"Just that the girl has a mad crush on you and believes your press clippings. I assured Joan that those clippings are true. Karen tells Joan that so far you've behaved like a gentleman, which I find hard to believe."
"That ends tonight, I hope. After our little double date, it's the _Badge of Honor_ wrap party and an intimate interlude somewhere."
Loew twisted his vest chain. "Jack, has Joan been playing hard to get or does she really have that many men chasing her?"
Jack twisted the knife. "She's a popular kid, but all those movie star guys are just fluff. Stick to your guns."
"Movie stars?"
"Fluff, Ellis. Cute, but fluff."
"Jack, I want to thank you for coming along tonight. I'm sure you and Karen will be superb icebreakers."
"Then let's hit it."
o o o
Don the Beachcomber's--the women waiting in a wraparound booth. Jack made introductions. "Ellis Loew, Karen Morrow and Joan Morrow. Karen, don't they make a lovely couple?"
Karen said, "Hello," no hand squeeze--six dates and all she put out were bland good-night kisses. Loew sat next to Joan; Joanie checked him out--probably sniffing for signs of Jewishness. "Ellis and I are good phone chums already. Aren't we?"
"We are indeed"--Loew working his courtroom voice.
Joan finished her drink. "How do you two know each other? Do the police work closely with the District Attorney's Office?"
Jack kiboshed a laugh: I'm Jewboy's bagman. "We build cases together. I get the evidence, Ellis prosecutes the bad guys."
A waiter hovered. Joan ordered an Islander Punch; Jack asked for coffee. Loew said, "Beefeater martini." Karen put a hand over her glass. "Then this Bloody Christmas thing will strain relations between the police and Mr. Loew's office. Isn't that likely?"
Loew hit quick. "No, because the LAPD rank and file wish to see the wrongdoers dealt with severely. Right, Jack?"
"Sure. Things like that give all policemen a black eye."
The drinks arrived--Joan took hers down in three gulps. "You were there, weren't you, Jack? Daddy said you always go to that station party, at least since your second wife left you."
Karen: "_Joanie!_"
Jack said, "I was there."
"Did you take a few licks for justice?"
"It wasn't worth it to me."
"You mean there weren't any headlines to be had?"
"Joanie, be quiet. You're drunk."
Loew fingered his tie; Karen fingered an ashtray. Joan slurped the rest of her drink. "Teetotalers are always so judgmental. You used to attend that party after your _first_ wife left you, didn't you, Sergeant?"
Karen gripped the ashtray. "You goddamn bitch."
Joan laughed. "If you want a hero policeman, I know a man named Exley who at least risked his life for his country. Granted, Jack's smooth, but can't you see what he is?"
Karen threw the ashtray--it hit the wall, then Ellis Loew's lap. Loew stuck his head in a menu; Joanie bitch glowered. Jack led Karen out of the restaurant.
o o o
Over to Variety International Pictures--Karen bad-mouthing Joanie non-stop. Jack parked by the _Badge of Honor_ set; hillbilly music drifted out. Karen sighed. "My parents will get used to the idea."
Jack turned on the dash light. The girl had dark brown hair done in waves, freckles, a touch of an overbite. "What idea?"
"Well . . . the idea of us seeing each other."
"Which is going pretty slow."
"That's partly my fault. One minute you're telling me these wonderful stories and the next minute you just stop. I keep wondering what you're thinking about and thinking that there's so many things you can't tell me. It makes me think you think I'm too young, so I pull away."
Jack opened the door. "Keep getting my number and you won't be too young. And tell me some of your stories, because sometimes I get tired of mine."
"Deal? My stories after the party?"
"Deal. And by the way, what do you think of your sister and Ellis Loew?"
Karen didn't blink. "She'll marry him. My parents will overlook the fact that he's Jewish because he's ambitious and a Republican. He'll tolerate Joanie's scenes in public and hit her in private. Their kids will be a mess."
Jack laughed. "Let's dance. And don't get star-struck, people will think you're a hick."
They entered arm in arm. Karen went in starry-eyed; Jack scoped his biggest wrap bash yet.
Spade Cooley and his boys on a bandstand, Spade at the mike with Burt Arthur "Deuce" Perkins, his bass player, called "Deuce" for his two-spot on a chain gang: unnatural acts against dogs. Spade smoked opium; Deuce popped "H"--a _Hush-Hush_ roust just looking to happen. Max Pelts glad-handing the camera crew; Brett Chase beside him, talking to Billy Dieterling, the head cameraman. Billy's eyes on his twist, Timmy Valburn, Moochie Mouse on the _Dream-a-Dream Hour_. Tables up against the back wall--covered with liquor bottles, cold cuts. Kikey Teitlebaum there with the food--Pelts probably had his deli cater the party. Johnny Stompanato with Kikey, ex--Mickey Cohen boys huddling. Every _Badge of Honor_ actor, crew member and general hanger-on eating, drinking, dancing.
Jack swept Karen onto the floor: swirls through a fast-tune medley, grinds when Spade switched to ballads. Karen kept her eyes closed; Jack kept his open--the better to dig the shmaltz. He felt a tap on the shoulder.
Miller Stanton cutting in. Karen opened her eyes and gasped: a TV star wanted to dance with her. Jack bowed. "Karen Morrow, Miller Stanton."
Karen yelled over the music. "Hi! I saw all those old Raymond Dieterling movies you made. You were great!"
Stanton hoisted her hands square-dance style. "I was a brat! Jack, go see Max--he wants to talk to you."
Jack walked to the rear of the set--quiet, the music lulled. Max Pelts handed him two envelopes. "Your season bonus and a boost for Mr. Loew. It's from Spade Cooley."
Loew's bag was fat. "What's Cooley want?"
"I'd say insurance you won't mess with his habit."
Jack lit a cigarette. "Spade doesn't interest me."
"Not a big enough name?"
"Be nice, Max."
Peltz leaned in close. "Jack, _you_ try to be nicer, 'cause you're getting a bad rep in the Industry. People say you're a hard-on, you don't play the game. You shook down Brett for Mr. Loew, fine, he's a goddamn faigeleh, he's got it coming. But you can't bite the hand that feeds you, not when half the people in the Industry blow tea from time to time. Stick with the shvartzes-- those jazz guys make good copy."
Jack eyeballed the set. Brett Chase in a hobnob: Billy Dieterling, Timmy Valburn--a regular fruit convention. Kikey T. and Johnny Stomp shmoozing--Deuce Perkins, Lee Vachss joining in. Pelts said, "Seriously, Jack. Play the game."
Jack pointed to the hard boys. "Max, the game is my life. You see those guys over there?"
"Sure. What's that--"
"Max, that's what the Department calls a known criminal assembly. Perkins is an ex-con wheelman who fucks dogs, and Abe Teitlebaum's on parole. The tall guy with the mustache is Lee Vachss, and he's made for at least a dozen snuffs for Mickey C. The good-looking wop is Johnny Stompanato. I doubt if he's thirty years old, and he's got a racket sheet as long as your arm. I am empowered by the Los Angeles Police Department to roust those cocksuckers on general suspicion, and I'm derelict in my duty for not doing it. Because I'm _playing the game_."
Pelts waved a cigar. "So keep playing it--but pianissimo on the tough-guy stuff. And look, Miller's bird-dogging your quail. Jesus, you like them young."
Rumors: Max and high school trim. "Not as young as you."
"Ha! Go, you fucking gonif. Your girl's looking for you."