Brown's Requiem - James Ellroy [86]
Your cousin and buddy
Charlie.
Charlie, my friend, if you knew the kind of people your erstwhile cousin hung out with, you wouldn’t be Ha! Ha!’ing quite so much. Bad-ass dobermans are not much use against shotguns, arsonists, and crooked cops.
I tossed the letter into the glove compartment. Augie Dougall was headed to Cathedral City now, running from the frying pan into fire. If he traveled by bus his most logical point of departure would be Santa Monica Greyhound on 5th and Broadway. I drove there, fast.
The woman at the counter told me an extremely tall funny-looking man aged about fifty had purchased a ticket for the 7:15 bus for Palm Springs. That was enough for me. I hit the Santa Monica Freeway to the Harbor, to the Pomona. Soon I was passing through the depressing Eastern suburbs of L.A. with my top up, air conditioner on full and cassette player blasting Wagner. I was filled with expectancy and the calm certainty that whatever awaited me in the desert would not be dull.
I stopped in Riverside for gas, then switched on the radio for the rest of my journey. I found a Palm Springs station and lucked into a news report on the caddy killings. It was obvious they had taken the desert resort community by storm. The newscaster went on dramatically: there were no clues, the motive was still “up in the air,” Gaither and Marchion had no known next of kin, while George Hansen’s wife had been informed of his death. Another newscaster took over and announced that he had a Special Report on the world of caddies. I turned the volume up.
The newsman, his voice dripping with sentiment, began:
“I’ve known a lot of caddies in my time. A lot. They’re a strange, adventurous lot. A group of men for whom freedom and love of golf reign supreme. Many of them have given up on the idea of family life and a nine-to-five job just to be where the golf action is. Caddies love golf and they know the courses where they work like the backs of their hands. And what golf stories they have to tell!!
“When I was broadcasting at KMPC in Los Angeles, it was my pleasure to play golf with Dick Whittinghill at picturesque Lakeside Country Club in North Hollywood. I remember one caddy we had, a scruffy character named Leo. Leo was a golf authority who compared certain aspects of Dick’s swing to that of the great Jimmy Demarit. Dick used to keep a bottle of vodka in his bag and he often invited Leo to join him in a drink. It was Leo’s custom to walk ahead of his players to identify their balls. Dick would always yell to him ‘Have I got a shot, Leo?’ and Leo would drop the bags and do a little jig right there on the golf course! It was wonderful to see! One day Dick hit his ball right up behind a tree. It was a crucial shot. Dick and I were playing a five dollar Nassau and he needed to win this hole. Leo wasn’t dancing any jigs when he walked to Dick’s ball. When Dick called out ‘Have I got a shot to the green, Leo?’ Leo called back, ‘You have several shots to the green, Mr. Whittinghill!’ Spoken like a true caddy!
“Caddies are being phased out, sadly, in favor of golf carts. What a shame. A caddy can take ten shots off a high handicappers game. The pro’s couldn’t do without their caddies. I’ve known a lot of caddies, yes sir. Some drank too much, some talked too much, and some were too opinionated. But I have never met a stupid caddy or one who didn’t love the game of golf and the club where he worked.
“Now this tragedy. Right here in Palm Springs, the golf capital of the world. The authorities tell