He shimmed the lock-jamb juncture. The door wiggled and popped wide. He stepped inside and shut himself in. He walked back out of sight.
There were no first-floor lockers. They were all upstairs.
Ashida walked up. The steps creaked. He almost shrieked. He clamped his mouth and held it in. Shrieks made him sound effete.
There’s the lockers. There’s rows and rows. It reprised Bucky at Belmont. The boys gym, the showers, the locker room.
He walked the rows. He pegged 648. He strolled the rows and saw no one. He walked back to 648.
The boy’s gym, redux. The same gray metal locker, the same padlock.
He slid the key in the keyhole and turned it. The padlock snapped.
He opened the door. It was right there on the shelf. May ’31, redux. Memo to Karl Tullock and Wayne Frank Jackson.
You’re dead and I’m not. I’ve got what you don’t. It’s solid gold and weighs thirty pounds. You died for this.
25
(Los Angeles, 1:30 A.M., 1/8/42)
Late cocktails at Brenda’s. Three old pals and inveterate nite owls. Comfy chairs and ticker-tape dish.
The Japs take the Malay Peninsula. The Japs eye the Dutch East Indies. The PD slams local Japs. The Feds slam local cops.
Brenda said, “Jack Horrall’s scared, Citizens. The probe’s got his dick in a twist.”
Elmer said, “The probe’s a shuck. That’s straight from Sid Hudgens. Ed Satterlee’s J. Edgar’s straw man. They’ll let the probe fizzle out and put it to some Hollywood Reds.”
Kay said, “Satterlee’s in with Hop Sing. I picked that up when I was deep off in Bill Parker’s incursion. Bill told me he was selling leads on Japanese confiscations.”
Brenda said, “Katherine Ann reveals herself. She’s gone from ‘Captain Parker’ to ‘Bill’ in a hot tick. ‘Sweetie Pie’s’ warming up in the bull pen.”
Kay laughed. Brenda stirred the fireplace. Elmer relit his cigar.
“Ed Satterlee’s a drip. He wouldn’t cut it in our white man’s PD.”
Brenda lit a cigarette. “Elmer’s jealous. Ed’s spent notable time with his pal Ellen Drew, which I will readily concede that he pays for.”
Elmer said, “Let’s change the subject.”
Brenda sipped Cointreau. “It’s Citizen Kay’s turn to yak. As long as she don’t start extolling Maestro what’s-his-name and those Stalin lovers out in Brentwood.”
Kay lit a cigarette. “The Maestro’s name is Klemperer, and most of his friends are Trotskyites. There’s quite a rabid distinction.”
Elmer blew smoke rings. “The Reds are all rabid dogs. So’s Kay’s friend Bill. But he don’t hold with Roosevelt, much less the Russkies.”
Kay said, “I’m worried about him.”
Brenda said, “You’re jealous, Citizen.”
Kay bristled. “Tell me why I should be.”
Elmer said, “You’re front row at Lyman’s, so you’ve seen the big redhead. That’s one damn good ‘why’ in my book.”
Kay doused her butt in Elmer’s highball. Elmer woofed. There she is — Katherine Ann Lake, hopping mad.
“I know the rumor, Elmer. 502 PC and vehicular homicide. She’s working at the lab now.”
Elmer looked at Kay. Lamplight torched her eyes. Why euphemizize? He loved her past all hoo-ha and hurt.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said. I know how you feel about Captain Bill.”
Brenda said, “Look at you two. You’ll be spooning there on the couch sometime soon.”
Elmer laughed. Kay rolled her eyes. Brenda tossed an ice cube and missed her.
“Here’s a ripe rumor, Citizens. I saw Bill Parker kissing a big redhead outside City Hall, and he had to stand on his tiptoes to do it.”
Ellen said, “You keep forgetting our rules. ‘No shop talk in bed,’ ‘no talk about my husband or the baby.’ ”
The bed sagged. The headboard drooped. Elmer smelled cheap pomade on the sheets.
“He’s Elmer Jr. You can’t tell me he don’t resemble me.”
“You weren’t in play at the moment of conception.”
Nite-owl serenade. A 4:00 a.m. quickie. Elmer Jr. messed with Ellen’s sleep. Elmer Sr. capitalized.
“Toss me a little one. How dirty’s Ed Satterlee? I know you trick with him, and I’m not jealous.”
Ellen twisted up two fingers. “He’s like that with the Chinks.”
“Stale bread. Give me something hot off the griddle.”
Ellen mulled it. Thunder slammed the windows. Junior squalled one room over.
“He’s bragging about all this Fifth Column work he’s doing. Mr. Hoover wants to extort some key guys, and he wants Ed to run sex shakedowns.”
Lyman’s ran round the clock. They served select pols and cops after hours. Elmer cruised the bar. It was wee-hours packed. Select nite owls waved.
Lee Blanchard. Joan Conville. Thad Brown. Two-Gun Davis and Mike Breuning, Buzz Meeks from Robbery.
Elmer hit the back room. He evicted Catbox Cal Lunceford. He called chez Satterlee. He woke up Ed the Fed. He told him this:
“If this probe of yours is a shuck, why are you working it so hard?”
Ed said, “Shit.” Ed said, “I’ll meet you at Lyman’s in ten minutes.”
Elmer hung up and fixed breakfast. He chugged one ginger ale and gobbled three bennies. Ed showed in six minutes flat.
He snarled. You-redneck-fucker-you-fucked-with-my-sleep. He fixed himself a Bromo and drained it.
“Who told you it’s a shuck?”
“A little birdie.”
“A little birdie named Ellen Drew?”
“Talk circulates, Ed.”
Satterlee flopped on the couch. Elmer flopped beside him.
“Okay, it’s a shuck. Mr. Hoover’s putting a sheep dip on that punk Wallace Jamie. He’ll be off to Congress before you know it.”
Elmer tossed a curveball. It swerved low and inside.
“There’s a doctor named Lin Chung. Your name’s on his intel file. The routing stamp’s recent.”
Satterlee lit a cigarette. “If there’s something in this for me, let me know. If it’s we’re brothers under the sheets, fuck off and let me go home.”
Elmer relit his cigar. “You’ve got carte blanche with the service. One full month. I’ve already cleared it with Brenda.”
Satterlee held up two fingers. Elmer went Shucks and Okay.
“All right, here’s what this is. A, we’re picking up code intercepts from Baja. We think it’s some kind of subtle Jap-Chink Fifth Column gang, and we’re trying to separate the tract pushers and Sieg Heil boys from the real menace. B, I’m not naming names, not for two months’ or ten years’ worth of the best gash on the planet. C, Chung knows lots of well-heeled right-wingers, and he’s got a communist doctor pal that he talks eugenics with. D, I don’t care that he was jungled up with that dead Chink Eddie Leng, or that guy Don Matsura, who stretched his neck at Lincoln Heights.”
Elmer waved his cigar. “Have you got a file on a punk named Tommy Glennon?”
Satterlee shook his head. “No dice. Tommy goes back with Dudley Smith, and my policy with Dud is ‘hands-off.’ ”
“Tommy used to run wets. I’m thinking he ran them with Carlos Madrano.”
“He did, so I’ll issue a warning here. Tommy was very loyal to Captain Carlos, and I have it on good authority that it was Dud who blew up Carlos last month. I also heard that Ace Kwan warned you away from Tommy — which was very sound advice. Let Dud, Ace, and the Staties take charge of Tommy. You’re not equipped for it.”
Elmer blew smoke rings. “Does Dud think Tommy will come after him for clipping Madrano?”