Read Online James Ellroy_Underworld U.S.A. 03 by Blood's a Rover - Free Book Online Page A

hit him up for five G’s. He considered the request. He almost bounced. Something deterred him.
    She emitted this stealth vibe. He snuck a look at her purse. He saw four different passports. He declined to front her the bread.
    Passports for what countries? Jesus, I don’t know. Known associates? People she talked about? Kid, we just
fucked
.
    Crutch pledged silence and told Al to split. Al split. Lew showed up. Hewas pissed. Dickhead, I’m married. You lured me here to grill me on some illicit snatch I promoted. Crutch badgered Lew. Lew revealed this:
    He met Gretchen at Stat’s Char-Broil. They got a thing going. He drilled her at the Miramar Hotel and at some pad up by Beachwood Canyon. She tapped him for five grand. She splitsvilled. He tried to find the canyon pad. He failed. He was blotto every time he was there. He couldn’t find the goddamn place.
    Known associates? Passports? Topics of talk? Kid, you’re not getting me—we hardly yakked.
    Crutch pledged silence and told Lew to split. Lew split. Chuck showed up. He was pissed. Dipshit, I’m married. You lured me here to grill me on some illicit snatch I promoted. Crutch badgered Chuck. Chuck revealed this:
    He met Gretchie at the Westward Ho Steak House. He boned her at a house a mile east of Beachwood Canyon. It was a rental deal. Price tags were still stuck to the furniture—I should have known.
    He lent Gretchie five G’s. She absconded on him. He called that Bev’s Switchboard place and tried to find her. Old Bev was a sphinx. She rebuffed him. He got a gift in the mail the next day.
    A Polaroid pic: Chuck and Gretchie Farr fucking. Chuck got the point: desist or your frau receives
this
.
    Chuck desisted. Chuck knew goose egg about passports and known associates. What did you talk about? Kid, we just
screwed
.
    Crutch pledged silence. Chuck split. Crutch bugged his waitress for a pencil and paper. She brought them. Crutch drew and re-drew Gretchen Farr.
    The fuckees gave him slightly different descriptions. An Anglo with spic blood? Sure, maybe, maybe not. Bev heard her talk Spanish. She got calls from three consulates: Panama, Nicaragua, the Dominican Republic. Latin countries. Spicfest ’68. She’s wild, she’s dark-haired, she’s pale working on dark—go, pencil, go.
    He drew Gretchie six ways. He gave her different hairstyles and made her smile and frown. He felt some wild spirit guiding him. His pencil broke. He got choked up and fucked-up when he saw where it all went.
    He drew Gretchen Farr as Dana Lund, six times over. Gretchie was Dana writ dark.
    Avco Jewelers was out at the beach. The window display featured high-line watches laid out on velvet blocks. Crutch perched under a striped awning. He was amped up. He was running on greasy pancakes and dope residue.
    He walked in. A fussbudget type stood behind the counter, messing with some pearls. He sized Crutch up. Navy blazer and gray slacks—okay, you’ll do.
    â€œSir?”
    â€œI had a few questions, if you’d be so kind.”
    â€œCertainly. Is there a piece you had in mind?”
    â€œPiece” hit him weird. “Gretchen Farr”—he just blurted it.
    The fussbudget fussed with his pearls. “And this pertains to?”
    â€œIt’s an inquiry.”
    â€œI gathered that, but you seem too young to be a police detective.”
    â€œI’m a private investigator.”
    â€œDubious, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
    Crutch got heat-prickly. “Look, someone called her answering service from your number. I’m just trying to—”
    The door chime rang. An old lady waltzed in, swaddling a Chihuahua. She vibed hot-prospect-hot-for-some-pearls.
    The fussbudget whispered. “Miss Farr came in two weeks or so ago, while I was out. She left a message for me to call her, which I did. We exchanged phone calls. She wanted advice on the recutting of a number of valuable