The Black Dahlia

Blanchard snorted, “Or communistic”; Loew shot him a shark-tooth grimace. I said, “Yes, sir,” and Inspector Malloy raised a camera, chirping, “Watch the birdy, son.”

I stood up and smiled without parting my lips; a flashbulb popped. I saw stars and got a back pounding, and when the camaraderie stopped and my vision cleared, Ellis Loew was standing in front of me, saying, “I’m betting on great things from you. And if I don’t miss my bet, I expect we’ll be colleagues soon.”

I thought, You’re a subtle bastard, but said, “Yes, sir.” Loew gave me a limp handshake and walked away. I rubbed the last of the stars out of my eyes and saw that the room was empty.

I took the elevator down to street level, thinking of tasty ways to regain the weight I had lost. Blanchard probably weighed 200, and if I came in at my safe old 175 against him he would wear me down every time he managed to get inside. I was trying to decide between the Pantry and Little Joe’s when I hit the parking lot and saw my adversary in the flesh—talking to a woman blowing smoke rings up at a picture postcard sky.

I went over. Blanchard was leaning against an unmarked cruiser, gesturing at the woman, still intent on her rings, putting them out three and four at a time. She was in profile as I approached, head tilted up, back arched, one hand on the cruiser’s door for support. Auburn hair in a pageboy cut brushed her shoulders and long, thin neck; the fit of her Eisenhower jacket and wool skirt told me she was thin all over.

Blanchard caught sight of me and nudged her. Letting out a lungful of smoke, she turned. Up close, I saw a strong-pretty face, all mismatched parts: high forehead that made her hairdo look incongruous, crooked nose, full lips and big black-brown eyes.

Blanchard made the introductions. “Kay, this is Bucky Bleichert. Bucky, Kay Lake.”

The woman ground out her cigarette. I said, “Hello,” wondering if this was the girlfriend that Blanchard met at the Boulevard-Citizens robbery trial. She didn’t play as a heister’s quail, even if she had been shacking with a cop for years.

Her voice had a slight prairie twang. “I saw you box several times. You won.”

“I always won. Are you a fight fan?”

Kay Lake shook her head. “Lee used to drag me. I was taking art classes back before the war, so I brought my sketch pad and drew the boxers.”

Blanchard put an arm around her shoulders. “Made me quit fighting smokers. Said she didn’t want me doing the vegetable shuffle.” He went into an imitation of a punch-drunk fighter sparring, and Kay Lake flinched away from him. Blanchard shot a quick look at her, then fired off some left jabs and right crosses at the air. The punches were telegraphed, and in my mind I countered a one-two at his jaw and midsection.

I said, “I’ll try not to hurt you.”

Kay smoldered at the remark; Blanchard gri

“Don’t make any bets you can’t cover.”

Blanchard laughed, then moved into a side-by-side drape with Kay. I said, “Who thought this thing up?”

“Ellis Loew. He got me Warrants, then my partner put in his papers and Loew started thinking about you to replace him. He got Braven Dyer to write that Fire and Ice horseshit, then he took the whole pie to Horrall. He never would have gone for it, but all the polls said the bond issue was heading for the deep six, so he said okay.”

“And he’s got money on me? And if I win I get Warrants?”

“Something like that. The DA himself don’t like the idea, thinks the two of us wouldn’t work as partners. But he’s going along—Horrall and Thad Green convinced him. Personally, I almost hope you do win. If you don’t, I get Joh

I tapped Blanchard’s chest with a soft forefinger. “What’s in it for you?”

“Betting works both ways. My girl’s got a taste for nice things, and I can’t afford to let her down. Right, babe?”

Kay said, “Keep talking about me in the third person. It sends me.”

Blanchard put up his hands in mock surrender; Kay’s dark eyes burned. Curious about the woman, I said, “What do you think about the whole thing, Miss Lake?”

Now her eyes danced. “For aesthetic reasons, I hope you both look good with your shirts off. For moral reasons, I hope the Los Angeles Police Department gets ridiculed for perpetrating this farce. For financial reasons, I hope Lee wins.”

Blanchard laughed and slapped the hood of the cruiser; I forgot vanity and smiled with my mouth open. Kay Lake stared me straight in the eye, and for the first time—strangely but surely—I sensed that Mr. Fire and I were becoming friends. Sticking out my hand, I said, “Luck short of wi

Kay took in the two of us with a look that said we were idiot children. I tipped my hat to her, then started to walk away. Kay called out “Dwight,” and I wondered how she knew my real name. When I turned around, she said, “You’d be very handsome if you got your teeth fixed.”

Chapter 3

The fight became the rage of the Department, then LA, and the Academy gym was sold out within twenty-four hours of Braven Dyer’s a

I was a local celebrity again.

At roll call I watched betting markers change hands and got attaboys from cops I had never met before; Fat Joh

None of it made sense, but all of it felt good, and I kept myself from going crazy by training harder than I ever had before.

At end of watch each day I headed straight for the gym and worked. Ignoring Blanchard and his brow

Then, with the fight nine days away, I saw the old man and decided to take a dive for the money.

The occasion was my once-a-month visit, and I drove out to Lincoln Heights feeling guilty that I hadn’t shown up since I got the word that he was acting crazy again. I brought gifts to assuage that guilt: ca