The Enchanters by James Ellroy

Author:James Ellroy [Ellroy, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2023-09-12T00:00:00+00:00

32

(LOS ANGELES, 10:04 A.M., MONDAY, 8/27/62)

Zanuck mandated Round Two. I Teletyped a case update to Parker and Gates late last night. Gates wrote back. His brief: the whole deal is Fox-derived. Make more noise on the lot. Parker wrote back. His brief: be a shit magnet. It’s what you do best.

I strolled the lot. I unplugged a golf cart outside Soundstage #6 and zipped up to Zanuck’s side door. I had carte blanche now. I’d lubed Del Kinney. The nuisance-warrant threat vouched me. I barged right in.

Pops was alone. He saw me and moved slow. He went for his desk phone. I yanked the wall cord. He went for his intercom. I kicked out a floor plug. He yanked drawer pulls. I saw a Minnie Mouse purse gun and beat him to it.

Zanuck said, “You won’t always be a policeman, and Bill Parker won’t always enjoy the kind of pull he has now. I won’t always run this studio, and I’ll deal with you at my leisure then.”

I ejected the chamber round and popped out the clip.

“What’s the latest on the Cleo drain?”

No response.

“How deep in the shit are you?”

No response.

“Somebody at Accounting introduced you to Gwen Perloff. Was it Albie Aadland?”

No response.

“Did you green-light Hard Luck Girl so Gwen would keep it zipped on the kidnap?”

No response.

“Did you ever run into a psycho bit player named Paul Mitchell Grenier?”

No response.

“Was the wheezy-voiced woman who called you and ratted off the kidnap deal Natasha Lytess?”

No response.

Gear shift. Let’s shaft this geek.

I pulled out a Foxtone Services business card. As seen in Marilyn Monroe’s basement. I mimeographed three hundred duplicates last night. Nat and Phil were combing the lot now. They were tagging parked cars. One card per left wiper blade. Let the word spread.

Zanuck fumed and mush-mouthed his cigar. I dropped the card on his desk. Note the leering-fox logo.

“Your wife or mine?”

“Business opportunities”

“Contact PO box 6969”

Zanuck examined the card. His eyes clicked off-kilter. He flushed and pulled down his necktie. He gasped and expelled his cigar.

“I heard you’re a wife swapper from way back, so I thought you’d want to see what some colleagues of yours have got going. And check the schvantz on that fox. It’s got two heads. You think he gets laid?”

Pops dry-popped digitalis. His veins throbbed, purple-blue.

“Organized prostitution, postal-code infractions, felony financial malfeasance implied. I’m thinking there’ll be Federal and municipal grand juries, and you’ll be called to testify. Not to mention this. Surrender all your personnel files to me, or I’ll lay everything I suspect on Morty Bendish, and he’ll slam your ass in a groundbreaking Mirror-News series.”

Zanuck palsied and jittered. He’s Jello-O in an earthquake. I poured him a nice glass of scotch.

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