L.A. Confidential by James Ellroy Page A

all she put out were bland good-night kisses. Loew sat next to Joan; Joanie checked him out--probably sniffing for signs of Jewishness. "Ellis and I are good phone chums already. Aren't we?"
      "We are indeed"--Loew working his courtroom voice.
      Joan finished her drink. "How do you two know each other? Do the police work closely with the District Attorney's Office?"
      Jack kiboshed a laugh: I'm Jewboy's bagman. "We build cases together. I get the evidence, Ellis prosecutes the bad guys."
      A waiter hovered. Joan ordered an Islander Punch; Jack asked for coffee. Loew said, "Beefeater martini." Karen put a hand over her glass. "Then this Bloody Christmas thing will strain relations between the police and Mr. Loew's office. Isn't that likely?"
      Loew hit quick. "No, because the LAPD rank and file wish to see the wrongdoers dealt with severely. Right, Jack?"
      "Sure. Things like that give all policemen a black eye."
      The drinks arrived--Joan took hers down in three gulps. "You were there, weren't you, Jack? Daddy said you always go to that station party, at least since your second wife left you."
      Karen: "_Joanie!_"
      Jack said, "I was there."
      "Did you take a few licks for justice?"
      "It wasn't worth it to me."
      "You mean there weren't any headlines to be had?"
      "Joanie, be quiet. You're drunk."
      Loew fingered his tie; Karen fingered an ashtray. Joan slurped the rest of her drink. "Teetotalers are always so judgmental. You used to attend that party after your _first_ wife left you, didn't you, Sergeant?"
      Karen gripped the ashtray. "You goddamn bitch."
      Joan laughed. "If you want a hero policeman, I know a man named Exley who at least risked his life for his country. Granted, Jack's smooth, but can't you see what he is?"
      Karen threw the ashtray--it hit the wall, then Ellis Loew's lap. Loew stuck his head in a menu; Joanie bitch glowered. Jack led Karen out of the restaurant.

    o        o          o

      Over to Variety International Pictures--Karen bad-mouthing Joanie non-stop. Jack parked by the _Badge of Honor_ set; hillbilly music drifted out. Karen sighed. "My parents will get used to the idea."
      Jack turned on the dash light. The girl had dark brown hair done in waves, freckles, a touch of an overbite. "What idea?"
      "Well . . . the idea of us seeing each other."
      "Which is going pretty slow."
      "That's partly my fault. One minute you're telling me these wonderful stories and the next minute you just stop. I keep wondering what you're thinking about and thinking that there's so many things you can't tell me. It makes me think you think I'm too young, so I pull away."
      Jack opened the door. "Keep getting my number and you won't be too young. And tell me some of your stories, because sometimes I get tired of mine."
      "Deal? My stories after the party?"
      "Deal. And by the way, what do you think of your sister and Ellis Loew?"
      Karen didn't blink. "She'll marry him. My parents will overlook the fact that he's Jewish because he's ambitious and a Republican. He'll tolerate Joanie's scenes in public and hit her in private. Their kids will be a mess."
      Jack laughed. "Let's dance. And don't get star-struck, people will think you're a hick."
      They entered arm in arm. Karen went in starry-eyed; Jack scoped his biggest wrap bash yet.
      Spade Cooley and his boys on a bandstand, Spade at the mike with Burt Arthur "Deuce" Perkins, his bass player, called "Deuce" for his two-spot on a chain gang: unnatural acts against dogs. Spade smoked opium; Deuce popped "H"--a _Hush-Hush_ roust just looking to happen. Max Pelts glad-handing the camera crew; Brett Chase beside him, talking to Billy Dieterling, the head cameraman. Billy's eyes on his twist, Timmy Valburn, Moochie Mouse on the _Dream-a-Dream Hour_. Tables up against the back wall--covered with liquor bottles, cold cuts. Kikey Teitlebaum there with the food--Pelts probably had his deli cater the party.