“That’s right. He wanted me to do a job for him-I turned him down.”
The bloodshot eyes tightened. “You turned him down? Are you sure?”
“I have a real good memory, Lieutenant. I remember damn near everything that happened to me, all day.”
“Funny#8221; That awful breath was warm in my face-fishy smell. “You wouldn’t kid a kidder, would you?”
Backing away, I said, “Fellas-make your point.”
Potts kept moving in on me, his breath in my face, like a foul furnace, his finger thumping at my chest. “You and your partner…Rubinski…you shouldn’t be so thick with that little kike.”
“Which little kike?”
Johnson said, “Mickey Cohen.”
I looked from one to the other. “I already told you guys-I turned him down. I’m not working for him.”
Potts asked, “What job did he want you for?”
“That’s confidential.”
He swung his fist into my belly-I did not see it coming, nor did I expect a slob like him to have such power. I dropped to my knees and thought about puking on the oriental carpet-I also thought about the gun in my waistband.
Slowly, I got to my feet. And when I did, the nine millimeter was in my hand.
“Get the fuck out of my room,” I said.
Both men backed away, alarm widening their seen-it-all eyes. Potts blurted, “You can be arrested for-”
“This is licensed, and you clowns barged into my room and committed assault on me.”
Potts had his hands up; he seemed nervous but he might have been faking, while he looked for an opening. “I shouldn’ta swung on ya. I apologize-now, put the piece away.”
“No.” I motioned toward the door with the Browning. “You’re about to go, gents…but first-here’s everything you need to know: I’m not working for Cohen, and neither is Fred.”
The two exchanged glances, Johnson shaking his head.
“Why don’t you put that away,” Pott said, with a want-some-candy-little-girl smile, “and we’ll just talk.”
“We have talked. Leave.”
I pressed forward and the two backed up-toward the door.
“You better be tellin’ the truth,” Potts said, anger swimming in his rheumy eyes.
I opened the door for them. “What the hell have you been eating, Potts? Your breath smells like hell.”
The cop’s blotchy face reddened, but his partner let out a sharp, single laugh. “Sardine sandwiches-it’s all he eats on stakeouts.”
That tiny moment of humanity between Johnson and me ended the interview; then they were out the door, and I shut and nightlatched it. I watched them through the window as they moved through the hotel’s garden-like grounds, Potts taking the lead, clearly pissed-off, the flowering shrubs around him doing nothing to soothe him.
In the bedroom, Didi was stretched out on the bed, on her back, head to one side, fast asleep.
I sat nex gentsher, on the edge of the bed, and this woke her with a start. “What? Oh…I must’ve dropped off. What was that about, anyway?”
“The Welcome Wagon,” I said. “Come on, let’s get an early supper.”
And I took her to the Polo Lounge, where she chattered on and on about the picture she was working (with Roy Rogers and Dale Evans) and I said not much. I was thinking about those two bent cops, and how I’d pulled a gun on them.
No retaliation followed my encounter with the two vice squad boys. They had made their point, and I mine. But I did take some precautionary measures: for two days I tailed the bastards, and (with my Speed Graphic, the divorce dick’s best friend) got two rolls of film on them receiving pay-offs, frequently in the parking lot of their favorite coffee shop, Googie’s, on Sunset at Crescent Heights. I had no intention of using these for blackmail purposes-I just wanted some ammunition, other than the nine millimeter variety, with which to deal with these bent sons of bitches. On the other hand, I had taken to wearing my shoulder-holstered nine millimeter, in case things got interesting.
And for over a week, things weren’t interesting-things were nicely dull. I had run into Cohen at Sherry’s several times and he was friendly-and always in the company of a rugged-looking, ruggedly handsome investigator from the Attorney General’s office, sandy-haired Harry Cooper…which rhymed with Gary Cooper, who the dick was just as tall as.
Mick had taken my advice-he now had an armed bodyguard, courtesy of the state of California. His retinue of a Dwarf or two also accompanied him, of course, just minus any artillery. Once or twice, Niccoli had been with him-he’d just smiled and nodded at me (and Didi), polite, no hard feelings.
On Tuesday night, July 19, I took Didi to see
Fred greeted us as we came in and joined us in a booth, Didi-who looked stunning in a low-cut spangly silver gown, her brunette hair piled high-and I were on one side, Fred on the other. A piano tinkling Cole Porter fought with clanking plates and after-theater chatter.
I ordered us up a half-slice of cheesecake for Didi (who was watching her figure-she wasn’t alone), a Napoleon for me, and coffee for both of us. Fred just sat there with his hands folded, prayerfully, shaking his head.
“Gettin’ too old for this,” he said, his pouchy puss even pouchier than usual, a condition his natty navy suit and red silk tie couldn’t make up for.
“What are you doing, playing host in the middle of the night?” I asked him. “You’re an owner, for Christ’s sake! Seems like lately, every time I come in here, in the wee hours, you’re hovering around like a mother hen.”
“You’re not wrong, Nate. Mickey’s been comin’ in almost every night, and with that contract hanging over his head, I feel like…for the protection of my customers…I gotta keep an eye on things.”
“Is he here tonight?”
“Didn’t you see him, holding court over there?”
Over in the far corner of the modern, brightly-lighted restaurant-where business was actually a little slow tonight-a lively Cohen was indeed seated at a large round table with Cooper, Johnny Stompanato, Frank Niccoli and another of the Dwarfs, Neddie Herbert. Also with the little gangster were several reporters from the
Our order arrived, and Fred slid out of the booth, saying, “I better circulate.”
“Fred, what, you think somebody’s gonna open up with a chopper in here? This isn’t a New Jersey clam house.”
“I know…. I’m just a nervous old woman.”
Fred wandered off, and Didi and I nibbled at our desserts; we were dragging a little-it was after three.
“You okay?” I asked her.
“What?”
“You seem a little edgy.”
“Really? Why would I be?”
“Having Niccoli sitting over there.”
“No. That’s over.”
“What did you see in that guy, anyway?”
She shrugged. “He was nice, at first. I heard he had friends in pictures.”
“You’re already under contract. What do you need-”
“Nate, are we going to argue?”
I smiled, shook my head. “No. It’s just…guys like Niccoli make me nervous.”
