White Jazz Part 39

"Bondurant."

"Dave Klein, Pete."

Caught short: "You _never_ call me here. This is work, right?"

"Five grand's worth."

"Split?"

"Your share."

"Then this isn't a police gig like last time."

"No, this is a muscle job on a hard boy."

"You're good at that by yourself."

"It's Chick Vecchio, and I know about that shakedown deal you're working with him and Touch. I want to play an angle on it."

"And you're not gonna tell me how you found out about it."

"Right."

"And if I say no, you're not gonna spoil it for us."

"Right."

"And you figured you by yourself, Chick might not fold, but both of us he would."

"Right."

Knuckle pops on his end--Pete thinking angles.

"Go to seven and answer a few questions."

"Seven."

_Pop, pop_--ugly. "So what's the beef?"

"Chick put me in s.h.i.t with the Kafesjians."

"So clip him. That's more your style."

"I need a snitch."

"Chick's a tough boy."

"Seven. Yes or no."

_Pop, pop_--phone static--killer hands. "Yes with a condition, because I always thought Chick was essentially a greasy wop f.u.c.k, and because Mickey changed his mind and told him and Touch not to do this s.e.x gig. I figure Mickey was always nice to me, so I'm doing him a solid he can pay back if he ever quits this movie-mogul s.h.i.t and starts behaving like a white man again. Now, what's the angle?"

"Straight strongarm, with dirt on Chick himself--in case he runs to Sam Giancana. Chick's Outfit, and the Outfit doesn't like this kind of extortion."

"So you want to catch him at it. I bring my camera, we go from there."

"Right. _If_ we don't have to wait too long."

Knuckle pops-- "Pete, come on."

"I need two days."

"f.u.c.k."

"f.u.c.k nothing, Chick's set to bed down Joan f.u.c.king Crawford. Now _that_ is worth waiting for."

Movie stars/movie time-Johnny begging.

"All right. Two days."

"There's that condition, Klein."

"What?"

"If it looks like Chick's thinking revenge, then we clip him."

"Agreed."

Walking air--tunnel vision--peripheral gra.s.s.

Side doorways.

Mirrored walls.

Gray herringbones--a coat?

I drove down to Lynwood--crowding the speed limit.

Aviation and Hibiscus first--that pay phone. Feed the slot, use it: PC Bell said _outgoing_ booth calls weren't tallied.

Sid Riegle said his suicide queries yielded zero.

4980 Spindrift--still abandoned. The downstairs-left unit--unlocked.

Four empty rooms--like Johnny never showed up there.

Rainy that night, sunny now. I made street circuits--nothing clicked. Vacant bungalow courts--whole blocks of them.

Treading air that night--like I was carried. Gra.s.s, side doorways, a right turn.

Maybe: a courtyard right-side room--movie time.

Wet that night, sunny now--maybe dried footprints on gra.s.s.

GO-- Six blocks--thirty-odd courts. Epidemic crabgra.s.s--weedy dry, no footprints. Right-side doors--boarded/nailed/locked----dusty, no fresh entry marks.

Johnny laughed: "Why Lynwood, Dave?"

More street circuits--empty courtyards forever.

f.u.c.k.

Downtown to Central Records. Their burglary file vault-crime sheets back to '50.

Agent Milner: "We heard Tommy's been looking for a guy named Richie. We've got no last name, but we heard that he and Tommy used to play jazz together and pull B&E's."

Tommy's rap sheet--undoubtedly expunged. Richie Something-- maybe not.

GO-- Male adults--four cabinets' worth--no "Richard"-derivation Caucasians. Juvie--seven Richards--five Negro, two white--porkers topping out 250.

"Unsolved"--adult/juvie--hodgepodge stuff. '50 and up, bad typing--I got eyestrain. Tilt--11/6/51: Music Man Murray's, 983 N. Weyburn, Westwood Village. Trumpets stolen and recovered: traced to unnamed juvies. No arrests, two kid suspects--"Tommy," "Richie"--no surnames. The detective a.s.signed: Sgt. M.D. Breuning, West L.A. Squad.

Three more cabinets--no Tommy/Richie extant.

Easy to extrapolate: Strongarm Breuning works a chump 459. He blows the job and gets nudged: Tommy's J.C. Kafesjian's son.

Do it--eat dirt.

I called Robbery first--"Breuning's out." 77th ditto-try the Victory Motel.

"Mobster Squad, Carlisle."

"Sergeant, it's Dave Klein."

Breath flutters--"Yeah, what is it?"

"Look, I'm sorry about that trouble with Lester Lake."

"Sure. You side with a n.i.g.g.e.r over two... s.h.i.t, all right, he was your snitch. Look, you want Dudley? He's out."

"Is Breuning in?"

"He's with Dud. What is it?"

"It's an old juvie 459 Breuning worked. November '51. Have Mike call me, all right?"

"Mike? Sure, _Dave_"--slam/dial tone.

Tapping out.

My best move now--tail THEM.

My worst move-they'd spot me.

My best nightmare: THEY approach ME. Movie time explained: threats, offers--at least I'd know WHY.

Darktown by default--go, let things happen.

Familiar now--synced to music in my head. Familiar faces staring back: black, sullen. Slow cruising, two-way-radio sputter: County calls--no Johnny John Doe talk. No Miciak, no Bido's--halfa.s.s comforting.

I tapped the glove box--no candy--just dope stashed and forgotten. Hiss, crackle-a gang fight at Jordan High.

North--a run by THEIR house--Fed surveillance thick. Sax noiseWill Shipstad wearing earplugs.

Radio hum--my soundtrack for Johnny begging. North on instinct overdrive: Chavez Ravine.

Feds thick--I stuck to the car. Check the view: Eviction papers tacked door to door. A face-off: Commie geeks and pachucos. Earthmovers, dump trucks--LAPD guards standing by.

More: The main drag cordoned off: Reuben Ruiz dancing a samba. Fans pressing close, wet-eyed women. Fed bodyguards--disgusted.

Two-way boom: "Code 3 all units vicinity 249 South ARDEN repeat 249 South ARDEN multiple homicides 249 South ARDEN Detective units Roger your locations 249 South ARDEN on-call Homicide units that vicinity Roger your locations!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Rolling Code 3.

South Arden/Joseph Arden/street name/trick name. A Hanc.o.c.k Park address-- affluent--a strong maybe.

"Request animal disposal unit 249 South Arden. Be advised all units now standing."

I hit the mike: "4-ADAM-31 to Bureau base urgent. Over."

"Roger, 4-A-31."