The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [45]
Barb ad-libbed. “Vegas limbo mighty good, lady go down like she should.”
Janice spread her legs. Janice rolled her hips. Janice popped looooow. The crowd clapped. The crowd stomped. Barb milked the beat.
Janice went looooow. Janice popped sequins and spangles. Janice popped seams. Her high heels snapped. She kicked off her shoes. She went under and up.
The crowd clapped. Janice bowed looooow. She ripped her dress. Her red panties showed.
Wayne Senior passed her a Salem. The lights went low. The combo vamped “Moonglow.” A baby spot blinked. It focused on Janice. It swooped and caught Wayne Senior low.
They linked up. Janice held her cigarette. Smoke blew through the light.
Circle dance.
Wayne Senior smiled. Wayne Senior loved it. Janice mugged and mocked this corny shit.
They swayed. Janice dropped sequins. The spotlight jumped. Wayne saw Lynette. Lynette saw Wayne. Lynette saw Wayne ogle Janice.
He dodged her eyes. He walked outside. He paced the front deck. He smelled marijuana—pot alert below.
Janice toked up for parties. Janice shared with the help. You had zorched valets. You had a hundred cars—now check the runway:
One airplane valet-parked—one guest’s Piper Deuce.
Wayne paced. Wayne walked the deck. Wayne fretted Dallas up.
Jack Ruby observed Hanukkah. The paper ran x-clusive pix. Two pages in: HOPE FADES FOR MISSING POLICEMAN.
Wayne watched the party. A glass door killed the noise. Check the wino elves—they’re digging on Barb.
Wayne watched her.
Barb moves her lips. Barb bumps her hips. Barb hits the mike stand. Barb scans the room. Barb sees a face and melts.
Wayne hugged the glass. Wayne got an angle. Wayne tracked her eyes.
To Mr. Meltman—Pete Bondurant.
Barb melts. Fucking snowdrifts in August. Big Pete reciprocates.
Wayne cracked the door. Wayne caught the vocal: “I Only Have Eyes for You.”
Wayne shut the door. His stomach dropped. He leaned on the glass. He caught a chill and saved his dinner.
Barb blew a kiss. Pete blew one back. Pete stretched and bumped his head on the ceiling.
Pete grinned. Pete went ooops! A man joined him—sunburned and thin—some shitkicker runt.
Wayne grabbed a chair. Wayne kicked up his feet. Wayne rocked off the rail. A match flared below him. Reefer smoke plumed its way up.
It smelled good. It sent him back. He toked once himself. Jump School at Fort Bragg. Let’s jump stoned and watch clouds change colors.
The door slid open. Noise spilled out. Wayne smelled Janice—cigarettes and Chanel No. 5.
She walked up. She leaned on him. She pressed his shoulders and back.
Wayne said, “Come on, work.”
Janice worked him. Janice dug in. Janice unknotted kinks.
“Something smells sweet down there.”
“It smells like a felony roust, if I was inclined.”
“Be nice, now. It’s Christmas.”
“You mean, ‘It’s Vegas, and the law’s for sale.’ ”
Janice dug in. “I wouldn’t be that blunt with a policeman.”
Wayne leaned back. “Who’s the one-star?”
“That’s Brigadier General Clark D. Kinman. He has a powerful crush on yours truly.”
“I noticed.”
“You notice everything. And I noticed you ogle that singer.”
“Did you notice her husband? The big guy?”
Janice worked his spine. “I noticed the airplane he came in, and the ankle holster he’s wearing.”
Wayne twitched. Janice tickled his neck.
“Did I touch a nerve there?”
Wayne coughed. “Who’s the skinny guy?”
Janice laughed. “That’s Mr. Chuck Rogers. He described himself as a pilot, a petroleum geologist, and a professional anti-Communist.”
“You should introduce him to my father.”
“I think they’re fast friends already. They were discussing the Cuban cause or some such nonsense.”
Wayne rolled his neck. “Who hired that combo?”
“Your father. Buddy Fritsch recommended them.”
Wayne turned around. Wayne saw Lynette. Lynette saw him. She tapped the door glass. She flashed her watch. Wayne flashed ten fingers.
Janice said, “Spoilsport.” Janice made claws. Janice goofed on draggy Lynette.
Wayne turned on the rail light. Janice walked downstairs. Sequins dropped behind her. The light made them glint.
The valets giggled. Hola,