I didn’t want to risk another foray to the Recorder’s archives, so a return to the public library was the next best bet. The librarian smiled when I tipped my hat to greet her.
Inside, I made for stacks that held the old newspapers, pulled out a pile of Recorder copies, and gave myself ninety minutes to glom as much dope as I could on the political dogfight that was happening in Hot Springs.
It was slow going trying to form a picture by sifting through weeks of election stories, but an hour in, I felt I had enough that I could pitch the story to Acheson without tripping myself up. As I read, it was notable that any mention of corruption alleged against Coughlin was handled with a light touch – ‘Unsubstantiated rumours of electoral malfeasance’, ‘Fiercely refuted suggestions of fiscal impropriety.’ Nothing to even hint at the kind of wrongdoing I suspected him to be involved in. It was discordant with Dinsmore’s speculation about the mayor’s involvement, and I wondered if Coughlin’s activity was an open secret the papers left alone, just like the gambling dens and brothels that flourished in the town.
I pressed on a little longer, trying to take in as much as I could about the broader issues at stake, and that’s when I stumbled across a name that gave me the perfect hook. I creased the page to mark it, then walked to the telephone kiosk.
I called Acheson at home. Even at seventy, he alternated six- and seven-day weeks at the Journal, taking only every second Monday off; by my reckoning, today was one of those off-days. He’d been in newspapers his entire life and worked at outfits all over California. If he’d slipped some since his heyday at the LA Times, he made up for it with the weight of his knowledge, and he could run a rag like the Journal in his sleep. Above all else, he still knew a good story when it found him – if you knew how to pitch it.
‘Buck, it’s Charlie.’
‘Charlie? To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I don’t mean to disturb you at home, but I’m going a little crazy with this idea I had for a story, and I wanted to talk it over with you.’
‘What story? You’re on leave, I thought?’
‘I was, but I stumbled across something and I think it’s a runner. You ever hear of Hot Springs in Arkansas?’
‘Is that a town or a resort?’
‘Both. You wouldn’t believe this place, Chief. Every joint on Main Street is touting gambling or girls upstairs, and it’s all out in the open. The law just looks the other way.’
‘Sounds like trouble for a god-fearing man like you. But I don’t think you’d Shanghai my day of rest for a morsel like that . . .’ The playful tone to his voice meant I had his interest.
‘Try this: the mayor’s a career pol named Coughlin, been in office twenty years. Far as I can see, it’s on the strength of the fact he’s kept the state and the Feds turning a blind eye to what goes on here. He trots his horses right up the main drag every night, for god’s sake.’
‘Does this local colour lead somewhere meaningful?’
‘Hear me out. The city elections are in a week and a half and there’s an ex-Marine Corps officer, name of Samuel Masters, making a big noise about how he’s had enough of “business as usual”. He’s a war hero and he’s put together an opposition group, decorated GIs all, and they’re standing on an anti-corruption ticket. Masters got himself elected in June as prosecuting attorney for the local judicial district here, and if you believe the polls, his crew are a solid bet to take over the rest of the city government. If that happens, means you can kiss goodbye to Coughlin, the casinos, all of it. They’re writing leader pieces here making out like it’s the fall of Rome all over again.’
He sucked his breath through his teeth. ‘So far, so quaint, but what’s the angle for the Journal?’
I played my ace card. ‘Benny Siegel.’
The Hollywood mobster, undisputed boss of the Los Angeles underworld. Bugsy’s reputation was fearsome enough that Jack Dragna had been forced to relinquish control of the rackets to him as soon as he arrived in LA. I let Siegel’s name hang there a moment, the hook baited now. ‘He’s been coming here since the thirties and he’s visited a half-dozen times in the last two years alone. He was in town just last month, and the local hacks covered it like he’s royalty or something. Now tell me you can’t see the angle here. We run it as a reportage piece, “War Heroes Fight Vice In Bugsy’s Secret Vacation Haunt.” Break it up over a few days, make it a “Charlie Yates reporting from the front line” kinda deal.’ I stopped for a breath, almost getting carried away by my own sell job. ‘But here’s the trick: I write it so the whole thing is a haymaker aimed at Santa Monica City Hall. Corrupt pols getting their comeuppance, “A New Day Is Dawning For American Democracy” – lay it on real thick. How’s that sound?’
He muttered something derisory about the City Council, then said, ‘It’s a slick pitch, I’ll say that much.’ He took a deep breath. ‘If I said no, would you listen to me?’
‘No, sir. But I’d sleep better knowing you were on board.’
He scoffed. ‘I somehow doubt it. All right. File two fifteen-hundred-word pieces as a starter and we’ll see how it looks.’
‘I’ll need a per diem.’
‘I thought I felt your hand in my damn pocket. I’ll authorise it with Accounting.’
‘Great, thanks, Buck. I could really use some walking around money, can you get them to wire it?’
He grunted, and I took it as an affirmative. ‘Make sure this is worth my while.’
‘You got it.’ I cleared my throat, pushing my luck now, but confident I was on a roll. ‘One other thing. I’ve enlisted Lizzie to do some research for me – pertains to the story. I said I’d clear it with you so she can work with the wires and so on. She’ll see to it that it doesn’t interfere with her normal duties.’
‘You’ve put your wife on the story already, before you—’ He cut himself off. ‘You’re some piece of work, Charlie. Any other liberties I should know about?’
‘Lizzie’s overqualified to be a secretary, you know it as well as I do. She could make for a real asset to the Journal. Hell, I should be billing you for training her up.’
He gave two stunted laughs, incredulous. ‘Sure thing. Send me an invoice and see what happens.’
*
Knowing money was on its way was a load off my mind. I still had time before meeting with Ella Borland, so I swung by the Mountain Motor Court to extend my accommodation there. The manager insisted on taking for two nights up front, not one, the ‘house rules’ apparently changed just for me. I let it slide so I could go about my business and asked the man for directions to Jaycee Park. He showed me on a tattered map he took from under the counter.
‘Jaycee ain’t finished, so it ain’t marked on here yet, but it’s right around here.’ He pointed to a spot on the southern fringes of town, a half-dozen blocks west of Central Avenue.
I thanked him and turned around and opened the door.
He called after me. ‘Ain’t nothing to see, what you wanna go there for?’
I looked back from the doorway. ‘I’ll tell you when I figure it out myself.’