THE BIG NOWHERE by James Ellroy

Buzz turned and saw Hartshorn slumped in a chair, warming his hands on a whiskey glass. “What else you got?”

“Nothing. I never saw Reynolds after that time at the Knight in Armor. Who are you going to–”

“Nobody, Charlie. Nobody’s gonna know. I’ll just say I got word that Loftis is…”

“Oh God, is this the witchhunts again?”

Buzz exited to the sound of the sad bastard weeping.

o o o

Rain had hit while he was applying the strongarm–hard needle sheets of it, the kind of deluge that threatened to melt the foothills into the ocean and sieve out half the LA Basin. Buzz laid three to one that Hartshorn would keep his mouth shut; two to one that more cop work would drive him batshit; even money that dinner at the Nickodell and the evening at home writing up a report on the day’s dirt was the ticket. He could smell the queer’s sweat on himself, going stale with his own sweat; he felt a beaucoup case of the sucker punch blues coming on. Halfway to the office, he cracked the window for air and a rain bracer, changed directions and drove to his place.

Home was the Longview Apartments at Beverly and Mariposa, four rooms on the sixth floor, southern exposure, the pad furnished with leftovers from RKO movie sets. Buzz pulled into the garage, ditched his car and took the elevator up. And sitting by his door was Audrey Anders in a rain-spattered, sequin-spangled, gold lamé gown, a wet mink coat in her lap. She was using it as an ashtray; when she saw Buzz, she said, “Last year’s model. Mickey’ll get me a new one,” and stubbed her cigarette out on the collar.

Buzz helped Audrey to her feet, holding her hands just a beat too long. “Did I really get this lucky?”

“Don’t count your chickens. Lavonne Cohen took a trip with her mah-jongg club and Mickey thinks it’s open season on me. Tonight was supposed to be the Mocambo, the Grove and late drinks with the Gersteins. I pulled a snit and escaped.”

“I thought you and Mickey were in love.”

“Love has its flip side. Did you know you’re the only Turner Meeks in the Central White Pages?”

Buzz unlocked the door. Audrey walked in, dropped her mink on the floor and scoped the living room. The furnishings included leather couches and easy chairs from London Holiday and zebra head wall mounts from Jungle Bwana; the swinging doors leading to the bedroom were scavenged off the saloon set of Rage on the Rio Grande. The carpeting was lime green and purple striped–the bedspread one the Amazon huntress lollygagged on in Song of the Pampas. Audrey said, “Meeks, did you pay for this?”

“Gifts from a rich uncle. You want a drink?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Why not?”

“My father, sister and two brothers are drunks, so I thought I’d give it a pass.”

Buzz was thinking she looked good–but not as good as she did with no makeup and Mickey’s shirt hanging to her knees. “And you became a stripper?”

Audrey sat down, kicked off her shoes and warmed her feet on the mink. “Yes, and don’t ask me to do the tassel trick for you, because I won’t. Meeks, what is the matter with you? I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

He could still smell the queer. “I coldcocked a guy today. It was shitty.”

Audrey wriggled her toes, making the coat jump. “So? That’s what you do for a living.”

“The guys I usually do it to give me more of a fight.”

“So you’re telling me it’s all a game?”

He’d told Howard once that the only women worth having were the ones who had your number. “There’s gotta be somethin’ we’re better at than buttin’ heads and askin’ each other questions.”

The Va Va Voom Girl kicked the mink up in her lap. “Is the bedroom this outré?”

Buzz laughed. “Casbah Nocturne and Paradise Is Pink. That tell you anything?”

“That’s another question. Ask me something provocative.”

Buzz took off his jacket, unhooked his holster and threw it on a chair. “Okay. Does Mickey keep a tail on you?”

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