THE BIG NOWHERE by James Ellroy

She couldn’t meet his eyes. Buzz said, “Sweetie, where would you go?”

Audrey pulled a pillow down and hugged it, giving him both baby browns. “I’ve got some money saved. A bunch. I’m going to buy some grove property in the Valley and bankroll rentals on a shopping center. They’re the coming thing, Meeks. Another ten thousand and I can get in on the ground floor with thirty-five acres.”

Like his acreage: fourteen dollars per on the sure thing that should have made him rich. “Where’d you get the money?”

“I saved it.”

“From Mickey’s handouts?”

Audrey surprised him by chucking the pillow away and poking his chest. “Are you jealous, sweetie?”

Buzz grabbed her finger and gave it a little love bite. “Maybe just a tad.”

“Well, don’t be. Mickey’s all wrapped up in his union business and his drug thing with Jack Dragna, and I know how to play this game. Don’t you worry.”

“Sweetie, you better. Because it is surely for keeps.”

“Meeks, I wish you’d quit talking about Mickey. You’ll have me looking under the bed in a minute.”

Buzz thought of the .38 in the other room and the fruit lawyer with the bruised neck and tear-mottled cheeks. “I’m glad bein’ with you is dangerous. It feels good.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Acting Supervisor Upshaw.

Task Force Boss.

Skipper.

Danny stood in the empty Hollywood Station muster room, waiting to address his three men on his homicide case–running the titles down in the single place where the Brenda Allen job caused the most grief. A cartoon tacked to the notice board spelled it out: Mickey Cohen wearing a Jew skullcap with a dollar sign affixed to the top, dangling two uniformed Sheriff’s deputies on puppet strings. A balloon elaborated his thoughts: Boy, did I give it to the LAPD! It’s good I got the County cops to wipe my ass for me! Danny saw little holes all over Mickey’s face; LA’s number-one hoodlum had been used as a dartboard.

There was a lectern and blackboard at the front of the room; Danny found chalk and wrote “Deputy D. Upshaw, LASD,” in boldface letters. He positioned himself behind the stand like Doc Layman with his forensics class and forced himself to think of his other assignment so he wouldn’t get antsy when it came time to lay down the law to his men, three detectives older and much more experienced than he. That job was coming on like a snooze and a snore, maybe a little shot of elixir to keep bad thoughts down and business on; it was why he was standing triumphant in a spot where the County police were loathed more than baby rapers. The deal was like pinching yourself to make sure the great things that were happening weren’t just a dream–and he pinched himself for the ten millionth time since Lieutenant Mal Considine made his offer.

Dudley Smith had called him at home yesterday afternoon, interrupting a long day of nursing watered-down highballs and working on his file. The Irishman told him to meet him and Considine at West Hollywood Station; the fix was in via Ellis Loew, with the temporary detachment order approved by both Chief Worton and Sheriff Biscailuz. He’d brushed his teeth, gargled and forced down a sandwich before he met them– anticipating one question and building a lie to field it. Since they’d already told him he would be planted around Variety International Pictures and they knew he’d incurred bossman Gerstein’s wrath there, he had to convince them that only the gate guard, the rewrite man and Gerstein saw him in his cop capacity. It was Considine’s first question–and a residue of bourbon calm helped him brazen it out. Smith bought it whole, Considine second-hand, when he ran his prerehearsed spiel on how he would completely alter his haircut and clothes to fit the role of Commie idealist. Smith gave him a stack of UAES paperwork to take home and study and made him scan a batch of psychiatric reports in their presence; then it was hard brass tacks.

His job was to approach UAES’s suspected weak link–a promiscuous woman named Claire De Haven–gain entrance to the union’s strategy meetings and find out what they were planning. Why haven’t they called a strike? Do the meetings involve the actual advocacy of armed revolt? Is there planned subversion of motion picture content? Did the UAES brain trust fall for Considine’s sub-rosa move–planting newspaper and radio pieces that said the grand jury investigation had gone down–and just how strongly is UAES connected to the Communist Party?

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