THE BIG NOWHERE by James Ellroy

Danny got out of the car, pissed that Breuning was goldbricking. “I was staking a place on the Strip–a talent agency run by a guy who queer-pimps on the side. I got some license numbers and called the DMV, and somebody called up impersonating a cop and got them too. I was tailed out here, and the guy rabbited when I spotted him. This car was stolen from darktown–right near where the Marty Goines transport car was grabbed. I’ve got an eyeball witness that places a man matching the killer’s description hanging around outside the pimp’s office, which means that those four men should be put under surveillance. Now.”

Breuning whistled; the print man called out, “Nothing but the guy from the elimination set.” Danny said, “You and Jack keep shaking down the citizens. I know it’s a long shot, but do it anyway. When you finish, check cab company log sheets for pickups in the Palisades and Santa Monica Canyon and shake down the bus drivers working the Sunset line. He had to blow the area somehow. He might have stolen another car, so check with the desks at West LA Station, Samo PD and the Malibu Sheriff’s. I’m going home for a minute, then I’ll head down to the Southside and check around where the Pontiac was clouted.”

Breuning pulled out a notebook. “Will do, but where do you expect to get the extra men for your stakes on those names? Gene and Jack and I have got work up the wazoo already, and Dudley told me he’s got you busy on that Commie thing.”

Danny thought of Mal Considine. “We’ll get the men, don’t worry.”

The arclight went off; the stretch of roadway went dark. Breuning said, “Upshaw, what’s with this name Augie Luis Duarte? The killer ain’t Mex and none of his victims were, so why’d you call it in?”

Danny decided to spill on Gordean. “It’s part of a lead I’ve been following up on my own. The pimp is a man named Felix Gordean, and he runs a classy introduction service for homos. George Wiltsie worked for him, the killer was staking his office out, Duarte was one of the names I gave the DMV clerk, and he’s an ex-Gordean whore. Satisfied?”

Breuning whistled again. “Maybe Dudley can get us the extra men. He’s good at that.”

Danny slid back in the car, catching a funny jolt–Dudley Smith’s toady was stringing him along. He said, “You and Jack go to work, and if you get anything hot, call me at home.” He U-turned and took La Paloma down to Sunset, thinking of a sandwich, a weak highball and jigtown canvassing. Sunset was rife with late-evening drivers; Danny turned east and joined a jetstream of lights. His mind went nicely blank; miles passed. Then, hitting the Strip, he got terrified like the half second at the beach house–this time around Man Camera short takes.

Cy Vandrich vamping him.

Breuning going strange over the zoot sticks, like one of the things was slashing at him.

Niles and his two parolees; his “I got a County pal who says you’re not the goody two shoes you pretend to be.”

“Make it good you County fuck” and an LAPD man bloody at his feet.

The chase, like a car thief gig reversed; it had to be him, it couldn’t be him, it was too wrong to be him and too right not to be him.

Gordean making like a mind reader.

Strong-arming a pathetic homo.

The takes dissolved into a cold craving for a drink that saw him the rest of the way home. Danny opened the door and blinked at unexpected light in his living room; he saw the bottle on the coffee table and thought he was entering a hallucination. He drew his gun, snapped that it was a crazy-man stunt and put it back; he walked up to the table, saw a note propped against the jug and read:

Ted–

You were brilliant at the picket line today. I was camped out at a surveillance spot on De Longpre and saw the whole thing. By the way, I told the Academy man to call you a “County fuck,” hoping it would give you an added incentive to kick ass. Your ability exceeded my expectations, and I now owe that officer a good deal more than a bottle of whiskey–you broke all his fingers and nicely enlarged his nuts. I wangled him a commendation, and he’s mollified for now. More good news: Captain Will Bledsoe died this morning of a massive stroke, and DA McPherson has promoted me to Captain and appointed me Chief DA’s Investigator. Good luck with the UAESers (I saw Kostenz approach you). Let’s nail them good, and after the grand jury I’ll recommend you for an interim LASD Sergeantcy and start pulling strings to get you to the Bureau. I need a good exec, and the lieutenant’s bars that come with it will make you the youngest brass hat in City/County history. Meet me tomorrow night at midnight at the Pacific Dining Car– we’ll celebrate and you can update me on your work.

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