The Black Dahlia Page #2

You and Lee

are the white men of the hour,

so I hope

you enjoyed your ovation.

You won't get another one

till you retire.

Enough horse sh*t!

Listen!

This is the felony

summary report

for the week ending

November 14, 1946.

First, two liquor store

stickups

Broadway and Seventh,

and Hill Liquor in Chinatown.

That one comes

with a pistol whipping,

my personal favorite.

Russ Millard, Homicides.

Hi.

How are you?

My wife and kids thank you

for the raise, Officer.

Officer Bleichert, I'm Bill

Koenig. This is Fritz Vogel.

Welcome aboard.

Pleasure to meet you.

Lee, I heard something

you ought to know.

I was over at County Parole, and

Bobby DeWitt got an "A" number.

He'll be released to L.A.

in late January.

Thanks, Russ.

Who's Bobby DeWitt?

Old beef.

Pot roast tonight?

Don't say anything

about DeWitt.

It'll upset Kay.

Sure.

Nice place.

Fight stash.

Hello.

Dwight.

Glad you could make it.

How was your first day?

Mostly backslaps and paperwork

if I know those boys.

And look at that smile now.

Well, this is nice,

isn't it?

What?

You and Lee partners.

It's nice.

It couldn't have worked out better

if you'd planned it, could it, Dwight?

Well, I could've beat him.

Except you didn't.

I don't know, sweetheart. Bucky

was somebody back in the day.

And here we all are...

It's nice.

It's more than nice.

Might even be worth those

front teeth of yours, Dwight.

A toast

to Proposition B.

To the Bleichert-Blanchard

rematch,

bigger than

Louis-Schmeling.

To my supercops!

To us!

From November

through the New Year,

Lee and I captured

parole and probation absconders.

After tours of duty, Lee and I

would go to the house and find Kay.

Sometimes she'd make

dinner for us.

Other times, the three of us

would go out on the town.

Always she'd be there

never between us,

always in the middle.

For New Year's,

we headed downtown

to a dinner club

owned by Morrie Friedman,

a friend of Mickey Cohen's

who sometimes clued

Lee in to L.A. drug traffic.

Happy New Year!

It was the best time

of my life.

Listen up!

Gentlemen, thank you.

"Raymond 'Junior' Nash.

"Statutory rape,

armed robbery, felony mayhem.

"Texas State Prison.

Alcatraz."

Mr. Nash pistol-whipped

a little old lady

at a stickup near Leimert

Park, Tuesday morning.

She died last night.

Anything common

in the sex beefs?

Negro girls. Young ones.

All the complainants

have been coloreds.

Junior Nash

was an inbred Okie sh*t-kicker

who came west and took

all us locals for easy marks

just because we prefer our

cowboys to look like Gene Autry.

Of course, I didn't care

if he was a hard man

or what he thought

about anything.

He raped children and beat

senior citizens to death.

He was a coward

and I wanted to put him down.

I got a tip for the hophead who's going

to be at Norton and Coliseum tonight.

Hey, partner,

everything good to go?

Yeah.

Nash just got a f*** pad

on Norton and Coliseum.

Scram! Get out of here!

Okay!

Fine.

- Don't make me say it twice!

- All right! We're going!

Make some money, man.

Oh, my! Oh, help!

Help me! Help, somebody!

Please! Help!

Stop! Stop the car!

Please stop! Stop! Stop!

Listen. I'm broke.

Baby, he's gonna cut

us a real good deal on this.

I have been knowing him

for a long time.

You ain't got to worry

about a thing, okay?

You ain't got to worry.

I got this dirty cop.

Mmm-hmm.

He's going to

take care of me real soon.

And I mean real soon.

Dirty cop?

I haven't heard

of a clean cop, Baxter.

I just want to go home.

Why do you do this to me, huh?

Why? Why this? Why? Why?

Same reason why you do this to

me. You know why I do this to you.

Where is this guy? He's right

there. We almost there. Come on.

Come on, baby! Come on.

Oh, God,

I got to follow you now?

Come on.

Listen, this is the last time.

Bucky, wake up.

Bucky, look out! Get down!

I was half-asleep, but Lee

had his boxer's wits about him.

He felt the blow coming.

He saved my life.

Get your motherfucking hands off

me, man. I ain't done nothing!

Yeah, what do you call that

shooting gallery back there?

F*** you, man!

Lee!

Lee!

Well, that's about it.

Thank you for your time, Detective,

and for the good police work.

Blanchard knew the white guy,

I guess.

Busted him once.

He snitched for Lee

a couple of times.

Baxter Fitch.

It's a busy neighborhood.

Take a look at top billing.

All right, easy.

Guys, guys. Please.

Don't trample over everything,

please. Easy.

Secure the area.

All right, listen up.

No reporters view the body.

You photo men, finish

taking your pictures now.

Coroner's men, put a sheet on

the body as soon as they are done.

We set up a perimeter

six feet back.

Any reporter crosses it,

arrest him.

Now, gentlemen, before

this gets out of hand,

let's put the kibosh

on something.

With publicity,

you get confessions.

With confessions, you get

crazies, liars and false leads.

So, we keep some things quiet.

The ear-to-ear

facial lacerations,

disembowelment,

you keep this information

to yourselves.

Not your wives,

not your girlfriends,

no other officers,

and I mean no...

Bleichert, what the hell

are you doing here?

Where the hell's Blanchard?

He's right here.

Nash might be renting a room

in that building over there.

I heard something on the

radio about a shooting.

Was that Nash?

No.

We had some trouble.

Stand back!

Get back of the line!

Move back. Come on, boys.

Get them back!

Hey, Raymond Nash, remember?

We need to go

check out that room.

Nash didn't do this.

No. But he beat

a woman to death.

That's why

he's our priority warrantee.

All right!

I need everybody right now!

Baby.

What happened?

Nothing.

I don't want to talk about it.

Lee, Baxter Fitch just happened

to be there? What happened, Lee?

What do you know about it?

I know you, Lee.

I know you, Lee.

Lee...

He knew one of the guys, so...

Dwight, was it you or them?

He saved my life.

Hey, Kay,

who's Bobby DeWitt?

I know he's an old beef

of Lee's.

But he doesn't want to talk about

it and he gets out in a week.

You know who he is?

I'm scared, Dwight.

I'll take care of it.

You don't know Bobby.

Bobby DeWitt.

Who are these men

who feed on others?

What do they feel when they cut

their names into somebody else's life?

It was the case

that made Lee's career.

He'd never said a word

about it and I'd never asked.

One of Lee's snitches

fingered Bobby DeWitt,

a small-time pimp with a yard-long

rap, as the brains behind the job.

DeWitt never spoke the entire

trial, never coughing up the dough

even after damning character

testimony from some of his girls

including one Katherine Lake,

formerly of Sioux Falls,

South Dakota,

and looking to go straight.

DeWitt got 10 to life

in San Quentin.

Lee got Kay

or maybe it was

the other way around.

We're supposed to be

looking for Nash.

Priority.

Yeah, priority

for Homicide Division, not us.

Nice white girl gets snuffed.

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