The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [66]
Pimps. Dice fools. Twelve arrests/two convictions. Vagrants with no known address.
He stayed up—half a day/a night/a full day. He watched the carport. He watched the clubs—the Nook/Woody’s/the Goose.
He watched crap games. He scoped bar-b-que lines. He saw wisps. He saw Wendell Durfee. He blinked and vaporized him.
He sat in his car. He watched the alley. It paid off two hours back.
Curtis exits a shack. The rear door flanks the alley. Curtis dumps shit in a trash can. Curtis runs straight back.
He waited. He sat in his car. He watched the alley. Dig this one hour back:
Leroy exits the shack. Leroy dumps shit in a trash can. Leroy runs straight back.
Wayne ran up then. Wayne dumped the can. Wayne saw a plastic sheet. White dust was stuck to it—white powder dregs.
He tasted it. It was Big “H.”
He circled the shack. Crimped foil covered the windows. He pulled a piece up. He saw Curtis and Leroy.
That was 5:15 p.m. It was 6:19 now.
Wayne watched the shack. Wayne saw wisps and light. Light cut through rips in the foil.
The rain was bad. Fucking monsoon dimensions. Pictures looped on:
Dallas. Pete and Durfee. Pete says, “Kill him”—this sound loop two days strong.
You should have killed him then. He’s a homing pigeon. You should have known.
KILL HIM. KILL HIM. KILL HIM. KILL HIM. KILL HIM.
The car sat on mud. The roof leaked. Rain seeped in. He owed Pete. Pete’s call saved him. Pete’s call diverted him.
Fuck Buddy Fritsch—fuck his file job—Hinton pays for the whore.
He detoured once—ten hours back. He drove by the trailer. Said trailer reeked. The whore sat and decomped.
Pictures: The blood peel/the maggots/pellets caked in blood.
Wayne watched the shack. The rain blitzed his view. Time decomped. Time redacted.
The back door opens. A man exits. He walks. He walks this way. He gets close.
Wayne watched. Wayne popped the passenger door. There—it’s Leroy Williams.
He’s got no hat. He’s got no umbrella. He’s got sodden duds.
Leroy walked by. Wayne kicked the door out. It hit Leroy flush. Leroy yelped. Leroy hit the mud. Wayne jumped on out.
Leroy stood up. Wayne pulled his piece and butt-punched him. Leroy fell and grazed the car.
Wayne kicked him in the balls. Leroy yelped. Leroy thrashed. Leroy fell down. He said mothersomething. He pulled a shiv. Wayne slammed the door on his hand.
He mashed his fingers. He pinned them. Leroy screamed and dropped the knife. Wayne popped the wind wing. Wayne reached in and popped the glove box.
He dug around. He grabbed his duct tape. He pulled up a piece. Leroy screamed. The rain ate the noise. Wayne eased off the door.
Leroy flexed his hand. Bones sheared and stuck out. Leroy screamed loud.
Wayne grabbed his conk. Wayne tape-muzzled him. Leroy squirmed. Leroy yelped. Leroy flailed his fucked hand.
Wayne taped him—three circuits—Number 2 duct. He kicked him prone. He cuffed his wrists. He threw him in the backseat.
He got in the front seat. He hit the gas. He swerved through mud and alley trash. The rain got worse. His wipers blew. He drove by feel.
He notched a mile. He saw a sign. He flashed—the auto dump—it’s close—it’s two clicks downwind.
He drove fifty yards. He cranked a hard right. He braked. He pulled in. He wracked the axle on the pavement.
He hit his brights. He lit the place large: Rain/epidemic rust/a hundred dead cars.
He set the brake. He pulled Leroy up. He ripped up the tape. He ripped off skin and half his mustache.
Leroy yelped. Leroy coughed. Leroy burped bile and blood.
Wayne hit the roof light. “Wendell Durfee. Where is he?”
Leroy blinked. Leroy coughed. Wayne smelled the shit in his pants.
“Where’s Wendell Durf—”
“Wendell say he got somethin’ to do. He say he be back to get his stuff and leave town. Cur-ti, he say Wendell got bidness.”
“What business?”
Leroy shook his head. “I don’t know. Wendell’s bidness is Wendell’s bidness, which ain’ my bidness.”
Wayne leaned close. Wayne grabbed his hair. Wayne smashed his face on the door.