Brown's Requiem - James Ellroy [44]
“Good morning. I have to go. I have my lesson at nine-thirty.”
“What is it?”
“What the hell do you think it is?”
“Do you want to know?”
“Yes!”
I told her, omitting nothing. From Fat Dog’s visit to my office, to the Utopia firebombing, to Sol Kupferman’s past, to my assessment of her brother’s psychoses, to the Omar Gonzalez angle. Jane’s reactions ranged from head-shaking denials, to trembling, to sobbing. When she started to cry, I let her, making no move to provide comfort. I wanted her to be afraid. Finally, surprisingly, anger took over. Her wet face went red. I handed her a handkerchief and she wiped away tears. When she spoke, it was with heart-stopping resolution: “Get him, Fritz.”
“I will.”
“Do whatever you have to do. I don’t want him hurting Sol or anyone else.”
“I will.”
“Would you take me home now, please?”
“Yes.”
Jane rounded up her things while I pulled out the car. We drove to Beverly Hills in tense silence. A dozen funny, cheery remarks came into my mind, but I rejected them as fatuous. Finally, I spoke. “We have to talk about a few things, Jane.”
“All right.”
“I want you to tell Kupferman what I’ve told you. Tell him to be careful, to keep his bodyguard around at all times. Tell him that I want to talk to him when I get back from Mexico. Will you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Tell him also that I don’t give a damn about any of his past dealings. That includes the bookie operations at the Utopia. Tell him all I’m interested in is seeing Fat Dog put away.”
A flash of anger came into Jane’s eyes. “You’re sure of what you’ve told me?” she said, her voice rising. “That Sol was book-making in the late ’60s? Fifteen years after the grand jury? I won’t have him slandered by anyone, including you!”
I looked over at her. “Easy, sweetheart. I’m sure. And it’s hardly slander. Bookmaking should be legal.”
Jane shook her head. Her whole manner was like a stifled scream. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I know I’m strong enough to stand all this, but I’m not sure about Sol.” I put my free hand on her knee and squeezed. She didn’t respond. I pulled up across the street from the Kupferman mansion. Jane and I looked at each other. I didn’t want a protracted goodbye and I sensed she didn’t either. “Be careful in Mexico,” she said.
“You be careful here. Practice well. You can give me a recital when I get back.” We kissed hard and in an instant Jane was out of the car and running across the street toward the large house.
Driving away, I did a fairly good job of putting Jane out of my mind and concentrating on what I had to do next: find a quiet spot to read Fat Dog’s letters. I pulled into the large parking lot at Hancock Park, and found a bench in the shade, surrounded by elderly Jews killing a summer midmorning, and a slew of plaster dinosaurs killing eternity. The letters were undated and barely legible. The postage stamps had been ripped off all three when they were opened. Jane had said they were recent, though, within the past month. I plunged in:
“Deer Jane, my sister, I hope you are feeling good. I am too. I’ve been doing good at Bell-Air, lots of juicy loops. I’m the king there. They got nothing but winos looping there. I saw on T.V. this musical show, this big orchestra. They showed this woman playing that thing like you play. Only she don’t play as good. I could tell. You dont need that scum Kupferman no more. I know. Jews got big money but they don’t know the score. I do. I got a rich friend who does to. He likes me. I don’t have to loop no more. I just do it cause I love golf. Soon I will be going to Mexico. To retire kind of. Live like I should, like a king. The king of caddies and king of dog racers. Why don’t you come to? I’ve got lots of $!!!!!!! I know a feemale grayhound pup I can buy for 200!!!!! We can breed her and go big time at the track in T.J.!!!!!! Raise lots of pups, all champs!!! In Mexico they treat white people like kings!!!!! Tell that bastard Sol K to fuck off!!!!