Neon Nights: Daymond Runyon meets James Ellroy in the Nevada Desert Page 5

  Although she confirmed Johnny's presence, she didn't have any idea when he came or left. As we were leaving, she said she was happy Johnny was dead and hoped he burned in Hell.

  Outside her trailer, I noticed the curtains move on the trailer next door. Dick noticed them, too. "Why don't we talk to the neighbors," he suggested. I took the trailer on the right and he took the one on the left.

  I knocked several times before the door opened a crack. I flashed my badge and asked if I could come in. The door didn't move. I tried a different approach. "Look, I'm not here to give anyone problems, all I want to do is ask a few questions. If you'll let me in, I'll only take a few minutes of your time."

  The door flew open and a tall redhead in her late thirties looked down at me. "Honey," she said, "It only takes a few minutes of my time with most guys." She stepped out of the way and said, "You might as well come in. It's too hot to be outside."

  Her trailer was different from the one next door. Angel's trailer had been divided into several small cubicles so several girls could use the trailer at the same time. This trailer looked as if someone actually lived in it. The redhead pointed at the couch and told me to make myself comfortable. She sat across from me and picked up some knitting. "For my niece's baby boy," she said and held up a small blue sweater. She smiled and said, "What do you want to know?" I asked if she knew anything about Johnny being there Tuesday night, she replied, "I'm afraid I can't help you. I take Tuesdays off--I go to town and see a movie."

  "I didn't think Jake let his girls take a night off."

  "He doesn't but I don't work for Jake. I pay him to park my trailer here and if I want to work, I work. If don't want to work, I don't. I'm not about to let him work me to death like one of his girls."

  She had Jake pegged. He had a reputation of working his girls until they were used up. The girls couldn't object since they wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Jake. Most had been imported by a scam Jake ran during the war. First he'd find a young hooker in some war-torn country and then he'd pay a GI anywhere from a hundred to a thousand bucks to marry her. The GI would ship her back to the U.S. courtesy of Uncle Sam. As soon as she got off the boat, someone met her and they'd make a bee-line for Nevada to get a quick divorce. Then she'd have to repay Jake by working on her back. Jake wanted a lot for his help, and most of the girls were old and worn-out before he considered the debt paid.

  She looked at the clock and asked, "Are you about done? I'm expecting visitors soon."

  "I got a few more questions to ask. Your friends can wait."

  She let out a small sigh and said, "Okay, but let's get this over with."

  "Did Johnny see anyone other than Angel around here?"

  "I don't know. I stayed away from him. He had a reputation of damaging the merchandise, and at my age I don't heal that quickly."

  "Your neighbor said he's a little rough."

  She giggled and asked, "Did Little Miss Muffett get slapped around again?"

  "It involved a bit more than getting slapped around."

  "Hey, I tried to tell her, but she thought she'd get Johnny to put her up in town and shake Jake. I knew Johnny wasn't going to help her, but she wouldn't listen."

  "What do you know about Johnny's and Jake's relationship?"

  She shook her head. "If I knew anything, I'd keep my mouth shut. Jake doesn't like people taking about his business and I'm not brave enough to try."

  There was a knock on the door. I looked out the window and some guy was standing outside. He wore a cheap suit and looked like a traveling salesman. I handed her one of my cards and said, "If you remember anything, give me a call."

  She took the card and looked at it. "You got a nice‑name. Kelly O'Brien is a good solid cop's name. Are you a good solid cop, Kelly O' Brien?"

  "I try to be. What's your name?"

  "Rita Heller, it fits my hair‑‑don't you think?"

  I had to agree. I thanked her and opened the door. The traveling salesman gave me a wink as he passed by and I went looking for Dick. I found him sitting in front of Jake's office. I asked if he'd found out anything and he replied, "Not a damn thing. All the girls are either Mexican, Chinese or something. Most of them don't know any English beyond asking you what kind of sex you want, and even that's hard to understand. Anyway, most of them were looking at the ceiling that night." He grabbed the sleeve of pulled me toward the car. "Come on. Let's get out of here. I need a drink."

