Claire De Haven smiled and sipped her drink. “You speak very well for a policeman.”
Mal thought: and you blast vodka in the morning and fuck pachuco hoodlums. “I went to Stanford, and I was a major with the MPs in Europe. I was involved in processing evidence to convict Nazi war criminals, so you see I’m not entirely unsympathetic to those posters on your walls.”
“You display empathy well, too. And now you’ve been employed by the studios, because it’s easier to see Red than pay decent wages. You’ll divide, conquer, get people to inform and bring in specialists. And you’ll cause nothing but grief.”
From banter to cool outrage in a half second flat. Mal tried to look hangdog, thinking he could take the woman if he gave her a tough fight, but let her win. “Miss De Haven, why doesn’t the UAES strike in order to achieve its contract demands?”
Claire took a slow drink. “The Teamsters would get in and stay in on a temporary payroll stipulation.”
A good opening; a last chance to play nice guy before they pulled back, planted newspaper dope and went decoy. “I’m glad you mentioned the Teamsters, because they worry me. Should this grand jury succeed–and I doubt that it will–a racketeering force against the Teamsters would be a logical next step. They are very heavily infiltrated with criminal elements, much the way the American left is infiltrated by Communists.”
Claire De Haven sat still, not taking the bait. She looked at Mal, eyes lingering on the automatic strapped to his belt. “You’re an intelligent man, so state your case. Thesis sentence style, like you learned in your freshman comp class at Stanford.”
Mal thought of Celeste–juice for some indignation. “Miss De Haven, I saw Buchenwald, and I know what Stalin is doing is just as bad. We want to get to the bottom of totalitarian Communist influence in the movie industry and inside the UAES, end it, prevent the Teamsters from kicking the shit out of you on the picket line and establish through testimony some sort of demarcation line between hard Communist propaganda aggression and legitimate leftist political activity.” A pause, a shrug, hands raised in mock frustration. “Miss De Haven, I’m a policeman. I collect evidence to put robbers and killers away. I don’t like this job, but I think it needs to be done and I’m damn well going to do it as best I can. Can’t you see my point?”
Claire took cigarettes and a lighter from the table and lit up. She smoked while Mal darted his eyes around the room, mock chagrin at blowing his calm. Finally she said, “You’re either a very good actor or in way over your head with some very bad men. Which is it? I honestly don’t know.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“All right, I’m not.”
Mal got up and paced the room, advance man for his decoy. He noticed a bookcase lined with picture frames, examined a shelf of them and saw a string of handsome young men. About half were Latin lover types–but Lopez, Duarte and Benavides were absent. He remembered Lopez’ comment to Lesnick: Claire was the only gringa he’d met who’d suck him, and he felt guilty about it because only whores did that, and she was his Communista madonna. On a shelf by itself was a picture of Reynolds Loftis, his Anglo-Saxon rectitude incongruous. Mal turned and looked at Claire. “Your conquests, Miss De Haven?”
“My past and future. Wild oats lumped together and my fiancé all by himself.”
Chaz Minear had gotten explicit on Loftis–what they did, the feel of his weight downstairs. Mal wondered how much the woman knew about them, if she even guessed Minear finked her future husband to HUAC. “He’s a lucky man.”
“Thank you.”
“Isn’t he an actor? I think I took my son to a movie he was in.”
Claire stubbed out her cigarette, lit another one and smoothed her skirt. “Yes, Reynolds is an actor. When did you and your son see the movie?”
Mal sat down, juggling blacklist dates. “Right after the war, I think. Why?”
“A point that I’d like to make, as long as we’re talking in a civil manner. I doubt that you’re as sensitive as you portray yourself, but if you are I’d like to illustrate an example of the hurt men like you cause.”