Джеймс Эллрой - This Storm

Moss said, “They’re in this here war, the last time I heard.”

Collier rolled his eyes and held up the Herald. “You all know this, right? Eddie Leng bought it New Year’s Eve. Safe to say you also know the Japs hate the Chinks. The Chief wants you guys to keep your ears down in J-town.”

Blanchard said, “Who’s working it for the Bureau?”

Collier said, “Nobody. The Chief’s kicked it over to Ace Kwan. Let the Chinks police the Chinks, he always says.”

Elmer said, “Eddie Leng was Four Families, and Ace runs Hop Sing. You see a certain hypocrisy there?”

Rice said, “Jackson’s a Bolshevik.”

They walked to J-town. Unjailed Japs voodoo-eyed them. Oooga-booga. It’s B-Squad, on the hoof.

They wore civvies and carried pump shotguns. Rock-salt rounds replaced buckshot. Rock salt knocked you down and pocked your ass bloody. It stopped short of instant death.

Kapek and Rice dwarfed Elmer. They hoofed three abreast and dwarfed all known Japs. Yanigahara lived on East 2nd. Yamazaki lived on East 1st. Kapek hit a call-box phone and summoned a whore wagon. The wagon met them outside the Yamazaki crib.

Bad Bobby went peaceful. Elmer wrote the inventory and gave him a cigar. There was no evil swag extant. Bad Bobby owned boocoo jazz records and zoot suits. Plus pulp westerns and a Packard-Bell radio. Nix on hate tracts and guns.

They tape-sealed the door and dumped Bobby in the wagon. They hit East 2nd Street. Willy J. Yanigahara went peaceful.

Elmer wrote the inventory and gave him a cigar. There was no evil swag extant. Racy swag, though.

Kapek found a stack of girlie mags. Rice bootjacked them. Elmer found a locket stuffed with blond pubic hair. A note was jammed in. It read “To Willy, love always, Lorene.”

Elmer bootjacked it. They tape-sealed the door and dumped Willy in the wagon. The wagon trailed them south on San Pedro.

Donald Matsura lived at 219 3rd. His pad was upstairs rear. There was no elevator. B-Squad hoofed it up and back.

Rice banged the door. Music snapped off inside. A skinny Jap opened up.

He was TB-ward thin. He had gassed hair topped by a jigaboo hairnet. He had pinned-out, darty eyes.

Oooga-booga. He put out dat fear stink.

Elmer said, “Son, don’t you rabbit.”

Matsura squealed words, Jap-talk falsetto.

Rice and Kapek grabbed him. They smashed him against the door and cuffed his hands behind his back.

Matsura squealed squeal words. They verged on crazy-man squeaks. Rice grabbed his hair and smashed his face into the doorjamb. Matsura screeched falsetto. Elmer ran through the crib and eyeball-tossed it.

He saw ratty furniture and a fly-swarmed kitchen.

He saw a console radio and smelled burned-out tubes.

He dumped a hamper full of sock-padded jockstraps.

He dumped a nightstand full of gold swastika paperweights and Goldlover magazines.

He saw a terpin hydrate still. It was hooked up to a four-burner hot plate. It featured feeder vats and four yeast spouts.

He saw a take-out menu for Eddie Leng’s Kowloon.

He opened a closet. He saw samurai swords up the wazoo.

He ran back to the front room. Rice and Kapek had Matsura pinned to that wall.

They wheeled and saw Elmer. They stopped rabbit-punching Matsura. They dropped their mitts and went Well?

Matsura squirmed loose and ran out the doorway. Kapek gave him a ten-yard lead and raised his shotgun.

He let three rounds fly. Rock salt shredded the shirt off Matsura’s back and scalped off most of his hair.

Dudley said, “I’ve issued a blanket arrest order. All Japs registered in the ’40 census. Noncoms and State Police have been dispatched.”

Coffee klatch. Strict dress code. Olive drabs for SIS. Statie fasco black.

They perched in Ralph Melnick’s office. The boss served coffee and sweet rolls. His ODs were crumb-flecked.

“Captain Smith lets no moss grow under his feet. Isn’t that right, José?”

Vasquez-Cruz winked. Dudley winked back. They sat in Chinese lacquered chairs. Melnick worked the Asia desk back in the Ming dynasty.

“No, Major. He does not. Captain Smith is not here to coddle Fifth Columnists or view the notorious donkey show at the Blue Fox.”

Melnick slapped his knees. Almond flecks flew. Desk knickknacks rattled.

Dudley said, “I’ve reserved cells and interrogation rooms at the Statie barracks. The coastal site has been sealed and is now under guard. My police chemist will be driving down later today. He’ll forensic the sailors and the submarine itself.”

Melnick said, “ ¿Qué pasa, amigo? What did you make of it all?”

“I think Mexican leftists killed the sailors, sir. I’ll investigate with that in mind.”

Vasquez-Cruz smirked. He knew the truth. Or thought he did.

Melnick slurped coffee. “We’ve got sixteen dead saboteurs. You could say we got lucky, and let it go at that.”

“They were Fifth Column, sir. That’s undeniable. I’ll be grilling our in-custody Japs, with an eye toward turning leads along those lines.”

Melnick checked his watch and went Shit-I’m-late. He saluted and booked out the door.

Vasquez-Cruz smirked anew. Smug little shit. His mother cavorts with El Burro. He was born at the Blue Fox.

“ ‘Mexican leftists,’ hardly. You told me something quite different.”

Dudley lit a cigarette. “Let’s discuss money first.”

“We should begin with Carlos Madrano. You blew up his car, and a great many burned U.S. dollars were found amid the wreckage. Madrano had just left the Colonet Inlet, where the first sub had berthed. Now we have a second beached submarine. I’m thinking there may be additional monies hidden onboard.”

Dudley said, “I searched the Colonet sub and found ten thousand dollars U.S. My friend Hideo Ashida did the bulk of the work. We gave the money to Madrano, in exchange for our safety. I think we will find a similar amount in this newly beached craft. We will split the money, of course.”

Vasquez-Cruz pulled his chair up. “There is more to tell me, I’m sure.”

Dudley pulled his chair up. Their knees bumped. Burro Junior winced.

“There’s a fugitive at large in Los Angeles. His name is Tommy Glennon, and I know him rather well. I think Tommy killed a Chinese restauranteur, Eddie Leng, that I told you about. He disappeared the night Leng was killed, and they were both known to be jungled up in the Four Families tong. I also consider it likely that Tommy knows Lin Chung, a dubious physician who is surely privy to both sub berthings and sabotage plots. Tommy ran wets for Carlos Madrano and was dunning me for information about the man, when I last saw him. I think Tommy is part of all this, but he had to have had considerable help here in Baja.”

Vasquez-Cruz oozed delight. He fluffed his cravat and tee-heed.

“Such strategic insight. You are Robespierre, reborn.”

Dudley laughed. “Our mandate is to foil sabotage and make money.”

Vasquez-Cruz stuck his hand out. Dudley bone-crushed it. Vasquez-Cruz went Caramba — such strength.

Claire was out. Dudley patched switchboard calls straight from the suite.

He got Mike Breuning. They bypassed amenities. Mike reported this:

Drift per Tommy Glennon. Tommy owed Eddie Leng money. Eddie was crowding him. Jack Horrall palmed the Leng snuff off on Uncle Ace. Jack hated Chink snuffs. Their heathen customs fucked things up. Chinks should arbitrate Chinks.

The Alien Squad popped a Jap named Donald Matsura. He was a terp man and renaissance lowlife. He showed up in dead Eddie’s KA file. Matsura knew Tommy and Chink sawbones Lin Chung.