"Gentlemen, I'm Dave Klein. I'm commanding the Herrick homicide job, and per Chief Exley's order, you are to keep a twenty-four rolling surveillance on J.C., Tommy, Lucille and Madge Kafesjian. We are hoping that one of them will lead us to Richard Herrick, who Chief Exley and I want to question as a material witness in the Herrick 187s."

Little nods--Exley pre-briefed them.

"Gentlemen, those folders on your desks contain Intelligence Division photos of the four Kafesjians, along with State Records Bureau mugs of Richard Herrick, and a more recent artist's sketch of him. Know those faces. Memorize them. You'll be stringing three-man tails on each family member, both mobile and on foot, and I don't want you losing them."

Folders open, pix out--pros.

"You're all skilled tail men, or Chief Exley wouldn't have chosen you. You've got radio-equipped civilian cars, and Communications Division has got you hooked up on band 7, which is absolutely Fed-listening-proof. You're hooked up car to car, so you can talk among yourselves or contact me here at the base. You all know how to leapfrog suspects, and there are boom mikes outside the Kafesjian house. There's a man in a point car listening, and once you a.s.sume your perimeter posts, he'll tell you when to roll. Questions so far?"

No hands up.

"Gentlemen, if you see Richard Herrick, apprehend him alive. He's a peeper at worst, and both Chief Exley and I believe that a man peeping on him is in fact the Herrick family killer. If approached, I doubt that he'll react violently or resist arrest. He might try to flee, in which case you should pursue him and take him alive by any means necessary. _Should you spot one of the Kafesjians, specifically Tommy or J.C., trying to kill or in any way harm Richard Herrick, kill them_. If Tommy himself spots your tail and attempts to flee, chase him. If he makes any aggressive moves toward you, _kill him_."

Whistles, smiles.

"Go--you're dismissed."

Bugs in my walls, bugs on my phone. Bugs snooping on Glenda, snooping on Meg. Fred Turentine--the "Bug King"--guarding Chick.

Bugs in my buildings--three hundred units plus. Tenants overheard: fix the roof, kill the rats. Bugs blasting bop--n.i.g.g.e.rs tearing up my slum pads.

"Sir? Lieutenant Klein?"

I woke up aiming--trigger happy.

A bluesuit--scared. "S-s-sir, the point man broadcast in. He said the two Kafesjian guys are mobile, and he said he heard them talking up Richie Herrick."

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Tail reports--band 7, continuous squawk: 11:14: Madge and Lucille at home. J.C. and Tommy driving eastbound--separate cars.

11:43: J.C. at the downtown Public Library. Tail men in foot pursuit-- walkie-talkie talkback: The music room--J.C. rousting winos. "Hey! You know Richie Herrick, he used to read books here! Hey, you seen Richie, you tell me!"

No Richie confirmations.

12:06: J.C. mobile, eastbound.

12:11: Madge and Lucille at home.

Earaches--my headset fit tight.

12:24: J.C. at a skid-row movie house.

"He's shining a flashlight at all these b.u.ms sleeping. He's getting nowhere, and he's getting mad."

12:34: J.C. walking--Q&A at the Jesus Saves Mission.

12:49: Tommy walking--skid row.

12:56: Tommy at a skin-book arcade.

12:58: Tommy talking to a clerk.

Linkage?: _Transom_ magazine--Richie Herrick, author.

1:01: Tommy muscling the clerk. Unit 3-B67, walkie-talkie: "The guy's pleading with Tommy. If Tommy pulls a weapon, I'll go in."

1:01: J.C. at a hot-dog stand.

1:03--1:04: Tommy driving northbound.

1:06: Unit 3-B67, walkie-talkie: "I talked to the clown Tommy leaned on, and he said that Richie bought dirty magazines there. He said Richie said something about a pad in Lincoln Heights, and he told Tommy about it to get him off his back."

1:11: Tommy--Pasadena Freeway north.

1:14: Tommy--Lincoln Heights off-ramp.

1:19: J.C. eating lunch: five kraut dogs, Bromo Seltzer.

1:21: Lucille heading out in her Ford Vicky.

1:23: Tommy cruising North Broadway, Lincoln Heights.

1:26: Madge at home.

1:34: J.C. scarfing dessert: jelly doughnuts and beer.

