Gas Chamber Bob Gallaudet: district gambling supporter.
Tipped off to the Duhamel meet.
Goosebumps: my dry-ice burns started tickling.
"So Dud found out you were meeting Johnny. Breuning and Carlisle slugged you and doped you up, and Dud tortured Johnny before you sliced him. They got him to admit that Exley was running him as a decoy and that he had these fake bank accounts and this operations cash stashed in a safe at his house. Johnny said he kept trying to pull out of the deal because he knew the slot guys would probably get clipped and lots of other shit would hit the fan, but Exley kept sending him back to find out more."
Radio hum: Tommy mobile, Lucille mobile.
Pete and Freddy dumbstruck--holy shit/mother dog!
"Why did Dudley make that movie? Why didn't he just kill Johnny and me?"
"He said he wanted to compromise you and use you. He said he was going to offer you this job as liaison and bagman to the LAPD. He said he could use you to take Ed Exley down. He said you were probably a pretty good lawyer, and he said you could teach him things about property maintenance."
Chick oozing brainwaves: kowtow to Dudley or die.
Pete oozing brainwaves: kill the wop and grab his money.
Freddy oozing brainwaves: _Hush-Hush_ would love THIS.
_Atomic Vampire_--INCEST/GORE.
"Chick, what do you know about Sid Frizell?"
"Feature I know close to nothing."
"Has he done time?"
"County time for child-support skips. He's no hard-case penitentiary guy, if that's what you're thinking."
To Freddy: "_Sid Frizell_. He's a tall, skinny guy about thirty-five. He's got sort of an Okie drawl."
"No bells. Am I supposed to know him?'
"I thought he might have taken your class at Chino."
"No, I don't think so. I mean, I'm a bug man, so I listen to how people talk. Sorry, but there were no Okie drawls in my class."
SOMETHING MISSING.
I grabbed the phone and got an operator--Chino on the line.
A warden's aide answered. Go, tell him:
Compile a roster for me--cons at Chino Richie Herrick concurrent. Messenger it down?--No, I'll call you back for a verbal.
2:00 A.M.--custody looming. Radio sputter, _pop_/_pop_--Pete cracking his knuckles. Chick loopy drunk, scorched hair--my damage.
Smells--stale food, smoke. A view out the window: overflowing trashcans. _My_ building--nine G's a year net profit.
Think: snitches, deal-outs.
Last-ditch tries.
Welles Noonan--a Gallaudet rival.
Think trades: Glenda for Bob G. and Dudley.
The bedroom phone-shaky hands on the dial. MA 4-0218--Noonan.
"U.S. Attorney's Office, Special Agent Shipstad."
"It's Klein."
"_Klein, this call didn't happen_."--low, furtive.
"What?"
"Noonan got a film can special-delivery. It's you chopping up some guy, and _I_ know it's a setup, but _he_ doesn't care. A note said copies go to the press if you testify for us, and Noonan said your immunity agreement is cancelled. He's issued a Federal arrest warrant on you, _and this call did not happen_."
CLICK--
Chairs/shelves/tables--I threw them and kicked them and dumped them. I punched myself arm-dead on the curtains; exhaustion had me swaying light-headed.
Radio squawk:
"Madge left the house alone. The point car's on her."
"Lucille's entering Chavez Ravine. She's driving erratic, she's sideswiping trees--"
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Crisscross headlights, dirt roads--Chavez Ravine.
Dark--no streetlights-- cop lights only. Roof lights, headlights, flashlights--tail men mobile and on foot.
Bumper crunched upside a tree: Lucille's Ford, abandoned.
APBs out on me--
I ditched my car and sprinted up the access road. Zigzag flashlights down below: a shack-to-shack search.
"Lad."
Dark, just his voice. I aimed at it, half pull triggered.
"Lad, hear me out before you act precipitously."
"You sent that movie to Noonan."
"No, Bob Gallaudet did. I told him you had Chick Vecchio hidden, and Bob assumed that Chick would behave in a cowardly fashion and inform on us. Lad, Bob handed you up to Noonan. He threatened to make public a second copy of the film if you testified as a Federal witness, assuming that your testimony would damn both himself and this aging Irishman who bears quite a grudging fondness for you. Noonan was furious, of course, and Bob quite wisely retreated to a more judicious footing: he said that the film threat stood, but he would not enter the attorney general's race if Noonan promised no open-court mention of him. Noonan, bright lad that he is, agreed."
