Джеймс Эллрой - The Big Nowhere

Buzz ripped the best Coleman pic off the wall, pocketed it and found a table stacked with reports from the Bureau men. He quick-skimmed the latest update; all the officers had accomplished was a shakedown of Lesnick’s parolee daughter — she said the old man was just about gone from his lung cancer and was thinking about checking into a rest home to check out. He was about to pocket a list of local sanitariums when he heard “Traitor,” and saw Mickey and Herman Gerstein standing a few feet away.

Cohen with a clean shot, but a half dozen witnesses spoiling his chance. Buzz said, “I suppose this means my guard gig’s kaput. Huh, Mick?”

The man looked hurt as much as he looked mad. “Goyishe shitheel traitor. Cocksucker. Communist. How much money did I give you? How much money did I set up for you that you should do me like you did?”

Buzz said, “Too much, Mick.”

“That is no smart answer, you fuck. You should beg. You should beg that I don’t do you slow.”

“Would it help?”

“No.”

“There you go, boss.”

Mickey said, “Herman, leave this room”; Gerstein exited. The typers kept typing and the clerks kept clerking. Buzz gave the little hump’s cage a rattle. “No hard feelin’s, huh?”

Mickey said, “I will make you a deal, because when I say “deal,” it is always to trust. Right?”

“Trust” and “deal” were the man’s bond — it was why he went with him instead of Siegel or Dragna. “Sure, Mick.”

“Send Audrey back to me and I will not hurt a hair on her head and I will not do you slow. Do you trust my word?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust I’ll get you?”

“You’re the odds-on favorite, boss.”

“Then be smart and do it.”

“No deal. Take care, Jewboy. I’ll miss you. I really will.”

Pacific Sanitarium — fast.

Buzz turned off PCH and beeped his horn at the gate; the squawk box barked, “Yes?”

“Turner Meeks to see Dr. Lux.”

Static sounds for a good ten seconds, then: “Park off to your left by the door marked ‘Visiting,’ go through the lounge and take the elevator up to the second floor. Doctor will meet you in his office.”

Buzz did it, parking, walking through the lounge. The elevator was in use; he took stairs up to the second floor, saw the connecting door open, heard, “Okie baboon” and stopped just short of the last step.

Terry Lux’s voice: “...but I have to talk to him, he’s a pipeline to Howard Hughes. Listen, there should be something in the papers today I’m interested in — a guy I used to do business with was murdered. I just heard about it on the radio, so go get me all the LA dailies while I talk to this clown.”

Odds on Lux-Gordean business: six to one in favor of. Buzz retraced his steps to the car, grabbed his billy club, stuck it down the back of his pants and took his time walking inside. The elevator was empty; he pushed the button for 2 and glided up thinking how much Terry loved money, how little he cared where it came from. The door opened; the dope doc himself was there to greet him. “Buzzy, long time no see.”

The administrative corridor looked nice and deserted — no nurses or orderlies around. Buzz said, “Terry, how are you?”

“Is this business, Buzz?”

“Sure is, boss. And on the extra QT. You got a place where we can talk?”

Lux led Buzz down the hall, to a little room with filing cabinets and facial reconstruction charts. He closed the door; Buzz locked it and leaned on it. Lux said, “What the hell are you doing?”

Buzz felt the billy club tickling his spine. “Spring of ’43 you did a plastic job on Reynolds Loftis’ son. Tell me about it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Check my ’43 files if you like.”

“This ain’t negotiable, Terry. This is you spill all, Gordean included.”

“There’s nothing to negotiate, because I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Buzz pulled out his baton and hit Lux behind the knees. The blow sent Lux pitching into the wall; Buzz grabbed a fistful of his hair and banged his face against the door jamb. Lux slid to the floor, trailing blood on polished mahogany, sputtering, “Don’t hit me. Don’t hit me.”

Buzz backed up a step. “Stay there, the floor looks good on you. Why’d you cut the boy to look like his old man? Who told you to do that?”

Lux tilted his head back, gurgled and shook himself like a dog shedding water. “You scarred me. You... you scarred me.”

“Give yourself a plastic. And answer me.”

“Loftis had me do it. He paid me a lot, and he paid me never to tell anybody about it. Loftis and the psycho had essentially the same bone structure, and I did it.”

“Why’d Loftis want it done?”

Lux moved into a sitting position and massaged his knees. His eyes darted to an intercom phone atop a filing cabinet just out of reach; Buzz smashed the contraption with his stick. “Why? And don’t tell me Loftis wanted the boy to look like him so he could be a movie star.”

“He did tell me that!”

Buzz tapped the baton against his leg. “Why’d you call Coleman a psycho?”

“He did his post-op here, and I caught him raiding the hatchery! He was cutting up the chickens with one of those zoot sticks my men use! He was drinking their goddamn blood!”

Buzz said, “That’s a psycho, all right”; he thought Terry had to be clean on snuff knowledge: the fool thought chickens were as bad as it got. “Boss, what kind of business did you do with Felix Gordean?”

“I didn’t kill him!”

“I know you didn’t, and I’m pretty damn sure you don’t know who did. But I’ll bet you hipped him to something about Reynolds Loftis back around ’43, ’44 or so, and Gordean started collectin’ hush money on it. That sound about right?”

Lux said nothing; Buzz said, “Answer me, or I’ll go to work on your kidneys.”

“When I tell Howard about this, you’ll be in trouble.”

“I’m finished with Howard.”

Lux made an overdue move. “Money, Buzz. That’s what this is about, right? You’ve got an angle you want to buy in on and you need help. Am I right?”

Buzz tossed his stick out, holding the end of the thong. The tip hit Lux in the chest; Buzz jerked it back like a yo-yo on a string. Lux yipped at the little wonder; Buzz said, “Coleman, Loftis and Gordean. Put them together.”

Lux stood up and straightened the folds of his smock. He said, “About a year after the reconstruction on Coleman I went to a party in Bel Air. Loftis and his so-called kid brother were there. I pretended not to know them, because Reynolds didn’t want anyone to know about the surgery. Later on that night, I was out by the cabanas. I saw Coleman and Loftis kissing. It made me mad. I’d plasticed the kid for an incestuous pervert. I knew Felix liked to put the squeeze on queers, so I sold him the information. I figured he blackmailed Loftis. Don’t look so shocked, Meeks. You would have done the same thing.”

Minear’s file quote: “If you knew who he was, you’d know why I snitched” — the one reference Doc Lesnick let slip into the grand jury team’s hands — the half-dead old stoolie had to know the whole story . Buzz looked at Lux culling back his dignity, pushed him into the wall and held him there with his stick. “When’s the last time you saw Coleman?”

Lux’s voice was high and thin. “Around ’45. Daddy and Sonny must have had a spat. Coleman came to me with two grand and told me he didn’t want to look so much like Daddy anymore. He asked me to break his face up scientifically. I told him that since I enjoy inflicting pain, I’d only take a grand and a half. I strapped him into a dental chair, put on heavy bag gloves and broke every bone in his face. I kept him on morph while he recovered down by the chicken shed. He left with a teeny weeny little habit and some not so teeny little bruises. He started wearing a beard, and all that was left of Reynolds was the set of his eyes. Now, do you want to take that goddamn club off of me?”