  "Don't you always," I said under my breath.

  "What?" Dick asked.

  "I said lemonade would taste good now."

  "Lemonade, who in the hell drinks lemonade?"

  On the way back to town, Dick looked over his notes. He put his notebook away and said, "I'd sure like to know more about what Jake and Johnny were up to with them airplane parts. You got any ideas?"

  "If he's still around, I might know someone who could help."

  "When we get back, see if you can get a hold of him."

  As soon we arrived at the station the Sheriff called Dick into his office, after a few minutes, he returned and said, "Look I got to talk to the Attorney General about the fight you had with Kemper. Why don't you go ahead and take rest of the day off."

  "I thought you wanted me to run down a lead on that airplane stuff."

  "I'll wait. Right now I want things to cool off so make your self scarce." He patted me on the shoulder and whispered, "Don't worry kid it'll be all right."

  I didn't have the slightest idea what to do with the rest of the day. I went back to my room and I tried reading a book. But I was too restless to read. I fiddled with the radio, but only women's programs were on at this time of day. I ended up staring out the window wishing something would happen. In about half an hour, my wish came true, across the street, moving like a shadow was Bottles Malloy.

  I wanted to talk to him ever since our encounter out at his place. Grabbing my coat I ran downstairs. Bottles stood at the corner, looking nervous. I hung back to see what he was up to, and about five minutes later an old Model A Ford wheezed up in front of him. He got inside for a few minutes and then got out. The Model A sputtered off and Bottles walked quickly down the alley. I ran down the street and cut over to the alley ahead of him. I hid behind and garage and as soon as he passed by, I grabbed him and spun him around. "What's the hurry, Bottles?" He tried to get loose and I pushed him against the garage. "Relax, you're going to hurt yourself if you keep trying to get away." Bottles kicked me in the shin and I let go of him. He started to run but he was in such horrible condition, it only took a few strides to catch him. I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to the ground. He tried to get up but I pushed him back down. "Look dummy, I just want to talk to you, but if you keep screwing around, I'm going to hurt you--so knock it off." This time he got the message and stopped fighting. I started to pat him down and when I got to his left front pocket, he started fighting again. "What have you been up to--Bottles?"

  "I'm just trying to stay alive but you don't care if I live or die. So let's get it over with--arrest me."

  "You got it wrong, Bottles, I'm not going to arrest you. I want to talk to you."

  Bottles shook his head and said, "You enjoy this don't you? I'm some bug you've got tied up with thread. Every time I try to get free, you pull me back and tie me up again. Let's end it now. I can't take it anymore"

  Bottles' self-pity was wearing thin. "What a bunch of crap. You're the one who keeps screwing up, not me. If you'd get clean and stay clean, I'd leave you alone. But maybe you're right. Maybe I should run your butt in. At least I won't have to listen to you bellyache about how I'm mistreating you. Maybe they'll treat you better in prison. Do you want to find out?"

  Bottles’ was normally pale but he got even whiter. He violently shook his head, "No, man, don't do that. I was just kidding," he pleaded. "Let me get a little taste in me to shake the Jones and I'll be all right. Give me another chance--okay."

  "Okay, but I want you to understand a couple of things. One, that
young girl out at your place, Suzie Kurtz, is not getting any dope from you. If I find out you're supplying her with dope, I'm going to turn nasty--real fast. You're also not going to turn her into a whore to feed your arm. If I find you're turning her out, I'm going to land on you hard--real hard. You got that?"

  Bottles mumbled, "Okay, man, I got it, but I’ve been treating her good—so don’t worry."

  "Good, because I don't want to have to make you into a special project, but if you don't listen to me--I will." I had no idea what special project was, but it sounded good. I pulled him to his feet and said, "You're right about one thing. You are a bug. So don't make me step on you--okay?" Bottles nodded in agreement and I asked him, "You remember talking to me yesterday?"

  I could tell Bottles didn't remember talking to me yesterday or any other day. "Sure, man," he lied. "I remember that...what was it you wanted?"

