Read Online Hollywood Nocturnes by James Ellroy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Ellroy
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Mystery & Detective, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery Fiction, Short Stories, Political, American, Fiction - Mystery, Mystery & Detective - General, Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945), Modern fiction, Short Stories (Single Author), General & Literary Fiction, Calif.), Hollywood (Los Angeles
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owned, so the owners can charge protective tariffs. My mom's a liberal, because she had a Brazilian lover once. He had really big hands, but he tried to pimp her out to cover some track bets he made, and my mom said 'No, sir,' and called a cop."
"What did the cop do?"
"The cop was my dad. He got her pregnant."
I called for the check. "Come on, I'll drive you home."
* * *
Jane snuggled close in the car. Chanel #5 tickled my nose--I cracked the window for relief. The McGuire Sisters on the radio-- I let "Sincerely" wash over me like Jane and I were for real.
It started drizzling. I hit the wipers and adjusted the rear-view-- a car was glued to my back bumper.
Spooky.
I punched the gas; the car behind us accelerated.
Jane slid off my shoulder and into my lap.
I hung a sharp left, sharp right, sharp left--that car birddogged collision close.
Jane burrowed into my lap.
I felt myself responding.
Left turn, right turn--the steering wheel brushed Jane's hair. Hands on my zipper--something told me to hit the brakes.
BAM!--two car bumper-locked pile-up--in the middle of a pissant L.A. side street.
I quit responding. Jane said, "Shit, I think I chipped a tooth."
I got out. French kissing: my Continental Kit and a '56 De Soto grille.
???--no white sports job--???
I ran back.
The De Soto driver got out, weak-kneed. Streetlamp glow lit him up good: Danny Getchell, _Hush-Hush_ Magazine.
"Dick, don't hit me, I've got pictures!"
I charged him. A flashbulb popped and blinded me--Getchell bought some seconds.
"The waiter at the restaurant recognized you and called me!"
My sight came back blurry--I charged and sideswiped a tree.
"Dick, I've got pix of you and the redhead holding hands!"
A flashbulb popped--I picked myself up seeing stars.
"I've got a shot of you and the twist walking by the Hi-Hat Motel!"
I charged the voice--"Dick, you can buy out with money or trade out with a story! Don't you know some queers you can rat?"
I tripped on a hubcap and went sprawling. Jane yelled, "My dad's a policeman _and_ a lawyer, you extortionist cocksucker!"
Flashbulb pop-pop-pop--my whole world went bright white.
"Dick, your zipper's down!"
I flailed on my knees and glimpsed trouser legs. Those legs went spastic--I caught a blurred shot of Jane shoving Getchell.
Gray flannel up close--I grabbed and yanked. Getchell hit the pavement; Jane smashed his camera on the curb.
"I dropped the film off, you dumb guinea shitbird!"
My hands/his neck--made for each other. _My_ voice, surreal to my own ears: "If you tell Leigh, I'll kill you. I've got no money, and the only story I've got is too good for you."
Choking out raspy: "You bluff. I call."
I tightened my grip. Choking out bone dry: "You bluff. I call."
Door slams, background voices. Jane said, "Dick, there's witnesses. My dad says eyewitnesses get killers the death penalty."
Getchell, bedrock bone dry: "You bluff. I call."
I let go. Getchell hunkered up and ass-scooted away. I pulled him back by the hair and whispered, "I'm working out a fake kidnap thing with some pros. I won't give you the exclusive, but I'll give you first crack at my own account."
Getchell choked out, "Deal."
Jane helped me up. Miss Teen Temptress was snaggle-toothed now
8.
Fort Contino, cabin-fevered up.
Leigh and Chris practiced knife throws; the "I want to fuck you to death" note corkboard-mounted served as a target. Nancy Ankrum kept her snout stuck in the _Herald_: the West Hollywood Whipcord hit again. Kay Van Obst on maintenance duty: oiling pistols and shotguns.
