Plainclothes Naked by Jerry Stahl Page A

That, and the fact he was holding her by her ankles, scream ing at her, could lead a reasonable person to think there was something he wanted from her, and she wasn’t giving it up.”
    “That would be matricide. ”
    Fayton’s tone was hushed, as though he’d marched the word out on a velvet cushion and didn’t want to get it dirty before he marched it back in again. Manny contemplated the chief ’s hidden left hand, not ing the slight movement of his forearm, and decided to find out once and for all what he was up to.
    “Stick ’em up,” he said, whipping his .38 out of his shoulder holster.
    The chief juked in his chair and brought up both hands. The one he usually hid came up clutching a felt-tip.
    “Good reflexes,” Manny told him approvingly. “But I didn’t mean for you to actually do it. I was just trying to show you what this Zank character pulled on me when I spotted him. Except he had a bigger gun, a real gorilla dick.”
    Fayton scowled, attempting to remain composed. “Language, Detective. And don’t ever do that again. You might get hurt.”
    “Right,” said Manny. “Anyway, I saw Zank coming out of the building with his partner, this really short, really pumped-up African-American male. Looked like Dean Martin in his Sergeants Three days.”
    Snooks, the young rest home janitor, described Tony Zank’s partner in exactly these terms after Manny’d found some Dexedrine in his CD case. The shot at a possession beef—his third—rendered him suddenly talkative. (“I’m not just into hip-hop,” Snooks boasted, after snitching off Tony Z and pal, “I’m down with the cinema, too.”) The stuff about Zank packing a hand-cannon was a complete fabrication. Though he probably had one, Manny and Tony Zank had not even crossed paths. Since Manny didn’t anticipate Fayton chatting with Tony anytime soon, he figured it was a safe lie. The chief, however, was obsessed by some thing else entirely.
    “Did you say, like Dean Martin, except colored? ” he asked. “Actually I said African-American, but yes, that’s pretty much what
    I said.” Manny was a fan of political correctness, since it covered so many other sins.
    Fayton wriggled excitedly in his chair. “That has to be Mac McCardle. He was on America’s Most Wanted ! Killed that nancy boy right here in town! There’s a reward, too. A hundred grand for information leading to his arrest. Those kind always a have a lot of friends. ”
    “Well, I’ll be damned,” said Manny. In fact, he’d made Zank’s pal for the celebrity shovel murderer as soon as he’d heard Snooks’s description. But it was always best to let the chief think he was a jump ahead. It made him feel good about himself.
    Fayton hid his hand again, and this time Manny leaped up and stepped around the desk. Sure enough, there was a pull-out writing slab between the first and second drawers, and Fayton was busily jot ting notes on a pad.
    “So that’s what you do with your missing hand. Some of the fellows were wondering.”
    Fayton reddened. “For your sake, I’m going to forget you said that, Ruby.” Then, unable to hide his pride, he added: “I’m writing a screenplay. About my experiences on the force.”
    Manny nodded. “Is that right? Well whatever you do, don’t leave out the DMV years. That’s some damn exciting stuff, you ask me.”
    Chief Fayton went red again. “Could we just get on with the report? I want to get back to this McCardle situation. This is going to be big.”
    “Of course, Sir.”
    Manny returned to his chair and, with a flourish, produced a folded paper and smoothed it on his knee. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll pick it up at the part where one of the paramedics has an epileptic fit loading Mrs. Zank into the ambulance.”
    “I can’t wait,” said the chief.
    Manny cleared his throat and considered his “report.” It didn’t matter that there was nothing on the paper but a list of celebrities with drug problems he’d