Brown's Requiem - James Ellroy [12]
I butted in. Jensen was a loudmouth and this could go on all day. “We have to speed this up, Daddy-O, I’m parked in the red and there’s a metermaid checking out my Doctor On Call sign suspiciously. I don’t want a ticket, I’ve got no way to fix them anymore.”
“You’re still a crazy fucker. Okay, Sol Kupferman. D.O.B. 5–13–15. No criminal record, per se. Twice a material witness for the grand jury. Both times they were investigating bookmaking. This was in ’52 and ’55. That’s it.”
That was enough. I thanked Jensen and hung up. Nothing surprised me, except the dope on Kupferman. Jane Baker’s two reckless driving convictions indicated nothing but youthful verve. That Fat Dog was an exhibitionist was no shocking revelation. He was a disturbed man. But Solly K existing on the edge of, or in, the vice game twenty years ago was interesting, doubly so when coupled with my knowledge of his presence at the Club Utopia in ’68. Small bars like that were often fronts for bookie operations.
It was time to go and talk to the one person I know who is profoundly knowledgeable of the dark secrets of Los Angeles. I headed toward the Sunset Strip to see Jack Skolnick. In honor of Jane Baker I played the Dvorak “Cello Concerto” on the way.
Jack Skolnick has had a checkered past. For over forty years he has maneuvered on the fringes of L.A.’s high society, entertainment monolith, and underworld with the finesse and discernment of some sort of rare animal. Like a pig snorting truffles, he knows just where to look, and dig. Under his euphemistic title of “agent” he has pimped, supplied rigged game shows with “contestants,” served as a tour guide for visiting dignitaries (showing them the “real” L.A.), sold information to the cops, run mail order scams, solicited funds for political candidates of all persuasions, pushed gourmet marijuana brownies, and operated a canine obedience school. His knowledge of Los Angeles and the eccentricities of its moneyed people is astounding. I had a feeling he could tell me something about Sol Kupferman.
Jack’s office was on the sixth floor of a big apartment building on Sunset, a block east of Fairfax. His home was the apartment next door. The place wasn’t zoned for business, but “Jack Skolnick Enterprises” was so vague he got away with it.
I gave his foxy young secretary my name and she sent me directly in to Jack’s office. Jack was sitting behind his desk, reading the newspaper. He looked good. I told him so.
He was surprised to see me. He put down his paper and stood up to shake my hand. “Fritz, baby, so do you! You’ve put on some weight. Sit down. How’s tricks. Fritzie? Still got the repo gig? Hatchet man for Cal Myers?”
It wasn’t quite a jibe, so I let it pass. “More or less. I’ve still got my P.I.’s license though, and the agency going on the side. Right now I’m on a case. What about you? What’s your latest scam?”
“Currently, I’m in the escort business. I provide businessmen with an attractive, intelligent woman to be seen with at various functions.”
“In other words, you’re pimping.”
Jack shook his head in mock dismay. “Fritz, baby! Would I do a thing like that?”
“Only if it made money.”
“I protest, Fritzie! My girls are all in college!”
“Yeah, majoring in fucking. Enough bullshit. I’ve got a client who’s interested in a man you may know something about. Sol Kupferman. You heard of him?”
Jack gave me a cagey look and nodded his head. “I knew him slightly, maybe twenty years ago when I had my chauffeur gig. I used to fix him up with a limo and a driver. We used to talk sometimes.”
“About what?”
“Just rebop. The weather, that kind of shit. Nothing too heavy. But I heard talk about him.”
“Such as?”
“Such as he was a money man, tax advisor to organized crime in the 40’s. Such as he was a noncombatant, some kind of tax wizard. He made the mob a bundle.”
“That’s it?”
“What are you fishing for, Fritzie?”
“Kupferman was subpoenaed as a material