Chick and Joanie, walking love-draped: Into a vacant courtyard, up the RIGHT side walkway.

Then: Carried, treading air.

RIGHT turn--a s.k.a.n.ky room--MOVIE TIME.

Now: Sucking air--hard to breathe-Johnny replays zinging me.

Pete pulled up curbside. "Chick pa.s.sed me a note. He knows some guys making s.m.u.t films here, so he thought Joanie'd like that angle. Movie stars never fail to f.u.c.king amaze me."

Memory clicks--brutal late: Glenda said Sid Frizell was shooting stag films.

"At some abandoned dive."

"Down in LYNWOOD."

"Hey, Klein, are you okay?"

Weapon check: .45, sap, knucks. "Let's go."

Pete loaded his camera. "It's all set. We go in on 'Baby, it's so good.'"

Ready: knuck teeth sc.r.a.ped my law-school ring.

Pete: "Now."

We ran in: stucco cubes, walkways, gra.s.s.

Place it then and now: Movie time, Johnny begging: "PLEASE DON'T KlLLME."

s.e.x grunts--a right-side shack midway down. Tiptoes up, listen: s.m.u.t moans, Chick: "Baby, it's so gooood."

Pete camera ready.

Looks, nods, kicks--we snapped the door clean.

Pitch black half a second.

Flashbulb pops: Joan Crawford gobbling Chick V. tonsil-deep.

Speedo: Bulb blips--Joanie running out the door bare-a.s.s, shrieking.

Chick pawing at a wall switch--the lights on.

A magnum on the nightstand--I grabbed it and scoped the room: Mirrored walls.

Linoleum floor--maroon dots-dried blood.

Chick on the bed, zipping his fly.

Knucks/gun b.u.t.t--quick-- I bashed his face, racked his nuts, cracked his arms. Bone jar up my hands--Chick balled himself tight.

A shadow on the bed--Pete restraining me. "_Ease off_. I gave Crawford some clothes and some money. _We've got time to do this right_."

Chick doubled up, quaking, good cause: two giant fists flexing straight at him.

Canned shtick--Pete gleeful: "The left one's the hospital, the right one's death. The right one steals your life while the left steals your breath. These hands are bad juju and the bad boogaloo, they're the teeth of the demon as he slides down the flue."

Chick stood up--b.l.o.o.d.y, trembly. "I am Outfit. I am a made guy. Feature you are both dead for this."

Pete: "Dave, ask the man a question."

I said, "You set me up. I told you I was meeting a 'pretty-boy strongarm cop' in Lynwood. Now, for starters you tell me who you told and how they got that home-movie idea."

"Feature I will tell you nothing."

Pete grabbed him by the neck. Flick: two hundred pounds airborne. Chick hit the far wall--mirror gla.s.s shattered.

Rag doll Chick--this "huh?" look.

Pete right there--stomp, stomp--fingers cracking under his heels. Chick showed b.a.l.l.s: no audible grief.

I knelt down. "You set me up with the Kafesjians."

"Go f.u.c.k yourself."

"Chick, we go back. This doesn't have to be ugly."

"Feature you _are_ ugly."

"You fingered me to the Kafesjians. Cop to it and go from there."

"I didn't clue n.o.body you were meeting that cop you told me about. So you got set up, what the f.u.c.k, they set you up. Feature I knew they set you up, but feature it was after the G.o.dd.a.m.n fact."

"You said 'they.' You mean the Kafesjians?"

"I mean it's a figure of G.o.dd.a.m.n speech. You got set up 'cause you were born for it, all the s.h.i.t you pulled and walked on. You got set up, but feature I didn't do it."

Pete: "I didn't know you knew the Kafesjians. I thought you were strictly a Mickey guy."

"f.u.c.k you. You're a chump change pimp for Howard Hughes. I f.u.c.ked your mother. My dog f.u.c.ked your mother."

Pete laughed.

Chick--broken fingers, shock pale: "Feature I been roughhoused before. Feature I gave you a free introductory answer, but from here on in you get s.h.i.t."

Blood flecks on the floor--Johnny begging.

"You said 'they.' You mean the Kafesjians? Give me some details I can use."

"You mean feed to the Feds? I know you rolled over for Welles Noonan."

This greaseball thug--sweating off Joan Crawford's perfume.

