Chapter XIV
Chapter XIV:
Billy wasn't around. He was out gambling. I made myself at home. There was a small safe next to the door to the toilet, but I ignored it and checked the shoes in the closet. Sure enough, the sole of the right foot snow-white soft shoe held four Indian Head golden eagles. I pocketed them, almost doubling my worth. Well, current worth. I had $147.53 in a bank in Los Angeles. Trouble was my checkbook was back at my place and the bank had half dozen branches and all near LA. Given I was a wanted man, by many, that money was out of reach. With my return journey now paid, I felt more secure and felt one of the knots between my shoulders untie. There were plenty more of them back there, but one was gone.
Back when I was on the sauce, I loved stakeouts. Nothing beat getting paid to sit and do nothing but drink while waiting for some shit heel to present himself for your arresting pleasure. Staking out while sober was not joyous. I paced a little on the threadbare carpet and kept myself alert by thinking of all the wrong things I did since I stepped out of Ciro's. I stopped counting after three dozen when the key turned and a slumped shouldered Billy staggered inside, reeking of cheap cigarettes and cheaper booze. He did not notice me and looked like shit, which cheered me up tremendously.
"Hiya, Billy."
He turned around and blinked.
I wanted to slap him, but stopped myself. Had I made contact, I would not stop at slapping. I had me a lot of anger. The animal blood lust in my eyes must have shone through, because he took a step back, but his rotgut sapped legs could not handle such a quick movement and he went down on his ass.
I towered over him, eyes blazing and fists curled.
"Start talking, Billy."
"I thought I was doing Voormann a solid, John. Honest."
"Lying to me about being his Honner's scribe you mean?"
"Yeah."
"And the rest?"
"What are you...?"
I made contact then. Reached down, yanked him up by the lapels of his jacket and flung him on his bed. He skipped across it like a pebble and went down on his side against a wall. I strolled up, suddenly aware I was sporting half an erection.
"Start talking, Billy."
"I'm sorry, pal. I'm so sorry. Really, I am. They didn't tell me nothing."
I bull snorted, not in derision, but in anticipation of nailing a matador to a wall.
"John. You gotta believe me. You must. I didn't know nothing about it. Voormann double crossed me with Bugsy, same as he double crossed Hughes with me."
I kept my face angry and blank:
"When did you figure it out?"
"Pops. Pops Squire told me. Pops knows everything out here. He said Bugsy was buying up land here. Twisting arms. Rough stuff. That little runt sold me out to him. He was playing us all. All of us."
The runt's second to last words came to me: "I am the hero now." "This is my tale."
"When did he approach you, Billy?"
"Three, four months ago. I was... I was talking. My accountant sat me down just the night before. He proved to me that I spent $150,000 out here in Vegas in the last year. It... It hit me hard. I was drinking and talking, to everyone. Girls included. And even to that no talent perv. He told me the only way to beat the house is to be the house. I laughed it off, but he said there was serious money coming to Vegas to build casinos and that me and him should get in on the ground floor. He said he knew people. He did. I didn't know how then, but he did. Then I realized it was from the research he did for Hughes."
"And what did he want in exchange for all of it?"
"He had a screenplay. It was garbage, but he wanted it made into a movie. And he wanted Clark Gable in the leading role. As well as final approval over the cut and the say in which girls got cast in it. No studio would go for it. It would be... almost impossible. But I could get it done. Maybe."
"When did it all go pear shaped?"
"From the start. Soon as we lined up a seller, we'd get turned down. That's when I figured he was playing me and using my name to get Bugsy interested. He didn't spread the name of Hughes around. But mine. Oh mine he spread. Got Bugsy hooked. Bugsy bought some land out here. I had nothing. Still have nothing. Nothing at all."
Only thing I hate worse than a clown is a sad clown, so I kicked him in the ribs. There's an art to kicking people. Use your shin too much and you'll get it destroyed. Put all the weight in your ankle and you'll wake with it the size of the fruit bowl on Carmen Miranda's head. I kicked right. I had some experience. He vomited up his liquid brunch and started crying. I sat down on the bed and lit up a Chesterfield.
"Who ordered the hit on Goering?"
"I don't know. I don't know nothing."
