dick. Did she talk dirty besides that?”
“She said she was screwing some guy named Tommy.”
Tingles/goosebumps. “Tommy who?”
“I don’t know, she didn’t say no last name.”
“Did she say he was her brother?”
“Come on, that’s crazy.”
“‘Come on’? You remember that tape that I just played you?”
“So that was a game. Daddy and daughter don’t mean brother, and white people don’t do that kind of stuff. It’s a sin, it’s an _infamia_, it’s–”
Hit the table. “_Did she say he was her brother?_”
“No.”
“Did she say his last name?”
“No”–soft–scared now.
“Did she say he was perved on her?”
“No.”
“Did she say he was a musician?”
“No.”
“Did she say he sold narcotics?”
“No.”
“Did she say he paid her for it?”
“No.”
“Did she say he was a burglar?”
“No.”
“A peeper, a voyeur?”
“No.”
“Did she say what he did?”
“No.”
“Did she talk about her family?”
“No.”
“Did she describe this guy?”
“No.”
Side 76
Ellroy – White Jazz
“Did she say he chased colored girls?”
“No. Officer, look–”
I slapped the table–Big Dick crossed himself.
“Did she mention a man named Tommy Kafesjian?”
“No.”
“Fur coats?”
“No.”
“Fur-coat robberies?”
Junior squirming, scratching his hands.
“Officer, she just said she was banging this guy Tommy. She said he wasn’t that good, but he turned her out, and you always pack a torch for the guy who took your cherry.”
I froze.
Junior jumped bolt upright–that cuff link rolled under the door.
Itchy scratchy nerves–he jerked the door open. Standing outside: Dan Wilhite.
Hall speaker blinks–he’d heard.
“Klein, come here.”
I stepped forward. Wilhite jabbed my chest–I bent his hand back. “_This is my case. You don’t like it, take it up with Exley_.”
Narco goons right there–I let him go. Junior tried to waltz–I pulled him back.
Wilhite–pale, popping spit bubbles.
His boys flushed–wicked pissed, spoiling to trash me.
Lo Bruto: “Jesus, I’m hungry.”
I shut the door.
“Hey, I’m starved. Can I have a sandwich or something?”
I hit the intercom. “Sid, bring the other man in.”
* * *
Lo Bruto out, Kaltenborn in: this fat geek wearing a fez. Junior sulked and hid his eyes.
The geek–“Please, I don’t want any trouble”–his voice half-ass familiar.
I hit Play.
Lucille: “In advance, sweet.” Pause. “Yes, that means _now_.”
Kaltenborn winced–hot potato.
Pause, “Okay, okay”–_more_ familiar. Mattress squeaks, grunts– Fats sobbed along.
Lucille: “Let’s play a little game. Now I’ll be the daughter and you’ll be the daddy, and if you’re _reeeeal_ sweet we can go again no extra.”
Side 77
Ellroy – White Jazz
Big sobs.
I pushed Stop. “Was that you, Mr. Kaltenborn?”
Sobs, nods. Junior squirmed–junkie shitbird.
“Quit crying, Mr. Kaltenborn. The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner we’ll let you go.”
His fez slid down cockeyed. “Lydia?”
“What?”
“My wife, she won’t . . .”
“This is strictly confidential. _Is_ that you on the tape, Mr. Kaltenborn?”
“Yes, yes it is. Did. . . did the police record that . . .”
“That _illegal_ extramarital assignation? No, we didn’t. Do you know who did?”
“No, of course not.”
“_Did_ you play the daddy?”
Muffled, sob-choked: “Yes.”
“Then tell me about it.”
Fretting the fez–twisting it, stroking it. “I wanted to go again, so the girl put on her clothes and begged me to rip them off. She said, ‘Rip my clothes off, Daddy.’ I did it, and we went again, and that’s all. I don’t know her name-I never saw her before and I haven’t seen her since. This is all just a terrible coincidence. That girl was the only prostitute I ever trafficked with, and I was at a meeting with my Shrine brothers to discuss our charity fish fry when one of them asked me if I knew where prostitutes could be procured, so I–”
“Did the girl talk about a man named Tommy?”