按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
uty DA Leavy's statement。
〃Where there's smoke； there's fire；〃 Duhamel told the 〃Mirror〃。 〃And our investigation is turning up some prominent people。〃
Duhamel refused to ment on which 〃prominent people。〃 The 〃Mirror〃 went to Danny Getchell； editor in chief and head writer for the notorious scandal magazine 〃Hush…Hush〃。 Getchell claimed that his piece in the December issue； 〃Payola Pantheon！ Sex…Sational Sinatra and Luscious Linda Lansing Linked！〃 sparked Deputy DA Leavy's probe。 Getchell told the 〃Mirror〃： 〃I got a tip that Frank Sinatra was paying Flash Flood to promote Linda Lansing's song； and I confirmed that tip to my satisfaction and wrote it up in the December issue。 That's all I'll say。 I'll never feed your newspaper any hot leads that I could publish in my magazine。 You can't blame me for that； can you？〃
Deputy DA Leavy and Sergeant Duhamel would not ment on Mr。 Getchell's assertions。 Frank Sinatra and Linda Lansing could not be reached for ment。 Flash Flood told the 〃Mirror〃： 〃I don't dig Danny Getchell。 He's a parasite passing himself off as a journalist。 I dig Sinatra and I dig Linda Lansing。 And dig this： I think Skip Towne （a rival disc jockey and the former Sol Irving Moskowitz） tipped off Getchell to louse up my career。 Payola； schmayola。 What we've got here is freedom of speech run amok。 You can dig that； can't you？〃
Skip Towne could not be reached for ment。 Danny Getchell told the 〃Mirror〃： 〃I stand by my piece in 〃Hush…Hush〃； and I condemn Flash Flood's accusations as libelous and munistic。 Freedom of speech should always serve as a search for the truth； and the truth is my moral mandate。〃
I。
Sin…sational Sinatra：
A macho…maimed mama's boy and pussy…whipped putz。 A punk with a pack of pit dogs to rough up recidivistic reporters。
Skip Towne skimmed me the skinny： Frank flipped Flash Flood five grand to flip that song and hitch it up the Hit Parade。 Impishly implied： Linda Lansing lanced Frank's libido and pulled him around by the pud。 Payola payoffs and poontangperennia＇ poop for 〃Hush…Hush〃。
Sinatra sent me a nice note：
〃Danny； how could you？ The Pacific Dining Car parking lot； Io：oo A。M。 Thursday。 You know it will go worse if I have to send the boys out to find you。〃
The Boys：
Freelance freaks out of Frisco。 Greaseballs who grovel and suck up to Sinatra。 Discipline dispensers hot to hurl some hurt and rack up ringside seats for Frank's next stand at the Statler。
Frank hates 〃Hush…Hush〃。 〃Hush…Hush〃 hates him。 I published a piece on his private doc and his prick…enlargement procedure。 His pit dogs pounced on my Packard and blew it up on publication day。
〃10：00 A。M。； Thursday。〃
I deconstructed my dilemma。 I contemplated pliance and concocted countermeasures。 I strategized。 I stripped the strait I was in down to strict essentials。 I decided to frame Frank in the name of free speech。
8：30A。M。； Thursday； 12/21/55。
I bopped by Ben Hong's herb hut in Chinatown。 I bought a bushel of Belladona Bulbs and a mound of man…eating Ma Huang。 〃Hush…Hush〃 pushes panaceas and hopped…up health highballs to hipsters and high…school kids。 We pitch potency pills and cancer cures on our back pages and ship the shit out of a shack behind the Shangri…Lodge Motel。 It's legal and lethal in the long run。 A loyal league of losers laps it up。 Belmont High hopheads buy our Bitter Burdock Buds in bulk and bounce off to Cloud 9 in class。
