Skin pricldes. “What else did you hear?”
“I heard Vincennes agree, and the rest of it was garbled.”
“This was during the Nite Owl investigation?”
“Yes, sir. Right in the middle of it.”
“Sergeant, do you remember Sid Hudgens, the scandal sheet man, being killed around that time?”
“Yeah, an unsolved.”
“Do you recall Vincennes talking about it?”
“No, but the rumor was that him and Hudgens were buddies.”
Ed smiled. “Sergeant, thank you. This was off the record, but I don’t want you to repeat our conversation. Do you understand?”
Stathis got up. “I won’t, but I feel bad about Vincennes. I heard he’s topping out his twenty in a few months. Maybe he vamoosed ’cause shooting those heist guys got to him.”
Ed said, “Good day, Sergeant.”
o o o
Something old, wrong.
Ed sat with his door open. Gold-braided flags just outside– opportunities knocked.
Vmcennes might have dirt on Bud White.
Instincts: Trash running scared in the spring of ’53.
Connect the “skin-book caper” to the Nite Owl.
Inez Soto’s indictment–he killed three innocent men.
If he cut Vincennes a break on his l.A. investigation–
Ed hit the intercom. “Susan, get me District Attorney Loew.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Mickey Cohen said, “I got my own problems to worry about. The fershtunkener Nite Owl case and fershtunkener dirty books I don’t know from the Bible, another book I never read. That rebop bored me five years ago, now it is an even further distance from hunger. I got my own problems, such as look at my poor baby.”
Bud looked. A raggedy-assed bulldog by the Mickster’s fireplace–wheezing, his tail in a splint. Cohen said, “That is Mickey Cohen, Jr., my heir who is not long for this canine world. A bomb attempt in November he survived, though a goodly number of my Sy Devore suits did not. His poor tail has remained steadily infected and his appetite is dyspeptic. Cops resurrecting old grief is not good for his health.”
“Mr. Cohen–”
“I like a man who addresses me with proper decorum. What did you say your name was again?”
“Sergeant White.”
“Sergeant White then, I will tell you there is no end to the grief in my life. I am like Jesus your goy savior carrying the weight of the world on his back. Back in prison these fershtunkener goons attack me and my man Davey Goldman, Davey gets his brains scrambled, gets paroled and starts walking around in public with his shlong hanging out, it’s big, I don’t blame him for advertising, but the Beverly Hills cops ain’t so enlightened and now he’s doing ninety days observation at the Camarillo nut bin. As if that is not enough grief for your yiddisher Jesus to undergo, then feature that while I was in prison some colleagues looking after my interests were bumped off by persons unknown. And now my old boys won’t form back together with me. My God, Kikey T., Lee Vachss, Johnny Stompanato–”
Kill the tirade. “I know Johnny Stomp.”
Cohen hit the roof. “Ferstunkener Johnny, Judas from the best-selling Bible is his middle name! Lana Turner is his Jezebel and not his Mary Magdalene, his cock leads him to grovel for her like a dowsing rod. Granted, he is even better hung than Davey G., but my blessed Jesus I took him away from being a two-bit extortionist and made him my bodyguard, and now he refuses to re-enlist, he’d rather nosh grease at Kikey’s fucking deli and hobnob with Deuce Perkins, who I have it on good authority plays hide the salami with members of the canine persuasion. Did you say your name was White?”
“That’s right, Mr. Cohen.”
“Wendell White? _Bud_ White?”
“That’s me.”
“Boychik, why didn’t you tell me?”
Cohen Junior pissed in the fireplace. Bud said, “I didn’t think you’d heard of me.”
“Heard, shmeard, word gets out. Word is you’re Dudley Smith’s lad. Word is you and the Dudster and a couple of his other hard boys been keeping L.A. safe for democracy while this so-called crime drought’s been going on. A motel in Gardena, a little blackjack work to the kidneys, va va va voom. Maybe now, maybe if I can get my old guys to quit noshing grease and associating with dog fuckers, I can get business going again. I should be nice to you so’s you and the Dudster reciprocate. So what’s with this Nite Owl rehash?”