The girls had spent the night--"Barracks Contino." Bob Yeakel sent a food supply over: a half-dozen Pizza De-Luxe pizzas. A note accompanied them: "Chrissy Dear, be of strong heart. My pal at the DMV goes back to work in a week, and I'll have him start
"What did the cop do?"
"The cop was my dad. He got her pregnant."
I called for the check. "Come on, I'll drive you home."
* * *
Jane snuggled close in the car. Chanel #5 tickled my nose--I cracked the window for relief. The McGuire Sisters on the radio-- I let "Sincerely" wash over me like Jane and I were for real.
It started drizzling. I hit the wipers and adjusted the rear-view-- a car was glued to my back bumper.
Spooky.
I punched the gas; the car behind us accelerated.
Jane slid off my shoulder and into my lap.
I hung a sharp left, sharp right, sharp left--that car birddogged collision close.
Jane burrowed into my lap.
I felt myself responding.
Left turn, right turn--the steering wheel brushed Jane's hair. Hands on my zipper--something told me to hit the brakes.
BAM!--two car bumper-locked pile-up--in the middle of a pissant L.A. side street.
I quit responding. Jane said, "Shit, I think I chipped a tooth."
I got out. French kissing: my Continental Kit and a '56 De Soto grille.
???--no white sports job--???
I ran back.
The De Soto driver got out, weak-kneed. Streetlamp glow lit him up good: Danny Getchell, _Hush-Hush_ Magazine.
"Dick, don't hit me, I've got pictures!"
I charged him. A flashbulb popped and blinded me--Getchell bought some seconds.
"The waiter at the restaurant recognized you and called me!"
My sight came back blurry--I charged and sideswiped a tree.
"Dick, I've got pix of you and the redhead holding hands!"
A flashbulb popped--I picked myself up seeing stars.
"I've got a shot of you and the twist walking by the Hi-Hat Motel!"
I charged the voice--"Dick, you can buy out with money or trade out with a story! Don't you know some queers you can rat?"
I tripped on a hubcap and went sprawling. Jane yelled, "My dad's a policeman _and_ a lawyer, you extortionist cocksucker!"
Flashbulb pop-pop-pop--my whole world went bright white.
"Dick, your zipper's down!"
I flailed on my knees and glimpsed trouser legs. Those legs went spastic--I caught a blurred shot of Jane shoving Getchell.
Gray flannel up close--I grabbed and yanked. Getchell hit the pavement; Jane smashed his camera on the curb.
"I dropped the film off, you dumb guinea shitbird!"
My hands/his neck--made for each other. _My_ voice, surreal to my own ears: "If you tell Leigh, I'll kill you. I've got no money, and the only story I've got is too good for you."
Choking out raspy: "You bluff. I call."
I tightened my grip. Choking out bone dry: "You bluff. I call."
Door slams, background voices. Jane said, "Dick, there's witnesses. My dad says eyewitnesses get killers the death penalty."
Getchell, bedrock bone dry: "You bluff. I call."
I let go. Getchell hunkered up and ass-scooted away. I pulled him back by the hair and whispered, "I'm working out a fake kidnap thing with some pros. I won't give you the exclusive, but I'll give you first crack at my own account."
Getchell choked out, "Deal."
Jane helped me up. Miss Teen Temptress was snaggle-toothed now
8.
Fort Contino, cabin-fevered up.
Leigh and Chris practiced knife throws; the "I want to fuck you to death" note corkboard-mounted served as a target. Nancy Ankrum kept her snout stuck in the _Herald_: the West Hollywood Whipcord hit again. Kay Van Obst on maintenance duty: oiling pistols and shotguns.
The girls had spent the night--"Barracks Contino." Bob Yeakel sent a food supply over: a half-dozen Pizza De-Luxe pizzas. A note accompanied them: "Chrissy Dear, be of strong heart. My pal at the DMV goes back to work in a week, and I'll have him start
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