Or at least I think that's what he said. Was hard to make out between sobbing. I dug out another Chesterfield, lit it with mine and stuck it into his vomit covered lips. He sucked on the coffin nail as if it was a pacifier. I used the pillow case to clean his puke of my new shoes.
He curled with his back to the wall, smoking in earnest.
"Indio. What did big man have out there?"
"A six-monther."
A six-month contract is what you gave to a pretty girl when she walked in through the door of your movie studio, but couldn't sing, dance or talk much. Five years ago, some of 'em ended up working for Lee Francis on Sunset. Now, some of 'em ended up keeping house for hoodlums. Progress.
"Besides that."
"He had a Mex lawyer out there, working on some kind of tax scam."
"Oh?"
"Booze, I heard. No excise tax on tribal lands. No county taxes at all, from what I heard. Cigarettes included. Rumor had it, the big man was going to open up nightclubs there and sell booze and smokes cheap. That's what I heard."
"Billy, you ever been on injun lands?"
"He was going to bring in some music acts I heard. Comedians. The works. Turn it into a thing."
"Did that stick in Bugsy's craw?"
"Everything sticks in his craw."
Christ, could it be have been that easy? The big man got lead poisoning on account Bugsy thought the kraut was going to build nightclubs out there and sell booze and cooze cheaper than at the rate he offered in his clubs? That'd be some irony - Goering getting killed due to the very disinformation he spread himself to cover up a much bigger scheme he cooked up. I almost smiled. Almost.
"Billy, what did Bugsy know about Goering's plan for the night clubs?"
"Everything. Even had blue prints."
The big man outsmarted himself. He came up with a perfect cover for his real plan, right down to the plausible explanation for the blue prints for hotels and casinos, and it got him killed regardless. I was almost convinced. Except for one thing:
"Who runs the Sheriff's Department now?"
"Anyone with a fruit basket and a crate of whiskey. You know that."
That I did. And it made the jigsaw puzzle messier. If Bugsy wanted me to dig up what the big man planned and hunt down those deeds for those clubs, he would not had the welcoming committee out by Palm Springs. And Bugsy is not the type of guy to send two squads for the price of one, never mind three. And I had three waiting for me at Union Station: Sheriff's, Bugsy's boys and Goering's knee-breakers. There were other players in this game.
"Who knew about Goering's scheme besides you, Voormann and Bugsy?"
"I have no idea."
"With the big man dead, who runs his strike-breakers?"
"Bruno. Bruno Loerzer."
Bruno was an absolute idiot. Well, not absolute, but close enough. Goering imported him from Germany and immediately set about making him his number one guy. Trouble was Bruno spoke English about as well as a dolphin. He also had the organizational skills of your drunken uncle. Rumor has it, Bruno saved the big man's life once during the War and the big man took that rather personal.
If Bruno was in charge of the knee-breakers, then no one was in charge of them, which meant they were for hire to not just the highest bidder, but any bidder at all. That put them on par with the LASD. Hell.
"What does Liddy know?"
"Willy didn't talk business with girls."
"All men pillow talk."
"Willy and Lida haven't been sharing a pillow for a while."
"What's 'a while?'"
"Not since he nailed her baby sister."
"She has a sister?"
"Zora, uh, Dawn. Came out here last year to become a star. Got pregnant instead."
"And then what?"
"I got her married off, to Voormann, and shipped off to New York."
The starlet Voormann married. It wasn't a favor for Billy. It was a favor for Big Willy. Only Billy arranged it, on account of the $25,000 debt. The puzzle got worse and better at the same time.
"When did Liddy find out who knocked up her sister?"
"She thought it was Voormann for a while, but... Her sister called her last week. Told her things. She called me to confirm. I lied of course. But..."
"Did Liddy know about the six-monther?"
"She knew there was someone near Palm Springs."
"The six-monther - who found her for the big man?"
"I, uh, suppose I did. I owed the big man... a bit."
"If 25 large is a bit, I'd hate to see what you think is more than a bit, Billy."
"How do you know about that?"
"I have the IOU now, Billy. Good luck. Hope you win some before you come to LA and I call collecting."
I walked out of the room, shook off a couple more chorus girls and got me a cab to the airport. I tipped the unshaven mope a fiver to get there on time to catch a return flight to Los Angeles. I had me two pretty dames to disappoint and I did not want to be late.
