8:35 a.m.
Dick Hood said, “It’s extortion. It’s sheer blackmail.”
Dudley said, “We have to comply. He’ll levy the threat without hesitation.”
“Tell me who ‘He’ is. I’ll concede that it’s a valid threat, and I’ll get Mr. Hoover’s okay. Just tell me who ‘He’ is.”
They sat in Dudley’s cubicle. Graph paper masked the walls. Arrows, boxes, initials. Baffling hieroglyphics. Hood kept glancing sidelong.
Dudley zipped his lips. Hood lit a cigarette.
“My money’s on Thad Brown or Bill Parker. They’re the frontrunners for Chief when Jack the H. retires. Parker’s a drunk and a religious nut, and Thad’s subtle. Shit. Mr. Hoover’s going to hit the roof.”
Dudley rocked his chair. “You’ll have to speak to the U.S. Attorney. You’ll have to release Miss De Haven and the others, and disband that part of your investigation.”
Hood made the jack-off sign. “I’ll gird my fucking loins, make the fucking calls and take the fucking heat. And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s not really an ‘investigation.’ It’s just round up the fucking Japs and make this a Jap-free city within sixty days.”
Dudley said, “I spoke to Ace Kwan an hour ago. He explained the payoffs to me, and I would describe them as felicitous in intent. They were Ace’s bequest to the agents who’ve been working so diligently to clean up this damnable mess. Ed Satterlee would have explained it to you by New Year’s. Ace intends to throw a grand party for all of you, including the Hearst Rifle Team and some of our Alien Squad boys. You’ll have a week at Cal Drake’s Blue Lion Lodge, up in Victorville. There’ll be bourbon, bird hunting and Cuban cigars. It’s Ace’s treat for you, once the Japs have been properly penned.”
Hood grinned. “The goddamn war, the goddamn Japs. You’ve got escaped Japs, now. Gene Biscailuz is throwing his own party. Duty waivers and twelve scoots a day. He’s got a lynch mob on his hands.”
The Blue Lion tale was a dodge. Yes, he called Ace. Yes, Ace came clean. Ed Satterlee was hawking Jap-property leads. Ace had Quon Chin purchase some.
He called Ed. He told him about the film strip and its upscut. Ed came clean. He told him to comply with the Blue Lion dodge.
Hood said, “I like Ace. He’s been feeding my boys on the cuff. Got a yen for egg rolls at 3:00 a.m.? See Ace the Chinaman.”
Dudley said, “Ace is a thoughtful man. He knows that your niece Jane is getting married, and he’s offered to cater the reception, free of charge.”
Hood stood up. “Free of charge” echoed.
“Damn. The Blue Lion. Will you be joining us?”
“Regretfully, no. I’ll be entering Army service at New Year’s.”
Hood stretched. “I’ll go make those calls. Jesus, Mr. Hoover will piss blood.”
Dudley tossed him his hat. They shook hands and sighed. Ain’t life a pisser? Hood hit the road. Dudley coffee-chased two bennies. The graph summoned him.
He jotted notes. He updated the land grab. He detailed Dr. Terry’s buy-in strategy. He drew a howling wolf.
He was keyed up. He barely dozed last night. He kept calling Bette. A coon maid kept stalling him. Beth and Tommy were due. He made calls and located the two rape-o Marines.
He spoke to Scotty. He rebuked him for the Lee Blanchard tiff. He requested a favor in recompense. Scotty said Sure.
He went by Carl Hull’s house. Craven Carl spilled to Buzz Meeks. It mandated a severe beating.
Frau Carl diverted him. Ensign Carl had left for the Navy.
He was keyed-up. He needed investment gelt. He needed to plan the raid on Carlos Madrano’s stash.
Dudley drew wolves and dollar signs. Money. Madrano’s cash and dope. Money. Ace Kwan’s tile game tomorrow.
Dudley studied his graph. Arrows, boxes, initials, contractions. Scotty walked up. Scotty studied the graph.
“It’s interesting how the initials repeat. If you know the names, you can almost figure it out.”
“Bright lad. I’m surrounded by acute young men these days.”
Scotty smiled. “The Werewolf’s in no. 2. Mr. Loew told me to get you.”
