Karen looked straight at him. "It's your milieu, and you love it. And you care about those people."

"I like them-and Miller's a good friend."

"Jack, you can't fool me."

"Karen, this is Hollywood. And ninety percent of Hollywood is moonshine."

"Spoilsport. I'm gearing myself up to be reckless, so don't put a damper on it."

Daring him.

Jack tumbled; Karen leaned into the kiss. They probed, tasted, pulled back the same instant-Jack broke off the clinch dizzy.

Karen let her hands linger. "The neighbors are still on vacation. We could go feed the cats."

"Yeah… sure."

"Will you get me a brandy before we go?"

Jack walked to the food table. Deuce Perkins said, "Nice stuff, Vincennes. You got the same taste as me."

A skinny cracker in a black cowboy shirt with pink piping. Boots put him close to six-six; his hands were enormous. "Perkins, your stuff sniffs fire hydrants."

"Spade might not like you talkin' to me that way. Not with that envelope you got in your pocket."

Lee Vachss, Abe Teitlebaum watching them. "Not another word, Perkins."

Deuce chewed a toothpick. "Your quiff know you get your jollies shakin' down niggers?"

Jack pointed to the wall. "Roll up your sleeves, spread your legs."

Perkins spat out his toothpick. "You ain't that crazy."

Johnny Stomp, Vachss, Teitlebaum-all in earshot. Jack said, "Kiss the wall, shitbird."

Perkins leaned over the table, palms on the wall. Jack pulled up his sleeves-fresh tracks-emptied his pockets. Paydirt-a hypo syringe. A crowd forming up-Jack played to it. "Needle marks and that outfit are good for three years State. Hand up the guy who sold you the hypo and you skate."

Deuce oozed sweat. Jack said, "Squeal in front of your friends and you stroll."

Perkins licked his lips. "Barney Stinson. Orderly at Queen of Angels."

Jack kicked his legs out from under him.

Perkins landed face first in the cold cuts; the table crashed to the floor.

The room let out one big breath.

Jack walked outside, groups breaking up to let him through. Karen by the car, shivering. "Did you have to do that?"

He'd sweated his shirt clean through. "Yeah, I did."

"I wish I hadn't seen it."

"So do I."

"I guess reading about things like that are one thing and seeing them is another. Would you try to-"

Jack put his arms around her. "I'll keep that stuff separate from you."

"But you'll still tell me your stories?"

"No… yeah, sure."

"I wish we could turn back the clock on tonight."

"So do I. Look, do you want some dinner?"

"No. Do you still want to go see the cats?"

There were three cats-friendly guys who tried to take over the bed while they made love. Karen called the gray one Pavement, the tabby Tiger, the skinny one Ellis Loew. Jack resigned himself to the entourage-they made Karen giggle, he figured every laugh put Deuce Perkins further behind them. They made love, talked, played with the cats; Karen tried a cigarette-and coughed her lungs out. She begged for stories; Jack borrowed from the exploits of Officer Wendell White and spun gentler versions of his own cases: minimum strongarm, lots of sugar daddy-the bighearted Big V, protecting kids from the scourge of dope. At first the lies were hard-but Karen's warmth made them easier and easier. Near dawn, the girl dozed off; he stayed wide awake, the cats driving him crazy. He kept wishing she'd wake up so he could tell her more stories; he got little jolts of worry: that he'd never remember all the phony parts, she'd catch him in whoppers, it would blow their deal sky high. Karen's body grew warmer as she slept; Jack pressed closer to her. He fell asleep getting his stories straight.

A corridor forty feet long, both sides lined with benches: scuffed, dusty, just hauled up from some storage hole. Packed: men in plainclothes and uniform, most of them reading-newspapers screaming «Bloody Christmas». Bud thought of him and Stens front page smeared: nailed by the spics and their lawyers. He'd gotten his call to appear at 4:00 A.M., pure I.A. scare tactics. Dick across the hall-back from the dry-out farm, into the jug. Six Internal Affairs interviews apiece-neither of them had snitched. A regular Christmas reunion, the gang's all here-except Ed Exley.

Time dragged, traffic flowed: interrogation room grillings. Elmer Lentz dropped a bomb: the radio said the grand jury requested a presentation-all the officers at Central Station 12/25/5 1 were to stand a show-up tomorrow, prisoners would be there to ID the roughnecks. Chief Parker's door opened; Thad Green stepped outside. "Officer White, please."

Bud walked over; Green pointed him in. A small room: Parker's desk, chairs facing it. No wall mementoes, a gray-tinted mirrors-maybe a two-way. The chief behind his desk, in uniform, four gold stars on his shoulders. Dudley Smith in the middle chair; Green back in the chair nearest Parker. Bud took the hot seat-a spot where all three men could see him. Parker said, "Officer, you know Deputy Chief Green, and I'm sure you know of Lieutenant Smith. The lieutenant has been serving me as an advisor during this crisis we've been having."

Green lit a cigarette. "Officer, you're being given a last chance to cooperate. You've been questioned repeatedly by Internal Affairs, and you've repeatedly refused to cooperate. Normally, you would have been suspended from duty. But you're a fine detective, and Chief Parker and I are convinced that your actions at the party were relatively blameless. You were provoked, Officer. You were not wantonly violent like most of the men accused."

Bud started to talk; Smith cut him off. "Lad, I'm sure that I speak for Chief Parker in this, so I will take the liberty of stating it without ellipses. It's a danm pity that the six scum who assaulted our brother officers weren't shot on the spot, and the violence visited upon them I deem mild. But, parenthetically, police officers who cannot control their impulses have no business being police officers, and the shenanigans perpetrated by the men outside have made the Los Angeles Police Department a laughingstock. This cannot be tolerated. Heads must roll. We must have cooperative policemen witnesses to offset the damage done to the Department's image-an image that has vastly improved under the leadership of Chief Parker. We have one major policeman witness already, and Deputy D.A. Ellis Loew stands firm in his desire not to prosecute LAPD officers- even if the grand jury hands down true bills. Lad, will you testify? For the Department, not the prosecution."

Bud checked the mirror-a two-way for sure-make D.A.'s Bureau goons taking notes. "No, sir. I won't."

Parker scanned a sheet of paper. "Officer, you picked a man up by the neck and tried to bash his brains out. That looks very bad, and even though you were verbally provoked, the action stands out more than most of the abuse heaped on the prisoners. That goes against you. But you were heard muttering 'This is a goddamned disgrace' when you left the cellblock, which is in your favor. Now, do you see how appearing as a voluntary witness could offset the disadvantages caused by your. imaginative show of force?"

A snap: Exley's their boy, «he» heard me, locked in the storeroom. "Sir, I won't testify."

Parker flushed bright red. Smith said, "Lad, let's talk turkey. I admire your refusal to betray fellow officers, and I sense that loyalty to your partner is what stands behind it. I admire that especially, and Chief Parker has authorized me to offer you a deal. If you testify as to Dick Stensland's actions and the grand jury hands down a bill against him, Stensland will serve no time in jail if convicted. We have Ellis Loew's word on that. Stensland will be dismissed from the Department without pension, but his pension will be paid to him sub rosa, through monies diverted from the Widows and Orphans Fund. Lad, will you testify?"