"Gallaudet ratted _you_ to Noonan?"
"No, Allah be praised, he just evinced panic and spoke nebulously of complex criminal conspiracies. I'm sure Noonan considers me just an aging policeman with a gift for language and a stern reputation."
Shouts down below. Stray headlights blipped Dudley smiling benign.
"Who gave Bob that movie copy?"
"Mike Breuning. He was afraid our enterprises were in jeopardy, so he gave Robert a copy to cut a deal for himself. Alas, Mike confessed what he had done before I sent him out to meet you, which is why I set him up so harshly."
"Gallaudet?"
"Ensconced with Allah, lad. Neatly dismembered and unreachable. Kill Vecchio, if you haven't already, and there's just Exley sans hard evidence."
"Chick told me Duhamel snitched Exley."
"Yes, that's true."
"He said Exley kept money in a safe?"
"Yes, Chick is correct."
"Inside his house?"
"Yes, lad, that would be logical."
"Big money?"
"Yes, that's correct. Lad, get to the point, you're tantalizing me."
"I can tap that safe. I'll kill Vecchio and steal Exley's money. We'll split it."
"You're very generous, and I'm surprised that you haven't expressed rancor over my machinations at the Ranch Market."
"I want you to like me. If I run, I don't want you coming after the people I leave here."
"You're perceptive to assume my survival."
"The money?"
"I'll accept half graciously."
Commotion down the hill: cops kicking in shack doors.
"Chick told you the thrust of my plans, did he, lad?"
"Yes."
"Did you infer that I enjoy watching?"
"Yes."
"I view it as a dispensation for the grand work of containment I'll be doing. I view it as a means to touch compelling filth without succumbing to it."
FLASH: Lucille nude.
"You're a watcher, lad. You've touched your own dark capacities, and now you enjoy the surcease of simple watching."
FLASH: whore-pad windows.
"I empathize with your curiosities, lad."
FLASH--peeper tapes--pictures synced to sounds.
"It pleases me that the Kafesjians and Herricks seem to have piqued those curiosities. Lad, I could tell you many grand stories about those two families."
FLASH--bright open windows--TELL ME THINGS.
"Lad, do you feel the basis of an understanding starting to form? Are you beginning to see the two of us as kindred souls, brothers in curious--"
Shouts, flashlights converging--
I ran down--tripping and stumbling. Shacks pressed up tight together--lights fixed in one doorway.
Tail men huddled outside--push through, look:
Lucille and Richie Herrick--DOA.
Tourniquet tied/veins pumped/mouths frozen gasping.
Entwined on a mink coat bed.
H bindles, spikes and Drano on a fox pelt.
CHAPTER FIFTY
8:01 A.M.--Federal fugitive.
Fugitive pad, fugitive car--a '51 Chevy bought off a junker lot. Fugitive calls:
Glenda safe--style vs. fear--style winning.
Sid Riegle, panicked--Exley men rousted my men.
Bureau talk: Lucille and Richie died from heroin-Drano cocktails. Sid: "Ray Pinker said she hotshot him, then killed herself. Doc Newbarr said no way was it murder, then suicide--everything was too nice and neat."
More talk:
Tommy and J.C.--Fed-rousted and released at 4:00 A.M. Madge K. gone for parts unknown--the point man lost her.
A call to Pete--find me that woman, she can TELL ME things. Fugitive wheels: the Cahuenga Pass south. Rearview panic checks-- everything looked strange and wrong.
Radio news: Hot L.A. Crime Wave! Mickey Cohen Federal Witness! DA Gallaudet Misses Breakfast Talk--Assembled Scribes Baffled!
Last night--Dudley's farewell:
"I'll require verification on Chick. His right hand should suffice--it bears quite a recognizable tattoo."
Brain teaser:
_Vampire_ gore/the Kafesjian-Herrick case--who?/why?
South: Hollywood, Hancock Park. Left turn--432 South McCadden.
Virgin--no cars curb or driveway.
I walked up and knocked. Nobody watching--knife the keyhole, work the lock.
In.
Close the door, bolt it--lights on, go.
I checked the living room walls: no pictures, no fake panels.
I checked the den--framed photos--Dudley Smith, Bureau toastmaster. Pull them, look behind--
No safe.