Dudley grabbed his suit coat. “I’d like you to observe and follow my signals. There’s that task, and a drive down to Oceanside later. It pertains to that amends I require. I’ll explain it to you en route.”
Scotty said, “Okay, Dud.”
They walked down to 2. No gallery this time. No steno, no hallway speaker.
Ellis Loew sat with Fujio Shudo. Two extra chairs were pulled up.
Shudo was handcuffed. This interview was the stalker. The closer was later today.
Loew jiggled his Phi Beta key. Dudley and Scotty sat down. Shudo stood up.
He said, “I’m a whip-out man.” He unzipped his trousers and whipped out his dick.
Dudley signaled Scotty.
Scotty improvised.
He grabbed Shudo by the neck and picked him up, one-handed. He lowered him and sat him back down in his chair.
Loew gawked. Shudo tucked his dick away and went Ouch.
Dudley said, “Good morning, Mr. Shudo. I’ve missed you. Have you missed me?”
Shudo said, “No.”
Dudley smiled. “We left you on the avenues in Highland Park, around noon on Saturday, December 6th. You posed for a photograph with a little girl who thought you resembled a werewolf, which you most fetchingly do. You had been drinking terpin hydrate, you recall that day as being hazy, and you said that an ‘instinct’ drew you to Highland Park. You became upset when I brought up your visits to Japanese fraternal clubs in the early 1930s, your acrimonious relationship with a man named Ryoshi Watanabe, and your political arguments with him. Do you recall that, sir? It was only Thursday night that we had this discussion.”
Shudo picked his nose. “I don’t know. I told you I knew Ginzo Watanabe and Charlie Watanabe, but I don’t remember no Ryoshi.” Dudley said, “You will in time, sir. We’ve come into possession of a letter that you wrote to him in 1933.”
Loew gawked the letter. He was in on let’s-get-him. He was clueless per the frame. He signaled Dudley: My turn.
“Mr. Shudo, do you carry sample knives on your cart? Sharp-bladed knives to show off the fine work you do?”
Shudo said, “Sure.”
Dudley said, “We’ve reset the stage for you, sir. It’s Saturday, December 6th, and you’re in Highland Park on an ‘instinct.’ You’ve been drinking terpin hydrate, and things are hazy.”
Shudo said, “I don’t remember writing Ryoshi Watanabe no letter.”
“But you do recall Ryoshi and your arguments with him at the fraternal clubs?”
Shudo shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Clincher. Now, reverse the field.
“You were born in Yokohama, Japan, in 1903. Isn’t that correct, Mr. Shudo? Your Atascadero file reports that you emigrated in 1908.”
Shudo said, “That’s right. I was born in the land of the rising sun. I’m not no Nisei Johnny-come-lately.”
“Your father ran a fishing boat out of San Pedro, didn’t he, Mr. Shudo?”
“That’s right.”
“Did he engage in political activities?”
“No, but he hated the Chinks, and he rumbled against the tongs.”
“Did he educate you in the political ways of Imperial Japan?” Shudo said, “No. He educated me with a croquet mallet.”
“And when did this practice begin, sir?”
“When I was about eight years old. When he saw me whip it out on this Mex boy.”
“And how long did this practice last?”
“Until I ran away. I think I was fourteen. The Beast told me to cut tracks, so I did.”
“And who is ‘The Beast,’ Mr. Shudo?”
“The Beast is my dick.”
“Do you view your dick as a separate being, sir? As something or someone attached to your body, but able to act and speak to you independently?”
“Yeah. The Beast is The Beast. Sometimes he gives me good advice, sometimes he leads me astray.”
Loew gawked. Scotty gassed on Shudo. This sure beats divinity school!
Dudley said, “The Beast is your counselor and your confidant, is that correct, Mr. Shudo? He frequently guides your actions and advises you on what to do?”
Shudo said, “That’s correct. The Beast is my baby boy. I’m a whip-out man. If I see something that I think The Beast will like, I show it to him. Your boy here is The Beast’s type, so I gave him a peek.”
Dudley said, “Are you referring to my colleague, Officer Robert S. Bennett?”
Shudo said, “That’s right. The Beast likes husky boys.”
Loew said, “Mr. Shudo, are you a homosexual?”
Shudo said, “No. I’m just the ichiban of The Beast.”