1:49: Tommy cruising side streets, Lincoln Heights.

1:53: Lucille--Pasadena Freeway northbound.

1:56: Lucille--Lincoln Heights off-ramp.

1:59: 3-B67/3-B71--crosstalk: Lucille cruising Lincoln Heights.

Tommy cruising Lincoln Heights.

North/south/east/west zigzags--missing each other.

Educated guess: Two Richie chasers chasing Richie--cross-purposes.

Maybe Lucille got a phone tip-maybe the skin-mag clerk.

2:00--2:04: All J.C./Tommy/Lucille units: No Richie Herrick sightings.

Transmitter static. I flipped dials--squelch, odd words: "multiple," "maybe mob stuff," "Watts."

A clerk tapped me. "Sorry, Lieutenant, a Code 3 screwed up the lines."

"What is it?"

"Homicides at the Haverford Wash. Maybe shotguns, maybe gangster stuff."

My hackles jumped. "You monitor band 7, I'm going."

Watts--Code 3, join the crowd: black & whites, lab vans, Fed cars. _Deep_ Watts--rural--fields, scattered shacks.

A bluff--cop vehicles at the edge. I skidded up and fishtailed in close.

Men looking down--Feds and LAPD combined. Push through, scope it: A concrete run-off ditch--twenty feet deep.

Sewage water ankle-high--tech men kicking through it.

Blood streaks down the right-side embankment.

Four garbage-soaked bodies just below.

Steep cement leading down--I skidded all the way. Tech guys snapping pix--bulb light bouncing off b.l.o.o.d.y water.

I looked up: Trees lining the embankment--good cover.

I looked down: Shotgun sh.e.l.ls bobbing in the muck.

Call it: Tree-cover ambush--buckshot blew them down.

I sloshed over--techs swarming--more sirens up top. Four bottomsucking dead men--their backsides ripped tailbone to ribcage.

Jumbled voices on the bluff: Noonan, Shipstad, Exley. Lab men flipping bodies, getting gore-splashed.

Four stiffs face-up now--two white, two Mex. I made three: goons working Mickey C. coin.

Snap conclusion: Dudley ambush--NO FACE SHOTS--Darktown slot geek victims.

Snap theory: Staged killings for the Feds--some onus dropped on out-of-town gangs. A Dudley Smith charade--SOMEHOW.

Look: Exley kicking up water--his cuffs soaked.

Noonan closer--trousers rolled, f.u.c.king garters.

Tech talk, scrambled: Handguns on the stiffs.

Spent rounds up top--threads attached--the killers wore bulletproof vests.

Lab men swamping Exley, holding him back. Noonan on me, splashing me.

Waving photos--matching dead men--dead panicked.

"Oh G.o.d, oh no. We identified these--"

I steered him clear of Exley. Noonan kicked at the water--shotgun sh.e.l.ls jumped.

"We identified these men. Mickey Cohen divested his Southside coin machines to them. They're part of a midwestern syndicate.... Mickey said they're the ones who killed those men of his who just disappeared a while ago. Mickey's got no stomach for the rackets anymore. .. . He sold them his coin business to get out of it."

Bulls.h.i.t--actor Mickey--Glenda critiqued his "style."

Noonan: "We turned Mickey as a witness. We granted him immunity and promised him a Federal Service Medal. He thinks it will help him secure a district gambling franchise, which is absurd, since that bill will never pa.s.s the State Legislature."

Mr. U.S. Attorney--plaid garters.

"Klein, do _you_ know anything about this?"

"Major Witness" Mickey--confirmed. A flash: Bob Gallaudet supported district gambling.

Exley watching us.

"Klein--"

"No, I don't."

"This may hurt us. Mickey was going to testify against those men."

"Us"/"we"--Glenda juked Fed royal.

"I want an extra day before I enter custody."

"Under no circ.u.mstances. Don't ask me again, and don't even consider begging additional favors. This is your last day to resolve your curiosity vis-a-vis the Kafesjians, and as of tomorrow those curiosities will become a matter of Federal testimony."

Mr. U.S. Attorney--used rubbers stuck to his ankles.

"Who do you think killed these guys?"

"I would say East Coast mafiosi. I would say the word got out that Mickey divested his coin machines, and some East Coast men are attempting to crash the racket."

Clueless dumbf.u.c.k.