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their spell。 I popped a posthumous pardon on Barbaric Barb。
She didn't murder Mabel Monahan。 She had an all…star alibi for 3/9/5 3。 Linda Lansing learned about it。 She shook down Freon Frank and had him pay her off with payola。 Bad Bob and Demon Dotin league with Devil DA Leavy on the Graham case。 His conviction： contaminated by the contents of the film can。 Call it a cause célèbrethe can could lay L。A。 law enforcement laughingstock lowLeavy pulled the plug on the payola probe for that reputation…ruining reason。
It ALL congealed and constellated。 A special spark spoke to my spirit。 Call it the Sermon on Mount Monahan。
Barbaric Barb the martyred madonna。
Who refused to rat off Frigid Frank and Avid Ava as her alibi。 Who died in deference to the deification confirmed at the cutrate Calvary。
Who jumped off the jury and did not Judas the Juke Box Jesus。
8
The kiddie coup went mie。 The cops quelled it quicksville。
I filched five film cans and trawled TJ。 for Jesus and Jungle John。 I hit some hot spots and ran up against the Red Revolt in retreat。
Malnutrition…mauled muchachos moped down the main drag。 They lurched and lisped leftist slogans。 They slung empty machine guns and stumbled with the weightwithered waifs who wasted their wad at the White House。
They staggered and stumped for pickled plantains on every plate。 They lashed out at laissez…faire labor laws and slandered slavery。 They sideswiped soldiers and sailors。 They agitated against Uncle Sam。 They propagandized prostitutes。 They chanted and chastised the cholos who made Mexico great。 They beat their balls into an uproar and ran out of Red rancor。 They hit the street from heat stroke one by one。
The local cops let them run raucous and run out of steam。 They didn't muscle them or mow them down and martyr them。 They made like that Martin Luther King motherfucker。 They put out passive resistance and popped the little putzes into paddy wagons。 Pedro Pimentel's successor would subsidize their rigorous reeducation。
They succumbed to Sinatra in one magic moment of misplaced identity。 They couldn't sustain their subversion without him。
I said 〃vaya con dios〃 to the Vauxhall van and freed Frank's lilac Lincoln。 I hit the hip whorehouses and the jai alai games and buzzed by the bullfight ring。 I saw Sambo and the Savior at the Salamander Club and dipped by on disingenuous instinct。
Frank looked freon…fresh and crisply non…Christlike。 His gracious greeting： 〃Getchell； you cocksucker； what are you doing here？〃
Sammy marched me into the men's room and revealed the reverse metamorphosis。
Frank collapsed cold on Mink Mountain。 He woke up wigged out and wondered where he was。 His lost days lapped back to L。A。 and the snuff snafu。 He did not recall his re…resurrection and his acid…induced atavism。 He was pissed at my piece on the payola probeproperly so。 Sammy said he propagandized the prick。 Bygones as bygoneslet's bop back to L。A。
Sammy's pulverizing punch line：
〃He 〃is〃 the Christ； Danny。 I know you think it's all some kind dope fluke； but it's not。 I'm back with him now； and I'll always be with him； and thank God he doesn't know that I betrayed him。〃
We buzzed up to the border。 We quaffed Cuervo from the bottle and bit bitter limes。 Re…Sambofied Sammy chauffeured and shucked and jived。 I daydreamed and disdained his Christ crap。
Fuck Frank the Freewheeling Freak。 I had the 3/9/5 3 fuck film and four more。 I had Governor GoodwinJ。 Knight and his nigger nurse。 I had Diana Dors and a dipshit who delivered her pizza。 I had Dan Dailey in a daisy chain and Mickey Mantle and Marilyn Monroe in the men's room at the Mocambo。 That meant MONEY in my tote tucked in the trunk。
Frank tippled tequila and licked lime and blue…eye blitzed me。 It rankled and roughed up my ego。 I bored back with my beady browns。 Our brainwaves bristled and telescoped telepathically。
Frank hopped in my head。 He crept around my cranial crevices and crisscrossed my crazily wired wig。 He verbally vandalized me。 He thumped me with a thick thesaurus and alliterated with alacrity。 Literal lightning flares flew between our foreheads and threw out huge thuds of thunder。 Synaptic syncopation singed the seats we sat on。 We municated in capsulized containment。 Samboized Sammy sat there and didn't see or hear shit。
Frank Freud…frappéed me and undid my unconscious。 I shared my chickenshit childhood in Chillicothe； Ohio。 We miserated。 He municated 〃his〃 kid conundrums contrapuntally。 I sunk down syncophantic。 We negotiated a nonaggression pact。 I said I'd never hurl him hurt in 〃Hush…Hush〃。 Frank Freud…frappéed and freed himself。 He conflagratingly confessed his love for nonbarbaric Barbara Graham。
He was addlepatedly and adoringly in love with awful Ava Gardner。 Ava liked to lez once in a soft sapphic moon。 Hubert Humphrey hipped them to thrilling three…way thrush Barb。 The triad trick went down Ofl 3/9/53。 The soft siren syphoned his soul off Ava as they all linked limbs on luscious lilac sheets。
He capitulated。 He mandeered himself into captivity。 La Graham graced him with three grateful months。 He left avid Ava in the lilac lurch。 The scandal rags read it wrong and said 〃she〃 spun out for Splitsville。 The cops mistakenly made Boss Barb for the Mabel Monahan murder。 Sinatra stormed out to straighten her strait。 Boss Barb interceded and interdicted him。 She said his alibi would annihilate him and annex him from the world he wowed and rang ring…a…ding。 Her death would not diminish them。 She possessed preternatural powers。 She could dip into them dispensationally and deify him beyond his catastrophically cool charisma。
Dig：
She died and did it。
Doubt ditzed me。 Scandal…scribe skepticism scrawled itself out in telltale telepathy。 Frank scrolled a resounding response： 〃Don't you dig me； Dad？〃 I screwed up and scrawled back： 〃Jesus； I'm not sure。〃
Frank snapped his fingers。 The trunk door trembled and leaped off the lilac Lincoln。 My tote bag tipped out and popped to the pavement。 Two mangy muchachos materialized and moseyed up to it。
Frank said； 〃It's my world。 Even God knows that。〃
L。A。 paled pallid next to torrid Tj。 I loped by Linda Lansing's lair and let myself in with Liz Scott's key。
No blood。 No maggot mounds。 No cool corpus delicti。 No living room ratched and wrecked past recognition。
Dot Rothstein wrapped in a man…sized muumuu。 The NEW Joi Lansing lez…locked on her lap。
A headline hopping off a heap of 〃Heralds〃 chucked by their chair：
SINGER LANSING FOUND IN HOLLYWOOD HILLS。 CORONER CITES DEPOSITION AND RULES CAUSE OF DEATH UNKNOWN。
The girls giggled。 They looked me over looooooong。 The live Lansing licked crumbs off her lips。
I said； 〃I don't have the fifty Gs。 Things went bad down in Mexico。〃
Dot dipped into an ice…cream dish and chomped some chocolate chips。
〃Frank squared it for you。 He called Miller Leavy and told him you were kosher。 Miller called off the BHPD and told them to hang the fur job on Al Teitelbaum。 And as far as they're concerned； those heist guys you killed didn't exist。〃
The REAL Linda Lansing toyed with a toll…house cooki