  "I wanted you to find out more about Johnny Del Rio's visits to Jake's trailer park. I want to know everything you can find out, and I want it soon."

  "No problem, man. I'll get right on it. Can I go now?"

  "Take off, but remember what I told you." Bottles scrambled off. He might be a lost cause, but I'd be damned if I'd let him screw-up that young girl. If he did, I'd make his life as miserable as I could. From the way he ran, he must have figured that out, too.

  I walked back toward my apartment. A siren sounded behind me and I looked around. A deputy leaned out the window of his prowl car and said, "Dick Pearson's been trying to call you. He needs you to come to the station." I asked him why but he replied, "Beats the hell out of me." When I arrived at the station I went looking for Dick. I found him sitting in the sheriff's office. He got up and met me at the door. He didn't look happy. "Look, kid, Kemper's really hot. You split his lip and he's got a lump on his jaw. He's mad as a wet hen and he's going to make trouble. He beat me to the punch and had his boss call our boss. Now the Attorney General wants to talk to you."

  Dick handed me a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. I took it from him and asked, "What do you think is going to happen?"

  "I don't know. It's hard to say how this is going to shake out, but you'd better be prepared for some problems."

  The number belonged to an assistant Attorney General named Frye. He got right to the point. "I'd like to hear your version of what transpired Patrolman O'Brien." I explained what happened and he said, "So it's your contention that Special Agent Kemper provoked the fight by shoving you. Am I correct?"

  "Nothing would have happened if he hadn't started pushing me around."

  "Agent Kemper's account of the incident doesn't agree with yours. He says you attacked him for no reason."

  "He's lying. He shoved me and that's why I hit him."

  "Take it easy Patrolman. I'm just telling you what he said. Since there are no witnesses, it's hard to know whom to believe. Apparently the sheriff feels the same way since he refuses to press charges. I'm inclined to agree but you shouldn't take that as a vindication of your actions. Justified or not the fact you hit a fellow officer is a serious matter. This is compounded by the fact we are trying to work closely with the FBI and your actions can only cause a riff to develop."

  "I'm sorry for that and I'll do anything it takes to make things right."

  "Good, because the regional director of the FBI has gotten Agent Kemper to agree to drop the matter if you will make a formal public apology, do you agree to do that?"

  I didn't want to but if I refused I'd be out of a job. I swallowed my pride and said, "Yes sir."

  "Then I trust this matter will be laid to rest and there will be no further problems."

  As soon as I hung up the phone, Dick asked, "What happened? What did he say?"

  "He said I had to make a formal public apology, and Kemper would drop the charges."

  "What a bunch of shit. He knows the FBI isn't going to do anything. He just wants you to kiss their butts so they will keep the money flowing to the Attorney General's office."

  "I know but I don't have any choice." I knocked on the door of Kemper's office. He opened the door and I said, "Would you please come outside for a minute." As soon as he stepped into the squad room I said, "Can I have your attention." Everybody turned around to look at me and I said, "As some of you may know, an unfortunate incident happened yesterday. I acted in an unprofessional manner toward Agent Kemper and I regret it. I'm sorry and I hope you will accept my apology."

  I extended my hand but Kemper didn't immediately take it. Finally, he brushed my hand with his and said, "Is that it?"

  "Do you want something else?"

  Kemper threw his head back and said, "No, you've done quite enough." He turned and walked back to his office.

  Dick came over and said, "Watch your back around him, kid.

  You made him look bad in front of his fellow officers and he's not going to forgive you for that. He's going to try to screw you over if he gets the chance. The best thing you can do is stay the hell away from him."

  Dick was right no apology could restore Kemper's ego. Dick slapped me on the shoulder and said, "Hey it ain't the end of the world. In fact I think I know a way to get Ted Kemper off our backs."

  "Does it involve firearms?"

  Dick laughed and said, "Unfortunately not, what I had in mind was telling him about Jake and Johnny stealing airplane parts down in Arizona. The parts have to be government property, and that's kind of stuff the FBI lives for. If we're lucky, maybe he'll go down to Arizona and leave us alone." Dick leaned over and whispered, "Make your self scare until I have a chance to talk to him."