Dudley said, “I’m curious about the advice that The Beast offers you, sir. Can you give me any examples of it?”
Shudo scratched his balls. “The Beast tells me to take the streetcar up to Hollywood, so I do it. The Beast tells me to break into houses and sniff jockstraps, so I do it. The Beast tells me to share my terp with him, so I do.”
Dudley smiled. Shudo ogled Scotty.
“Mr. Shudo, a pair of women’s panties were found in your hotel room. Were you aware of that?”
Shudo shrugged. Women’s panties—so what?
“Sir, have you ever broken into a house for the express purpose of sniffing women’s panties? Feel free to consult The Beast if you need to.”
Shudo scrunched up his face. Shudo expressed deep thought. Shudo nodded yes.
“Yeah. I like to break into houses and sniff women’s panties.”
“Do you enjoy fucking the occasional girl, sir? Do you indulge the practice if there are no comely young men in sight?”
Shudo scrunched up. Shudo consulted The Beast. Shudo nodded yes.
“Yeah, boss. I go for gash if there’s no cute brown eye around.” Loew cringed. Dudley tossed a curveball.
“Sir, did you fuck Nancy Watanabe during a work-furlough release from Atascadero, six months ago?”
Shudo scrunched up. Shudo consulted The Beast.
“Yeah, I fucked Nancy. I fucked her good.”
Loew nudged Dudley. He’s in the house. We’ve got partial motive. We’re halfway there. Scotty chewed bubble gum. Shudo ogled him. Here comes curveball no. 2.
“You’ve been with Mr. Shudo a long time. Isn’t that true, Beast?”
Shudo spoke basso profundo. “That’s right. A looooong time.”
“You’ve certainly taught him a few things, I’d venture to say.”
Shudo, basso profundo. “I’ll say. Fuji was a punk until I took him in.”
“Why would you say something that harsh, Beast?”
The Beast said, “Because it’s true. Fuji was the sissy until I made him the brunser. He gave out the brown at the San Pedro Y and up at Preston. I took him to the Murakami Nursery. They got bamboo shoots there. ‘Bamboo Shoot’ Shudo. Fuji owes that moniker to me.”
Dudley said, “Would you say that Mr. Shudo owes his entire criminal career to you, Beast?”
The Beast said, “In spades, ichiban. I taught him the knife-sharpening trade and made him a knife man. I got him a job at a blood bank in Long Beach, so he could steal the cute sailors’ blood. I took him to see Dracula at the Marcal Theatre. We kidnapped a sailor in the parking lot, so we could cut him and drink his blood. I showed him how to mix terp with blood, for a swell cocktail. I showed him how to cut himself when he couldn’t find no cute brown eye to cut.”
Loew leaned in. He ticked legal points, sotto voce.
“Get back to the 6th, and get to his weapons. Nort excluded the swords, but this isn’t going all the way to a jury. The swords and his knife cart. Let’s get back there.”
Dudley nodded. Scotty blew a big bubble. Shudo giggled and squirmed in his seat.
“Beast, are you and Mr. Shudo familiar with the Japanese swords used in the practice of hara-kiri?”
The Beast said, “Yes.”
“And were you and Mr. Shudo in possession of four such swords on Saturday, December 6th?”
The Beast said, “Yeah, boss.”
Dudley said, “But you had lost the scabbards, hadn’t you, Beast?”
The Beast said, “Right. We lost the scabbards.”
“Do you know what scabbards are, Beast?”
“I’m not sure, boss.”
“Beast, do you and Mr. Shudo keep an assortment of sample knives on your cart? Knives that you show to prospective customers to demonstrate the high quality of your work?”
The Beast said, “Yeah, we got some sample knives.”
Dudley tossed a change-up. It’s a for-real question. It’s a head scratcher.
“Beast, we did not find the knife-sharpening cart in your room at the Kyoto Arms Hotel.”
“Fuji sold it to a nigger, outside the Rosslyn Hotel.”
“And when was that?”
The Beast said, “Sunday, December 7, 1941. A day that will live in glory for mighty Imperial Japan.”
Loew leaned in. “What’s with this letter Shudo wrote?”
