Dud winked--oh, you kid. "Nor have I. Jungle bunnies account for the seven men I have killed in the line of duty, stretching a point to allow for them as human. Lad, this Federal business is d.a.m.ningly provocative, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Concisely put. And in that concise attorney's manner of yours, what would you say is behind it?"

"Politics. Bob Gallaudet for the Republicans, Welles Noonan for the Democrats."

"Yes, strange bedfellows. And ironic that the Federal Government should be represented by a man with fellow-traveler tendencies. I understand that that man spat in your face, lad."

"You've got good eyes out there, Dud."

"Twenty-twenty vision, all my boys. Lad, do you hate Noonan? It's safe to say that he"--wink--"considers you negligent in the matter of Sanderline Johnson's unscheduled flight."

I winked back. "He thinks I bought him the ticket."

Ho, ho, ho. "Lad, you dearly amuse this old man. By any chance were you raised Catholic?"

"Lutheran."

"Aah, a Prod. Christianity's second string, G.o.d bless them. Do you still believe, lad?"

"Not since my pastor joined the German-American Bund."

"Aah, Hitler, G.o.d bless him. A bit unruly, but frankly I preferred him to the Reds. Lad, did your second-string faith feature an equivalent to confession?"

"No."

"A pity, because at this moment our interrogation rooms are filled with confessees and confessors, that grand custom being utilized to offset any untoward publicity this Federal business might foist upon the Department. Bra.s.s tacks, lad. Dan Wilhite has told me of Chief Exley's potentially provocative fixation on the Kafesjian family, with you as his agent provocateur. Lad, will you confess your opinion of what the man wants?"

Sidestep: "I don't like him any more than you do. He got chief of detectives over you, and I wish to h.e.l.l you'd gotten the job."

"Grand sentiments, lad, which of course I share. But what do you think the man is doing?"

Feed him--my Johnny snitch prelim. "I think--maybe--he's sacrificing Narco to the Feds. It's a largely autonomous division, and _maybe_ he's certain that the Fed probe will prove successful enough to require a scapegoat that will protect the rest of the Department _and_ Bob Gallaudet. Exley is two things: intelligent and ambitious. I've always thought that he'll get tired of police work and try politics himself, and we know how tight he is with Bob. I think--_maybe_--he's convinced Parker to let Narco go, with his eye on his own G.o.dd.a.m.n future."

"A brilliant interpretation, lad. And as for the Kafesjian burglary itself, and your role as Exley's chosen investigating officer?"

I ticked points: "You're right, I'm an agent provocateur. Chronologically: Sanderline Johnson jumps, and now Noonan hates me. The Southside Fed probe is already rumored, and the Kafesjian burglary occurs coincident to it. Coincident to _that_, I operate a pinko politician who's enamored of Noonan. Now, the Kafesjian burglary is nothing--it's a pervert job. But the Kafesjians are sc.u.m personified and tight with the LAPD's most autonomous and vulnerable division. At first I thought Exley was operating Dan Wilhite, but now I think he put me out there to draw heat. I'm out there, essentially getting nowhere on a worthless pervert 459. It's a one--I mean _two_-man job, and if Exley _really_ wanted the case cleared he would have put out a half-dozen men. I think he's running me. He's playing off my reputation and running me."

Dudley, beaming: "Salutary, lad--your intelligence, your lawyer-sharp articulation. Now, what does Sergeant George Stemmons, Jr., think of the job? My sources say he's been behaving rather erratically lately."

Spasms--don't flinch. "You mean your source Johnny Duhamel. Junior taught him at the Academy."

"Johnny's a good lad, and your colleague Stemmons should trim his disgraceful sideburns to regulation length. Did you know that I co-opted Johnny to the Hurwitz investigation?"

"Yeah, I'd heard. Isn't he little green for a case like that?"

"He's a grand young copper, and I heard that you yourself sought to command the job."

"Robbery's clean, Dud. I'm looking out for too many friends working Ad Vice."

Ho-ho, wink-wink. "Lad, your powers of perception have just won you the undying friendship of a certain Irishman named Dudley Liam Smith, and I am frankly amazed that two bright lads such as ourselves have remained merely acquaintances all these many years."

SNITCH DUHAMEL.

DO IT NOW.

"On the topic of friendship, lad, I understand that you and Bob Gallaudet are quite close."

Hallway noise--grunts/thuds/"Dave Klein my friend!"

Lester--sweat box row.

I sprinted over--door number 3 was just closing. Check the window-- Lester handcuffed, dribbling teeth--Breuning and Carlisle swinging saps overtime.

Shoulder wedge-I snapped the door clean.

Breuning--distracted--huh?

Carlisle--blood-fogged gla.s.ses.

Out of breath, pitch the lie: "He was with me when Wardell Knox was killed."

Carlisle: "Was that a.m. or p.m.?"

Breuning: "Hey, Sambo, try to sing 'Harbor Lights' now."

Lester spat blood and teeth in Breuning's face.

Carlisle balled his fists--I kicked his legs out. Breuning yelped, bloodblind--I sapped his knees.

