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Pete spotted some non-sequitur skank: a real skankeroo report dated 9/12/60. A Hush-Hush editorial memo was attached to the page.
Le
I don’t see this one as a feature or anything else, if it went to arrest amp; trial, great, but it didn’t. The whole thing seems skewed to me. Plus, the girl’s a nobody.
Pete read the report. Skewed?-no shit.
Le
I learned that gorgeous redhead singer-dancer Barb Jahelka (the lead attraction in her ex-husband Joey Jahelka’s “Swingin’ Dance Revue”) was arrested on August 26th as part of an extortion scheme levied against Rock Hudson.
It was a photo job. Hudson and Barb were in bed at Rock’s house in Beverly Hills when a man snuck in and managed to snap several pictures with infra-red film. A few days later Barb demanded that Hudson pay her 10 thousand dollars or the pictures would be circulated everywhere.
Rock called private detective Fred Otash. Otash called the Beverly Hills PD, and they arrested Barb Jahelka. Hudson then went soft hearted and refused to press charges. I like this for the 9/24/60 issue. Rock’s a hot ticket these days, and Barb’s a real dish. (I’ve got bikini pictures of her we can use.) Let me know, so I can formally write the piece up.
Skewed?-no shit, Sherlock.
Rock Hudson was a fruiffly with no yen for cooze. Fred Otash was an ex-cop Hollywood lapdog. Dig the skewed postscript: Freddy’s phone number doodled right there on the report.
Pete grabbed the phone and dialed it. A man answered, “Otash.”
“It’s Pete Bondurant, Freddy.”
Otash whistled. “This has to be interesting. The last time you made a sociable phone call was never.”
“I’m not starting now.”
“This sounds like we’re talking about money. If it’s your money for my time, I’m listening.”
Pete checked the report. “In August of ‘60 you allegedly helped Rock Hudson out of a jam. I think the whole thing was a setup. I’ll give you a thousand dollars to tell me the story.”
Otash said, “Go to two thousand and throw in a disclaimer.”
Pete said, “Two thousand. And if push comes to shove, I’ll say I got the information elsewhere.”
Fu
“Okay, Frenchman.”
“Okay, and?”
“Okay, and you’re right. The setup was Rock was afraid of being exposed as a queer, so he cooked up a deal with Le
“And you fake called the Beverly Hills PD.”
“Right. They popped Barb for extortion one, then Rock got fake sentimental and dropped the charges. Le
Pete sighed. “The whole caper went nowhere.”
Otash sighed. “That’s correct. Rock paid Barb and Joey two Gs apiece, and now you’re paying me an extra two just to tell you the whole sorry tale.”
Pete laughed. “Tell me about Barb Jahelka while you’re at it.”
“All right. My take on Barb is that she’s slumming, but she doesn’t know it. She’s smart, she’s fu
Jack’s brother-in-law-
“and she treats her ex-husband Joey, who’s a piece of shit, exactly the way he ought to be treated. I’d have to say she likes kicks, and I’ll bet she’d tell you she likes danger, but my take is she’s never been tested. if you’re interested in her whereabouts, try the Reef Club in Ventura. The last I heard, Joey Jahelka was fronting some kind of cut-rate Twist show up there.”
Pete said, “You like her, Freddy. You’re an open book.”
“So are you. And while we’re being candid, let me heartily recommend that girl for whatever kind of shakedown you’ve got in mind.”
o o o
The Reef Club was all driftwood and fake barnacles. The clientele was mostly college kids and low-rent hipsters.
Pete snagged a table just off the dance floor. Joey’s Swingin’ Twist Revue went on in ten minutes.
Wall speakers churned out music. Twist geeks flailed and bumped asses. Pete’s table vibrated and shook the head off his nice glass of beer.
He called Karen Hiltscher before he left L.A. Sheriff’s R amp;I had a sheet on one Barbara Jane (Lindscott) Jahelka.
She was born 11/18/31, in Tu
She did six months County time. She was suspected of shanking a bull dyke at the Hall of Justice Jail. She was married-8/3/54-1/24158-to:
Joseph Dominic Jahelka, born 1/16/23, New York City. New York State convictions: statch rape, flimflam, forging Dilaudid prescriptions.
Joey Jahelka was probably a slavering hophead. He’d probably drool for the Dilaudid he just copped back in L.A.
Pete sipped beer. The hi-fl blared jungle-bu
Nobody cheered. Nobody applauded. Nobody stopped twisting.
A trio jumped on stage. They wore calypso shirts and mismatched tuxedos. Pawnshop tags dangled off their equipment.
They set up. The twisters and table crowd ignored them. A jukebox tune bled into their opener.
A high-school kid played tenor sax. The drummer was a bantamweight pachuco. The guitar man matched Joey’s R amp;I stats.
The greasy little hump was half on-the-nod. His socks were deelasticized way below his ankles.
They played loud, shitty music. Pete felt the wax in his ears start to crumble.
Barb Jahelka slinked up to the mike. Barb oozed healthy pulchritude. Barb was no show-biz-subspecies junkie.
Tall Barb. Lanky Barb. That sparkly red bouffant was no fucking dye job.
Dig that tight, low-cut gown. Dig the heels that put her over six feet
Barb sang. Barb had weak pipes. The combo drowned her out every time she reached for a high note.
Pete watched. Barb sang. Barb DANCED-Hush-Hush would tag it HOT, HOT, HOTSVILLE.
Some male twisters stopped twisting to dig on the big rangy redhead. One girl poked her partner-You get your eyes off of her!
Barb sang weak-voiced and monotonous. Barb put out unique gyrations flat-out concurrent.
She kicked her shoes off. She thrust her hips out and popped seams down one leg.
Pete watched her eyes. Pete tapped the envelope in his pocket.
She’d read the note. The money would hook her in. She’d give Joey the dope and urge him to get lost.
Pete chain-smoked. Barb lost a breast and tucked it back before the Twist fiends noticed.
Barb smiled-oops!-dazzling.
Pete passed the envelope to a waitress. Twenty dollars guaranteed transmittal.
Barb danced. Pete shot her something like a prayer: Please be able to TALK.
o o o
He knew she’d be late. He knew she’d close the club and let him sweat for a while. He knew she’d call Freddy 0. for a quick rundown of his pedigree.
Pete waited at an all-night coffee shop. His chest hurt-Barb twisted him through two packs of cigarettes.
He called Littell an hour ago. He said, Let’s meet at Le