like 'In me, please in me.' He rubbed himself hard on the bed, went in her, kept his hands on her breasts like she taught him. Hard inside her--he let himself go just as her legs pulsed and her hips pushed him up off the sheets-- then his face pressing wet hair, their arms locked on each other tight.
They rested, talked. Lynn talked up her diary: a thousand pages back to high school in Bisbee, Arizona. Bud rambled on the Nite Owl, his strongarm job in the morning--sitting-duck stuff he couldn't take much more of. Lynn's look said, 'Then just give it up'; he didn't have an answer, so he spieled on Dudley, the heartbreaker rape girl with a crush on him, how he'd hoped the Nite Owl would swing another way so he could use itto juke this guy he hated. Lynn talked back with little touches; Bud told her he was letting the Kathy snuff go for now, it was too easy to go crazy on--crazy like his play with Dwight Gilette. Lynn pressed on his family; he told her 'I don't have one'; he ran down his outlaw job: Cathcart, his pad tossed, his smut dream, the San Berdoo Yellow Pages open to printshops clicking in to the Englekling brothers plea bargain, then clicking out, back to the colored punks they had on ice. He knew she knew the gist: he was frustrated because he wasn't that smart, he wasn't really a Homicide detective--he was the guy they brought in to scare other guys shitless. After a while, the talk petered out--Bud felt restless, pissed at himself for spilling too much too fast. Lynn seemed to sense it: she bent down and drove him crazy with her mouth. Bud stroked her hair, still a little wet, glad she didn't have to fake it with him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Evidence--the victims' belongings found near the Tevere Hotel; Coates' Mere and the shotguns located: forensic verification on the piece that shot the strangely marked rounds. No grand jury on earth would refuse to hand down Murder One. The Nite Owl case was made.
Ed at his kitchen table, writing a report: Parker's last summary. Inez in the bedroom, her bedroom now, he couldn't get up the nerve to say: 'Just let me sleep with you, we'll see how things go, wait on the other.' She'd been moody--reading books on Raymond Dieterling, getting up nerve to ask the man for a job. The news on the guns didn't bolster her--even though it meant no testimony. Evidence--her outside wounds had healed, there was no physical pain to distract her. She kept feeling it happen.
The phone rang; Ed grabbed it. An extra click--Inez picking up in the bedroom.
'Hello?'
'Russ Millard, Ed.'
'Captain, how are you?'
'It's Russ to sergeants and up, son.'
'Russ, have you heard about the car and the guns? The Nite Owl's history.'
'Not exactly, and that's why I called. I just talked to a Sheriff's lieutenant I know, a man on the Jail Bureau. He told me he heard a rumor. Dudley Smith's taking Bud White in to beat confessions out of our boys. Tomorrow morning, early. I had them moved to another cellblock where they can't get at them.'
'Jesus Christ.'
'The savior indeed. Son, I have a plan. We go in early, confront them with the new evidence and try for legitimate confessions. You play the bad guy, I'll play savior.'
Ed squared his glasses. 'What time?'
'Say 7:00?'
'All right.'
'Son, it means making an enemy out of Dudley.'
The bedroom line clicked off. 'So be it. Russ, I'll see you tomorrow.'
'Sleep well, son. I need you alert.'
Ed hung up. Inez in the doorway, wearing his robe--huge on her. 'You can't do this to me.'
'You shouldn't eavesdrop.'
'I was expecting a call from my sister. Exley, you can't.'
'You wanted them in the gas chamber, they're going there. You didn't want to testify, now I doubt if you'll have to.'
'I want them hurt. I want them to suffer.'
'No. It's wrong. This is a case that demands absolute justice.'
She laughed. 'Absolute justice fits you like this robe fits me, _pendejo_.'
'You got what you wanted, Inez. Let it go at that and get on with your life.'
'What life? Living with you? You'll never marry me, you're so deferential around me that I want to scream and every time I've got myself convinced you're a pretty decent guy you do something that makes me say, '_Madre mia_, how can I be so dumb?' And now you'd deny me this? _This little thing?_'
Ed held up his report. 'Dozens of men built this case. Those animals will be dead by Christmas. _Todos_, Inez. _Absolutamente_. Isn't that enough?'
She laughed--harder. 'No. Ten seconds and they go to sleep. Six hours they beat me and fucked me and stuck things in me. No, it's not enough.'
Ed stood up. 'So you'll let Bud White jeopardize our case. Ellis Loew probably arranged this, Inez. He's thinking airtight grand jury presentation, a two day trial with half of it him grandstanding. He'd jeopardize what he's already got for that. Be smart and recognize it.'
'No, you recognize that the fix is in. The _negritos_ die because that's the way it is. I'm just a witness nobody needs anymore, so maybe tomorrow Officer White takes a few licks for my justice.'•
Ed made fists. 'White's a brutal disgrace of a policeman and a slimy, womanizing son of a bitch.'
'No, he's just a guy who calls a spade a spade and doesn't look six ways before he crosses the street.'
'He's shit. _Mierda_.'
'Then he's my _mierda_. Exley, I _know_ you. You don't give a damn about justice, you just care about yourself. You're only doing that thing tomorrow to hurt Officer White, and you're only doing it because you know that he knows what you are. You treat me like you want to love me, then you give me nothing but money and social connections, which you've got plenty of and won't miss. You take no risks for me, and Officer White risks his estupido life and doesn't weigh the consequences, and when I get better you'll want to fuck me and set me up someplace where you won't have to be seen in public with me, which is revolting to me, and if for no other reason I love _estupido_ Officer White because at least he has the sense to know what you are.'
Ed walked up to her. 'And what am I?'
'Just a run-of-the-mill coward.'
Ed raised a fist, flinched when she flinched. Inez pulled off her robe. Ed looked, looked away--at the wall and his framed army medals. A target--he threw them across the room. Not enough. He took a bead on a window, reared back, hit soft padded curtains instead.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Jack woke up seeing smut.
Karen in orgy shots--Veronica Lake loving her. Blood: fuck pix as coroner's pix, beautiful women drenched red. The first real thing he saw was daybreak--then Bud White's car parked by Lynn Bracken's pad.
Cracked lips, bone aches head to toe. He swallowed his last bcnnies, brought back his last thoughts before oblivion.
Nothing in the files, Patchett and Bracken his only Hudgens leads. Patchett had servants living in. Bracken lived alone--he'd brace her when White left her bed.
Jack brainstormed a tailing report--lies to snow Dudley Smith. A door slammed--a sound like a gunshot. Bud White walked to his car.
Jack hit the seat prone. The car pulled away, seconds, another gunshot/door slam. A quick look: a brunette Lynn Bracken heading out.
Over to her car, up to Los Feliz, east. Jack followed: the right lane, dawdling back. Sparse early morning traffic: call the woman too distracted to spot him.
Due cast, into Glendale. North on Brand, a swerve to the curb in front of a bank. Jack pulled around the corner to a sighting point--the corner store, a grocer's--milk cartons stacked by the door.
He squatted down, watched the sidewalk. Lynn B. was talking to a man: nervous, a shaky little guy. He opened the bank and hustled her in; a Ford and Dodge were parked further down--no way to nail plate numbers. Lamar Hinton walked outside lugging boxes.
Files, files, files--it had to be.
