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Mr. U.S. Attorney—used rubbers stuck to his ankles.
“Who do you think killed these guys?”
“I would say East Coast mafiosi. I would say the word got out that Mickey divested his coin machines, and some East Coast men are attempting to crash the racket.”
Clueless dumbfuck.
“Trust ME, lad”—Dudley Smith in my head.
Shouts up top:
“Mr. Noonan! Mr. Noonan, he’s on the radio!”
Noonan splashed up the hill; Exley hooked a finger my way.
Duck him—up to the bluff fighting shivers. Fed cars, Feds: Shipstad, Noonan, Milner et fucking al.
Mickey Cohen on KMPC:
“... This is a public a
Mickey rambling.
Shipstad gri
Noonan trembling—wet feet, rage.
“... and the Federal rackets probe is undertaken out of principles espoused in the Bible, one of those goyishe chapters that serve as the basis of inspirational movies like Samson and Delilah or maybe the scintillating The Ten Commandments.”
Noonan: “Mickey’s testimony is a bit anticlimactic now. I would like to blame these deaths on the Kafesjians, but vending machines have never been their raison d’être. Eight A.M. tomorrow, Brother Klein. Bring Kafesjian information, and don’t even think of asking for an extension.”
“Trust ME, lad”—Dudley Smith sweet as Jesus.
Chapter Forty-Three
4:09: J.C. and Madge at home.
4:16: Lucille walking—Lincoln Heights—bars, newsstands.
4:23: Tommy walking—Lincoln Heights. Unit 3-B67: “I think he’s checking out shooting galleries. He’s hit four places the past two hours, and they look like hype pads to me.”
4:36: Lucille walking.
4:41: Tommy walking.
3-B67: “I called the Highland Park Squad about those places Tommy hit. They said hype pads affirmative. Him and Lucille haven’t run into each other yet, which goddamn amazes me.”
4:53—4:59, all units: No Richie Herrick sightings.
5:02: Base to all J.C./Madge units: proceed to Lincoln Heights and saturate for Richie Herrick.
5:09: Lucille at Kwan’s Chow Mein Pagoda. 3-B71: “She walked straight to the kitchen, and I know this place. Uncle Ace Kwan sells white horse, so I’ll bet Lucy didn’t stop in for chop suey.”
5:16: Lucille exiting the restaurant. 3-B71: “She looks nervous, and she’s carrying a brown paper bag.”
Weird—hype Lucille?—unlikely.
Junkie Richie—ditto.
Tommy cruising dope pads—????
5:21: Tommy pissing in the street in full view of children. 3-B67: “Jesus, what a whanger! This clown has gotta hold the white man’s world record!”
A clerk nudged me; I pulled off my headset. “What is it?”
“High brass to see you. The parking lot, ASAP.”
Exley.
Go—past the squadroom—civilian radio blaring: Gangland Slayings! Mickey Cohen Reforms! Outside-Dudley.
Lounging on a prowl car.
Breuning and Carlisle by the fence—out of earshot. Breuning wearing a herringbone coat—MOVIE TIME patterns.
“Hello, lad.”
Don’t flinch, don’t move too sudden, don’t tremble.
“I got your notes, lad.”
I stepped closer. Smell him: bay rum cologne.
“I hope you availed yourself of a splendid mink stole for that lovely sister of yours. Is she still consorting with Jack Woods?”
“I’ve got Chick Vecchio stashed. He snitched you on the movie, the furs, you ru
“I would say you’re dissembling. I would say Exley hearsay is your sole source of information. You’re assuming I told Chick things that indeed I didn’t, and frankly I doubt that he would speak indiscreetly, even under the most severe duress.”
“Try to find him.”
“Is he dead or just temporarily indisposed?”
“He’s alive, and he’ll talk to stay that way.”
Breuning and Carlisle watching us bug-eyed.
“They can’t hear us, lad.”
Don’t blink. Don’t tremble—
“Lad, your notes stated that you wished to act independent of Edmund Exley. I found that encouraging, and your mention of money even more so.”
“Breuning put that sword in my hand. I’ll trade you Vecchio for him, the movie and fifty thousand.”
“Mike was hardly the director of your cinema debut.”
“Let’s just say he pays.”
“Lad, you surprise me. I had thought your homicidal tendencies to be strictly profit-motivated.”
“I’m afraid you’ll just have to accept this new aspect of my personality.”
Dudley roared. “Lad, your sense of humor is beyond salutary, and I agree to your offer.”
“Tonight then. A public place.”
“Yes, my thoughts exactly. Shall we make it eight o’clock, the Hollywood Ranch Market parking lot?”
“Agreed.”
“I’ll have Mike bring the fifty. He’ll think it’s a payoff run, and he’ll be told to accompany you to fetch Vecchio. Take him with you, and when things are settled, call me at AXminster 6-4031 to tell me where Chick can be found. And, lad? Mike will be wearing a vest—you should know that and aim accordingly.”
“I’m surprised—you and Breuning go back.”
“Yes, lad, but you and I go forward. And on that topic, how do you assess the extent of Edmund Exley’s information?”
Seal it—touch him. That cologne—don’t gag.
“Lad…”
I draped an arm around his shoulders. “He knows everything that I do and whatever else Joh
“Are you saying our transgressions might go unpunished as a result of his lack of evidence?”
“I’m saying you’ll skate—if you curtail your plans with Mickey.”
“And yourself, lad? Dare I proffer the word ‘loyalty’?”
“It’s the Feds, Exley or you. You’re the only one with cash money.”
Embracing me—Dudley Liam Smith. “You’ve made a wise choice, lad. We’ll discuss Exley later, and I won’t insult your intelligence with the word ‘trust.’