I walked up behind him and tapped his shoulder. He turned around. I could tell he recognized me immediately. “Hi, Augie,” I said, “remember me?” He looked around for a means of escape. I glimpsed an eerie intelligence in his eyes.
“I remember you,” he said, “from the Tap and Cap. You were looking for Fat Dog. What do you want?”
“I want to make sure the thing that happened to Fat Dog doesn’t happen to you.”
“What happened to Fat Dog?”
“He’s dead.” I grabbed my necktie, twisted it up to form a hangman’s noose and contorted my face. Augie grimaced. He was very scared. “A lot of people have been dying, Augie. Thanks to your old buddy, Hot Rod Ralston. You’re next unless you talk to me.”
“Hot Rod said that Fat Dog just got hurt.”
“The big hurt, the final one. Talk to me.”
Augie gulped and moved his feet in a little dance of fear. He was sweating now, but not from the heat, and I sensed that he wanted to talk. I went on. “I talked to the barman at the Tap and Cap this morning. He said you came up here to help the cops find out who killed those three caddies. The barman thought you were crazy, acting like a kid. But I don’t. I think you’re a good man and you’ve got a lot of guts. If we work together we can crack this thing. What do you say?”
“I say right on! I say Augie Dougall’s taken enough shit in his life. I say fuck ’em all and save six for the pall-bearers.”
“Good man. Let’s get out of this heat. I’ve got a car with air conditioning.”
We walked to the car. I locked us in and put the air on full. Augie fiddled with the seat release, finally pushing it all the way back to provide adequate leg room. He had at least three inches on me.
“A lot of people think you’re nothing but a big dummy, don’t they, Augie? But I know different. I’m a trained observer and I can tell intelligence when I see it, I’ll tell you what I’m interested in: Fat Dog, Ralston, some sort of Welfare scam and how it all ties in to Sol Kupferman. Be honest, Augie. I heard that conversation you had with Ralston yesterday. He means to hurt you, he thinks you’ve been lying to him. We can’t let that happen. I’ll start by laying my cards on the table. Fat Dog Baker firebombed the Club Utopia back in ’68. Let’s go from there.”
Augie went ashen faced. He started to cough and lit a cigarette. When he spoke his voice was breaking. “Jesus God. You know. And Hot Rod knows and God knows who else. Jesus.”
“How did you find out, Augie?”
“Fat Dog told me, when he was drunk. I believed him. He hated Kupferman because Kupferman was taking care of his sister. He used to get his rocks off by starting fires. I believed him.”
“Did you put Omar Gonzalez onto Ralston?”
“Yeah. I knew something funny was going on between Fat Dog and Hot Rod. Fat Dog gave Hot Rod a lot of shit, and Hot Rod’s a bad man to fuck with. Once they was having an argument at the first tee and Hot Rod says ‘Don’t forget what I know about you, you bastard.’ So I figured he knew. I figured if he knew, he might have written it down somewhere. That’s why I called Gonzalez. I remembered him from the Joe Pyne Show. I figured maybe I could get at Fat Dog and Hot Rod through him.”
“Why did you want to get back at them?”
“For treating me like a slave! Like a retardo! Always laughing at me for being so tall! Augie, the stick! But I’ll show them! I’ll get the scrapbook and name names! I’ll go to the police and be a hero! I’ll...”
I placed a gentle hand on his arm. “What do you know about this scrapbook, Augie? The first I heard about it was yesterday.”
“I don’t know nothing about it, except Burger Hansen and Bobby Marchion was killed for it. They was both old running partners with Fat Dog. Burger used to be in the golf ball business with him. That’s why they was killed. It’s got to be. They was just drunks and loopers. Nobody murders people like that. They used to get drunk and smoke dope under that embankment. They never hurt nobody. Now they’re dead. That’s wrong! It’s evil!”
“I agree. And the evil is about to stop.” I tried a stab in the dark: “Tell me about Ralston’s Welfare scam, Augie.”
Augie’s face went blank. “What Welfare scam?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about no Welfare scam. Hot Rod’s got this hotel he owns where all these bums on Welfare live. Winos. He collects their checks each month and takes out for their rent and bar tab. Is that what you mean?”
“No, Augie. I was just thinking out loud.”
“Hot Rod’s evil. You got to be evil to do something like that. Hot Rod don’t care about nothin’ but money and fucking women. Once he showed me these naked pictures he took of Fat Dog’s sister with her legs open. He told me he fucked her. I knew her. She was a sweet young girl. She used to cook really good spaghetti at the caddy lunchstand. And Hot Rod talked about her like she was scum.”
“You mark my words, Augie, within one week Hot Rod Ralston is not going to have a pot to piss in. Four people that I know of are dead because of him and he’s going to pay for it.” Augie looked at me with unabashed hero worship. “One last thing,” I said, “you told Ralston yesterday that Cal Myers told Fat Dog about me on the golf course. Exactly what did he say?”
Augie screwed his face in a memory search: “That you was a private eye in name only. That you was on the sauce. That you weren’t as smart as you thought you was. That you liked to give people shit.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all I can remember.”
“And Fat Dog said he was going to ‘use’ me for something, right?”
“Right. But he didn’t tell me what it was.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I remember I asked him, but he said never mind. Fat Dog could be real silent and crafty like. What are you gonna do now?”
“Talk to Burger Hansen’s widow, look for the scrapbook. What about you?”
“Hide out with my cousin. When you go to the cops, will you tell them I helped you?”
“In spades, Augie. But you can’t stay here in Cat City. Someone was looking for the scrapbook at your cousin’s place. You’ve both got to blow town. You got bread?”
“Not much.”
I checked my wallet and laughed. Forty-three dollars. In the course of the last three weeks I had dished out more money to informers and victims and to assuage my guilty German soul than I had earned in my first year as a cop. “I’m Tap City, Augie,” I said, “but I’ll tell you what to do. Cal Myers owes me one — you get back to L.A. and call him. Tell him Fritz Brown said for him to lay a grand on you. Don’t mention this case or what it’s for. If he won’t give you the bread, say this: January 29, 1971. That will pry it out of him.”
“Ain’t that like blackmail? I know Cal Myers. he’s a hard case and a cheap loop. Catbox Cal they call him, ’cause he’s always in the sand trap.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll kick loose. I’ll take you back to your cousin’s pad. When he gets back, tell him you’ve both got to split for a few weeks. Has he got a car?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Get in it and take off.” I started up my own battered chariot, pulled it off the shoulder and pointed it towards Charlie Dougall’s house. “Do you know Hansen’s wife, Augie?” I asked.
“Well enough,” he said. “She’s a good old girl. Loopers who get hitched up have a knack for picking loyal women. She put up with a lot of shit from old Burger. She didn’t like his drinking, though. She’s in A.A. herself, that’s why Burger used to get bombed under the freeway. Marguerita wouldn’t let him drink at home. You know, Fritz, I feel good. It’s real funny. I don’t know what’s going to happen, where I’m going to, but I feel like I’ve done something. Something real. For the first time.”