Brown's Requiem - James Ellroy [17]
“Sure,” I said.
“Have you ever wanted to have a broad that could give you everything you’ve ever wanted? That you never had to worry about? I mean, you never had to worry about her fucking no other guys, you just knew she was loyal? And this broad, she’s perfect. Her body is exactly like the one you’ve always dreamed of. And she’s even nice to be around after you’ve fucked her? That’s how I feel about golf courses. They’re beautiful and mysterious. I don’t sleep good inside. Nightmares. Sometimes when it rains, I sleep underneath this overhang next to the caddy shack at Bel-Air. It’s dry, but it’s outside. It’s peaceful on golf courses. Most of the ones in L.A. got nice homes next to them. Big old-fashioned ones. The people leave their lights on sometimes ’cause they think no one’s looking at them. I seen all kinds of strange shit that way. Once when I was camped out on Wilshire South, I saw some dame beat up her dog, just a little puppy, then get it on with another dame, right there on the floor. These rich cocksuckers who belong to these clubs, they think they own their golf courses, but they just play golf on them, and I live on them, all of them! The courses around here are the primo land in L.A., worth billions of bucks, and I’ve got them all for my personal crash pad. So I pack bags and I’m the best, and I know things that none of these rich assholes will never know.”
“What kind of nightmares do you have?”
Fat Dog hesitated before he answered. “Just scary shit,” he said. “Monsters, dragons, and animals out to get me. Never getting to see my sister again.”
“I tailed your sister today. She withdrew some money from a bank, then visited some people in the Valley and around Vermont and Melrose. Do you have any idea of who these people are?”
“No!” Fat Dog screamed. “You’re the private eye, you find out! I’m paying you a grand to find out! You find out about that Jew bloodsucker Kupferman, too! I’m paying you! You find out!”
I turned on to the golf course access road, stopped the car, and looked at Fat Dog. He was red-faced and shaking, his eyes pinpoints of fear and hated. My client was insane. I started to speak, something consoling, but he started screaming again. “You find out, you cocksucker! You’re working for the Fat Dog, don’t you forget that!” He got out of the car and walked up to the fence. He started to scale it, then turned around to give me a parting salvo. “You ain’t no German, you fuck. Nigger lover! Jew lover! You couldn’t even keep a job with the fuzz, you …”
My headache came back, full force, and I got out of the car. I ran to the fence and pulled Fat Dog off by his belt. As he landed, I spun him around and hit him in the stomach, hard. He doubled over, gasping, and I whispered to him, “Listen, you fucking low-life. Nobody talks to me that way, ever. I took a look at your rapsheet today, and I know you’re a weenie-wagger. You’ve got two choices as of now. You can apologize to me for what you said, and I’ll continue to work for you. If you don’t apologize, I’ll throw a citizen’s arrest on you for indecent exposure. With your two priors it means registration as a sex offender, which is not pleasant. What’s it going to be?”
Fat Dog recovered his breath and muttered, “I apologize.”
“Good,” I said. “You’ve got one week of my time. I’ll leave a message at the bar if I need to get in touch with you. You’ll get my best job. At the end of the week I’ll submit a written report.” I gave him a boost and he managed to make it over the fence. I watched him walk into the darkness of his sanctuary, then drove away, my revulsion cut through with the strangest, sickest sense of fascination.
There was no place to go but Walter’s. I drove out Wilshire feeling numbed physically and caught on the horns of a moral dilemma: I had been hired by a vindictive lunatic to disrupt the lives of two decent people. I had the chance to bail out of my case but I didn’t. I couldn’t; I was spellbound by a madman. It seemed an insoluble problem,