White Jazz Part 21

She said I never got burned.

I said three out of four--not bad.

PART THREE

DARKTOWN RED

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Dirt roads, shacks. Hills trapping smog--Chavez Ravine.

Swamped--I parked long-distance and scanned it: Geeks waving placards. Newsmen, bluesuits. Commie types chanting: "Justice, si! Dodgers, no!"

Friendly throngs--eyes on Reuben Ruiz, gladhander. Sheriff's bulls, Agent Will Shipstad.

Ruiz--Fed witness?

I jogged into it--"Hey, hey! No, no! Don't drive us back to Mexico!" Badge out--blues eased me through.

Heckier hubbub: Ruiz, fighting tonight--be there to cheer his opponent. The fascist Bureau of Land and Way: plans to relocate the spics to Lynwood slum pads. "Hey, hey! No, no! Justice, sI! Dodgers, no!"

Ruiz blasting bullhorn Spanish: Move out early! Your relocation dough means Easy Street! New homes soon available! Enjoy the new Dodger Stadium YOU helped create!

Noise war--Reuben's bullhorn won. Deputies tossed tickets--spics genuflected, grabbed. I s.n.a.t.c.hed one: Ruiz vs. Stevie Moore, Olympic Auditorium.

Chants, jabber--Ruiz saw me and bucked fans.

I shoved close. Reuben cupped a shout: "We should yak! Say my dressing room after my bout?"

I nodded yes--"Sc.u.m! Dodger p.a.w.n!"--no way to talk.

A quick run--the Bureau, my office.

A message from Lester Lake--meet me 8:00 tonight--Moonglow Lounge. Exley skirted Ad Vice-I gestured him over.

"I had a few questions."

"Ask them, as long as they're not 'What do you want?'"

"Let's try 'Why just two men on a case you're so hot to clear?'"

"No. Next question, and don't ask" 'Why me?'"

"Let's try 'What's in it for me?'

Exley smiled. "If you clear the case I'll exercise a rarely used chief of detective's prerogative and jump you to captain without a civil-service listing. I'll rotate Dudley Smith into Ad Vice and give you the Robbery Division command."

Jig heaven--don't swoon.

"Is something wrong, Lieutenant? I would have expected you to express your grat.i.tude."

"Thanks, Ed. That's a dandy carrot you just dangled."

"Given what you are, I'd say it is. Now I'm busy, so ask your next question."

"Lucille Kafesjian's the key to this thing. I've got a hunch that the family knows d.a.m.n well who the burglar is, and I want to bring her in for questioning."

"No, not yet."

Change-up: "Give me the Hurwitz fur job. Take it away from Dudley."

"No, and no emphatically, and don't ask me again. Now, let's wrap this up."

"Okay, then let me lean on Tommy Kafesjian."

"Explain 'lean on,' Lieutenant."

"_Lean on. Muscle_. I f.u.c.k Tommy up, he tells us what we want to know. You know, outre police methods, like the time you shot those unarmed n.i.g.g.e.rs."

"No direct approach on the family. Other than that, you have carte blanche."

Carte blanche s.h.i.twork, overdue: big tucking distractions.

Simple: Lucille pix/tape rig/motel list--haul them southbound and ask questions: Have you rented to her?

Has a man requested a room adjoining hers?

Have wino/b.u.ms rented rooms here by proxy?

Bad odds--call the Red Arrow her sole trick pad.

Southbound--Central Avenue all the way. Police intrigue, big-time: IA cars trailing Fed cars--discreet. b.u.m rousts--Vag cops spread thick. Prostie wagons prowling for wh.o.r.es.

Feds: License-plate checks outside bars and nightclubs.

Kibitzing a sidewalk c.r.a.p game.

Staking out a sw.a.n.ky c.o.o.n wh.o.r.ehouse.

Crew-cut gray suit Feds Darktown rife.

