L.A. Confidential Read Free

stay put."
      Stens shook his head. "They're pals with Brownell. They want a piece."
      "Nix, this is ours. We get them booked, we write it up and make the party by watch change. I got three cases: Walker Black, Jim Beam and Cutty."
      "Exley's assistant watch commander. He's a nosebleed, and you can bet he don't approve of on-duty imbibing."
      "Yeah, and Frieling's _the_ watch boss, and he's a fucking drunk like you. So don't worry about Exley. And I got a report to write up first--so let's just do it."
      Stens laughed. "Aggravated assault on a woman? What's that--six twenty-three point one in the California Penal Code? So I'm a fucking drunk and you're a fucking do-gooder."
      "Yeah, and you're ranking. So now?"
      Stens winked; Bud walked flank--up to the porch, gun out. The shack was curtained dark; Bud caught a radio ad: Felix the Cat Chevrolet. Dick kicked the door in.
      Yells, a Mex man and woman hauling. Stens aimed head high; Bud blocked his shot. Down a hallway, Bud close in, Stens wheezing, knocking over furniture. The kitchen--the spics deadended at a window.
      They turned, raised their hands: a pachuco punk, a pretty girl maybe six months pregnant.
      The boy kissed the wall--a pro friskee. Bud searched him: Dinardo Sanchez ID, chump change. The girl boo-hooed; sirens scree'd outside. Bud turned Sanchez around, kicked him in the balls. "For ours, Pancho. And you got off easy."
      Stens grabbed the girl. Bud said, "Go somewhere, sweetheart. Before my friend checks your green card."
      "Green card" spooked her--_madre mia! Madre mia!_ Stens shoved her to the door; Sanchez moaned. Bud saw blues swarm the driveway. "We'll let them take Pancho in."
      Stens caught some breath. "We'll give him to Brownell's pals." Two rookie types walked in--Bud saw his out. "Cuff him and book him. APO and resisting arrest."
      The rookies dragged Sanchez out. Stens said, "You and women. What's next? Kids and dogs?"
      Mrs. Ralphie--all bruised up for Christmas. "I'm working on it. Come on, let's move that booze. Be nice and I'll let you have your own bottle."

    CHAPTER TWO

      Preston Exley yanked the drop-cloth. His guests oohed and ahhed; a city councilman clapped, spilled eggnog on a society matron. Ed Exley thought: this is not a typical policeman's Christmas Eve.
      He checked his watch--8:46--he had to be at the station by midnight. Preston Exley pointed to the model.
      It took up half his den: an amusement park filled with papier-mâché mountains, rocket ships, Wild West towns. Cartoon creatures at the gate: Moochie Mouse, Scooter Squirrel, Danny Duck--Raymond Dieterling's brood--featured in the _Dream-a-Dream Hour_ and scores of cartoons.
      "Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Dream-a-Dreamland. Exley Construction will build it, in Pomona, California, and the opening date will be April 1953. It will be the most sophisticated amusement park in history, a self-contained universe where children of all ages can enjoy the message of fun and goodwill that is the hallmark of Raymond Dieterling, the father of modern animation. Dream-a-Dreamland will feature all your favorite Dieterling characters, and it will be a haven for the young and young at heart."
      Ed stared at his father: fifty-seven coming off forty-five, a cop from a long line of cops holding forth in a Hancock Park mansion, politicos giving up their Christmas Eve at a snap of his fingers. The guests applauded; Preston pointed to a snowcapped mountain. "Paul's World, ladies and gentlemen. An exact-scale replica of a mountain in the Sierra Nevada. Paul's World will feature a thrilling toboggan ride and a ski lodge where Moochie, Scooter and Danny will perform skits for the whole family. And who is the Paul of Paul's World? Paul was Raymond Dieterling's son, lost tragically as a teenager in 1936, lost in an avalanche on a camping trip--lost on a mountain just like this one here. So, out of tragedy, an affirmation of innocence. And, ladies and