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Jordan pulled a passel of pix out of his pockets and fanned them full。 I popped up and peered through the plate…glass powerfully hard。 I saw darkroom…dipped photos still wet with developing doo。 Interior shots： bountiful bedroom suites with balconies and wide walk…in closets。
My brain went bim； bango； bingo：
Don Jordan's moonlight maids with Minox minicams。 Wetback women hooked in as hookers。 Luau…lounging B…girls brought to Brentwood and Beverly Hills。 Papa pops the girls to the pad while Mama meanders in Miami or mingles at her Monday mah…jongg club。 The girls pop perspective pix and juke them back to Jordan。 Jordan jukes them to some big bad burglary man。 Jordan juked Yolanda into the plan。 Johnny yanked Yolanda's chain； scammed the skinny on Demon Don's designs and demanded a cut。 Yolanda lounged around the Luau in Lana Turner's low…cut gown。 Stilltorching Steve Crane recognized it。 He yipped； yelled； and yodeled at Yolanda。 He demanded that she double…agent for him。 Yolanda agreed to dump domestic dirt on Lana and Johnny。
Stompanato stamped his feet。 Jordan jabbed his chest。 They stepped back and countermanded the course of a counterproductive contretemps。 They smiled。 They mandeered a couch。 They pored over their pix and penciled a map on a piece of paper。
I hunched down and hunkered back to my hedge。 I smelled Methedrine popping out of my poresmixed with the musk of MONEY。
I needed names。 I could B&E Johnny's pad and boost a burglary list。 I could bug the pad and bug Demon Don's digs。 I could tap their telephones and tape their talks and wire up the wetback wenches。 I could impersonate an Immigration agent and intimidate them。 I could contact the feckless fools that they flicked and feed them an ultimatum： Feed me in five figures； or I'll tell your wife who you fucked one freaky Friday night。
Oooooh； Daddy…o！！！！！ I was digging it all； delirious！
I hauled back to the 〃Hush…Hush〃 office。 I had to hook my hands on a boss batch of bug shit。
The office was occupied。 My crew was crapped out on the floor。 They were blasted； blitzed； blotto； zilched； zorched； and zombifled。 They'd gone off the wagon en masse。
They got tanked on Tokay and T…Bird。 They got stinko on Sterno and got wiped out on White Port。 Short…dog bottles shifted and shimmied on every spare inch of floor space。
I checked my equipment chest。 All my bug mikes were bunched up； broken； frayed； frazzled； and fucked。 My condenser cords were stripped and striated down to mere strips。 My diode dials were ripped； rusted； and ratched to shit。
FUCK
I had to find a freelance bug freak and co…opt him into my conspiracy。 That meant pitching him a prime piece of my potential payout。
FUCK
I called Freaky Fred Turentine。 His wife said he was working for 〃Whisper〃 tonight。 I buzzed Buddy 〃Bug King〃 Berkow。 His wife said Ben Luboff just brought him in on a big bug job。 I called Voyeur Vance Vanning。 His wife said he was out on a wire job for 〃Whisper〃。 He left her a late…nite number： a pay phone at Wilshire and La Cienega。
It all congealed and constellated。
My tip to trap homo hunk Rock Hudson。 The sweaty swish at Delores's Drive…In。 Ben Luboff poised to scale the Purple Parthenon。
3
It had to be huge。 Three bug boys at twenty bucks an hour boded big。 My bet： Ben wanted bug bits on the bun…boy bizto buttress his hit on hunky Rock Hudson。 He'd set some phone…tap traps and bug baits on the sweaty swish carhop and develop some derogatory dish on Delores's Drive…In。 A prick…tease prelude to priapic Rock and some prick…happy call boy。
I had to see it。 It beckoned as big as the Bikini Atoll atom…bomb blast。 A bifurcated motive bolstered my urge to merge with the moment。 I wanted to boost a batch of Buddy Berkow's bug gear for 〃my〃 gig。
I whizzed down to Wilshire and La Cienega at warp speed。 I whipped by Delores's Drive…In and dug all the dirty details。
The 2：00 A。M。 tumult。 Late…nite L。A。 out for burgers； borscht； and bagels。 Beatniks and beaten…down benny…heads in battered Bonnevilles。 Cholos in chopped…down Chevys riding on cheater slicks。
Carhops rolling roisterous on roller stakes。 All mincy males laid out in lacy lounge wear。 Buddy Berkow's bugmobile back by the men's room。 Beside it： Voyeur Vance Vanning's van。 Freaky Fred Turentine wolflng french fries at an inside counter。
I whipped back to Wilshire and parked。 I brought my beady browns up against my Bausch & Lombs and went into ocular orbit。
Dig：
Sweat beads bipping off the brow of that too…tall carhop topping off the tape toward 68〃。 A sweaty swish with the shakes： His tray twitched and twisted and almost toppled two twincheeseburger plates。
He fed the food to two Filipinos in a Ford Fairlane。 He flitted back to a little shack lit by floodlights。 He stood by the door and chain…smoked two Chesterfield Kings。
Envy entered my heart。 An enlightened sense of entitlement entered my soul。 A cosmic course of covetousness covered my whole being。
This gig should be MINE。 I was the scandal…scamming； skinny…skimming scopophiliac king。 The scopophiliacal scope of this gig screamed GETCHELL！
I alakazammed to Allah； genuflected to Jesus； and called out to that cat the kikes call God。 I said I'd keester munists and bash ban…the…bombers； and dig up dirt on that dowager dyke Eleanor Roosevelt。 I'd donate dough to a Moslem mosque。 I'd put in with Pat Boone； wear white buck shoes； and warble at a Billy Graham Crusade。 I wouldn't print my piece on Rabbi R。 R。 Ravitz and that Hebrew…school Hannah he humped last Hanukkah。
I shut my eyes。 I gave the God guys time to get together and go for my deal。 I could feel them finagling the fine points。 Divine deals demand deliberation。
I opened my eyes。 Ben Luboff bopped in front of my binoculars。 He slid the sweaty swish a C…note and slid into the shack alone。 The swish sashayed up to a lavender Lincoln and leaned in。
Ben bribed the too…tall brunser。 That meant he didn't want to roust his racket。 The gig developed different dimensionsmaybe divinely deigned。
I latched my lenses on the Lincoln and locked my eyes in hard。 I saw hunky Rock Hudson hand up a handful of hard cash。
All praise to Allah！ Joy to Jesus！ 〃Hush…Hush〃 hosannahs to the Hebrew God！
Rock locked his Lincoln； ditched the drive…in； and joyfully jaywalked straight across Wilshire。 He walked up to the front of the Fine Arts movie house and made with a wicked wolf whistle。
A winsome wolf whistle whisked back his way。 A muscular manchild meandered out of a moonbeam and leaned in the lobby doorway。
Rock； you rambunctious rump ranger
Rock loped into the lobby。 The kid locked them in。 They disappeared near a dark candy counter。
I blew out of my Buick and flew around the Fine Arts fast…footed。 I saw blue lights blink at the back of the building upstairs。 I shimmied up a shaky drainpipe and shagged myself onto a ledge。 I undulated through an unlocked window and heard Rock ululating。
I landed on a lopsided pile of film cans。 I pitched forward and pulled myself up。 I peeped through a pebble…glass door and saw shadows shifting down a short hallway。
I fast…footed it out of the fi