Джеймс Эллрой - This Storm

Dudley stood by Constanza’s PO box. He read the snuff piece three times. Sid Hudgens inked it. Jackson and Meeks blew up Frankie Carbajal. Frankie torture-slashed and shot Meyer Gelb. “ ‘Gelb snuff open and shut,’ B.H. cops state.”

Constanza was late. Like Salvy was late. Like Welles was late. People stood him up now. People sandbagged him and jailed him. People ignored his phone calls.

Hideo was nowhere. He was AWOL himself. He’d bolted the squadroom and relinquished his command. Jack Horrall bailed him out. The Staties seized his biz fronts. Jack told him to lay low in Baja. “We’re holding your job for you, Dud. The PD’s your home, and always will be. Poke some señoritas, and work on your tan.”

Constanza was late. She said she’d meet him at 9:00. She was expecting a package. From Russia, no less.

From a “Comrade Dimitri.” A package of “grave import.” Constanza spoke in riddles now. She ignored him in bed. His squadroom outburst and jail stint provoked the retreat. She patronized him. She urged him to buck up and fly right.

Dudley chain-smoked. He reread the Herald piece. Sid Hudgens, ubiquitous. Sid’s scandal rag slandered him. It was true drift, regardless. He called Sid and left a message with the copy chief. Sid ignored his call.

Constanza showed. She ran a sorry-I’m-late number and kissed him on the cheek. Put some oomph in it, you chola whore. I’m still Dudley Smith.

She unlocked her box. Two packages were crammed in. One rolled package. One flat package. The rolled package was V-mail-stickered and Russian-postage-stamped. It was addressed to Comrade C. Lazaro-Schmidt.

The flat package was ruler-marked. Straight edges, right angles, no cursive exposed. It was sent from Bev’s Switchboard. It’s the minutes, dear Lord.

They read in Constanza’s bedroom. The text was Russian and German. Constanza was fluent in both. The paper looked authentic. The seal looked authentic. The Nazi eagle and Russian bear were conjoined as one beast. The Wolf disapproved.

Constanza read him through the text. Inconsistencies accrued. Dudley considered them. Constanza read him through again. Dudley nailed a basic falsehood.

The text read wrong, overall. It stooped to defamation. It defamed Salvy Abascal as it exalted Meyer Gelb. It plainly stated Salvy’s presence at the confab. That was patently untrue. Dudley plumbed connective threads and nailed the source.

Joan Conville. She reads a tract Salvy wrote. It was sent to the klub haus. It critiqued more than praised the Baja confab. The minutes ridiculed Salvy. He loved the British monarchy. He hated the Irish. He despised Catholicism. He wished to appropriate the Baja rackets. He needed a ruthless American front man for this.

Joan reads the tract. She tells him about it. She tells Hideo Ashida. The basic falsehoods of these minutes germinate there.

The minutes have been forged. They were retroactively composed and geared to provoke confrontation. Salvy is underestimated. The forger lays out divisive fodder. He seeks to spark a Smith-Abascal war. His duplicitous design reveals itself here:

The sabotage incursion. It violates D. L. Smith’s no-sabotage decree. Salvy declines to ride north with the wetback saboteurs. It underlines D. L. Smith’s jailhouse revelation. Salvy is Comrade #1.

He is locked-in fucking certain of it. These minutes were composed and sent before the attacks. They exposit a preattack assertion.

Meyer Gelb is Comrade #1. He believes it. Hideo Ashida believes it. A second confrontation is provoked here. It’s D. L. Smith versus Comrade Gelb. The forger cannot foresee the attacks or Comrade Gelb’s death. Genius is one thing. Prescience is another. The minutes are brilliantly conceived and executed. The technical skill. The boldness and glibness. Hideo Ashida forged the minutes. Hideo Ashida betrayed him and trashed his deep love.

Dudley said, “They’re a fake. It’s Hideo Ashida’s work. He’s the only one capable of it.”

Constanza said, “Betrayal does not occur in a vacuum. Ashida had to have help. You will notice that my brother is not mentioned in this document. The omission is deliberate. Ashida wants to protect Juan. First he rapes me and pimps me to his Kameraden. Now he attempts to rape you. Dry your wet eyes, my frail darling. Kill Juan in my name. Kill him before I cease to love you.”

El Governor always worked late. Constanza told him that. He worked at home and at the Baja Government Palace. Go by the palace. Look for a fourth-floor light burning. He might be there. He might be at home.

Dudley drove by the palace. No fourth-floor light burned. He brought his gold bayonet. Constanza decreed death by blade.

They’d sniffed cocaine and made love. She encouraged him. She urged him to seek her favor and atone for his recent sloth. She bundled him off with the Wolf.

Dudley drove by the house. Juan’s office light burned. A winding footpath led to a backdoor. Juan kept it unlocked. Constanza told him that.

He parked streetside. He consulted the Wolf. They discussed political and romantic alliance. Constanza had coupled with Salvy and Kyoho Hanamaka. She admitted the liaisons. She did not withhold love affairs past. Lovers past withheld from her. They withheld the truth of the gold. She knew no more than he did. The Wolf told him that.

Dudley left the car unlocked. The Wolf walked point. He sniffed the footpath and low-growled. They hooked around to the back door. Dudley swung the bayonet and mauled rosebushes and shrubs.

The door stood ajar. They entered the house. Turn right and then left. Constanza told him that. “Juan never shuts his office door. He’ll look up from his desk and see you. I know him as a sister and lover does.”

They followed her dictates. They stepped into the office. Constanza failed them here. The office was lit bright. There was no Juan.

Dudley dropped the bayonet. The Wolf cocked his head. Dudley walked to Juan’s desk. A note had been placed on the blotter. Juan employed an elegant cursive. It covered a single sheet.

April 11, 1942

Dear Major Smith,

She will convince you to kill me sooner or later. Having no wish to die, I have resigned my governor’s position and have flown to Havana. I will remain there for the war’s duration. You have mutilated me, but I will not let you kill me.

Terry Lux has allayed the marks of your mutilation, and we had quite the chat about you. I brought up your union with Constanza; Terry found the notion perturbing.

“Those two only love efficaciously,” he said. “Dudley must be after more than Constanza’s favors. Don’t tell me. He’s heard about the gold, and has fixed upon your luscious sister as integral to the prize.”

We laughed ourselves silly. I won’t shilly-shally here — Terry’s a long-standing Kamerad. He’s heard about the gold. He’s coveted it, and dismissed it as so much piffle in much the same manner as the rest of us have. Terry turned serious at this point. He said, “What was Constanza after? She’s as jaded on the gold front as you and I.”

I said, “She wants Dudley to kill me.” Terry replied, “Go somewhere safe, Juan. Dud will go to outrageous lengths to appease women. He’s quite the child in that regard.”

I’ll close now, and head to the airfield. Has Constanza told you that I raped her and took her as my incestuous child bride? The truth is altogether more subtly complicitous than that.

All best,

Claire was off at Mass. She intended to pick Joan Klein up at Otto’s place and bring her back here for a visit. Young Joan had a surprise for us; it entailed the piano in Claire’s suite. I had joyous notions about that surprise — but the swirl of what I now call All of It ruled my thoughts.