"Hand the f.u.c.kers up. Give me details."

"Detail this"--one smashed middle finger twirling. "Suck on this, you kraut c.o.c.ksuck--"

I grabbed his hand--a wall socket close-jam that f.u.c.k-you finger in-- Sparks/smoke--Chick convulsing--live-wire jolts shaking me.

Pete shook me: "STOP IT, YOU'LL KlLL HIM!"

Chick shook free: juiced-up hip-hops on his knees, going green.

Fast: Pete tossed him on the bed. Pillows, sheets, blankets--one mummified geek inside seconds.

Hip-hops sputtering out, his green tinge fading.

Johnny Duhamel begging--IN THIS ROOM.

I grabbed the magnum and popped the cylinder. Six rounds--I dumped five.

Pete nodded: I _think_ he's okay.

Show the gun, show the cylinder--spin it, lock it.

Chick--read his eyes--"You wouldn't."

I aimed point blank--my gun, his head. "You said 'they.' Did you mean the Kafesjian family?"

No response.

I pulled the trigger--_click_--empty chamber.

"How'd you get in with the Kafesjians? I didn't know you knew them."

No response.

I pulled the trigger--_click_--empty chamber.

"I know you gave Jack Woods the contract on Abe Voldrich, and Jack said Mickey ordered it. I don't believe that, so you tell me who really did."

Chick, raspy: "f.u.c.k you."

I pulled the trigger--twice----empty chambers.

Pete whooped: "Mother dog!"

Rainbow Chick turning gray/green/blue.

c.o.c.k the hammer, eeeaase the trigger sooo slooow . . .

"Okay, okay PLEASE!"

I pulled the gun back. Chick coughed, spat phlegm and talked: "I got this order to recruit a hit on Abe Voldrich. Feature they figured I was too well known on the Southside to do it myself, so I thought, 'Dave Klein, he could get burned by this Federal biz,' and 'Jack Woods, he does a job for a price, he's Dave's buddy, he'd want to spare Dave grief,' so I talked him into it that way, not that he didn't jew me up on the ticket.."

Raspy working on hoa.r.s.e: "So, feature--I _talked_ to Voldrich. The Feds cut him loose to take care of some stuff for a day or so, and I wanted to know what he knew before I had Jack clip him. Now, now, now"--snitch fever--"you just listen."

Pete popping his knuckles--loud, like hammer clicks.

Chick, thrashing his blankets: "Voldrich said the Feds were hot to turn you as a witness. He said he overheard Welles Noonan and this FBI man Shipstad talking. They said they bugged your pad, and they've got a tape with you talking this amorphous stuff about your mob hits, and Glenda Bledsoe saying she snuffed some n.i.g.g.e.r pimp named Dwight Gilette. Feature, Davey: Noonan told Shipstad he was going to offer you immunity, get a s.h.i.tload of information, then violate the agreement unless you testify against Glenda on the murder charge. Shipstad tried to talk Noonan out of crossing you, but Noonan hates you so bad he said he'd never agree."

Feature: The bed spinning.

The room spinning.

The gun spinning-- "Who are 'they'?"

"Davey, please. I just did you this all-time solid."

"Something's off here. You're not the one the Kafesjians would send to pump Abe Voldrich. Now, who set me up to kill Johnny Duhamel?"

"Davey, _please_."

Everything spinning-- "Please, Davey. . ."

I hit him--gun-b.u.t.t shots--his blankets caught the brunt. I pulled them down--ribcage work--the bed spun.

"Who set me up?"

No snitch.

"What's with Mickey? Why are those out-of-town guys working his slots with the Feds right there?"

No snitch.

"You're in with the Kafesjians? You're tight with them? _You f.u.c.king tell me what you know about Tommy chasing a guy named Richie Herrick_."

No snitch--ribcage work--my pistol grips shattered. Pete flashed me a signal: EASY.

I spun the cylinder again. "Is Sid Frizell shooting s.m.u.t films here?"

No answer.

I pulled the trigger--_click_--empty chamber.

Chick balled up, quaking-- Pull the trigger--_click_--empty chamber.

Quaking/snitch-begging eyes: "They said they needed a strongarm place, so I said take this place, Sid and his crew were editing their stag stuff, so this place was empty."