I needed to nail a big bag of boo。 Ben Hong heard me out。 He said Bob Mitchum was moving Maryjane to move out of debt with the Mob。 I buzzed Bob and blitzed him with a bit of blackmail bait： that bleached blonde who blew you in the Hialeah bleachers was really a high…class drag queen。 Bob stuttered； sputtered； and spat out； 〃What do you want？〃 I said； 〃Drop some stuff on me。〃
Bob kowtowed and consented。 I popped out to his pad in Pacific Palisades and glommed a glassine…wrapped glob of righteously resinous reefer。 I stoked up a stick in my Studebaker and stood on the gas。 I mainlined my way downtown。
I flew like a flipped…out flamingo。 I flapped my wings and wafted back to earth on West 6th。 I popped by the Pacific Dining Car parking lot。
I slipped by in slow motion。 I slid my eyes into slits。 I reconnoiteredreefer wracked and wrapped in a marijuana mushroom cloud。
I saw sin…sational Sinatra sipping a midmorning martini。 He was lounging by a lilac Lincoln。 Two lethal…looking lapdogs were perched on a Pontiac Coupe。 They laughed and lapped up every line Sinatra launched their way。 They were maladroit mastiffs on a mission to maul for their master。 Their snouts were snagged and snared cloyingly close to his ass。
The parking lot was packed。 The Pontiac was penned between a Buick and a boss Bonneville。 I could undulate in and out unseen。
I bipped down the block。 I stashed my Studebaker off the street and bebopped back on foot。 Sinatra had his goons in stammering stitches。 Stale stuff： the story of e…San…Chin； the Chinese cocksucker。
They didn't see me。 I dipped down and duck…walked into the lot。 I popped up to the Pontiac and whipped my bag of boo in a wind…wing。
I whizzed out of the lot。 I winged down the street and wiggled into a phone booth。 I dipped a dime in the slot and slid a call to Sergeant John O'Grady。
O'Grady：
Grandstanding and greedy。 A gratuitous need to grab grasshoppers and hurl himself into the headlines。 He popped Art Pepper for pot and bagged Bob Mitchum on a boo bounce back in '48。 He hauled in Hedda Hopper's hophead son just last week。
He picked up。 〃Narcotics； O'Grady。〃
I said； 〃Getchell； bearing gifts。〃
〃I'm listening。 You've got three seconds to catch my attention。〃
I said； 〃The Pacific Dining Car parking lot。 Frank Sinatra's goons and an ounce of shit on the floorboard of a green Pontiac。〃
〃When？〃
〃〃Now〃。〃
〃Is Sinatra there？〃
〃You can't miss him。 He's the skinny guy with the voice。〃
I loped back to the lot and breezed up brazen。 Sinatra saw me。 The lapdogs licked their lips。 I saw a big guy in the backseat of the lilac Lincoln。
Sinatra slid on slick black sap gloves。 They were wickedly weighted with dollops of double…ought buck。 They packed a wellknown wallop。
The lapdogs leered at me。 A mean…looking Mexican busboy sidled out a side door。 He balanced a monster martini on a monogrammed tray。
The lapdogs laughed at me。 The Mex marched up and made mealy…mouthed 〃Si； Se？or〃 sounds。 Sinatra popped his patentleather fingers。 The Mex made a suck…ass sound and sunk down submissive。 Sinatra snapped his fingers and snared the martini。
He said； 〃You're prompt。〃 He looked at his lapdogs。 He said； 〃He's prompt； Boys。〃 The lapdogs laughed。 The Mex sneered and snickered。 I snuck a look at the Lincoln。 The big guy in the backseat kept his back to me。
I popped up to the Pontiac coupe。 I said； 〃How's tricks； Frank？ Your mother still doing her act with the mule？〃
Sinatra sizzled and simmered。 Steam stormed out his ears and stung me。 He made mincy fists。 His martini glass shot into shrapnel shards。
The lapdogs got lanced。 The Mex got minor…league mangled。 They shook shards off their shirts and popped puzzled eyes at Il