Dudley leaned in. “Hideo Ashida found it at the house and transcribed it for me. It was posted in October ’33. Fuji and Ryoshi had had some voluble disagreements at a Jap social club, and it’s apparent that he was already quite smitten with Nancy, even though she was a scant eight years old, and female.”
Loew said, “I don’t get that part of it. This guy’s a queer, and he keesters men with bamboo shoots.”
Dudley sighed. “Sex is a devilishly complex phenomenon, Mr. Loew. There’s that, and the considerable fact that Mr. Shudo is insane.”
“Quit addressing his schlong, will you? It’s giving me the willies.”
Dudley smiled. Scotty blew bubbles. Shudo goo-goo-eyed him.
Loew leaned close. “Walk him up to it, Sergeant. He hates Ryoshi, he impregnated Nancy, but she got a scrape. We’ve got the letter and the print in Ryoshi’s blood. We’ve got eyeball wits that place him in Highland Park that day. The knives versus the swords is problematic, but we know he’s going to confess. Walk him up and walk him through when we go for the close this afternoon. Jack Horrall’s bringing some Army brass in for the show. You’ll have a full house.”
Shudo said, “You’re whispering and conspiring against me. The Beast told me so. I told him you’re all right. The jailers get my grub at Kwan’s Chinese Pagoda. I get peach duck for noon chow today.” Dudley grinned. “And two portions you shall have, sir.”
Shudo went Yum-yum. “I’ve got no grudge on the Chinks. Eugenics is eugenics, boss. The Chinks got the better grub, but us Japs are the master race.”
Dudley rode a brainstorm. “I agree with you, sir. The Japanese are quite the superior race. I’m wondering, sir. By and large, you prefer men over women—but you’ve sustained quite the lust for Nancy Watanabe over time.”
“Yeah, Nancy. What a dish. Almost as good as brown eye.”
“You were quite determined to impregnate her, weren’t you, sir?”
“Yeah. Fuji and Nancy, and a little cub in the oven.”
“Was propagating the Japanese master race your chief concern with Nancy, sir? Did it trump your sexual desire, given your long-standing and rather cruel lust for young men?”
“Yeah.”
“And did Nancy’s termination of her pregnancy consume you in waves of despair?”
“Yeah.”
“And were those waves of despair in fact tidal waves, as you rolled your knife-sharpening cart down Avenue 45 in Highland Park in the early-afternoon hours of Saturday, December 6, 1941?”
“Yeah, boss.”
“And were you in the hazy, dreamlike state common to those who habitually swill terpin hydrate?”
“Yeah, boss. Terp. Terp and blood-bank blood from a husky white boy.”
“The Beast was leading you astray that day, wasn’t he, Mr. Shudo? He had you teething on Nancy’s abortion and all the indignities you had suffered during your contentious friendship with Ryoshi Watanabe.”
“Yeah, boss. The Beast was talking to me. I remember that day. He said Frankenstein was playing at the Wiltern Theatre. That little girl said I looked like The Wolfman.”
“The white residents of Highland Park viewed you with suspicion as you made your rounds that day, didn’t they? They knew you to be a member of the master race, soon to go to war with our inferior white nation.”
“That’s right, boss. Pearl Harbor was coming up. Banzai, you white fuckers.”
“You sensed the looming attack in the air, didn’t you, Mr. Shudo? You knew it was coming. It moved you, thrilled you, and filled you with elation and a paradoxical rage. You were on that street, you were near that house, you had sharp weapons on your cart and at your disposal. You were enraged. You wanted to be poised on the deck of a Japanese aircraft carrier, headed for Pearl Harbor. You were surely a werewolf, but you wanted to be a werewolf of the sky, in the glorious service of Imperial Japan, and that disjuncture filled you with a maddening and murderous hunger. Nancy was in that house. She had slaughtered your eugenic contribution to the Japanese master race. Ryoshi was in that house. He had belittled you in numerous arguments, going back nearly a decade. You knew that Aya and Johnny were in that house, and you suddenly sensed, with all your being, that you were nearing your very own Pearl Harbor.”
Shudo giggled. “That’s right, ichiban. Banzai, you Jap fuckers.”
Dudley tapped Loew. Scotty leaned close. Shoptalk, sotto voce.
“Call Kwan’s in half an hour. Order peach duck, chop suey and pork fried rice. Tell Ace to throw in two vials of terpin hydrate.”