Elmer said, “It’s about Dudley Smith. We want whatever you’ve got.”
Buzz said, “That means all his current racket plans and everything he’s got on Tommy Glennon and Fifth Column grief here in Baja. That also means whatever you’ve got on Wendell Rice, George Kapek, Archie Archuleta, and those homicides in L.A.”
Elmer crouched by the mattress. Buzz scootched Huey’s legs over and took a seat. Elmer plucked the sock gag. Huey whimper-screeched.
Words poked through. It was all I-love-Uncle Dud and I-ain’t-no-snitch. Buzz sapped his legs. Elmer sapped his arms. Huey screeched and thrashed and went hoarse quick.
Buzz unlocked El Buggo’s cage and poked him out on the mattress. El Buggo gravitated toward Huey. He crawled up Huey’s legs and sniffed Huey’s crotch. Huey screamed. Buzz positioned the cage on Huey’s chest and lured El Buggo back in.
Elmer uncorked the mescal. Huey went Gimme, gimme. Elmer bottle-fed him three good pops. Huey flushed roseate.
Buzz placed the cage next to his head. El Buggo stretched his legs through the bars. He got love-struck and tried to nuzzle Huey.
Elmer said, “Tick, tick, tick.”
Buzz said, “That’s the clock running out on your life.”
Elmer said, “These fucking scorpions go straight for your dick. They inject their poison there.”
Huey went Okay, okay. Elmer bottle-fed him. A worm dribbled out and hit Huey’s chest. Buzz plucked him and dropped him in El Buggo’s cage. El Buggo devoured him faaaast.
Huey coughed and drooled mescal. Huey evinced snitch fever. Huey tattled this:
“Uncle Dud’s got these plans to run wetbacks and push horse to the niggers in L.A. He’s got this sort-of partner, who runs the Baja Statie Constabulary. His name’s José Vasquez-Cruz, and Uncle Dud don’t really trust him. He glommed Carlos Madrano’s dope stash, and Uncle Dud’s got these dope-cadre guys in L.A., all ready to go.”
Buzz said, “Where’d you get this?”
Huey said, “My pal Juan Pimentel. He’s my bodyguard here. He feeds me all this good dish.”
Elmer sap-tickled Huey. “For instance?”
“For instance, this. Uncle Dud’s got his wetback deal all brainstormed, but he’s got to clear it with the Baja governor first. The guy’s name is Juan Lazaro-Schmidt, and he veers mucho right. There’s got to be some kind of U.S.-Mexico ‘guest worker’ pact in place before Uncle Dud starts moving the wets north in big numbers. It’s a combo deal. You pack the horse in the trucks hauling the wets, and kill two birds with one stone.”
Elmer slurped mescal. Buzz snatched the jug. Elmer sap-tickled Huey. The shitbird resnitched.
“Okay, you’ve got a bunch of resident Japs all rounded up here in Baja. Okay, so Uncle Dud and this Vasquez-Cruz dink have got this piggyback plan cooked up, all abetted by Uncle Ace Kwan in L.A. The deal is, they’ll move the Baja Japs north and jungle them up with the L.A. Japs, and hire them out as slave labor. Uncle Dud’s already got the Ventura County Sheriff on board. Uncle Dud and Vasquez-Cruz also got plans to move horse up to L.A. in the trucks hauling all the Jap internees. Ace the K.’s got plans to pass off rich Japs as Chinks and hide them out in C-town while he bleeds their Tojo-loving asses dry.”
Elmer and Buzz swapped looks. They conveyed Vintage Dudster. Huey went Gimme. Elmer bottle-fed him. Huey re-resnitched.
“There’s been scuttlebutt disseminated at the Deutsches Haus. Uncle Dud don’t credit all this, but I tend to. There’s supposed to be a Jap air attack on L.A. later this month, with some sub shellings of these oil refineries north of Santa Barbara, coming before it. Uncle Dud holds the line at sabotage on U.S. soil. You got to give him that — he’s a pro-U.S. white man. But this Vasquez-Cruz geek’s allegedly bent on chaos. To top all this off, Uncle Dud’s allegedly scared that this here klubhaus job will bleed into the Watanabe job and deep-six the PD.”
Elmer said, “Where’d you get this? The last part, I mean.”
Huey went snitch smug. “I got it from Claire De Haven. I’ve been selling her morph on the sly, and she sure loves to talk. She’s also screwing Vasquez-Cruz on the sly, and he tattles her things that she tattles me.”
Buzz whooped. “Son, don’t you stop there.”
Huey coughed. “Claire loves Uncle Dud, but she thinks he’s in over his head with all these racket gigs of his. Plus, she knows that Uncle Dud’s putting the boots to some redhead in L.A., that Bill Parker’s likewise poking. Claire says the redhead is just some ‘incremental advance in the Parker-Smith exchange.’ ”
Elmer and Buzz swapped looks. They conveyed More Vintage Dudster. Huey yawned. Huey said, “I’m half in the bag.”
Elmer fed him three bennies and one jolt of mescal. Buzz uncuffed him. Huey stretched and rubbed his ankles and wrists.
“You boys should visit the Deutsches Haus. There’s this Mitch guy who frequents the place. He’s from the Midwest — maybe Minnesota or Wisconsin. He’s a brother model-airplane fiend. He knows all about air warfare, and he builds these real, flyable planes from prefabricated parts. I’m not jiving you, cousins. You can build your own airplane, and fly it. Mitch is always talking up this notion of Japs dropping flammable bombs and setting forest fires. He calls it ‘chaos from the air.’ ”
Elmer mock-yawned. “What’s this chump got to do with our shit at hand?”
Huey real-yawned. “Nothing.”
Buzz jiggled El Buggo’s cage. “What’s with Dud and Tommy Glennon? He was Dud’s snitch, but now Dud wants him clipped. I sense a lively tale there.”
Huey went harrumph. “I never poked Tommy. Uncle Dud tried to lay that on me, but it was a humbug rap. Tommy’s squeeze was this priest named Joe Hayes. Tommy likes his brown eye Irish and Catholic. He got turned out by priests, so he has to have it that way.”
Elmer said, “Thank you for them unsolicited comments.”
Buzz said, “Let’s get back to Tommy and Dud.”
Huey scratched his balls and picked his nose. He got this bennie-revved look.
“You want Tommy and Dudley? If you’re sweet to me, I’ll give you Tommy and Dudley like you’ve never had it before.”
Buzz said, “Don’t you get flirty or pouty with us. You do that, I let this centipede loose.”
Elmer lit a cigar. “One bite and you’re paralyzed. Two bites and you’re dead.”
Huey went Oooh, I’m scared. He put on an archfruit lisp.
“Okay, here’s your Tommy and Dudley. It’s the winter of ’39, and there’s a very posh costume party at a very swell mansion in Brentwood. North of Sunset, daaaarlings — pheasant under glass all the way.”
Elmer said, “Don’t string this out.”
Huey tittered. “The party was aaaall about the Night of the Long Knives, which anybody who’s anybody will tell you occurred in Germany in the summer of ’34, when boss man Hitler had a beef with his Brownshirt Sturmbannführer, Ernst Röhm. Ernst liked boys, which anybody who’s anybody does, but boss man Hitler just couldn’t countenance that. So, he rounded up some hunky young Blackshirts and sent them to this spa hotel in Munich, where Ernst and numerous like-minded Brownshirts were consorting, and the Blackshirts found the Brownshirts all cozily entwined, and liquidated them presto-changeo.”