Brown's Requiem - James Ellroy [80]
“I know he used to have this scrapbook where he kept these clippings from all these tournaments he looped. Is that what you mean, Rod?”
“No, Augie, not that. You’re sure you never saw any other scrapbook? A big thick one full of clippings and writing? Or a leather ledger book?”
“No, never.”
“Okay, Augie. There may be some other guys Fat Dog hung out with who remember it. We’ll let that one slide for now. One more thing, Augie, then I’ll let you go. I’ve got a juicy nine-holer waiting for you. There’s a detective nosing around. He’s very interested in Fat Dog and his dealings. His name is Brown, do you know anything about that?”
“I seen him, Rod. I seen him. He was at the Tap and Cap askin’ about Fat Dog. Said he was lookin’ for him, that Fat Dog hired him. I …”
Ralston cut in sharply. “When was this, Augie?”
“Maybe two weeks ago.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That Fat Dog’s a tough man to find. That he sleeps outside. That’s all, Rod, I swear.”
“That’s good, Augie.”
“But I know more, Rod. Once me and Fat Dog was out on this loop at Lakeside and this car guy, the one who does them commercials on T.V. with the dog, was telling Fat Dog about this private eye he knew who was a real fuck up, who wasn’t a real private eye, but was good for rippin’ niggers off for their cars. That’s what he said. He was real nasty about it, like the guy was workin for him, but he was laughin’ at the guy. You know what I mean? Anyways, later Fat Dog tells me, ‘Someday I’m gonna have a use for that fuck-up private eye, yes sir.’ That’s what he said, Rod. Honest.”
“That’s good, Augie, and very interesting. You keep quiet about that, and everything else we’ve talked about. You’re a good man, Augie, and a good caddy. I’ve never regretted taking care of you. Don’t do anything now to make me regret it. Keep your mouth shut and life will be smooth. A lot of people have gotten hurt recently by talking too much and fucking around with the wrong people. Don’t let it happen to you, okay?”
“Okay, Rod.”
Augie Dugall was practically blubbering and shaking with relief. He had escaped censure and punishment from the sternest and most menacing of fathers.
“Good,” Ralston said. “Now go get Dr. Goldman and Sid Berman. They want to go a quick nine.”
“Berman and Goldman, wow! A twenty dollar nine-holer. Thanks, Rod.” Augie Dougall ran off. Hot Rod Ralston waited a moment and walked out slowly. I squatted lower as he passed me. When I rose to my feet after a few minutes, my legs were stiff and I was very angry.
I drove to Beverly Drive just south of Wilshire and checked out the lobby directory of the building Jane had walked into. There was a simple listing for suite 463—R. Weiss, Stringed Instruments. I took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked down the hall to 463. Through the oak door I could hear cello chords followed by a patient European voice offering criticism. It was enough. I went back down to the lobby to wait.
I waited half an hour, until Jane came out of the elevator followed by an ascetic looking oldster with a cane who was gesturing as though he longed for a baton and a podium. Jane had her back turned to me and was eating up everything the oldster had to say. I wanted to run to her, but stayed seated. The old man concluded his lengthy farewell and retreated back into the elevator. Jane was just about out the door when she turned in my direction and saw me. I stood up and smiled. “Hello, dear,” I said.
She placed her cello gently on the floor. “Fritz, I …”
I walked to her and took her hands. “I’m back,” I said, “belatedly.”
She looked shocked, but finally managed a smile. “How did you know I’d be here?”
“I followed you.”
“You—”
“I followed you here. I rang your doorbell and when no one answered, I decided to wait. When Ralston picked you up, I tailed you here.”
“Am I a suspect in this thing you’re investigating?”
She was pulling away, so I let go of her hands. “Of course not. Don’t be angry. We have a lot to talk about. My car’s outside.”
We walked to