Timmy shrugged. “Be specific. What other ‘criminal pursuits’?”
“Specifically blackmail.”
Two legs brushing twitched apart–Bud caught it plain. Exley touched his necktie–GO FULL.
Brainstorm: Johnny Stomp as “This Guy.” Johnny Stomp an old shake artist, no visible means of support. Crim 101– Lorraine Malvasi said the squeezes went down May ’53– Dudley’s gang had already teamed up with Patchett. “Yeah, _blackmail_. Married johns and pervs and queers are prone to it. It’s like an occupational hazard. Ever get squeezed by one of your playmates?”
Now Billy rolled his eyes. “We don’t frequent prostitutes. Male or female.”
Bud pulled his chair closer. “Well, your sweetie pie here was a known associate of a known fruit hustler named Bobby Inge. If it quacks like a duck, it’s a duck. So quack, quack, and kick loose with who put the arm on you.”
Exley, stern. “Gentlemen, do you know the names of any specific Patchett prostitutes?”
Billy came on butch. “He’s a storm trooper, and we don’t have to answer his questions.”
“The fuck. You crawl around in sewers, you gotta meet some rats. Ever hear of a cute little twist named Daryl Bergeron? Ever get a yen for a woman and go for his mother? Daryl did– Trashcan Jack Vincennes has got a smut book with pictures of them fucking on roller skates. You’re floating in a sewer on a Popsicle stick you fucking queer bastards, so–”
Valburn: “Ed, make him stop!”
Exley: “Sergeant, enough!”
Bud, dizzy, like a man inside his head was feeding him lines. “The hell you say. These geeks are all over Patchett’s schemes. One of them’s a TV star, one of them’s got a famous daddy. Two faggots with plenty of money just fucking ripe to be squeezed. That don’t play smart to you?”
Exley–KEEP STILL–a finger to his collar. “Sergeant White has a point, although I apologize for his way of expressing it. Gentlemen, just for the record. Have either of you any knowledge of extortion schemes involving Pierce Patchett and/or his prostitutes?”
Timmy Valburn said, “No.”
Billy Dieterling said, “No.”
Bud got ready to whisper.
Exley leaned forward. “Have either of you ever been threatened with blackmail?”
Two more nos–two queers sweating up a nice cool room. Bud whispered, “Johnny Stompanato.”
The fags froze. Bud said, “_Badge of Honor_ dirt. Is that what he wanted?”
Valburn started to speak–Billy shushed him. Exley: SLOW. The dizzy head man said NO. “Did he have dirt on your father? The great fucking Raymond Dieterling?”
Exley shot the cut-off sign. The dizzy man showed his face: Dick Stens sucking gas. “_Dirt_. Wee Willie Wennerholm, Loren Atherton and the kiddie murders. _Your father_.”
Billy trembled, pointed to Exley. “_His_ father!”
Four-way stares-cut off by Valburn sobbing. Billy helped him up, embraced him. Exley said, “Get out. Now. You’re free to go.”
He looked sad more than mad or scared.
Billy walked Timmy out. Bud walked to the window. Exley walked over, talked to a hand mike. “Duane, Valburn and Dieterling are on their way. You and Don tail them.”
Bud scoped him–a little taller, half his bulk. Something made him say, “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Exley looked out the window. “It’ll be over soon. All of it.” Bud looked down. Fisk and Kleckner stood by the door; the queers hit the sidewalk running. The l.A. men chased–a bus held them back. The bus zoomed by–no Billy and Timmy. Fisk and Kleckner stood in the street looking stupid.
Exley started laughing.
Something made Bud laugh.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
They rehashed old times; Stanton drank room service bubbly. Jack laid out his pitch: Patchett/ Hudgens, smut, heroin, the Nite Owl. He could tell Miller knew something; he could tell he wanted to spill it.
Old touches: how he taught Miller to play a cop; how he took Miller down to Central Avenue to get laid and wound up rousting Art Pepper. Gallaudet poked his head in, said Max Pelts was clean–Max stories ate up another hour. Miller got misty– ’58 would be the show’s last season. Too bad they lost touch with each other, but the Big V was acting too crazy, a pariah in the Industry. White and Exley arguing next door–Jack cut to it.