home niggers got no more sense than a fuckin' dog.'
Switches back up. 'Ray, I heard you like to shoot dogs.'
A shrug. 'Dogs got no reason to live.'
'Oh? You feel that way about people, too?'
'Man, what you sayin'?'
Switches down. 'Well, you must feel that way about Leroy and Tyrone.'
'Shit, Leroy and Tyrone almos' too stupid to live.'
Switches up. 'Ray, where's the shotguns you were shooting in Griffith Park?'
'They-I… I don't own no shotguns.'
'Where's your 1949 Mercury coupe?'
'I let… it just be safe.'
'Come on, Ray. A cherry rig like that? Where is it? I'd keep a nice sled like that under lock and key.'
'I said it safe!'
Ed slapped the table-two palms flat down. 'Did you sell it? Ditch it? It's a felony transport car. Ray, don't you think-'
'I didn't do no felony!'
'The hell you say! Where's the car?'
'I ain't sayin'!'
'Where's the shotguns?'
'I ain't-I don't know!'
'Where's the car?'
'I ain't sayin'!'
Ed drummed the table. 'Why, Ray? You got shotguns and rubber gloves in the trunk? You got wallets and purses and blood all over the seats? Listen to me, you dumb son of a bitch, I'm trying to save you a gas chamber bounce like your buddies- they're underage and you're not, and somebody has to fry for this-'
'I don't know what you talkin' 'bout!'
Ed sighed. 'Ray, let's change the subject.'
Coates lit another cigarette. 'I don' like your subjects.'
'Ray, why were you burning clothes at 7:00 this morning?'
Coates trembled. 'Say what?'
'Say this. You, Leroy and Tyrone were arrested this morning. None of you had last night's clothes with you. You were seen burning a big pile of clothes at 7:00. Add that to the fact that you hid the car that you, Tyrone and Leroy were cruising around in last night. Ray, it doesn't look good, but if you give me something good to give the D.A., it'll make me look good and I'll say, 'Sugar Ray wasn't a punk like his sissy partners.' Ray, just give me something.'
'Such as what, since I innocent of all this rebop you shuckin' me with.'
Ed flipped 2 and 3. 'Well, you've said bad things about Leroy and Tyrone, you've implied that they're hopheads. Let's try this: where do they get their stuff?'
Coates stared at the floor. Ed said, 'The D.A. hates hop pushers. And you met Jack Vincennes, the Big V.'
'Crazy fuckin' fool.'
Ed laughed. 'Yeah, Jack is a little on the crazy side. Personally, I think anyone who wants to ruin their life with narcotics should have the right, it's a free country. But Jack's good buddies with the new D.A., and they've both got hard-ons for hop pushers. Ray, give me one to give the D.A. Just a little one.'
Coates hooked a finger; Ed let the switches up and leaned in. Sugar Ray, a whisper. 'Roland Navarette, lives on Bunker Hill. Runs a hole-up for parole 'sconders and sells red devils, and that ain't for the fuckin' D.A., that's 'cause Tyrone shoot off his fat fuckin' mouth.'
Switches down. 'All right, Ray. You've told me that Roland Navarette sells barbiturates to Leroy and Tyrone, so now we're making some progress. And you're scared shitless, you know this is gas chamber stuff and you haven't even asked me what it's all about. Ray, you have a big guilty sign around your neck.'
Coates cracked his knuckles; his good eye darted, ifickered. Ed killed the audio. 'Ray, let's change the subject.'
'How 'bout baseball, motherfucker?'
'No, let's talk about pussy. Did you get laid last night or did you put that perfume on yourself to fuck up a paraffm test?'
Heebie-jeebie shakes.
Ed said, 'Where were you at 3:00 last night?'
No answer, more shakes.
'Strike a nerve, Sugar Ray? «Perfume?» «Women?» Even a piece of shit like you has to have some women he cares about. You got a mother? Sisters?'
'Man, don't you talk 'bout my mother!'
