Hideo and Joan talk long-distance. Their one topic is gold. They remain his L.A. family. They supplant the wife and daughters he never sees. Favored daughter Beth Short lives up near San Francisco. She promises visits but repeatedly renegs. Beth is boy crazy. She may be spreading herself thin.
His Mexican family sports fractures. Young Joan Klein first detected the schism. She’d tailed Claire to liaisons with El Puto Cruz-Caiz. It explains Claire’s recent sobbing fits and bedroom retreat. Young Joan remains secretive and obstreperous. It befits a fifteen-year-old girl born on Halloween. She speaks in riddles and hints at her “package from the East.” He deadpans these salvos. The girl has a fantastical penchant for left-wing intrigue.
His own intrigues consume him. The klubhaus job remains in acute disarray. Jack Horrall has granted him sanction. He’s free to plumb more immediate paths to a solve.
He schmoozed up Sid Hudgens. He told him to plant three pithy items in the Herald.
Hot item!!! PD stalwarts pursue Fifth Column suspects!!! Klubhaus solve at hand?
Hot item!!! PD stalwarts pursue Mexican suspects!!! Klubhaus solve at hand?
Hot item!!! PD stalwarts pursue Negro suspects!!! Klubhaus solve at hand?
Martin Luther Mimms will supply suitable suspects. Call-Me-Jack is convinced of that. Preacher Mimms is out of town now. He’s recruiting for his back-to-Africa shuck. Herr Mimms gleefully bilks his own people. A Smith-Mimms summit must be penciled in. They’ll eat soul food and drink corn liquor. They’ll trip the dark fantastic.
The klubhaus job is all taxing tangents. Huey Cressmeyer escaped from Juan Pimentel and remained at large for three days. Huey revealed that two cornpone cops snatched him. The crazed crackers roughhoused Huey. He rebuffed their hurt. Huey said he snitched Tommy G. and Wendell Rice, los dos. He stuck to this tale.
Thad Brown said Redneck Elmer worked a Deutsches Haus incursion and learned less than zilch. Cretin Elmer and Cagey Buzz may be harboring leads. He should kill them both. Now might be good. Why wait for Armistice Day?
Taxing tangents. Jackson and Meeks. Likewise, James Edgar Davis.
He’s cultivated Two-Gun. He’s coddled and cajoled him. He’s endured a slew of boozy dinners at Kwan’s. Jim will not submit to pentothal. “I spilled my guts on the Watanabe job, Dud. You and Bill Parker know, you sure as shit told Jack Horrall, and Bill must have told the latest college girl he’s perved on. That’s status quo for me, and I’m sticking to it.”
Two-Gun Jim remains balky. He radiates intransigence. His sclerotic face pulses and beams Fuck You. This may necessitate force.
Like his Orson Welles approach. Fat Boy in blood-soaked lounge garb. That was a crackerjack play.
Orson passed through Ensenada. El Porko was on his goodwill tour. They enjoyed a beachside dinner. Orson waxed acquiescent. He exemplified the if-you-can’t-beat-’em-join-’em school of cowed informants. He tattled numerous tinseltown Reds.
As in his own psychiatrist. There’s a red reptile. Saul Lesnick, M.D.
He was Claire’s headshrink. The gold-quest gang knew all about him. Lesnick snitched Reds to Ed Satterlee. Lesnick tooled for Meyer Gelb. Orson met Gelb at Otto Klemperer’s place. Orson showed up at the ’39 Walpurgisnacht. They crossed paths in costumes and masks and never knew it. Orson screened his Long Knives smut film. He dressed as a Red Guardsman and rolled film. Leni Riefenstahl mocked him and tossed a drink in his face.
Psychic recurrence. Confounding convergence. Chez Klemperer as star-crossed place. The cosmos sends a message. Hark — the gold is yours.
The cosmos speaks to the Wolf. The Wolf drinks the blood of his master’s victims and licks the gold bayonet clean. The Wolf sniffs out strategic imperative and reports back to him. Governor Juan Lazaro-Schmidt appeared at the Hotel del Norte. His sister Constanza played with a middling string quartet. They performed a recital at the del Norte. Beethoven and Hindemith. The Wolf scared up a ticket and arranged a chance meet with Governor Juan.
The Führer and Herr Goebbels detest Hindemith. They are hidebound in that regard. The sonata was lovely. It was properly dissonant and no more. The Wolf hopped onstage and curled up at Constanza Lazaro-Schmidt’s feet. She played achingly well. She paused to let the violins and cello ascend. She stroked the Wolf then.
Stunning creature. Dark hair and eyes. Long legs and almost too broad shoulders. She bit her lips as she played. Her white gown bunched at the hips. She kicked off her shoes for the “Grosse Fugue” and dug in barefoot.
The Wolf approved of Constanza. Her scene enticed. The Wolf escorted him to the lobby at intermission. Hark — there’s the governor. The Wolf introduced them and trotted off.
He was a slight man. He was elegant and smaller than his sister. They wore identical lapel pins. The pin clasps faced outward. The gold swastikas were tucked out of sight.
They chatted up the war and made nice-nice. He brought up the U.S. crop-worker conundrum and requested a chance to discuss it. They made plans to meet in a fortnight.
The recital concluded. Beethoven 131 went out in a rush. The Wolf led him back to the artists’ dressing rooms. He saw Constanza unhook her gown and adjust her brassiere. The fabric was sheer. She had lovely dark nipples.
J. Lazaro-Schmidt and sister. Salvy distrusted their relationship. Salvy urged him to hold that thought.
Late February brought rain. Pacific storms hit the coast. Wave swells lashed Santa Barbara. A Jap sub lobbed shells north of there. Sea wolves aimed at the Ellsworth Oil Depot. The shells fell short. The sea wolves turned tail. Fourth Interceptor imposed a press blackout. The attack was kept mum.
He bennie-laced his a.m. coffee. The brew complemented his rainy mornings and spiked his ability to read and assess. He read Jap residential files and scoured for leads on K. Hanamaka. He brainstormed and cinched a few things up.
Sea attack. Air attack. Those prefab airplane parts he saw in the shore cove. Left-behind parts. Flame-charred to disguise them. Nazi and Soviet insignia.
Psychic recurrence. Confounding convergence. Something Huey Cressmeyer said. “Mitch,” the model-airplane man. A Deutsches Haus regular. Mitchell A. Kupp. Madcap aviator-inventor. Joan’s #1 father-snuff suspect. He charters a plane in Duluth. Earle Conville burns to death in western Wisconsin.
Joan tracks a fuel spill back to him. She suspects but cannot prove malfeasance. A scholarly tract arrives at the klubhaus. Mitch Kupp authored it. He critiques firebomb warfare and proposes funded research. Everyday Joes can fly build-ur-self planes. He’s prefabbed kits himself.
It all dovetailed. Joan subscribed to notions of psychic recurrence and star-crossed place. She made stars cross. She summoned Mitch Kupp to her very own constellation.
He ran nationwide file checks and cross-checked subversive membership lists. Kupp was pegged as America First. He had no police record. He had a California driver’s license and lived in San Berdoo.
Psychic recurrence. Confounding convergence. Star-crossed place.
He surveilled Mitch Kupp. Herr Kupp lived in a small house with a detached garage. Madcap Mitch. He worked in the garage and kept the door open.
See the airplane parts. See the prefab rivets. See the Nazi and Soviet stencils. See the workbench and bottled arson accelerants. See Madcap Mitch sniff paint thinner.
Madcap Mitch. He’ll stay put for now. Instinct is proof. Due process is a shuck. He’s fairly sure that Joan will want to kill him.