Bloodlines

O’Co

Hart had been one of their best reporters, a muckraker who turned in one daring story after another-until Old Man Wrigley heard a rumor that Hart had once been a member of the Communist Party and asked Hart to deny it. Hart told Wrigley he had no right to ask the question, and Wrigley fired him, saying that when he had an answer-the correct answer-he could have a job.

Hart had remained stubbornly silent on the matter. Jack had argued with Wrigley on Hart’s behalf-and nearly lost his own job.

It wasn’t a good time to lose a job, but for Hart, matters got worse. He had been blacklisted. No other paper would touch him. He lost his home and barely managed to keep himself clothed and fed. Jack had become worried- not long before, a friend on one of the L.A. papers had committed suicide after being blacklisted. Jack eventually found a job for Hart with a small radio station in Los Angeles, where Ames worked off-air and under a different name. It required all Jack’s charm to talk Hart’s widowed sister into letting her “pinko” brother sleep in a spare room until he got back on his feet, but once Ames was under her roof, she became fiercely protective of him. Hart had managed to get a place of his own since then, but seeing the condition of his suit and the wear on his shoes, O’Co

“Why the hell were you following me?” O’Co

“Trying to see you in private,” Ames said, wheezing breaths between each word. “You know what would happen if anyone saw you talking to me?”

“It’s not like that anymore,” O’Co

Ames gave a small laugh. “O’Co

“No, a pair of lovebirds before me, but thanks for thinking so highly of me.”

“I do think highly of you, and Jack as well. You know I’m doing news writing for the station I work for?”

“Yes.”

“So I’ve built up some sources. And I’ve heard something that might be of interest to you.”

“Go on.” O’Co

“I’ve heard that a thug with co

“-Jergenson. Bo Jergenson.”

“Yeah,” Hart said, and looked so dejected O’Co

“Ames, look-”

“I guess you don’t need me.”

“Jergenson’s dead, Ames, and not from natural causes. Someone put a bullet through his forehead and left him not far from where Jack was found. That’s the only reason I know his name.”

“No fooling?” He became animated again. “A bullet, huh? Well, I guess it could still be the dame, right?”

“What dame?”

“Blonde by the name of Betty. Hooker, but she’s not as strung out or worn down as most. She’s the mistress of a guy named Gus Ronden.”

“Any last name?”

“Hell if I know it. You can bet it isn’t ever going to be Ronden. But that’s probably lucky for her.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Not too much. Reputation for being a little psycho. You might have seen him around the pool hall-the one down at the corner near the paper?”

O’Co

“Go by there, you might run into him.”

“What’s his line?”

“Pimping, mostly. Word is, he rents out high-dollar girls like Betty by the hour, but I have a feeling he doesn’t own the stable. He’s probably mob-co

“What does he drive?”

Ames shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask around at the pool hall.”

“Thanks, I will. Sorry about knocking you down.”

Ames smiled. “Not the first time that’s happened to me. As long as I can get back up again, I guess I’ll be all right.”

Thursday morning began badly: He learned that Jack was unlikely to regain sight in the injured eye. Jack laughed about it, said he was going to buy a patch so that he could look like the mysterious man in Brenda Starr, and maybe then some gorgeous woman reporter would fall in love with him. Helen said she guessed that let her out of the ru

At the newspaper, O’Co

He spent the next few hours hiding his billiards skills, usually letting others win. During this process, he learned that Gus Ronden hadn’t been seen since the Friday before Katy’s birthday party. Nobody seemed to miss him much.

O’Co

“He’s no good,” the bartender said. “Give you an example-cut up a colored girl in Stockton. Bragged about it, and about how he hired some slick lawyer and weaseled out of going to jail. He made out like the local coppers up there didn’t care, because she was a Negro. I think that’s all eyewash-they must have made it hot for him there, because he moved down this way. Probably figured if he’d do that to a black girl, next he’d do it to a white.”

“Any idea where I could find him?”

“Don’t go looking for him, kid. You’ll just be looking for trouble.”

“I like to find trouble before it finds me.”

“So that’s how it is. Sorry I can’t be of more help, then-he has a house, somewhere over here on the west side of town.”

“Kind of surprised to hear he could afford one.”

“Oh, Gus is never short of money. Squeezes a pe

“Know who he works for?”

“The devil, for all I know.”

So he drove to the county offices and looked through property records to learn where Ronden lived, and then went back to the paper, where he used the crisscross phone directory to look up the phone number, which was listed as that of Elizabeth Bradford. Betty. He called repeatedly, but got no answer.

It was late afternoon by the time he got to Ronden’s place. He knew it was a bad time to allow himself to go calling on anyone co

The house wasn’t much of a place, nothing more than a rundown wood- frame. Most of the houses on the street were in poor repair-torn screens, weedy gardens, peeling paint. Directly across from Ronden’s was one of a few exceptions: a white picket fence guarded a home with a green lawn and neat flowerbeds. Nice for Ronden to look out his window and see that, O’Co

He watched Ronden’s house for a time before getting out of the car. There was no movement or sound of any kind coming from the house. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do if Ronden was home.