Brown's Requiem - James Ellroy [89]
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about no Welfare scam. Hot Rod’s got this hotel he owns where all these bums on Welfare live. Winos. He collects their checks each month and takes out for their rent and bar tab. Is that what you mean?”
“No, Augie. I was just thinking out loud.”
“Hot Rod’s evil. You got to be evil to do something like that. Hot Rod don’t care about nothin’ but money and fucking women. Once he showed me these naked pictures he took of Fat Dog’s sister with her legs open. He told me he fucked her. I knew her. She was a sweet young girl. She used to cook really good spaghetti at the caddy lunchstand. And Hot Rod talked about her like she was scum.”
“You mark my words, Augie, within one week Hot Rod Ralston is not going to have a pot to piss in. Four people that I know of are dead because of him and he’s going to pay for it.” Augie looked at me with unabashed hero worship. “One last thing,” I said, “you told Ralston yesterday that Cal Myers told Fat Dog about me on the golf course. Exactly what did he say?”
Augie screwed his face in a memory search: “That you was a private eye in name only. That you was on the sauce. That you weren’t as smart as you thought you was. That you liked to give people shit.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all I can remember.”
“And Fat Dog said he was going to ‘use’ me for something, right?”
“Right. But he didn’t tell me what it was.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I remember I asked him, but he said never mind. Fat Dog could be real silent and crafty like. What are you gonna do now?”
“Talk to Burger Hansen’s widow, look for the scrapbook. What about you?”
“Hide out with my cousin. When you go to the cops, will you tell them I helped you?”
“In spades, Augie. But you can’t stay here in Cat City. Someone was looking for the scrapbook at your cousin’s place. You’ve both got to blow town. You got bread?”
“Not much.”
I checked my wallet and laughed. Forty-three dollars. In the course of the last three weeks I had dished out more money to informers and victims and to assuage my guilty German soul than I had earned in my first year as a cop. “I’m Tap City, Augie,” I said, “but I’ll tell you what to do. Cal Myers owes me one—you get back to L.A. and call him. Tell him Fritz Brown said for him to lay a grand on you. Don’t mention this case or what it’s for. If he won’t give you the bread, say this: January 29, 1971. That will pry it out of him.”
“Ain’t that like blackmail? I know Cal Myers. he’s a hard case and a cheap loop. Catbox Cal they call him, ’cause he’s always in the sand trap.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll kick loose. I’ll take you back to your cousin’s pad. When he gets back, tell him you’ve both got to split for a few weeks. Has he got a car?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Get in it and take off.” I started up my own battered chariot, pulled it off the shoulder and pointed it towards Charlie Dougall’s house. “Do you know Hansen’s wife, Augie?” I asked.
“Well enough,” he said. “She’s a good old girl. Loopers who get hitched up have a knack for picking loyal women. She put up with a lot of shit from old Burger. She didn’t like his drinking, though. She’s in A.A. herself, that’s why Burger used to get bombed under the freeway. Marguerita wouldn’t let him drink at home. You know, Fritz, I feel good. It’s real funny. I don’t know what’s going to happen, where I’m going to, but I feel like I’ve done something. Something real. For the first time.”
“You have, Augie. You’ve done something very few people could have done.”
“You really think so, Fritz?”
“I know so, Augie.” I pulled up in front of his cousin’s house and handed him one of my business cards. “Here’s my card, Augie. Call me in two weeks and I’ll tell you how this thing came out. In the meantime, get out of town and be careful.”
We shook hands solemnly, then Augie broke into a big loving grin and extricated his Abraham Lincoln frame from my Camaro. I waited until he was safely inside the house, then split.
The Desert Flower Trailer Park was in Section 14, Palm Springs’ poverty pocket. I had been hearing about Section