Billy wasn't around. He was out gambling. I made myself at home. There was a small safe next to the door to the toilet, but I ignored it and checked the shoes in the closet. Sure enough, the sole of the right foot snow-white soft shoe held four Indian Head golden eagles. I pocketed them, almost doubling my worth. Well, current worth. I had $147.53 in a bank in Los Angeles. Trouble was my checkbook was back at my place and the bank had half dozen branches and all near LA. Given I was a wanted man, by many, that money was out of reach. With my return journey now paid, I felt more secure and felt one of the knots between my shoulders untie. There were plenty more of them back there, but one was gone.
Back when I was on the sauce, I loved stakeouts. Nothing beat getting paid to sit and do nothing but drink while waiting for some shit heel to present himself for your arresting pleasure. Staking out while sober was not joyous. I paced a little on the threadbare carpet and kept myself alert by thinking of all the wrong things I did since I stepped out of Ciro's. I stopped counting after three dozen when the key turned and a slumped shouldered Billy staggered inside, reeking of cheap cigarettes and cheaper booze. He did not notice me and looked like shit, which cheered me up tremendously.
"Hiya, Billy."
He turned around and blinked.
I wanted to slap him, but stopped myself. Had I made contact, I would not stop at slapping. I had me a lot of anger. The animal blood lust in my eyes must have shone through, because he took a step back, but his rotgut sapped legs could not handle such a quick movement and he went down on his ass.
I towered over him, eyes blazing and fists curled.
"Start talking, Billy."
"I thought I was doing Voormann a solid, John. Honest."
"Lying to me about being his Honner's scribe you mean?"
"Yeah."
"And the rest?"
"What are you...?"
I made contact then. Reached down, yanked him up by the lapels of his jacket and flung him on his bed. He skipped across it like a pebble and went down on his side against a wall. I strolled up, suddenly aware I was sporting half an erection.
"Start talking, Billy."
"I'm sorry, pal. I'm so sorry. Really, I am. They didn't tell me nothing."
I bull snorted, not in derision, but in anticipation of nailing a matador to a wall.
"John. You gotta believe me. You must. I didn't know nothing about it. Voormann double crossed me with Bugsy, same as he double crossed Hughes with me."
I kept my face angry and blank:
"When did you figure it out?"
"Pops. Pops Squire told me. Pops knows everything out here. He said Bugsy was buying up land here. Twisting arms. Rough stuff. That little runt sold me out to him. He was playing us all. All of us."
The runt's second to last words came to me: "I am the hero now." "This is my tale."
"When did he approach you, Billy?"
"Three, four months ago. I was... I was talking. My accountant sat me down just the night before. He proved to me that I spent $150,000 out here in Vegas in the last year. It... It hit me hard. I was drinking and talking, to everyone. Girls included. And even to that no talent perv. He told me the only way to beat the house is to be the house. I laughed it off, but he said there was serious money coming to Vegas to build casinos and that me and him should get in on the ground floor. He said he knew people. He did. I didn't know how then, but he did. Then I realized it was from the research he did for Hughes."
"And what did he want in exchange for all of it?"
"He had a screenplay. It was garbage, but he wanted it made into a movie. And he wanted Clark Gable in the leading role. As well as final approval over the cut and the say in which girls got cast in it. No studio would go for it. It would be... almost impossible. But I could get it done. Maybe."
"When did it all go pear shaped?"
"From the start. Soon as we lined up a seller, we'd get turned down. That's when I figured he was playing me and using my name to get Bugsy interested. He didn't spread the name of Hughes around. But mine. Oh mine he spread. Got Bugsy hooked. Bugsy bought some land out here. I had nothing. Still have nothing. Nothing at all."
Only thing I hate worse than a clown is a sad clown, so I kicked him in the ribs. There's an art to kicking people. Use your shin too much and you'll get it destroyed. Put all the weight in your ankle and you'll wake with it the size of the fruit bowl on Carmen Miranda's head. I kicked right. I had some experience. He vomited up his liquid brunch and started crying. I sat down on the bed and lit up a Chesterfield.
"Who ordered the hit on Goering?"
"I don't know. I don't know nothing."