That brogue: "Lads, you'll have to release Mr. Lake. Lieutenant, bless you for expediting justice with your splendid alibi."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Dear Mr. Hughes, Mr. Milteer:

On the dates of 11/11, 11/12 and 11/13/58, Glenda Bledsoe partic.i.p.ated in actively publicizing performers currently under contract to Variety International Pictures, a clear legal breach of her contract with Hughes Aircraft, Tool Company, Productions et aI. Specifically, Miss Bledsoe allowed herself to be photographed and interviewed with actors Rock Rockwell and Salvatore "Touch" Vecchio, on matters pertaining to their acting careers outside the production/publicity confines of _Attack of the Atomic Vampire_, the motion picture all three are currently involved with. Specifics will follow in a subsequent note, but you should now be advised that Miss Bledsoe's Hughes contract is legally voided: she can be sued in civil court, dunned for financial damages and blackballed from future studio film appearances under various clauses of her Hughes contract. My continued surveillance of Miss Bledsoe has revealed no instances of actress domicile theft; if items are missing from those premises, most likely they have been stolen by local youths employing loose window access: such youths would know that the domiciles were intermittently occupied and take their thievery from there. Please inform me if you wish me to continue surveilling Miss Bledsoe; be advised that you now have enough information to proceed with all legal dispatch.

Respectfully, David D. Klein

Dawn--the trailer. Glenda sleeping; Lester curled up outside by the s.p.a.ceship.

I stepped out; Lester stirred and gargled T-Bird. Confab: the camera boss and director.

"Come on, Sid, this time the head vampire _plucks_ the guy's eyes out."

"But Mickey's afraid I'm making things too gruesome. I ... I don't know."

"Jesus Christ, you take the extra and pour some fake blood in his eyes."

"Wylie, _you_ come on. Let me have coffee before I start thinking gore at six-forty-nine in the morning."

Lester weaved over--cut, bruised. "I always wanted to be a movie star. Maybe I stick aroun' an extra day or so, play the Negro vampire."

"No, Breuning and Carlisle will be looking for you. They didn't pin Wardell Knox on you, but they'll find something."

"I don't feel so much like runnin'."

"_You do it_. I told you last night: call Meg and tell her I said she should stake you. You want to end up dead for resisting arrest some G.o.dd.a.m.n night when you think they've forgotten about it?"

"No, I don't think I do. Say, Mr. Klein, I never thought I'd see the day Mr. Smith gave me a break."

I winked a la Dudley. "He likes my style, lad."

Lester strolled back to his bottle. The director fisheyed me--I strolled to the trailer, nonchalant.

Glenda was reading my note. "David, this could kill--I mean _ruin_ me in the film business."

"We have to give them something. If they believe it, they won't press theft charges. And it diverts attention from the actress pads."

"There's been nothing on TV or in the papers."

"The more time goes by, the better. Hughes might report him missing, and the body will be found sooner or later. Either way, we might or might not be questioned. I had words with him, so I'm more likely to be a pro forma suspect. I can handle it, and I know you can handle it. We're. . . oh s.h.i.t."

"We're _professionals?_"

"Don't be so cruel, it's too early."

She took my hands. "When can _we_ go public?"

"We may have already. I shouldn't have stayed so late, and we should probably cool things for a while."

"Until when?"

"Until we're cleared on Miciak."

"That's the first time we've said his name."

"We haven't really talked about it at all."

"No, we've been too busy sharing secrets. What about alibis?"

"For up to two weeks you were home alone. After two weeks you don't remember--n.o.body remembers that long."

"There's something else bothering you. I could tell last night."

Neck p.r.i.c.kles--I blurted it. "It's the Kafesjian job. I was questioning a girl who knows Tommy K., and she said Lucille did call jobs for Doug Ancelet."

"I don't think I knew her. The girls never used their real names, and if I knew someone similar to the way you described her, I would have told you. Are you going to question him?"

"Yeah, today."

"When did she work for Doug?"

"_Doug?_"

Glenda laughed. "_I_ worked for Doug briefly, after the Gilette thing, and you're disturbed that I used to do what I did."

"No--I just don't want you connected to any of this."

Lacing our fingers--"I'm not, except that I'm connected to you"-- squeezing tighter--"So _go_. It's Premier Escorts, 481 South Rodeo, next to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel."

I kissed her. "You make things worse, then you make them better."

"No, it's just that you like your trouble in smaller doses."

"You've got me."

"I'm not so sure. And be careful with Doug. He used to pay off the Beverly Hills Police."

I walked--lightheaded. Lester serenaded winos by the s.p.a.ceship-- "Harbor Lights"--the gap-toothed version.

Phone news: Woods spotted Junior in Darktown--then lost him running a red light. Jack--irked, going back out: "It looks like he's living in his car. He had his badge pinned to his coat, like he's a f.u.c.king Wild West sheriff, and I saw him buying gas with two big automatics shoved down his pants."

Bad, but: He hit box 5841-check under his doormat, grab the key, check his mail slot. "Four envelopes, Dave. Jesus, I thought you were sending me after jewels or something. And you owe me-"

I hung up and drove over. There: the key, the slot, four letters. Back to my car--Champ Dineen mail.

Two letters sealed, two slit. I opened the sealed ones--both from _Transom_ to Champ--recent postmarks. Inside: fifty-dollar bills, notes: "Champ--Thanx mucho, Harris"; "Champ--Thanx, man!"

Two slit--left for safekeeping?--no return address, Christmas '57 postmarks. Eleven months P0 box stashed--why?