  I drove out into the desert. It had been damn embarrassing to apologize in front of everyone but that wasn't the worst part. I had to face-up to some illusions I'd carefully built up over the years. I'd almost convinced myself I could control my temper. Ted Kemper hitting the floor proved I was wrong. If I was wrong about that, what else could I be wrong about? A good question but I had enough self analysis for one day. All I wanted to do was lose my thoughts in the vastness of the desert.

  The afternoon heat waves made the horizon bend and look like a large lake in the distance. A cruel illusion for someone lost in the heat but a minor amusement for travelers on the Salt Lake City road. My destination was a makeshift airport built by Joe White. If you wanted to know anything about airplanes, talk to Joe.

  I turned off the highway at a hand lettered sign that said airport. I could see a whirling column of dust coming off the desert floor. It was caused by several World War One vintage airplanes taxiing in formation. They were lined up in a figure-eight, and where the two lines of the figure-eight crossed the planes would accelerate giving the illusion they were going to hit each other. After several passes, the pilot of the lead plane waved his hand and the other planes broke formation. The lead plane taxied over to the hanger, and the rest of the planes took off.

  I watched them scream around the airfield in mock combat for a few minutes before going over to the hanger.

  I met Joe White when I was fourteen, as he passed through the Salinas Valley doing barnstorming air shows. My brother and I helped him sell tickets and put up posters in exchange for free rides. I didn't know if he'd remember me, but I sure remembered him. Inside hanger, standing on a ladder, was a tall, athletic man wearing greasy coveralls. "Hey Joe," I yelled. "Haven't you figured-out what makes one of those things fly yet?"

  Joe turned around and yelled back, "Well I'll be damned if it isn't that O'Brien kid asking dumb questions again." He jumped off the ladder and walked toward me. He had to be over sixty, but he was still in remarkable condition. The only difference I could see his face was more tanned and he had a bit more grey hair. Otherwise he looked the same as I remembered. He grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously. "What brings you out here?" he asked. I told him about the missing airplane parts and asked if he'd heard anything. He answered my question with a spit of tobacco juice and motioned for me to follow him. We walked to the rear of the hanger, and he ushered
me into a cramped office. On the walls were posters from the old days when Joe barnstormed the country. He sat behind an old, scarred‑up desk and spit into a coffee can. "If it was anyone but you," he said. "I'd say no, but I do know something. About a year ago this slick guy comes out here with a trunk full of instruments, all them brand new and good stuff, too. He says he'll sell the whole trunk full for five-hundred bucks. Right away I knew something's wrong. Hell, a radio compass is worth over two hundred bucks, and he's got at least ten of them. I tell him my old crates don't use sophisticated stuff like that, so I got no reason to buy. He asks if I know anyone who might want the stuff. Well, I know a lot of folks who would, but I say no since the stuff has to be stolen. He thanks me and that's the last I saw of him."

  "What did he look like?"

  Joe scratched his head and said, "It was a while back but I remember him being an over dressed guinea with slick-down black hair--not a bad looking guy. But what I remember most is how slippery he looked. He's the kind of guy you'd shake hands with then count your fingers."

  I took out a picture of Johnny Del Rio and slid it across the desk. "Is this the guy?"

  Joe took a close look and handed the picture back to me. "That's him okay." Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of airplanes pulling into the hanger. "That's my guys," Joe announced. "You watch any of the practice?"

  "I saw some of it."

  "They're a good group...in about a month we'll be ready to go on the road." He stood up and said. "Excuse me but I got to straighten out a guy about something. He's not getting his turn right." I followed him outside and he quickly got into a conversation about flying with one of the pilots. I knew Joe wasn't likely to stop talking flying for several hours. I caught his attention and waved goodbye. He yelled, "Hey remember that leggy blonde you used to have it bad for?"

  "Billie Jordan?" I yelled back.

  "Yeah that's her. She's got a little place just over the Clark County line. It's called the Desert Flower Social Club. From time to time she stops by and asks if I've seen you. You ought to stop and see her. "