Plaster dust settling–my shots grazed some pipes. Miscellaneous folders, file cards:
Folder number one–Chief Ed Exley clippings–the Nite Owl job. Number two–odd Exley cases ’53–’58. Concise–the _Times_, _Herald_– fastidious.
WHY?
The cards–LAPD FIs–four-by-six field questioning forms. “Name,” “Location,”
“Comments”–filled in shorthand. I read through them and interpreted: All locations “F.D.P.”–make that Fern Dell Park. Initials, no names.
Side 80
Ellroy – White Jazz
Numbers–California Penal Code designations–lewd and lascivious behavior.
Comments: homo coitus interruptus, Junior levies on-the-spot fines– cash, jewelry, reefers.
Sweaty, close to breathless. Three cards clipped together–initials “T.V.”
Comments: the Touch Vecchio roust-credit Junior with extortion skill: Touch calls Mickey C. power-broke and desperate. He’s hot to do something “on his own”; he’s got his own shakedown gig brewing. Feature: Chick Vecchio to pork famous women; Touch to pork celebrated fruits. Pete Bondurant to take pix and apply the strongarm: cough up or _Hush-Hush_ gets the negatives.
Chills–bad juju. The phone–once, stop, once–Jack’s signal.
I grabbed the bedside extension. “Yeah?”
“Dave, listen. I tailed Stemmons to Bido Lito’s. He met J.C. and Tommy Kafesjian in this back room they’ve got there. I saw them shake him for a wire, and I caught a few words before they shut the window.”
“_What?_”
“What I heard was Stemmons talking. He offered to protect the Kafesjian family–he actually said ‘family’–from you and somebody else, I couldn’t catch the name.”
Maybe Exley–that clip file. “What else?”
“Nothing else. Stemmons walked out the front door counting money, like Tommy and J.C. just palmed him. I tailed him down the street, and I saw him badge this colored guy. I think the guy was selling mary jane, and I think he palmed Stemmons.”
“Where is he now?”
“Heading your way. Dave, you owe me–”
I hung up, dialed 111, got Georgie Ainge’s listing. Dial it, two rings, a message: “The number you have reached has been disconnected.” Junior’s story held: Ainge blew town.
Options:
Stall him, threaten to rat him as a homo. Maim him, trade him: depositions and print gun for no exposÈ.
Shit logic–psychos don’t barter.
I doused the lights, packed the Luger. Kill him/don’t kill him. Pendulum: if he walks in on the wrong swing he’s dead.
Think–queer pinup fever–psycho Junior hates heartthrob Glenda.
Time went nutso.
My ribs ached.
The morning paper hit the door–I shot a chair. Bullet logic: this grief for a woman I never even touched.
I walked outside. Dawn–milkman witnesses nixed murder.
I dropped the Luger in a trashcan.
I primped–don’t think, just do it.
Side 81
Ellroy – White Jazz
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I knocked; she answered. My move–she moved first. “Thanks for yesterday.”
Set ready: gown and raincoat. My move–she moved first. “It’s David Klein, right?”
“Who told you?”
She held the door open. “I saw you on the set, and I saw you following me a few times. I know what unmarked police cars look like, so I asked Mickey and Chick Vecchio about you.”
“And?”
“And I’m wondering what you want.”
I walked in. Nice stuff–maybe fuck-pad furnished. TVs by the couch– Vecchio stash.
“Be careful with those televisions, Miss Bledsoe.”
“Tell your sister that. Touch told me he sold her a dozen of them.”
I sat on the couch–hot Philcos close by. “What else did he tell you?”
“That you’re a lawyer who dabbles in slum property. He said you turned down a contract at MGM because strikebreaking appealed to you more than acting.”
“Do you know why I was following you?”
She pulled a chair up–not too close. “You’re obviously working for Howard Hughes. When I left him, he threatened to violate my contract. You obviously know Harold Miciak, and you obviously don’t like him. Mr. Klein, did you. . . ?”
“Scare off Georgie Ainge?”
“Yes.”
I nodded. “He’s a pervert, and fake kidnaps never work.”
“How did you know about it?”
“Never mind. Do Touch and his boyfriend know I scared him away?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good, then don’t tell them.”
She lit a cigarette–the match shook. “Did Ainge talk about me?”
“He said you used to be a prostitute.”
“I was also a carhop and Miss Alhambra, and yes, I used to work for a call service in Beverly Hills. A very expensive one, Doug Ancelet’s.”