Upstairs--three bedrooms--more walls, more pictures:
Dudley Smith as Santa Claus--a polio ward, '53.
Dudley Smith, guest speaker--Christian Anti-Communist Crusade.
Dudley Smith at a crime scene: ogling a dead jigaboo.
Three bedrooms--twenty Dudley Smith pictures--Exley hate fuel.
No safe.
Back downstairs-check the kitchen--nothing.
Check the carpets--every one tacked flat. Upstairs--hallway throw rugs--pull them--
A hinged panel under a red Persian.
Inset with a tumbler dial and handle.
Trembly--34L--16R--31L--two run-throughs, snap/thunk--yank the handle.
Drawstring bank bags. Five. Nothing else.
Hundreds, fifties, twenties. Old bills.
I shut the lid, spun the dial and fixed the rugs. Downstairs, the kitchen--
Cutlery right there. I grabbed a cleaver--heebie-jeebies--Chick.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
"Davey. . . please."
Psychic: begging me two seconds in the door. A tattoo on his right hand: "Sally 4-Ever."
"Davey, please."
683 grand and that cleaver. Pete out chasing Madge, Fred asleep in the bedroom.
Chick, cuffed down--panic spritzing:
We go back, we had laughs, I'm sorry I got fresh with Glenda, but how can you blame me? We had laughs, we made money, Pete wants to kill me, he's a fucking neon sign....
"Davey, please."
Pillow bullet mufflers. Curtains for a makeshift shroud.
"Davey . . . Jesus Christ. . . Davey."
Tired--no stones for it--yet.
Dead man talking:
I'll disappear ... you can trust me.... Glenda's great ... Sid Frizell says she's star stuff. Frizell. . . what a chump. . . no ideas. . . that camera guy Wylie Bullock's got twice the smarts, and he couldn't direct traffic on Mars. You and Glenda. . . I wish you the best. . . . Davey, I know what you got planned, I can see it in your eyes....
Tired.
No stones for it--yet.
The phone rang--I cradled it up. "Yeah?"
"It's Pete."
"And?"
"And I found Madge Kafesjian."
"_Where?_"
"The Skyliner Motel, Lankershim and Croft in Van Nuys. She's in room 104, and the desk man says she's on a hankie binge."
"You're staking her?"
"I'm on your payroll, and I'm watching that room till you say otherwise."
"_Just stay there_. I'll be out soon, so--"
"Look, I talked to Mr. Hughes. He said the Sheriff's found a witness who saw Glenda by the Hollywood Hills fuck pad like the approximate night that Miciak bought it. They think she's hinky, and they're looking for her as a suspect. It looks like she blew town, but--"
"_Just stick at the motel_."
"Your payroll, boss. How's Chick--"
I hung up and dialed Chino direct.
"Deputy Warden Clavell's office."
"Is he in? It's Lieutenant Klein, LAPD."
"Oh, _yes_, sir. Mr. Clavell left me a list of names to read you."
"Read off the released inmates first."
"Current addresses too?"
"The names first, I want to see if something grabs me."
"Yes, sir"--slow, precise:
"Altair, Craig V.... Allegretto, Vincent W.... Anderson, Samuel NMI.... Bassett, William A.... Beltrem, Ronald D.... Bochner, Kurt NMI.... Bonestell, Chester W.... Bordenson, Walter S.... Bosnitch, Vance B.. . . Bullock, Wylie D.--"
Tilt/click/snap-SOMETHING missing/SOMETHING there:
Wylie Bullock.
_Vampire_ cameraman.
Idea man--pressing gore on Sid Frizell.
"Burdsall, John C. . . . Cantrell, Martin NMI--"
"Go back to Wylie Bullock. Give me his parole date and his last known address."
"Um . . . he was paroled on November 9, 1957, and his parole disposition address is the Larkview Trailer Court, Arroyo and Brand in Glendale."
Freddy in the hallway--yawning.
"Sir, do you want the rest of these names?"
I put the phone down. "Was there a guy named Wylie Bullock in your class at Chino?"
"Yeah . . . riiight . . . he was that guy following Richie Herrick around."
Adrenaline--_zoooom_.
Chick: "Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee."
