Brown's Requiem - James Ellroy [84]
He slid open the breech and chamber and took a healthy sniff. “This gun has been fired recently,” he said.
“Last night,” I answered. “I assassinated a T.V. set. With the owner’s permission. If you want to bust me for shooting off a gun in the city, let’s do it now so I can bail out.”
“That’s not what we’re here for, Brown,” Cavanaugh said.
“I didn’t think so. Riverside County doesn’t give a rat’s ass what I do with my shotgun in L.A. What is it then?” I sat down in my easy chair across from them.
“Where were you last night between 10:00 P.M. and 2:00 A.M.?” Larkin asked. He was wearing an offensive and shiny yellow dress shirt that must have set him back all of $2.98. It was giving me a headache.
“I was here. In bed. Why?”
Cavanaugh took over. “Were you ever a police officer, Mr. Brown?”
“Yes, I was. I was with the L.A.P.D. for six years.”
Cavanaugh gave me a wide smile. Its phoniness told me he already knew the answer to his question. “So we were old colleagues,” he said. “What divisions did you work?”
“Wilshire Patrol, Hollywood Patrol, and Hollywood Vice.”
Cavanaugh and Larkin gave me identical half-smiles and nods of the head. They were a smooth pair, like Abbott and Costello. Larkin leaned forward confidingly. “Do you know a man named Stanley Gaither? AKA ‘Stan The Man?’” he asked.
“I met him once, briefly, a short while ago. Why?”
“We found your business card on his body.”
“Jesus Fucking Christo. Was he murdered?”
“Yes, last night in palm Springs. Along with two other men. Caddies. They were found shot to death under a freeway overpass.”
“Oh, shit. Shotgun?”
“Yes. Six expended shells from a 10-gauge were found. The three guys were blown to shit. How did you meet Gaither? What was the basis of your relationship with him?”
“What ‘relationship’? I met him in a bar. He bought me a drink and told me about himself, how he was a compulsive car thief, and how he was in therapy to learn to control his compulsion. I told him I was in the repo business and I might be able to help him get started ripping off cars legally. He took my card. I haven’t seen him since.”
Larkin and Cavanaugh stared at me impassively. I couldn’t tell if they believed me. “Have you ever met a George Hansen, AKA ’Hamburger’ or a Robert ‘Bobby’ Marchion?” Larkin asked.
“No. Are they the other two stiffs?”
“That’s right. Do you know any other caddies?”
“No, I don’t play golf. It’s not my idea of kicks.”
“What is your idea of kicks?”
“Great music and beautiful women. What’s yours?”
“Have you got a problem, Brown?” Cavanaugh interjected. “Indent people don’t go around shooting T.V. sets.”
“What’s normal? I have an aesthetic soul. I’m the hit man for an international cartel of aesthetic souls who hate T.V. I get paid ten thou a hit. That’s how I’m able to live in luxury in the Hollywood Hills.”
“Don’t fuck with us, Brown,” Cavanaugh said. “I checked your personnel file this morning. You were a fuck-up and a disgrace to the department. We’re investigating a multiple homicide and we don’t have to take shit from some repo asshole. You watch yourself. The State Board of Vocational Standards doesn’t like P.I.’s to go around shooting off shotguns. You could lose your license.”
“If that’s all you have to say to me, why don’t you leave?”
Cavanaugh couldn’t resist a parting shot. “You watch your step, Brown. We’ll probably check you out again.”
“I wait with bated breath,” I said as they walked out the door.
Ralston. Cathcart. Fat Dog. Augie Dougall. Now three dead loop-ers in Palm Springs. There are no coincidences. Caddies do not get knocked off Mafia-style. Augie Dougall was the place to start.
When I arrived at Hillcrest, Augie Dougall was not in the caddy shack. The fry cook at the lunch counter told me he hadn’t shown up today. Try the Tap & Cap, he said. I took him up on it and split. As I walked out