Ed walked up to her. "And what am I?"
"Just a run-of-the-mill coward."
Ed raised a fist, flinched when she flinched. Inez pulled off her robe. Ed looked, looked away--at the wall and his framed army medals. A target--he threw them across the room. Not enough. He took a bead on a window, reared back, hit soft padded curtains instead.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Jack woke up seeing smut.
Karen in orgy shots--Veronica Lake loving her. Blood: fuck pix as coroner's pix, beautiful women drenched red. The first real thing he saw was daybreak--then Bud White's car parked by Lynn Bracken's pad.
Cracked lips, bone aches head to toe. He swallowed his last bcnnies, brought back his last thoughts before oblivion.
Nothing in the files, Patchett and Bracken his only Hudgens leads. Patchett had servants living in. Bracken lived alone--he'd brace her when White left her bed.
Jack brainstormed a tailing report--lies to snow Dudley Smith. A door slammed--a sound like a gunshot. Bud White walked to his car.
Jack hit the seat prone. The car pulled away, seconds, another gunshot/door slam. A quick look: a brunette Lynn Bracken heading out.
Over to her car, up to Los Feliz, east. Jack followed: the right lane, dawdling back. Sparse early morning traffic: call the woman too distracted to spot him.
Due cast, into Glendale. North on Brand, a swerve to the curb in front of a bank. Jack pulled around the corner to a sighting point--the corner store, a grocer's--milk cartons stacked by the door.
He squatted down, watched the sidewalk. Lynn B. was talking to a man: nervous, a shaky little guy. He opened the bank and hustled her in; a Ford and Dodge were parked further down--no way to nail plate numbers. Lamar Hinton walked outside lugging boxes.
Files, files, files--it had to be.
Bracken and the bank geek hauled boxes: a run to the Dodge and Lynn's Packard. The geek locked up the bank, hit the Ford and U-turned southbound; Hinton and Bracken formed a chain--separate cars heading north.
Seconds tick tick tick--Jack counted to ten, chased.
He caught them a mile out--weaving, creeping up, falling back-downtown Glendale, north into foothills. Traffic dwindled; Jack found a lookout spot: a clean view of the road winding upward. He parked, watched: the cars kept climbing, took a fork, disappeared.
He followed their route straight to a campsite--picnic tables, barbecue pits. Two cars behind a pine row; Bracken and Hinton carrying boxes--muscle boy dangling a gas can off one pinky.
Jack ditched his car, snuck up behind some scrub pines. Bracken and Hinton dumped: paper in a big charcoal pit. They turned their backs; Jack sprinted over, ducked down.
They came back, another load: Bracken with a lighter out, Hinton's arms full. Jack stood up, kicked, pistolwhipped--the balls, left/right/left to the face. Hinton went down dropping paper; Jack broke his arms--knees to the elbows, jerks at the wrists.
Hinton went white--shock coming on.
Bracken had hold of the gas can and a lighter.
Jack stood in front of the pit, his .38 cocked.
Standoff.
Lynn held the can, the cap loose, spilling fumes. Flick--a flame on the lighter. Jack drew down--right in her face.
Standoff.
Hinton tried to crawl. Jack's gun hand started shaking. "Sid Hudgens, Patchett and Fleur-de-Lis. It's either me or Bud White, and I can be bought."
Lynn killed the flame, lowered the gas. "What about Lamar?"
Hinton: pawing at the dirt, spitting blood. Jack lowered his gun. "He'll live. And he shot at me, so now we're quits."
"He didn't shoot at you. Pierce . . . I just know he didn't."
"Then who did?"
"I don't know. Really. And Pierce and I don't know who killed Hudgens. The first we heard of it was the newspapers yesterday."
The pit--folders on charcoal. "Hudgens' private dirt, right?"
"Yes."
"Yes and keep going."
"No, let's talk about your price. Lamar told Pierce about you, and Pierce figured out that you were that policeman who always seems to wind up in the scandal sheets. So as you say, you can be bought. Now, for how much?"
"What I want's in with those files."
"And what do you--"
"I know about you and the other girls Patchett runs. I know all about Fleur-de-Lis and the shit Patchett pushes, including the smut."
No fluster--the woman put out a stone face. "Some of your stag books have pictures with animated ink. Red, like blood. I saw pictures of Hudgens' body. He was cut up to match those photos."
The stone face held. "So now you're going to ask me about Pierce and Hudgens."
"Yeah, and who doctored up the photos in the books." Lynn shook her head. "I don't know who made those books, and neither does Pierce. He bought them bulk from a rich Mexican man."
"I don't think I believe you."
"I don't care. Do you want money besides?"
"No, and I'm betting whoever made those photographs killed Hudgens."
"Maybe somebody who got excited by the pictures killed him. Do you care either way? Why am I betting Hudgens had dirt on you, and that's what's behind all this?"
"Smart lady. And I'm betting Patchett and Hudgens didn't play golf or--"
Lynn cut him off. "Pierce and Sid were planning on working a deal together. I won't tell you any more than that."
Extortion--it had to be. "And those files were for that?"
"No comment. I haven't looked at the files, and let's keep this a stalemate and make sure nobody gets hurt."
"Then tell me what happened at the bank."
Lynn watched Hinton try to crawl. "Pierce knew that Sid kept his private files in safe-deposit boxes at that B of A. After we read that he'd been killed, Pierce figured the police would locate the files. You see, Sid had files on Pierce's dealings--dealings legitimate policemen would disapprove of. Pierce bribed the manager into letting us have the files. And here we are."
Jack smelled paper, charcoal. "You and Bud White."
Lynn made fists, pressed them to her legs. "He has nothing to do with any of this."
"Tell me anyway."
"Why?"
"Because I don't make you two as the hot item of 1953."
A smile from deep nowhere--Jack almost smiled back. Lynn said, "We're going to strike a deal, aren't we? A truce?"
"Yeah, a non-aggression pact."
"Then make this part of it. Bud approached Pierce, investigating the murder of a young girl named Kathy Janeway. He'd gotten Pierce's name and mine from a man who used to know her. Of course, we didn't kill her, and Pierce didn't want a policeman coming around. He told me to be nice to Bud . . . and now I'm starting to like him. And I don't want you to tell him anything about this. Please."
She even begged with class. "Deal, and you can tell Patchett the D.A. thinks the Hudgens case is a loser. It's heading for the back burner, and if I find what I want in that pile, today didn't happen."
Lynn smiled--this time he smiled back. "Go look after Hinton."
She walked over to him. Jack dug into the folders, found name tabs, kept digging. A spate of T's, a run of V's, the kicker. "Vincennes, John."