11:14 a.m.
The Reds walked. Newshounds scoped their jail exit. Ashida watched. He had a lab-window view.
Claire took the lead. Her slaves followed her. The film crew lagged behind.
Reporters and cameramen pounced. Sid Hudgens and Jack Webb led the pack. The Anti-Axis raid made the papers.
It got some ink. It should have gleaned more. The escaped Japs and The Werewolf gobbled print space.
Flashbulbs popped. Newsmen yelled. Claire magnetized them and breezed through. Two limos were parked curbside. Claire took the lead car. Her slaves piled in behind her.
Both sleds pulled out. The crew dispersed on the street. The newsmen ignored them. Reds Lay Tracks in Loooooooong Lincolns! Photo men snapped the getaway.
The scene evaporated. Poof! It’s over. Everyone walked away.
The Reds walked. Ashida sensed quixotic Bill Parker. He pulled Kay Lake from the bin last night. The station buzzed with the tale. Whiskey Bill’s prom-night gesture.
Ashida stood at the window. The lab was Saturday dead. He had nowhere to go.
Dudley raided his apartment. Mariko’s place was Fed-sieged. L.A. was a siege state. Blood libel. His myth of normalcy, dashed.
Ashida stood at the window. The squadroom phones blared. Detectives logged get-the-Japs scuttlebutt.
The Sidster and Jack Webb walked in. They glad-handed Ashida and lit cigarettes.
Jack said, “That Claire De Haven’s a dish.”
Sid said, “Yeah, if the dish is red borscht.”
Jack said, “She can keep my tootsies warm in the Kremlin.”
Sid said, “Hideo, what are we going to do with this kid? His tenuous wartime employment as a stooge for William Randolph Hearst is going to his head.”
Ashida forced a laugh. Sid, you’re a sketch.
Jack said, “The Dudster gave me a job for tomorrow night. Ace Kwan’s throwing a big tile game, and he got a tip that some jigs are going to heist it. I’m supposed to observe the game and call him at a pay phone.”
Sid winked. “Like I said, It’s all going to his head. The Dudster and Mr. Hearst. What’s the diff?”
Jack said, “Why mince words? This war’s been good to me so far.”
Sid winked. “Unlike some others. Unlike the bulk of the Japanese folks in El Pueblo Grande at this particular moment. Right, Hideo?” Ashida flushed. Sid was a eugenic misfit. He was half cockroach, half maladroit dwarf.
“That’s right, Sid.”
“I’m thinking about doing a piece on you, Hideo. Dud got The Wolf, and you were a big part of the case. How about this? ‘Hideo Ashida helped crack the baffling Watanabe job, and he’s Japanese himself.’ It’s a good angle, given the way things are going for you folks.”
Ashida said, “They couldn’t go much worse.”
Sid said, “Sure they could. Those escapee fools have got this town in a tizzy, and that posse is out for blood. All the jails are full, so there’s talk of housing you folks in the horse paddocks at Santa Anita. You can dig that, right? You’re eating broiled eel on 2nd and Alameda one minute, you’re sharing a bale of tasty hay with Seabiscuit the next.”
Jack yukked. Ashida gripped the window ledge. Racial cur, cockroach, dwarf.
Sid said, “And, to top it off, you’ve got Fletch Bowron, stinko at the Jonathan Club last night. Is he railing at the Japanese forces currently gutting the Philippines? No. He’s ragging on a certain Nisei police chemist.”
The window ledge cracked. Ashida said, “You heard him?”
Jack said, “Fletch the B. Elmer the J’s got the goods on that boy.” Sid said, “I was there, and I heard him. He was talking up his plans to levy taxes on confiscated Japanese property, and he was hurling dirt on you and Whiskey Bill Parker. He was ragging Bill the P for that tapped-phone ploy that kept you on the PD, and he called you the ‘yellow spot on his spotless political record.’ ”
Ashida gripped the window ledge. The whole thing snapped off.