Or at least I think that's what he said. Was hard to make out between sobbing. I dug out another Chesterfield, lit it with mine and stuck it into his vomit covered lips. He sucked on the coffin nail as if it was a pacifier. I used the pillow case to clean his puke of my new shoes.
He curled with his back to the wall, smoking in earnest.
"Indio. What did big man have out there?"
"A six-monther."
A six-month contract is what you gave to a pretty girl when she walked in through the door of your movie studio, but couldn't sing, dance or talk much. Five years ago, some of 'em ended up working for Lee Francis on Sunset. Now, some of 'em ended up keeping house for hoodlums. Progress.
"Besides that."
"He had a Mex lawyer out there, working on some kind of tax scam."
"Oh?"
"Booze, I heard. No excise tax on tribal lands. No county taxes at all, from what I heard. Cigarettes included. Rumor had it, the big man was going to open up nightclubs there and sell booze and smokes cheap. That's what I heard."
"Billy, you ever been on injun lands?"
"He was going to bring in some music acts I heard. Comedians. The works. Turn it into a thing."
"Did that stick in Bugsy's craw?"
"Everything sticks in his craw."
Christ, could it be have been that easy? The big man got lead poisoning on account Bugsy thought the kraut was going to build nightclubs out there and sell booze and cooze cheaper than at the rate he offered in his clubs? That'd be some irony - Goering getting killed due to the very disinformation he spread himself to cover up a much bigger scheme he cooked up. I almost smiled. Almost.
"Billy, what did Bugsy know about Goering's plan for the night clubs?"
"Everything. Even had blue prints."
The big man outsmarted himself. He came up with a perfect cover for his real plan, right down to the plausible explanation for the blue prints for hotels and casinos, and it got him killed regardless. I was almost convinced. Except for one thing:
"Who runs the Sheriff's Department now?"
"Anyone with a fruit basket and a crate of whiskey. You know that."
That I did. And it made the jigsaw puzzle messier. If Bugsy wanted me to dig up what the big man planned and hunt down those deeds for those clubs, he would not had the welcoming committee out by Palm Springs. And Bugsy is not the type of guy to send two squads for the price of one, never mind three. And I had three waiting for me at Union Station: Sheriff's, Bugsy's boys and Goering's knee-breakers. There were other players in this game.
"Who knew about Goering's scheme besides you, Voormann and Bugsy?"
"I have no idea."
"With the big man dead, who runs his strike-breakers?"
"Bruno. Bruno Loerzer."
Bruno was an absolute idiot. Well, not absolute, but close enough. Goering imported him from Germany and immediately set about making him his number one guy. Trouble was Bruno spoke English about as well as a dolphin. He also had the organizational skills of your drunken uncle. Rumor has it, Bruno saved the big man's life once during the War and the big man took that rather personal.
If Bruno was in charge of the knee-breakers, then no one was in charge of them, which meant they were for hire to not just the highest bidder, but any bidder at all. That put them on par with the LASD. Hell.
"What does Liddy know?"
"Willy didn't talk business with girls."
"All men pillow talk."
"Willy and Lida haven't been sharing a pillow for a while."
"What's 'a while?'"
"Not since he nailed her baby sister."
"She has a sister?"
"Zora, uh, Dawn. Came out here last year to become a star. Got pregnant instead."
"And then what?"
"I got her married off, to Voormann, and shipped off to New York."
The starlet Voormann married. It wasn't a favor for Billy. It was a favor for Big Willy. Only Billy arranged it, on account of the $25,000 debt. The puzzle got worse and better at the same time.
"When did Liddy find out who knocked up her sister?"
"She thought it was Voormann for a while, but... Her sister called her last week. Told her things. She called me to confirm. I lied of course. But..."
"Did Liddy know about the six-monther?"
"She knew there was someone near Palm Springs."
"The six-monther - who found her for the big man?"
"I, uh, suppose I did. I owed the big man... a bit."
"If 25 large is a bit, I'd hate to see what you think is more than a bit, Billy."
"How do you know about that?"
"I have the IOU now, Billy. Good luck. Hope you win some before you come to LA and I call collecting."
I walked out of the room, shook off a couple more chorus girls and got me a cab to the airport. I tipped the unshaven mope a fiver to get there on time to catch a return flight to Los Angeles. I had me two pretty dames to disappoint and I did not want to be late.
