assaulted. And indict, try and convict Dick Stensland and Bud White. Secure them jail time. Boot them off the Department. Stensland's a drunken thug, White almost killed a man and supplied more liquor than Vincennes. Feed them to the goddamn sharks. Protect yourself, protect the Department.'
Silence, stretching. Smith broke it. 'Gentlemen, I think our young sergeant's advice is rash and hypocritical. Stensland has his rough edges, but Wendell White is a valuable officer.'
'Sir, White is a homicidal thug.'
Smith started to speak; Parker raised a hand. 'I think Ed's advice is worth considering. Ace them at the grand jury tomorrow, son. Wear a smart-looking suit and ace them.'
Ed said, 'Yes, sir.' He forced himself not to shout his joy to the rafters.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Spotlights, height strips: Jack at 5'11'; Frank Doherty, Dick Stens, John Brownell the short guys, Wilbert Huff, Bud White topping six. Central Jail punks across the glass, couched with D.A.'s cops taking names.
A speaker squawked, 'Left profile'; six men turned. 'Right profile,' 'Face the wall,' 'Face the mirror'; 'At ease, gentlemen.' Silence; then: 'Fourteen IDs apiece on Doherty, Stensland, Vincennes, White and Brownell, four for Huff. Oh shit, the P.A.'s on!'
Stens cracked up. Frank Doherty said, 'Eat shit, cocksucker.' White stayed expressionless--like he was already at the honor farm protecting Stens from niggers. The speaker: 'Sergeant Vincennes to room 114, Officer White report to Chief Green's office. The rest of you men are dismissed.'
114--the grand jury witness room.
Jack walked ahead, through curtains down to 114. A crowded room: Bloody Christmas plaintiffs, Ed Exley in a too-new suit, loose threads at the sleeves. The Xmas boys sneered; Jack braced Exley. 'You're the key witness?'
'That's right.'
'I should've known it was you. What's Parker throwing you?'
'Throwing me?'
'Yeah, Exley. _Throwing you_. The deal, the payoff. You think I'm testifying for free?'
Exley futzed with his glasses. 'I'm just doing my duty.'
Jack laughed. 'You're playing an angle, college boy. You're getting something out of this, so you won't have to hobnob with the fucking rank-and-file cops who are going to hate your fucking guts for snitching. And if Parker promised you the Bureau, watch out, Some Bureau guys are gonna burn in this thing and you're gonna have to work with friends of theirs.'
Exley flinched; Jack laughed. 'Good payoff, I'll admit that.'
'You're the payoff expert. Not me.'
'You'll be outranking me pretty soon, so I should be nice. Did you know Ellis Loew's new girlfriend has the hots for you?'
A clerk called, 'Edmund J. Exley to chambers.'
Jack winked. 'Go. And clip those threads on your coat or you'll look like a rube.'
Exley walked across the hall--primping, pulling threads.
o o o
Jack killed time--thinking about Karen. Ten days since the party; life was mostly aces. He had to apologize to Spade Cooley; Welton Morrow was pissed over him and Karen--but the lukewarm Joanie/Ellis Loew deal almost made it up for him. Hotel shacks were a strain--Karen lived at home, his place was a dive, he'd been neglecting his payments to the Scoggins kids to make the freight at the Ambassador. Karen loved the illicit romance; he loved her loving it. Aces. But Sid Hudgens hadn't called arid L.A. was heroin dry--no Narco jollies. A year at Ad Vice loomed like the gas chamber.
He felt like a fighter ready to dive. The Christmas geeks kept staring; the punk he'd thumped had on a nose splint--probably a phony some Jew lawyer told him to wear. The grand jury room door stood ajar; Jack walked over, looked in.
Six jurors at a table facing the witness stand; Ellis Loew hurling questions--Ed Exley in the box.
He didn't play with his glasses; he didn't hem and haw. His voice went an octave lower than normal--and stayed even. Skinny, not a cop type, he still had authority--and his timing was perfect. Loew pitched perfect outside sliders; Exley knew they were coming, but acted surprised. Whoever coached him did a fucking-A bang-up job.
Jack picked out details, sensed Exley reaching, a war hero-not a weak sister in a cellblock full of rowdies. Loew glossed over that; Exley's answers hit smart: he was outnumbered, his keys were snatched, he was locked in a storeroom--and that was that. He was a man who knew who he was, knew the futility of cheap heroics.
Exley spieled: rat-offs on Brownell, Hufl Doherty. He called Dick Stensland the worst of the worst, didn't blink snitching Bud White. Jack smiled when it hit him: everything is skewed toward our side. Krugman, Pratt, Tucker, pension safe--were set up-- for his testimony. Stensland and White--heading for indictment city. What a fucking performance.
Loew called for a summation. Exley obliged: pap about justice. Loew excused him; the jurors almost swooned. Exley left the box limping--he'd probably jammed his legs asleep.
Jack met him outside. 'You were good. Parker would've loved it.' Exley stretched his legs. 'You think he'll read the transcript?' 'He'll have it inside ten minutes, and Bud White'll fuck you for this if it takes the rest of his life. He was called in to Thad Green after the show-up, and you can bet Green suspended him. You had better pray he cops a deal and stays on the Department, because that is one civilian you do not want on your case.'
'Is that why you didn't tell Loew he brought most of the liquor?'
A clerk called, 'John Vincennes, five minutes.'
Jack got up some nerve. 'I'm snitching three old-timers who'll be fishing in Oregon next week. Next to you, I'm clean. And smart.'
'We're both doing the right thing. Only you hate yourself for it, and that's not smart.'
Jack saw Ellis Loew and Karen down the hall. Loew walked up. 'I told Joan you were testifying today, and she told Karen. I'm sorry, and I told Joan in confidence. _Jack, I'm sorry_. I told Karen she couldn't watch in chambers, that she'll have to listen over the speaker in my office. _Jack, I'm sorry_.'
'Jewboy, you sure know how to guarantee a witness.'
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bud nursed a highball.
Jukebox noise pounded him; he had the worst seat in the bar--a sofa back by the pay phones. His old football wounds throbbed--like his hard-on for Exley. No badge, no gun, indictments shooting his way--the fortyish redhead looked like the best thing he'd ever seen. He carried his drink over.
She smiled at him. The red looked fake--but she had a kind face. Bud smiled. 'That an old-fashioned you're drinking?'
'Yes, and my name's Angela.'
'My name's Bud.'
'Nobody was born with the name 'Bud.''
'They stick you with a name like 'Wendell,' you look for an alias.'
Angela laughed. 'What do you do, _Bud?_'
'I'm sorta between jobs right now.'
'Oh? Well, what _did_ you do?'
SUSPENDED! YOU DUMB FUCK LOOKING. A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH! 'I wouldn't play ball with my boss. Angela, what do you say--'
'You mean like a union dispute or something? I'm in the United Federation of Teachers, and my ex-husband was a shop steward with the Teamsters. Is that what you--'
Bud felt a hand on his shoulder. 'Lad, might I have a word with you?'
Dudley Smith. CALL IT I.A. RUNNING TAILS.
'This business, Lieutenant?'
'It is indeed. Say good night to your new friend and join me by those back tables. I've told the bartender to turn the music down so we can talk.'
A jump tune went soft; Smith walked off. A sailor had his hooks into Angela. Bud eased over to the lounges.
