James Ellroy - L. A. Confidential

"You're the payoff expert. Not me."

"You'll be outranking me pretty soon, so I should be nice. Did you know Ellis Loew's new girlfriend has the hots for you?"

A clerk called, "Edmund J. Exley to chambers."

Jack winked. "Go. And clip those threads on your coat or you'll look like a rube."

Exley walked across the hall-primping, pulling threads.

Jack killed time-thinking about Karen. Ten days since the party; life was mostly aces. He had to apologize to Spade Cooley; Welton Morrow was pissed over him and Karen-but the lukewarm Joanie/Ellis Loew deal almost made it up for him. Hotel shacks were a strain-Karen lived at home, his place was a dive, he'd been neglecting his payments to the Scoggins kids to make the freight at the Ambassador. Karen loved the illicit romance; he loved her loving it. Aces. But Sid Hudgens hadn't called arid L.A. was heroin dry-no Narco jollies. A year at Ad Vice loomed like the gas chamber.

He felt like a fighter ready to dive. The Christmas geeks kept staring; the punk he'd thumped had on a nose splint-probably a phony some Jew lawyer told him to wear. The grand jury room door stood ajar; Jack walked over, looked in.

Six jurors at a table facing the witness stand; Ellis Loew hurling questions-Ed Exley in the box.

He didn't play with his glasses; he didn't hem and haw. His voice went an octave lower than normal-and stayed even. Skinny, not a cop type, he still had authority-and his timing was perfect. Loew pitched perfect outside sliders; Exley knew they were coming, but acted surprised. Whoever coached him did a fucking-A bang-up job.

Jack picked out details, sensed Exley reaching, a war hero-not a weak sister in a cellblock full of rowdies. Loew glossed over that; Exley's answers hit smart: he was outnumbered, his keys were snatched, he was locked in a storeroom-and that was that. He was a man who knew who he was, knew the futility of cheap heroics.

Exley spieled: rat-offs on Brownell, Hufl Doherty. He called Dick Stensland the worst of the worst, didn't blink snitching Bud White. Jack smiled when it hit him: everything is skewed toward our side. Krugman, Pratt, Tucker, pension safe-were set up- for his testimony. Stensland and White-heading for indictment city. What a fucking performance.

Loew called for a summation. Exley obliged: pap about justice. Loew excused him; the jurors almost swooned. Exley left the box limping-he'd probably jammed his legs asleep.

Jack met him outside. "You were good. Parker would've loved it." Exley stretched his legs. "You think he'll read the transcript?" "He'll have it inside ten minutes, and Bud White'll fuck you for this if it takes the rest of his life. He was called in to Thad Green after the show-up, and you can bet Green suspended him. You had better pray he cops a deal and stays on the Department, because that is one civilian you do not want on your case."

"Is that why you didn't tell Loew he brought most of the liquor?"

A clerk called, "John Vincennes, five minutes."

Jack got up some nerve. "I'm snitching three old-timers who'll be fishing in Oregon next week. Next to you, I'm clean. And smart."

"We're both doing the right thing. Only you hate yourself for it, and that's not smart."

Jack saw Ellis Loew and Karen down the hall. Loew walked up. "I told Joan you were testifying today, and she told Karen. I'm sorry, and I told Joan in confidence. «Jack, I'm sorry». I told Karen she couldn't watch in chambers, that she'll have to listen over the speaker in my office. «Jack, I'm sorry»."

"Jewboy, you sure know how to guarantee a witness."

Bud nursed a highball.

Jukebox noise pounded him; he had the worst seat in the bar-a sofa back by the pay phones. His old football wounds throbbed-like his hard-on for Exley. No badge, no gun, indictments shooting his way-the fortyish redhead looked like the best thing he'd ever seen. He carried his drink over.

She smiled at him. The red looked fake-but she had a kind face. Bud smiled. "That an old-fashioned you're drinking?"

"Yes, and my name's Angela."

"My name's Bud."

"Nobody was born with the name 'Bud."'

"They stick you with a name like 'Wendell,' you look for an alias."

Angela laughed. "What do you do, «Bud?»"

"I'm sorta between jobs right now."

"Oh? Well, what «did» you do?"

SUSPENDED! YOU DUMB FUCK LOOKING. A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH! "I wouldn't play ball with my boss. Angela, what do you say-"

"You mean like a union dispute or something? I'm in the United Federation of Teachers, and my ex-husband was a shop steward with the Teamsters. Is that what you-"

Bud felt a hand on his shoulder. "Lad, might I have a word with you?"

Dudley Smith. CALL IT I.A. RUNNING TAILS.

"This business, Lieutenant?"

"It is indeed. Say good night to your new friend and join me by those back tables. I've told the bartender to turn the music down so we can talk."

A jump tune went soft; Smith walked off. A sailor had his hooks into Angela. Bud eased over to the lounges.

Cozy: Smith, two chairs, a table-a newspaper covering the top, a little mound underneath. Bud sat down. "Is I.A. tailing me?"

"Yes, and other likely indictees. It was your chum Exley's idea. The lad has a piece of Chief Parker's ear, and he told him that you and Stensland might be driven to commit rash acts. Exley vilified you and many other fine men on the witness stand, lad. I've read the transcript. His testimony was high treason and a despicable affront to all honorable policemen."

Stens-holed up on a bender. "Don't that paper say we been indicted?"

"Don't be precipitous, lad. I've used my piece of the chief's ear to have your tail called off, so you're with a friend."

"Lieutenant, what do you want?"

Smith said, "Call me Dudley."

"«Dudley», what do you want?"

Ho, ho, ho-a beautiful tenor. "Lad, you impress me. I admire your refusal to testify and your loyalty to your partner, however unfounded. I admire you as a policeman, particularly your adherence to violence where needed as a necessary adjunct to the job, and I am most impressed by your punishment of woman beaters. Do you hate them, lad?"

Big words-his head spun. "Yeah, I hate them."

"And for good reason, judging from what I know of your background. Do you hate anything else quite so much?"

Fists so tight his hands ached. "Exley. Fucking Exley. Trashcan Jack, he's gotta be up there, too. Dick Stens is giving himself cirrhosis 'cause those two squealed us off."

Smith shook his head. "Not Vincennes, lad. He was the stalking horse for the Department, and we needed him to give the D.A.'S Office some bodies. He only snitched twenty-year men, and he took the blame for the liquor you brought to the party. No, lad, Jack does not deserve your hatred."

Bud leaned over the table. " Dudley, what do you want?"

"I want you to avoid an indictment and return to duty, and I have a way for you to do it."

Bud looked at the newspaper. "How?"

"'Work for me."

"Doing what?"

"No, more questions first. Lad, do you recognize the need to contain crime, to keep it south of Jefferson with the dark element?"

"Sure."

"And do you think a certain organized crime element should be allowed to exist and perpetuate acceptable vices that hurt no one?"

"Sure, pork barrel. The game's gotta be played that way a little. What's this got to do-"

Smith yanked the paper-a badge and.38 special gleamed up. Bud, scalp prickles. "I knew you had juice. You squared it with Green?"

"Yes, lad, I squared it-with Parker. With the part of his ear that Exley hasn't poisoned. He said if the grand jury didn't hand down a bill against you, your refusal to testify would not be punished. Now pick up your things before the proprietor calls the police."