'Yeah, pretty much.'
'And you know why we're humoring you.'
'You use words like that, you might make me mad.'
'Yes. But you know.'
'Yeah, I know. Patchett's running whores, maybe other stuff on the side. You don't want me to report you on it.'
'That's right. Our motives are selfish, so we're cooperating.'
'You want some advice, Miss Bracken?'
'It's Lynn.'
'Miss Bracken, here's my advice. Keep cooperating and don't fucking ever try to bribe me or threaten me or I'll have you and Patchett in shit up to your ears.'
Lynn smiled. Bud caught it- Veronica Lake in some turkey he saw, Alan Ladd comes home from the war to find his bitch wife snuffed. 'Do you want a drink, «Bud?»'
'Yeah, plain scotch.'
Lynn walked to the kitchen, came back with two short ones. 'Are they making progress on the girl's killing?'
Bud knocked his back. 'There's three men on it. It's a sex job, so they'll round up all the usual perverts. They'll give it a decent shot for a couple of weeks, then let it go.'
'But you won't let it go.'
'Maybe, maybe not.'
'Why are you so concerned?'
'Old stuff'
'Old personal stuff?'
'Yeah.'
Lynn sipped her drink. 'Just asking. And what about the Nite Owl thing?'
'That's coming down to these mg-colored guys we arrested. It's a big fucking mess.'
'You say 'fuck' a lot.'
'You fuck for money.'
'There's blood on your shirt. Is that an integral part of your job?'
'Yeah.'
'Do you enjoy it?'
'When they deserve it.'
'Meaning men who hurt women.'
'Bright girl.'
'Did they deserve it today?'
'No.'
'But you did it anyway.'
'Yeah, just like the half dozen guys you screwed today.'
Lynn laughed. 'Actually, it was two. Off the record, did you beat up Dwight Gilette?'
'Off the record, I stuck his hand down a garbage disposal.'
No gasp, no double take. 'Did you enjoy it?'
'Well… no.'
Lynn coughed. 'I'm being a bad hostess. Would you like to sit down?'
Bud sat on the sofa; Lynn sat an arm's length over. 'Homicide detectives are different. You're the first man I've met in five years who didn't tell me I look like Veronica Lake inside of a minute.'
'You look better than Veronica Lake.'
Lynn lit a cigarette. 'Thank you. I won't tell your lady friend you said that.'
'How do you know I got a lady friend?'
'Your jacket is a mess and reeks of perfume.'
'You're wrong. This is me taking a pass on a pass.'
'Which you..
'Yeah, which I seldom fucking do. Keep cooperating, Miss Bracken. Tell me about Pierce Patchett and this racket of his.'
'Off the-'
'Yeah, off the record.'
Lynn smoked, sipped scotch. 'Well, putting what he's done for me aside, Pierce is a Renaissance man. He dabbles in chemistry, he knows judo, he takes good care of his body. He loves having beautiful women beholden to him. He had a marriage that failed, he had a daughter who died very young. He's very honest with his girls, and he only lets us date well-behaved, wealthy men. So call it a savior complex. Pierce loves beautiful women. He loves manipulating them and making money off them, but there's real affection there, too. When I first met Pierce I told him my little sister was killed by a drunken driver. He actually cried. Pierce Patchett is a hardcase businessman, and yes, he runs call girls. But he's a good man.'
It played straight. 'What else has Patchett got going?'
'Nothing illegal. He puts business deals and movie deals together. He advises his girls on business matters.'
'Smut?'
'God, not Pierce. He likes to «do» it, not look at it.'
'Or sell it?'
'Yes, or sell it.'
Almost too smooth-like Patchett's smut hink needed a whitewash. 'I'm starting to think you're snowing me. There's gotta be a perv deal here. Sugar-pimping's one thing, but you make this guy out to be fucking Jesus. Let's start with Patchett's 'little studio.''
Lynn put out her cigarette. 'Suppose I don't want to talk about that?'
'Suppose I give you and Patchett to Administrative Vice?'
Lynn shook her head. 'Pierce thinks you have your own private vendetta going, that it's in your best interest to eliminate him as a suspect in whatever it is you're investigating and keep quiet about his dealings. He thinks you won't inform on him, that it would be stupid for you to do it.'
'Stupid is my middle name. What else does Patchett think?'
'He's waiting for you to mention money.'
'I don't do shakedowns.'
'Then why-'
'Maybe I'm just fucking curious.'
'So be it. Do you know who Dr. Terry Lux is?'
'Sure, he runs a dry-out farm in Malibu. He's dirty to the core.'
'Correct on both counts, and he's also a plastic surgeon.'
'He did a plastic on Patchett, right? Nobody his age looks that young.'
'I don't know about that. What Terry Lux «does» do is alter girls for Pierce's little studio. There's Ava and Kate and Rita and Betty. Read that as Gardner, Hepburn, Hayworth and Grable. Pierce finds girls with middling resemblances to movie stars, Terry performs plastic surgery for exact resemblances. Call them Pierce's concubines. They sleep with Pierce and selected clients- men who can help him put together movie and business deals. Perverse? Perhaps. But Pierce takes a cut of all his girls' earnings and invests it for them. He makes his girls quit the life at thirty-no exceptions. He doesn't let his girls use narcotics and he doesn't abuse them, and I owe him a great deal. Can your policeman's mentality grasp those contradictions?'
Bud said, 'Jesus fucking Christ.'
'No, Mr. White. Pierce Morehouse Patchett.'
'Lux cut you to look like Veronica Lake?'
Lynn touched her hair. 'No, I refused. Pierce loved me for it. I'm really a brunette, but the rest is me.'
'And how old are you?'
'I'll be thirty next month, and I'll be opening up a dress shop. See how time changes things? If you'd met me a month from now, I wouldn't be a whore. I'd be a brunette who didn't look quite so much like Veronica Lake.
'Jesus Christ.'
'No, Lynn Margaret Bracken.'
Too quick-almost a blurt. 'Look, I want to see you again.'
'Are you asking me for a date?'
'Yeah, because I can't afford what Patchett charges.'
'You could wait a month.'
'No, I can't.'
'No more shoptalk, then. I don't want to be somebody's suspect.'
Bud made a check mark in the air: Patchett crossed off for Kathy and the Nite Owl. 'Deal.'
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
