Free James Ellroy_Underworld U.S.A. 03 by Blood's a Rover Page B

was on your time card, sir.”
    â€œYou’re dying to tell me something. You want my opinion? I think you smell money.”
    The
shelter
smelled: must, mildew, money for sure.
    â€œGretchen, Arnie Moffett and Farlan Brown. Tell me what you haven’t told me.”
    â€œWhy should I do that,
schmendrick
? You know what
schmendrick
means? It’s a synonym for
schlemiel.
”
    â€œI’m trying to help you, sir. I’m just—”
    â€œâ€”a kid adventurer who fell into some shit with Clyde Duber. And now you’ve fallen into some shit with me. Clyde’s paying you six dollars an hour, but I’m going to split a full million with you.”
    A squirrel sat on the steps. Dr. Fred aimed the Luger and plugged it. The shot sonic-boomed the shelter. The squirrel vaporized. Dr. Fred snagged the ejected shell in mid-twirl.
    â€œI knew Gretchen was working me, but I didn’t think she’d steal from me. A snatch is a snatch, but a ganef’s a ganef.”
    Crutch rubbed his ears. “There’s more to it than that.”
    â€œWhy do you say that? You’re a
schmendrick
. You’re Phil Irwin minus the snootful of juice.”
    â€œDon’t shit a shitter, sir. I’m putting some names together, and they’re all going one place.”
    Dr. Fred said, “Dracula.” Crutch went
huh
? Sonic-boom remnants banged his eardrums.
    Dr. Fred re-holstered. “So, I got suspicious of Gretchie. So, I rifled her purse and found Arnie Moffett’s number. So, I called Arnie. So, Arnie was pliable. So, I paid him for the scoop on Gretchie. So, he told me thatGretchie was trying to get next to a Howard Hughes
macher
named Farlan Brown.”
    Crutch said, “So?” A last boom-warble faded.
    â€œSo,
I
wanted to get next to Hughes. We’ve got the same racial sensibility, and I’ve got a purification plan he can bankroll. I had a rival named Wayne Tedrow Senior. Between the two of us, we had the hate-tract biz dicked. He just died, and his numbnuts kid Wayne Junior may be Dracula’s new point man. I want to get my hands on Senior’s hate-mail stash and get next to Dracula, and I’m thinking this Mormon hump Farlan Brown is the key. I’m too controversial to make the approach, but a kid loser like you could breeze in innocuous.
Life
magazine is offering a million bucks for a snapshot of Hughes, and a kid opportunist like you could get close.”
    Tilt, swerve, veer and blood on his pants—Crutch said, “Yessir.”

6
    (Las Vegas, 6/20/68)
    A nother hotel suite. Another bum room-service meal.
    Mr. Hoover told him to stay perched in Vegas. The Wayne Senior snuff vexed him. He wanted Wayne Junior mollified and assessed. Thus the bullshit layover. Thus the time at LVPD. Thus the limp salad and gristly steak.
    Dwight pushed his plate away. Food taxed him. It slowed him down and sapped the jolt he got off nicotine and coffee. The Chicago guys owned the Stardust. The FBI was allegedly anti-mob. They kept a vouchered suite there anyway. Mr. Hoover had no beef with organized crime. That was strictly Bobby K.’s bête noire and downfall. Mr. Hoover hated Commies, jigs and lefty gadflies. Mr. Hoover probably
loved
limp salads and gristly steaks.
    The fucking Stardust. Four thousand slot machines and velvet-flocked suites. The Chicago guys were hot to dump the joint on Howard Hughes. Count Dracula was hot to buy it. The guys would skim the Count blind.
    And Wayne Tedrow
Junior
is facilitating it. Wayne’s fucking his dying stepmom. They killed Wayne
Senior
. Dwight and Senior went
waaaaay
back. Dwight grooved Junior as a
wiiiiild
piece of work. Now he’s out to get Junior a skate on Murder One.
    Cluster fuck.
    It was 114° outside. The wall vents spritzed ice. Dwight got that hotel-captive feeling and paced the suite.
    Shit kept crisscrossing. Buddy Fritsch was
too
nervous. The Vegas SAC said Junior-killed-Senior rumors