I stopped at 77th Street Station and borrowed a tape rig. Sweat box row was packed: jig-on-jig 187 "clearance." Feds outside with cameras-- snapping cop IDs.

s.h.i.twork now: Tick Tock Motel, Lucky Time Motel--no to all my questions. Darnell's Motel, De Luxe Motel--straight nos. Handsome Dan's Motel, Cyril's Lodge--No City. Hibiscus Inn, Purple Roof Lodge--NO.

Nat's Nest--81st and Normandie. "Kleen Rooms Always"--brace the clerk.

"Yessir, I know this girl. She's a short-timer rental, an' she always ask for the same room."

I gripped the counter. "Is she registered now?"

"Nosir, an' not for maybe six, seven days."

"Do you know what she uses the room for?"

"Nosir. My motto is 'See no evil, hear no evil,' an' I adheres to that policy 'cept when they be makin' too much noise doin' whatever it is they be doin'."

"Does the girl ask for a front room with a street view?"

Shocked: "Yessir. How you know that?"

"Have you rented the room next to hers to a young white man? Did a b.u.m request that particular room and register for him?"

Shut-my-mouth shocked--he dipped behind the counter and pulled out a rent card. "See, 'John Smith,' which in my opinion be an alias. See, he gots two days left on his rent. He am' in right now, I seen him leave this morn--"

"_Show me those rooms_."

He beelined outside, fumbling keys. Two doors opened quick--good and cop scared.

Separate bungalows--no connecting door.

I caught up. Easy now--frost him with a ten spot. "Watch the street. If that white guy shows up, stall him. Tell him you've got a plumber in his room, then come and get me."

"Yessir, yessir"--genuflecting streetside-- Two doors--no mutual access. Side windows--the peeper could WATCH her. Hedges below, a loose-stone walk path.

Look: A wire out HIS window.

Into HIS hedge, out, under the stones.

I grabbed it and pulled-- Stones flew--the wire jerked taut. Into HER room--under the carpet, yank--a s.p.a.cklecovered mike snapped off the wall.

Walk the cord back: HIS window--jam the ledge up-step in. Pull--thunk--a tape machine under the bed.

Empty reels.

Back outside, check the doors--no pry marks. Figure HE went in HER window.

I shut both doors and tossed HIS room.

The closet: Soiled clothes, empty suitcase, record player.

The dresser: skivvies, jazz alb.u.ms--Champ Dineen, Art Pepper. t.i.tle matchers--Tommy K.'s smashed wax duplicated.

The bathroom: Razor, shaving cream, shampoo.

Pull the rug: Girlie mags--_Transom_--three issues. Cheesecake, text: movie-star "confessions."

No tape.

Dump the mattress, punch the pillow--a hard spot--tear, rip-- One tape spool--rig it up for a listen fast-- Nerves--I fumbled the goods, smeared potential prints. Spastic-handed--loop the tape/push Start.

Rustles, coughs. I shut my eyes and imagined it: lovers in bed.

Lucille: "You don't get tired of these games?"

Unknown Man: "Hand me a cigarette"--pause--"No, I don't tire of them. You certainly know how to-"

Sobs--distant--motel room walls shutting my man out.

Trick Man: "... and you know that father-daughter games have staying power. Really, given our age variance, it's quite a natural bed game to play."

A cultured voice-Tommy/J.C. ant.i.thetical.

Sobs, louder.

Lucille: "These places are filled with losers and lonesome creeps."

No hink/no recognition/no surveillance fear.

_Click_--figure a radio--"... chanson d'amour, ratta-tat-tatta, play encore." Blurred voices, _click_, Trick Man: "... of course, there was always that little dose you gave me."

"Dose": clap/syph?

I checked the reels--tape running out.

Sleepy voices jumbled--_more than a trick stand_. I shut my eyes-- please, one more game.

Silent tape hiss--sleepy lovers. Hinge creak/"G.o.d!"--too close, too real--NOW Eyes open--a white man standing by the door.