Karen said, "Hello," no hand squeeze-six dates and 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.

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. Johnny Stompanato with Kikey, ex-Mickey Cohen boys huddling. Every «Badge of Honor» actor, crew member and general hanger-on eating, drinking, dancing.

Jack swept Karen onto the floor: swirls through a fast-tune medley, grinds when Spade switched to ballads. Karen kept her eyes closed; Jack kept his open-the better to dig the shmaltz. He felt a tap on the shoulder.

Miller Stanton cutting in. Karen opened her eyes and gasped: a TV star wanted to dance with her. Jack bowed. "Karen Morrow, Miller Stanton."

Karen yelled over the music. "Hi! I saw all those old Raymond Dieterling movies you made. You were great!"

Stanton hoisted her hands square-dance style. "I was a brat! Jack, go see Max-he wants to talk to you."

Jack walked to the rear of the set-quiet, the music lulled. Max Pelts handed him two envelopes. "Your season bonus and a boost for Mr. Loew. It's from Spade Cooley."

Loew's bag was fat. "What's Cooley want?"

"I'd say insurance you won't mess with his habit."

Jack lit a cigarette. "Spade doesn't interest me."

"Not a big enough name?"

"Be nice, Max."

Peltz leaned in close. "Jack, «you» try to be nicer, 'cause you're getting a bad rep in the Industry. People say you're a hard-on, you don't play the game. You shook down Brett for Mr. Loew, fine, he's a goddamn faigeleh, he's got it coming. But you can't bite the hand that feeds you, not when half the people in the Industry blow tea from time to time. Stick with the shvartzes- those jazz guys make good copy."

Jack eyeballed the set. Brett Chase in a hobnob: Billy Dieterling, Timmy Valburn-a regular fruit convention. Kikey T. and Johnny Stomp shmoozing-Deuce Perkins, Lee Vachss joining in. Pelts said, "Seriously, Jack. Play the game."

Jack pointed to the hard boys. "Max, the game is my life. You see those guys over there?"

"Sure. What's that-"

"Max, that's what the Department calls a known criminal assembly. Perkins is an ex-con wheelman who fucks dogs, and Abe Teitlebaum's on parole. The tall guy with the mustache is Lee Vachss, and he's made for at least a dozen snuffs for Mickey C. The good-looking wop is Johnny Stompanato. I doubt if he's thirty years old, and he's got a racket sheet as long as your arm. I am empowered by the Los Angeles Police Department to roust those cocksuckers on general suspicion, and I'm derelict in my duty for not doing it. Because I'm «playing the game»."

Pelts waved a cigar. "So keep playing it-but pianissimo on the tough-guy stuff. And look, Miller's bird-dogging your quail. Jesus, you like them young."

Rumors: Max and high school trim. "Not as young as you."

"Ha! Go, you fucking gonif. Your girl's looking for you."

Karen by a wall poster: Brett Chase as Lieutenant Vance Vincent. Jack walked over; Karen's eyes lit up. "God, this is so wonderful! Tell me who everyone is!"

Full-blast music-Cooley yodeling, Deuce Perkins banging his bass. Jack danced Karen across the floor-over to a corner crammed with arclights. A perfect spot-quiet, a scope on the whole gang.

Jack pointed out the players. "Brett Chase you already know about. He's not dancing because he's queer. The old guy with the cigar is Max Pelts. He's the producer, and he directs most of the episodes. You danced with Miller, so you know him. The two guys in skivvies are Augie Luger and Hank Kraft-they're grips. The girl with the clipboard is Penny Fulweider, she couldn't quit working even if she wanted to-she's the script supervisor. You know how the sets on the show are so modernistic? Well, the blond guy across from the bandstand is David Mertens, the set designer. Sometimes you'd think he was drunk, but he's not- he's got some rare kind of epilepsy, and he takes medicine for it. I heard he was in an accident and hit his head, that that started it. He's got these scars on his neck, so maybe that's it. Next to him there's Phil Shenkel, the assistant director, and the guy next to him is Jerry Marsalas, the male nurse who looks after Mertens. Terry Riegert, the actor who plays Captain Jeffries, is dancing with that tall redhead. The guys by the water cooler are Billy Dieterling, Chuck Maxwell and Dick Harwell, the camera crew, and the rest of the people are dates."