Stay of execution: dumb guinea luck.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
R&I/DMV:
Bullock, Wylie Davis-- DOB 7/16/25. Brown/brown, 5'10", 165. Popped 3/56-- pornography beefs--3 to 5, Chino.
Occupation: photographer-cameraman. Vehicle: '54 Packard Clipper, white & salmon, Cal. GHX 617.
Freeways out to Glendale--my rat's-ass car belched smoke. Wylie/ Madge/Dudley--TELL ME THINGS.
Arroyo off-ramp, south to Brand--the Larkview Trailer Court.
Parking slots: and no two-tone Packard tucked in. A map out front: "W Bullock"--three rows over, six trailers down.
Rock gardens, jacked-up trailers, white trash wives out sunning. My SOMETHING MISSING:
Frizell-Bullock confabs--Wylie assertive: Incest! Poke the vampire's eyes out!
Three over, six down--a chromium Airstream. My .45 out surreptitious--knock.
No answer--no surprise--no Packard. I tried the door--locked--too many squarejohns around for a break-in.
The set--go.
o o o
Freeways back--my clunker wheezed. Griffith Park, the set--no Bullock vehicle in sight.
Mickey by the spaceship-wearing a Jew beanie.
"The Feds and LAPD were here chasing your tush. The Malibu Sheriff's were looking for my erstwhile star Glenda Bledsoe, who I understand you are playing Bury the Brisket with. You break my heart, you handsome snatch bandit."
No "crew"--just Mickey. "Where is everybody?"
"Shmuckface, _Attack of the Atomic Vampire_ is in show-biz parlance a 'wrap.' Glenda may look a bit muscular in her concluding moments, given that Rock Rockwell portrayed her in long shots, but that aside I consider my movie a cinema landmark."
"Where's Wylie Bullock?"
"I should know? I should care?"
"Sid Frizell?"
"Paid off and on the night boat to Nowheresville for all I care."
Beanie, flag lapel pin--hero Mickey. "You look happy."
"I have a movie in the can, and I have made friends of the Federal persuasion. And do not judge me as a snitch fuck, because a certain U.S. attorney told me you have those tendencies yourse
lf."
Dudley's lovable shmuck. "I'll miss you, Mickey."
"Run, David. The tsuris you have caused seeks retribution. Run to Galapagos and watch turtles fuck in the sun."
o o o
The Cahuenga Pass--back over coughing fumes. Lankershim and Croft-- the Skyliner Motel.
Horseshoe-shaped--cut-rate pool-view cabanas. Pete staked out curbside--snoozing with the seat back.
I parked behind him. Tell-me money in the trunk--I stuffed my pockets.
Skirt the pool over--room 104. 1 knocked--Madge opened up quick.
Haggard--heavy makeup made it worse. "You're that policeman. Our house was broken into. . . you came over...
"Hankie binge"--wet eyes, tear tracks.
"I'm sorry about your daughter."
"It was a merciful death for both of them. Did you come to arrest me?"
"No. Why should I--"
"If you don't know, I won't tell you."
"I just wanted to talk to you."
"So you filled your pockets with money."
C-notes spilling out. "I figured it couldn't hurt."
"Did Dan Wilhite send you?"
"He's dead. He killed himself."
"Poor Dan"--one short sigh.
"Mrs. Kafesjian . . ."
"Come in. I'll answer your questions if you promise not to slander the children."
"Whose children?"
"Ours. Whoever's. Just exactly what did you. . . ?"
I sat her down. "Your family and the Herricks."
"What do you want to know?"
"Tell me everything."
o o o
1932--Scranton, Pennsylvania.
J.C. Kafesjian and Phillip Herrick work at Balustrol Chemicals. J.C. is a laborer, Phillip a solvent analyst. J.C. is crude, Phil is cultured--they are friends--nobody knows why.
1932: the friends move to Los Angeles together. They court women and marry them: J.C. and Madge Clarkson, Phil and Joan Renfrew.
Five years pass: the men toil at boring chemical jobs. Five children are born: Tommy and Lucille Kafesjian; Richard, Laura and Christine Herrick.
J.C. and Phil are bored, angry and poor. Their chemistry knowledge inspires a scheme: brew homemade liquor.
They do it--and thrive.
The Depression continues; poor people need cut-rate spirits. J.C. and Phil sell it cheap-work-camp workers their chief clientele. They accrue profits and hoard their shares.