Backhanded pistolwhips--Perkins yelped, spat teeth. The TV went loud: kids squealing for Kellogg's Cornflakes. Bud shot the screen out.
Deuce snitched: 'Check the '0' joints in Chinatown and please fuckin' leave me alone!'
Kathy said KILL HIM. Bud thought of his mother for the first time in years.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
The doctor said, 'I told this to your Captain Exley, and I told him an interview with Mr. Goldman would most likely prove fruitless--the man is simply not lucid most of the time. However, since he insisted on sending you up here, I'll run through it again.'
Jack looked around. Camarillo was creepy: lots of geeks, geek artwork on the walls. 'Would you? The captain wants a statement from him.'
'Well, he'll be lucky to get one. Last July, Mr. Goldman and his confrere Mickey Cohen were attacked with knives and pipes at McNeil Island Prison. Unidentified assailants apparently, and Cohen was relatively unharmed while Mr. Goldman suffered serious brain damage. Both men were paroled late last year, and Mr. Goldman began to behave quite erratically. Late in December he was arrested for urinating in public in Beverly Hills, and the judge ordered him here for ninety days' observation. We've had him since Christmas and we've just recycled him in for another ninety. Frankly, we can't do a thing with him, and the only thing mysterious is that Mr. Cohen visited and offered to transfer Mr. Goldman to a private treatment facility at his own expense, but Mr. Goldman refused and acted terrified of him. Isn't that odd?'
'Maybe not. Where is he?'
'On the other side of that door. Be gentle with him, please. The man was a gangster, but he's just a sad human being now.'
Jack opened the door. A small padded room; Davey Goldman on a long padded bench. He needed a shave; he reeked of Lysol. Slack-jawed Davey scoping a _National Geographic_.
Jack sat beside him--Goldman moved away. Jack said, 'This place is the shits. You should've let Mickey spring you.'
Goldman picked his nose, ate it.
'Davey, you on the outs with Mickey?'
Goldman held out his magazine--naked Negroes waving spears.
'Cute, and when they start showing white stuff I'll subscribe. Davey, you remember me? Jack Vincennes? I used to work LAPD Narco and we used to run into each other on the Strip.'
Goldman scratched his balls. He smiled, low voltage, nobody home.
'Is this an act? Come on, Davey. You and the Mick go way back. You know he'd take care of you.'
Goldman squashed an invisible bug. 'Not anymore.'
A gone man's voice--nobody could fake it that good. 'Say, Davey, whatever happened to Dean Van Gelder? You remember him, he used to visit you at McNeil.'
Goldman picked his nose, wiped it on his feet. Jack said, 'Dean Van Gelder. He visited you at McNeil in '53, right around the time these two guys Pete and Bax Englekling visited Mickey. Now you're afraid of Mickey, and Van Gelder clipped a guy named Duke Cathcart and got clipped himself during the world famous Nite Owl fucking Massacre. You got any brains left to talk about that?'
No lights blinked on.
'Come on, Davey. You tell me, you won't feel so sad. Talk to your Uncle Jack.'
'Dutchman! Dutch fuck! Mickey should know to hurt me but he don't. Hub rachmones, Meyer, hub rachmones, Meyer Harris Cohen te absolvo my sins.'
His mouth did the talking--the rest of the man came off dead. Jack parlayed: Van Gelder the Dutchman, Yiddish to Latin, something like betrayal. 'Come on, keep going. Confess to Father Jack and I'll make it allll better.'
Goldman picked his nose; Jack shoved him. 'Come on!'
'Dutchman blew it!'
?????--maybe--a jail bid on Duke Cathcart. 'Blew what, come on!'
Goldman, a gone monotone. 'Franchise boys got theirs three triggers blip blip blip. Fucking slowdown ain't no hoedown, Mickey thinks he'll get the fish but the Irish Cheshire got the fishy and Mickey gets the bones no gravy he is dead meat for the meow monster. Hub rachmones Meyer, I could trust you, not them, it's all on ice but not for us te absolvo . .
?????????? 'Who are these guys you're talking about?'
Goldman hummed a tune, off key, familiar. Jack caught the melody: 'Take the 'A' Train.' 'Davey, _talk_ to me.'
Davey sang. 'Bumpa--bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump the cute train bump bump bump bump the cute train.'
???????????????????--worse, like his brain had padded walls. 'Davey, just talk.'
Geek talk: 'Bzz, bzz bzz talking bug to hear. Betty, Benny bug to listen, Barney bug. Hub rachmones Meyer my dear friend.'
????????? into just maybe something:
The Engleklings saw Cohen _in his cell_, pitched him on Duke Cathcart's smut scheme. Mickey swore he did not tell a soul. Goldman found out about it, decided to crash the racket, dispatched Dean Van Gelder to snuff Cathcart--or maybe buy in on the deal. ????????--How--??????--DID HE HAVE A BUG PLANTED IN COHEN'S CELL?
'Davey, _tell me about the bug_.'
Goldman started humming 'In the Mood.'
The doctor opened the door. 'That's it, Officer. You've bothered this man long enough.'
o o o
Exley okayed it on the phone: a run to McNeil to check for evidence of bugging apparatus in Mickey Cohen's former cell. The Ventura County Airport was a few miles away--he was to fly to Puget Sound, take a cab to the pen. Bob Gallaudet would have a Prison's Bureau man there to run liaison--the McNeil administrators pampered Cohen, probably took bribes for the service, might not cooperate without a push. Exley called the bug theory a long shot; he ranted that Bud White was missing--Fisk and Kleckner were out looking for him, the bastard was probably running from his _Whisper_ piece and the body in San Berdoo-- Fisk left him a note, mentioned the discovery. Parker said Dudley Smith was studying the Englekling case file and would report on it soon; Lynn Bracken was still holding back. Jack said, 'What do we do about that?' Exley said, 'The Dining Car at midnight. We'll discuss it.'
Scary Captain Ed closing ominous.
Jack drove to Ventura, caught his ffight--Exley called ahead, vouchered his ticket. A stewardess handed out newspapers; he grabbed a _Times_ and _Daily News_ and read Nite Owl.
Dudley's boys were ripping up Darktown, hauling in known Negro offenders, looking for the _real_ punks popping shotguns in Griffith Park. Pure bullshit: whoever planted the weapons in Ray Coates' car planted the matching shells in the park, feeding off location leads in the press-only pros would have the brains and the balls to do it. Mike Breuning and Dick Carlisle were running a command post at 77th Street Station--the entire squad and twenty extra men from Homicide detached to work the case. No way were crazed darkies guilty--it was starting to look like 1953 all over again. The _Daily News_ showed photos: Central Avenue swarmed by placard-waving boogies, the house Exley bought Inez Soto. A dandy shot in the _Times_--Inez outside Ray Dieterling's place in Laguna, shielding her eyes from flashbulbs.
Jack kept reading.
The State Attorney General's Office issued a statement: Ellis Loew outfoxed them by planting a restraining order, but they were still interested in the case and would intercede when the order lapsed--unless the LAPD solved the Nite Owl mess to the satisfaction of the Los Angeles County Grand Jury within a suitable period of time. LAPD issued a press release--a detailpacked doozie on Inez Soto's 1953 gang rape accompanied by a heartwarming rendition of how Captain Ed Exley helped her rebuild her life. Exley's old man got a treatment: the Daily News played up the completion of the Southern California freeway system and reported a late-breaking rumor--Big Preston was soon to announce his candidacy in the governor's race, a scant two and a half months before the Republican primary, the eleventh-hour announcement strategy a ploy to capitalize on upcoming freeway brouhaha. How would his son's bad press affect his chances?
