Free L.A. Confidential by James Ellroy Page A

protecting Stens from niggers. The speaker: "Sergeant Vincennes to room 114, Officer White report to Chief Green's office. The rest of you men are dismissed."
      114--the grand jury witness room.
      Jack walked ahead, through curtains down to 114. A crowded room: Bloody Christmas plaintiffs, Ed Exley in a too-new suit, loose threads at the sleeves. The Xmas boys sneered; Jack braced Exley. "You're the key witness?"
      "That's right."
      "I should've known it was you. What's Parker throwing you?"
      "Throwing me?"
      "Yeah, Exley. _Throwing you_. The deal, the payoff. You think I'm testifying for free?"
      Exley futzed with his glasses. "I'm just doing my duty."
      Jack laughed. "You're playing an angle, college boy. You're getting something out of this, so you won't have to hobnob with the fucking rank-and-file cops who are going to hate your fucking guts for snitching. And if Parker promised you the Bureau, watch out, Some Bureau guys are gonna burn in this thing and you're gonna have to work with friends of theirs."
      Exley flinched; Jack laughed. "Good payoff, I'll admit that."
      "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.

    o        o          o

      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