Ashida smiled. “Kay’s your woman. If you have to love from afar, she’s the one.”
Elmer belched. “You’re on target today. Dead-eye Hideo. You take some scalps, and it goes to your head.”
“Kay called me. She said Joan sent her a package, and she wants to meet with us to discuss it.”
“Us? Yours truly, E.V. Jackson? I never say no to a hobknob with Kay, but you’ve got me scratching my head.”
Joan kept a diary. They’d discussed the contents. The diary described everything. The gold. Elmer’s gold-crazed brother. The three-case confluence. Kay Lake hates Dudley Smith. She demands an audience, now. It must pertain to the diary. What fresh hell awaits?
Ashida sipped tea. “I read the statement you gave Thad. There were spatial discrepancies in your account of the shooting and the Japanese man’s escape. You’ve worn a spare .38-snubnose in an ankle holster the whole time I’ve known you, but suddenly it’s gone. Lunceford was felled by a .38 Special two-inch. I ran the ballistics myself. You killed him, Elmer. I’ll give you a skate if you’ll tell me why.”
Elmer killed his drink and lit a cigar. He brushed ash off his coat and blew smoke rings.
“Cal was in with a Japanese guy, and he warned him out of the hideout. I caught a glimpse of him, and Cal came at me. I pulled my throwdown piece and dropped him. That’s all you need to know, and all I’m going to say.”
Ashida twirled his teacup. “Did you recognize the Japanese man?”
“Ed Satterlee showed Buzz and me a surveillance pic. It was that Navy guy you and Dud were looking around J-town for.”
“Kyoho Hanamaka?”
Elmer said, “That selfsame hump.”
78
(Los Angeles, 10:00 P.M., 2/28/42)
Uncle Ace pulled the plug. He said, “Time to go. I got business to run. Mourn dead girl enough.”
He pried Breuning and Carlisle off bar stools. He shook Buzz awake. Buzz jiggled El Scorpio’s cage and hexed him. El Dudster and Whiskey Bill were long gone. Ditto Kay and Brenda. The wake veered to stag night. Call-Me-Jack slept it off in his limo. Nort Layman snoozed with him. Thad Brown and Lee Blanchard single-filed out.
Ace said, “Elmer, you go. Chop, chop, you cocksucker. You perpetual thorn in my ass.”
Elmer hit the road. He wolfed bennies and Old Crow and got eroticized. He drove to Brenda’s place and promoted some woof-woof.
It was perfunctory. The postlude went ten seconds. Brenda said, “Shoo. Don’t think you’re spending the night. You’ve got Joan and who knows who else on the noggin. Let me sleep in peace.”
Elmer hit the road. He drove down to the Strip and pay-phoned Ellen. She said, “Okay, sure. But make it a quick one. The baby’s got the flu.”
That dick-wilted him. He went over anyway. It was perfunctory. The postlude stretched. Ellen war-talked him into a coma. Wake Island this. The Solomons that. “Go back in the Marines, you dippy cracker. My husband’s older than you. You’ve got no right to sit this one out.”
Elmer hit the road. He was wide awake and still libidoized. He cut down to La Brea and pay-phoned Annie. She invited him over and said she was hungry. She told him to snag a pizza pie.
Annie lived on Hi-Point off Pico. Elmer found a pizza pit on San Vicente and turned a quick loop. Annie snarfed half the pie and plopped him down on the couch.
She said, “You’re scared. You’ve got the jimjams like I’ve never seen.”
He said, “I’m in the shit like I’ve never seen, and it’s not like the shit and I ain’t acquainted.”
“Is this police-type shit that you aren’t inclined to discuss?”
Elmer rolled his eyes and went Yep. Annie stretched out on the couch and plunked her head in his lap. She yawned and stretched. She pat-patted her mouth.
“Wake me if you get lonely. We’ll play the radio or hit the sack.”
Rain drummed the windows. Annie dozed. Elmer percolated. He lied to Thad Brown. He said he scanned mug books and ID’d Catbox Cal’s killer. It was a dink named Kyoho Hanamaka. He’s the fiend at large.
He covered his tracks there. Hideo uncovered them. Hideo won’t blab. He was re-covered there. Add on Dudley, Buzz, and the Huey snatch. Yeah, sweetie — I’m scared.
Annie started snoring. Elmer hit the road. He drove to Hollywood and B and E’d Jean Staley’s place. It was you’re-way-deep-in-the-shit dark.
He sniffed her lingerie and got transported. He time-traveled Jolting Jean’s life. Beaumont, Texas. The dust bowl. Jean goes west and goes Red. Meyer Gelb’s cell. The Griffith Park fire and Jean’s queer brother. The whole deal induced hink.
Elmer hit the road. It was 3:14 a.m. He knew she’d be there. She’d be wearing the black cashmere dress and sipping the bright red Manhattan. She had permanent back-room access. She was just that jungled up.
Elmer drove to Lyman’s. He’s the mystic maharajah. He nailed it just that tight.
The dress. The cocktail. Kay at Crash Squad HQ. She’s snooping. She’s reading the file carbons tacked to the board.
She said, “I knew you’d show up.”
He said, “I had a hunch you’d be here.”
Kay lit a cigarette. “Something’s frightening you.”
Elmer lit a cigar. “Women keep telling me that.”
“Joan sent me her diary. There’s some things you should know.”
Elmer dug on her dress. It head-bopped him, periodic. There’s only her. There’s no one else.
“You shivved Dudley. It had to be you.”
Kay said, “Yes, it was.”
79
(Los Angeles, 9:00 A.M., 3/1/42)
There’s Beth. She’s almost eighteen. She’s stunningly lovely and most stunningly refracts him.
Her small eyes. Her set jaw. Her dark hair. She’ll see him and run to him. This Army captain’s her dad.
Dudley lounged outside Union Station. Porters wheeled luggage carts. Cabs clogged the breezeway. Parked cars stretched up to Alameda. Beth stood on her tiptoes and shielded her eyes.
She’d called him, impromptu. She was up in Vallejo with her cuckold dad. El Cornudo stifled her joie de vivre and made her keep house. It mandated a Baja retreat.
She had blue eyes. He had brown eyes. He was tall, she was petite. They were otherwise of the same—
She saw him and beelined. Her standard gambit was sprint and collide. She knocked him up against his staff car. She dropped her grip and burrowed in.
He said, “My dear girl.”
She said, “I’ve never seen you so handsome.”
They stepped back and squared off. There’s that full view. Beth wore Claire’s Christmas gifts. Twill slacks and a dark red sweater. The ensemble complemented and jazzed up his ODs.
“I’m here. It’s twice in three months, so it must mean that I love you.”
Dudley laughed. “You’re a Boston provincial no longer. You’ve seen Los Angeles, and now you must brace yourself for Mexico.”
They talked themselves hoarse. Beth’s faux dad and half-blood sisters. His rocky road with Claire. Claire’s faux child, Joan Klein. His split L.A. and Baja duties. Compliant Major Melnick cuts him travel slack. Her day-to-day crushes. Cute boys off to war. Navy pen pals, Point Loma to Pearl.
They fell quiet. Beth played the civilian-band radio. She scootched close and laced up his free hand. Swing broadcasts whooshed them south.