'Ray, if I didn't know you I'd say you were protecting some nice girl's virtue. She was your alibi, you were shacked somewhere. But Tyrone and Leroy have got that same perfume on their mitts, and I'm betting against a gang bang, I'm betting you learned about paraffin tests up in road camp, I'm betting you've got just enough decency to feel some guilt over killing three innocent women.'
'I AINT KILLED NOBODY!'
Ed pulled out the morning «Herald». 'Patty Chesimard, Donna DeLuca and one unidentified. Read this while I take a breather. When I come back you'll get the chance to tell me about it and make a deal that just might save your life.'
Coates, Tremor City -all twitches, soaked denims. Ed threw the paper in his face and walked out.
Thad Green in the hall; Dudley Smith, Bud White at the listening post. Green said, 'We got an eyeball confirmation from that ranger-those were the guys in Griffith Park. And you were great.'
Ed smelled his own sweat. 'Sir, Coates was hiked on the women. I can feel it.'
'So can I, so just keep going.'
'Have we turned the guns or the car?'
'No, and the 77th Street squad is shaking down their relatives and K.A.'s. We'll get them.'
'I want to lean on Jones next. Will you do something for me?'
'Name it.'
'Set up Fontaine. Unlock his cuffs and let him read the morning paper.'
Green pointed to the #3 mirror. '«He'll» break soon. Sniveling bastard.'
Tyrone Jones-weeping, a piss puddle on the floor by his chair. Ed looked away. 'Sir, have Lieutenant Smith read the paper into his speaker, nice and slow, especially the lines about the car spotted by the Nite Owl. I want this guy primed to fold.'
Green said, 'You've got it.' Ed checked out Tyrone Jones-dark-skinned, flabby, pockmarked. Bawling-cuffed in, welded down.
A whistle up the hail. Dudley Smith spoke into a microphone-silent lip movements. Ed fixed on Jones.
The kid twisted, heaved, buckled, like a film clip they showed at the Academy: an electric chair malfunction, a dozen jolts before the man fried. A sharp whistle up the corridor-Jones slumped, legs splayed, chin down.
Ed walked in. 'Tyrone, Ray Coates ratted you off. He said the Nite Owl was your idea, he said you got the idea while you were cruising Griffith Park. Tyrone, tell me about it. I think it was Ray's idea. He made you do it. Tell me where the guns and car are and I think we can save your life.'
No answer.
'Tyrone, this is a gas chamber job. If you don't talk to me you'll be dead in six months.'
No answer-Jones kept his head down.
'Son, all you have to do is tell me where the guns are and tell me where Sugar left the car.'
No answer.
'Son, this can be over in one minute. You tell me, and I get you transferred to a protective custody cell. Sugar won't be able to get you, Leroy won't be able to get you. The D.A. will let you turn state's. «You won't go to the gas chamber».'
No response.
'Son, six people are dead and somebody has to pay. It can be you or it can be Ray.'
No answer.
'Tyrone, he called you a queer. He called you a sissy and a homo. He said you took it up the-'
'I DIDN' KILL NOBODY!'
A strong voice-Ed almost jumped back. 'Son, we have witnesses. We have evidence. Coates is confessing right now. He's saying you planned the whole thing. Son, save yourself. The guns, the car. «Tell me where they are».'
'I didn' kill nobody!'
'Sssh. Tyrone, do you know what Ray Coates said about you?'
Jones lifted his head. 'I know he lie.'
'I think he lied, too. I don't think you're a queer. I think he's a queer, because he hates women. I think he liked killing those women. I think you feel bad about-'
'We didn' kill no women!'
'Tyrone, where were you last night at 3:00 A.M.?'
No answer.
'Tyrone, why did Sugar Ray hide his car?'
No answer.
'Tyrone, why did you guys hide the shotguns you were shooting in Griffith Park? We have a witness who ID'd you on that.'
No answer. Jones lolled his head-eyes shut, spilling tears.
'Son, why did Ray burn the clothes you guys were wearing last night?'
