Jim’s stuck in stir. That’s one witness down. Link Rockwell’s witness #2. He’s in the Navy brig in Sarasota, Florida. The Navy won’t permit extradition. Whiskey Bill’s preparing a hot question list. A Navy lawyer pledged cooperation. He said they’d film the interview and send it along. Witness #2’s scratched for now.
Witness #3 crapped out. Adios, Ralph D. Barr. He was Jean Staley’s ex-hubby and a Meyer Gelb KA. Ralphie: Paramount stagehand/firebug/noted whipout man.
He got popped in Detroit. The Motor City bulls nailed him for Red agitation. It was summer, 1940. He firebombed the love shack of a high-up Ford man. The cops hard-nosed him. He snitched Gelb and ex-frau Jean. He said they recruited him for the CP. Ralphie torched his cell in the Detroit City Jail. Ralphie self-fried in true firebug fashion. Scratch witness #3.
Scratch three more witnesses. Díaz, Carbajal, Santarolo. Salvy Abascal interceded on their behalf. He called in Catholic fat-cat favors. Papist lawyers sprung the trio from PD custody. They’re now in Fed custody.
Bill Parker requested further interviews. The U.S. attorney rebuffed him. Parker was a Federal bar — licensed lawyer. He called Fey Edgar Hoover personally. Fey Edgar rebuffed him. Parker requested a sitdown with Ed Satterlee. Fey Edgar rebuffed that request. Ed the Fed had been placed under house arrest.
Scratch seven witnesses. Scratch the Parker-Jackson shot to erase the Fed-probe recordings. Scratch that avenue to secure acquittals for Jack H. and Fletch Bowron. Ed the Fed was their conduit. Ed the Fed was set to unlock the evidence vault.
Lawyers will fuck you when no one else will. Salvy Abascal is a lawyer. He’s an overall shitheel to rival Dudley Smith. Yeah — and him and Buzz have got a hole card to lay Salvy’s ass low.
Frankie Carbajal’s key revelation. This delirious dish:
Abascal is jobbing his Irish Kamerad. Abascal is planning sabotage behind El Dudster’s back. Abascal has piggybacked Dud’s run-wetbacks racket and has infiltrated saboteurs in with the wets. The saboteurs are set to bolt their San Joaquin Valley huts. They’re fruit-pickers and bomb-tossers. That’s a hot new one.
Him and Buzz got advance warning. They’ve withheld the word. It bought time. He bought them time with Dudley. He told him they slayed Tommy Glennon. He got the green light to slay Wayne Frank’s slayer in return. Dud cares naught for the klubhaus job. All Dud wants is the gold. Yeah — but it’s all a lot bigger than that.
Strategies. Plays, plots, ploys, plans. His overworked brain’s overheated and pitched to a boil.
He’s prowled the jazz-club strip. He’s trawled for the Jap sword man and his queer white companion. He’s notched no solid leads. He’s likewise trawled for the two skirts in the klubhaus smut pix. You get lucky sometimes. He spotted them at the Congo Club. They were full-fucked forthcoming.
We’ve been to the klubhaus. Link Rockwell and Archie Archuleta drew us in. We posed for the pix. Our male costars wore masks. Link worked the camera. We never met Wendell Rice and George Kapek. We don’t know who snuffed them. We don’t know no Jap sword man and no queer white boy. You sound us, Daddy-O?
Sí, yo comprendo. Vaya con Dios, you slovenly sluts.
He jumped locales then. He jumped darktown-to-J-town and trawled for the sword man. He’d eliminated Banzai Bob Yoshida. Sword man was allegedly a curio dealer. He pounded J-town under shit conditions. The bulk of the Jap populace was now stuck in stir. The remaining Japs fish-eyed him and played it sullen. Sword man? Queer friend? Eat shit and die, White Oppressor!!!
The klubhaus job was thus dead-stalled. He worked around it. He finally finagled an Annie Staples — Orson Welles tryst. Brenda put it together. Welles tricked out of the service and gassed on big blondes. The fuckfest transpired at the Miracle Mile love nest. Sergeant E. V. Jackson voyeurizized.
Annie seemed to enjoy it. Der Wunderkind surely did. Annie steered Fats to some pillow talk per Major Dudley Smith. Welles described the savage beating Dud put on him. Welles described Terry Lux’s plastic job and his snitch recruitment. Welles went on a goodwill tour conceived by FDR. Dud wanted rat-outs on Commies and other such scum. Welles was Claire De Haven’s part-time lover. Dud was jealousy-jammed. Welles considered the Dudster insane. I’ll tell you this, Annie. He’s dropping into some hellish abyss.
Annie excelled at the Welles tryst. Kay paid her to make wax impressions of Saul Lesnick’s keys. Annie delivered there, ditto. Who’s set to raid his office? Him and Buzz are good bets.
Yeah — but all bets are off on the gold now. Joan’s dead. Hideo Ashida’s imprisoned. Dud’s the sole gold quester still extant. The gold to the fire. That’s your ’31 to ’33 parlay. Jean Staley dished there. It felt incomplete. What if nobody killed Wayne Frank? What if he fried of his own dumb volition? What if kid brother Elmer’s got nobody to clip for revenge?
His brain’s overheated. He’s overworked. He’s running bag for Jack Horrall and Fletch Bowron. Gold-star contributors are dumping gelt on their defense fund. They fear Fed-probe convictions and expulsion from office. He’s siphoning cold cash to their lawyers. Bagman Elmer rides again.
He’s overworked. His brain’s overheated. His body and soul’s overtaxed. Temptress — thy name art Ruth Klarfeld Szigeti.
She’s from Budapest. He’s from Wisharts, North Carolina. She’s forty-three. He’s twenty-nine. She’s Jewish. He’s a Scottish preacher’s kid out of some unholy bog. Her dad conducted the Hungarian National Opera. His dad peddled Klan kode books. He’s seen some whopping bad grief in his day. She’s seen the Nazis machine-gun three hundred Jews and dump them in a ditch.
The Nazis made her watch. The Koenigs and Sandor Abromowitz stood beside her. They didn’t get blasted themselves. Here’s the big why of that.
The Jews were Commies and big anti-Nazis. Ruth and friends snitched them out for asylum. Their life savings bought them tickets to Mexico and the U.S. The dead three hundred were musicians and college profs. The death-squad Nazis were distantly allied with Meyer Gelb. The slaughter warned Comrade Gelb. His postwar scheme was a distant jerk-off dream at this moment. It could go blooey at any point.
Ruth was braced in advance of the slaughter. You will survive. You will emigrate and inform. You will facilitate extortion. You will fink at Comrade Gelb’s behest.
Comrade Gelb. Comrade Jean Staley’s shakedown boss. Comrade Elmer bought Comrade Jean off and scared her out of L.A. Comrade Elmer derailed Comrade Gelb’s current shakedown play. Comrade Elmer’s a big hero to Ruth Szigeti and friends.
The Koenigs and old man Abromowitz have crowned him their king. Ruth throws herself at him in bed. Ruth’s omnivorous. She throws herself at cocktail waitresses and pizza-delivery boys. It doesn’t faze him. Her big hurt fazes him. He plays the fool to quash the hurt and make her laugh.
Ruth runs abrupt. She whips him the woof-woof and hops out of bed to practice her violin. He lives to jolly her and eradicate her grief for a while. She flaunts her death-camp tattoo. He tickles it and makes her howl. He tells her Marine Corps and cop stories and lays on the laffs.
They’re both treading quicksand. He’ll escape his patch or he won’t. She’s got it worse than him. Her quicksand is all in her memory — and it sure as shit won’t go away.