THE BLACK DAHLIA by James Ellroy

II

39th and Norton

CHAPTER SEVEN

The phone woke me up early Wednesday morning, cutting off a dream featuring Tuesday’s Daily News headline–“Fire and Ice Cops KO Negro Thugs”– and a beautiful blonde with Kay’s body. Figuring it was the newshounds who’d been pestering me since the shoot-out, I fumbled the receiver onto the nightstand and dived back to slumberland. Then I heard, “Rise and shine, partner!” and picked it up.

“Yeah, Lee.”

“You know what day this is?”

“The fifteenth. Payday. You called me up at six A.M. to–” I stopped when I caught an edge of nervous glee in Lee’s voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m swell. I ran Mulholland at a hundred ten, played house with Kay all day yesterday. Now I’m bored. Feel like doing some police work?”

“Keep going.”

“I just talked to a snitch who owes me big. He says Junior Nash has got a fuck pad–a garage on Coliseum and Norton, in back of a green apartment building. Race you there? Loser buys the beer at the fights tonight?”

New headlines danced in front of my eyes. I said, “You’re on,” hung up and dressed in record time, then ran out to my car and gunned it the eight or nine miles to Leimert Park. And Lee was already there, leaning against his Ford, parked at the curb in front of the only structure on a huge block of vacant lots–a puke-green bungalow court with a two-story shack at the rear.

I pulled up behind him and got out. Lee winked and said, “You lost.”

I said, “You cheated.”

He laughed. “You’re right, I called from a pay phone. Reporters been bothering you?”

I gave my partner a slow eyeballing. He seemed relaxed but itchy underneath, with his old jocular front back in place. “I holed up. You?”

“Bevo Means came by, asked me how it felt. I told him I wouldn’t want it for a steady diet.”

I pointed to the courtyard. “You talk to any of the tenants? Check for Nash’s car?”

Lee said, “No vehicle, but I talked to the manager. He’s been renting Nash that shack in the back. He’s used it a couple of times to entertain poon, but the manager hasn’t seen him in a week or so.”

“You shake it?”

“No, waiting for you.”

I drew my .38 and pressed it to my leg; Lee winked and aped me, and we walked through the courtyard to the shack. Both floors had flimsy-looking wooden doors, with rickety steps leading to the second story. Lee tried the bottom door; it creaked open. We pressed ourselves to the wall on opposite sides of it, then I wheeled and entered, my gun arm extended.

No sound, no movement, only cobwebs and a wood floor strewn with yellowed newspapers and bald tires. I backed out; Lee took the lead up the steps, walking on his toes. At the landing, he gave the doorknob a jiggle, shook his head no and kicked the door in, clean off its hinges.

I ran up the stairs; Lee moved inside gun first. At the top, I saw him rehoistering his piece. He said, “Okie trash,” and made a gesture that took in the whole room. I stepped over the door and nodded my head in agreement.

The crib reeked of rotgut wine. A bed fashioned from two folded-out car seats took up most of the floor space; it was covered with upholstery stuffing and used rubbers. Empty muscatel short dogs were piled in corners, and the one window was streaked with cobwebs and dirt. The stench got to me, so I walked over and opened the window. Looking out, I saw a group of uniformed cops and men in civilian clothes standing on the sidewalk on Norton, about halfway down the block to 39th Street. All of them were staring at something in the weeds of a vacant lot; two black-and-whites and an unmarked cruiser were parked at the curb. I said, “Lee, come here.”

Lee stuck his head out the window and squinted. “I think I see Millard and Sears. They were supposed to be catching squeals today, so maybe–”

I ran out of the pad, down the steps and around the corner to Norton, Lee at my heels. Seeing a coroner’s wagon and a photo car screech to a halt, I sprinted. Harry Sears was knocking back a drink in full view of a half dozen officers; I glimpsed horror in his eyes. The photo men had moved into the lot and were fanning out, pointing their cameras at the ground. I elbowed my way past a pair of patrolmen and saw what it was all about.

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