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ions。〃
Liz laughed light and lilting。 〃On the planet Pluto； baby。 Sometime around the twelfth of never； but only if you dressed in drag。〃
Ooooh； Daddy…o！ She was turning me on； tumescent！
I sucked my cigarette down to a cinder。 Liz laughed licentious。 A jukebox jerked on。 Linda Lansing lilted out： 〃Baby； It's Cold Inside。〃
Liz lowered her head and laid out a lake of tears。 I said； 〃Linda's headed for shitsville； Sweetie。 You know the drill on payola。 Sinatra's too big to prosecute； and Flash Flood will turn State's。 They'll make it look like Linda paid him to play her song； and she'll take the fall。〃
Lonely Liz looked at me。 Bar light lit up her tear tracks and tributaries。 I knew she had a handle on some hot stuff to help me〃very〃 Hush…Hush。
She winced and wiped her face。 She whipped down the rest of her drink and chewed the cherry。 She sucked the stem and stared at me。 Her orbs sent me into orgasmic orbit。
She said； 〃You want information on Linda。 You'll pay for it if you have to； and you're going to try to convince me that anything I tell you won't hurt her。 You know that I'll give it to you if you're convincing； so be convincing and get out； or I'll send a 300 pound butch with brass knuckles over to kick your ass out of my life。〃
Astoundingly astute。 Breathtaking brevity and bravado。
I said； 〃I'll plant a piece that you're straight in 〃Hush…Hush〃。 I'll leave you alone forever。 I'm in trouble with the payola thing myself； and I won't write a fucking word about Linda。〃
Liz looked me over looooooooong。 She lit another Lucky and licked a loose leaf off her lip。
Oooooh； Daddy…o！ Save me from this sapphic siren！
〃All right； Danny。 One time and one time only。 Linda told me she'd put in some innings with Frank； going back to '52。 She said she had some dirt on him； and she used it to get him to bribe Flash Flood into playing her song。〃
The '52 bit bit a big hole in Skip Towne's skinny。 He laid Linda and Frank out as a fresh item。
I said； 〃Where's Linda now？〃
Liz said； 〃I don't know。 I saw her a week ago； right after they announced the probe； and she said something about making a run to Tijuana for Al Teitelbaum。〃
I liberated a Lucky and lit it。 Liz lifted a leather key fob and let it list on one long finger。
〃2104 Berendo； off of Los Feliz。 She was renting the place； and I made duplicates on the sly。〃
I snared the keys and snapped my fingers。 I winked and whistled a whiff of 〃One for My Baby。〃 Liz laughed loud and let me know I was a loser。
〃You're not Frank； Danny； so don't even try。 And I wouldn't flick you if you had a sex change and came out Rita Hayworth。〃
I looped back to Los Feliz and ran my radio dial en route。 Ring…adinga ripe news report。
〃。 。 。 and here's more on the shootout at the Pacific Dining Car parking lot； which left a marijuana…peddling Mexican busboy and one LAPD officer dead。〃
Static stung my ears。 I ditzed the dial and diminished it。 The newsman said； 〃The busboy was identified as Juan Ramon Pimentel； age 24； an illegal alien。 He was the number one supplier of marijuana in the Los Angeles area and was the focus of an interagency investigation involving the LAPD； the Beverly Hills PD； and the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department。 Pimentel was cornered in the parking lot； pulled a gun； and fired at four officers。 He killed LAPD Sergeant Richard D。 Jackson； was fatally wounded by the officer's return fire； and。 。
Static browned out the broadcast。 I breezed by Brewster's Newsstand on Bronson and bought a 〃Herald…Express〃。 Huge headlines： HEROIC COPS IN GUN BATTLE！ TWO DEAD！
I pored over the piece。 It was officious obfuscationdoggedly dissembled with a profoundly pronounced pro…cop prejudice。 Page 2 pix： John O'Grady posed with BHPD bimbo Bob Duhamel and the two police pitdogs。
Jive on the 〃Joint Police Venture。〃 Delirious demonization： 〃Dope Kingpin Pimentel。〃 Obviously and ominously omitted in his omnipresence： wicked witness Frank Sinatra。
Two cloyingly close and collusive columns down：
DA TO DROP PAYOLA PROBE。
A dozen desultory lines。 A perfunctory paragraph。 〃Lack of Evidence〃 and 〃Deemed Insufficient〃insinuating innuendo in my book。 Unconscionably unmentioned： Lewd Linda Lansing and triad trick Sinatra。 One paltry pic： Demon DA J。 Miller Leavyleaning into Bad Bob Duhamel。 A captivating caption： 〃Deputy DA Leavy and Sgt。 Duhamel also worked together on the celebrated Barbara Graham case。〃
No mention of ME。
〃My〃 payola piece prompted the probe。 〃My〃 marijuana machinations mandated a massacre。 〃I〃 was undeniably uniquitous and ignominiously ignored。
I shivered； shook； and almost shit my pants。 My pulse pounded paranoically hard。 I'd crusaded for truth in a Christlike fashion and crossed some invisible line。 Call me crucifiable。 The newspaper neglected to name my name and thus nailed me now for negation。 The world wanted me dead。 I violated the venal and vindicated their victims。 I sodomized silly celebrities and fragged and framed them as frail。 I vandalized their vulturelike souls and sold them as soulless on newsstands nationwide。 I modeled myself on Mahatma Gandhi and moved beyond that motherfucker in my quixotic quest for the truth。 I triumphed over trials that would mash most men to mush。 I delivered disillusionment as dystopian dish and entertained； edified； and enlightened。 I was a spiritual spearheadlike that spook who sparked the Montgomery Bus Boycott。 〃Hush…Hush〃 outhustles the Bibleat least in L。A。
I was the journalistic Jesus about to get justifiably Judas'd。
3
I bought a bottle of bonded bourbon。 I bombed myself out of my martyrdom mode and looped by Linda Lansing's lair lickety…split。
I rapidly reconnoitered。 I bipped around Berendo and cruised cross streets。 I noted no cop cars。 I hid my Hudson Hornet behind a hydrangea hedge and popped up to the pad。
It was a mock Moorish mosque in miniature。 Minarets； mauve awnings； and mesquite fronds out front。 I let myself in。 I slipped a light switch； slammed the door； and slid into a slaughterhouse。
The stomach…stinging stench of flayed flesh。 Matted hair and maggot mounds on a mauve rug。 Blood blips on white walls and windowpanes。
Linda Lansing laid out flat on the floor。 Slashed and sliced in a slit…leg gown。 Sharp shiv marks and sheared tissue torn out in striated strips。 Blonde hair blossomed into a blood slick。
Ten fingertips torn to the tendons and burned to the bone。 A hot plate hooked into a wall switch。 Scorched skin caught in the coils。
I rocked； rolled； reeled； and retched on the rug。 I made myself memorize the murder scene。
Overturned ottomans and sofas stabbed into stuffing。 Paintings pulled off walls and cut to confetti。 Bookcases bumped to the floor and stomped to a stack of stale sticks。
Bad burns on the body。 Scorch…scarred skin。 Cigarette circles。 A batch of butts blended into a blood pool。
Torment…inducing torture。 Infernally inflicted。 My inference： the inflictors intended to induce Linda Lansing into laying out something of interest。 She rigorously resisted and refused to give IT up。 IT was not information。 Call IT concealable。 The inflictors invaded t