Neon Nights: Daymond Runyon meets James Ellroy in the Nevada Desert

by John Hudson

  I didn't tell Joe I’d known where Billie was for quite some time but I'd been avoiding seeing her. She was my first love and she broke my heart. But I never blamed her. It wasn't her fault a seventeen‑year‑old kid didn't have enough sense not to fall in love with a hooker. Now,I was on my way to see her. She and Jake Bozak were in the same business and maybe she had heard something about Johnny and Jake. The egg head college guys who tell you why you do things you do would probably say I was hoping for a reason to see Billie. Who knows, maybe they were right, but for whatever the reason, I found myself driving toward an uncontrollable part of my past that I’d gotten over long ago. From the way my hands were starting to shake maybe I hadn’t gotten over Billie as much as I thought I had.

  In the distance I could see the spires and turrets of Billie's erstwhile castle in the sand. The original owner dreamed up the castle idea. He had lots of ideas--like the good folks of Utah would be happy to drive to his small kingdom to sample the pleasures not allowed in that state. He was wrong. The Later Day Saints from Utah were far less tempted than the later-day sinners from California which meant he picked the wrong side of town to build his kingdom. After a few years of operating a hotel and casino which no one came to, he gave up. The place would have turned back into desert except Billie bought it for a song and turned it into a very upstanding place to unleash your carnal desires. Even the Lincoln County Sheriff agreed, she ran an upstanding place with little or no trouble.

  The middle of the day isn't a busy time in cat houses and the place was quiet and empty. The sun had to go down before things got moving. But the bar was open and I ordered a rum and water. The bartender didn't even give me a strange look. He probably got lots of unusual requests working behind that bar. I asked him if Billie was around, and he gave me a hard look. I quickly explained who I was and I wasn't here to create trouble. He examined my badge, picked up the phone and dialed a number. A few minutes later a huge Indian, the bartender called Rudy, appeared at the door and said, "Where's the guy who wants to see Miss Billie?" The bartender pointed at me and Rudy said, "Come here." I walked over to him and he held out his hand. "Give me your gun," he demanded.

  "I can't do that."

  "Well you better, because you ain't going to get to see Miss Billie if you're armed, and that's all there is to it. So either give up your piece or get out." I could argue the point but he was a good half-a-foot taller than me and had me by at least eighty pounds. He also had the look of a guy who would take your best punch and just grin. For a fleeting moment I thought about rapping the barrel of my gun over his head. But I took another look at him and knew it would only hurt my gun. Instead I handed him my gun. He slipped it into his pocket and said, "When you leave, you'll get it back." He pointed toward a door at the end of the hall. "Miss Billie's expecting you."

  I wasn't sure how Billie would react to seeing me again. My fears evaporated when she opened the door and gave me a big smile. "They said a Kelly O'Brien wanted to see me and I wondered if it was you." She ran her finger down my shirt and said, "I see you still have that cute little flat stomach and Sugar, you look as good as ever except your nose is broken more than before." Billie grabbed me by my arm and pulled me into the room. "Come on in and sit for a while, and tell Billie what you've been up to."

  She insisted on hearing everything that happened in the last five years, and the conversation took longer than I anticipated. When I finished my story, I asked about her. She said she'd been forced to leave California after the war. "Too many guys didn't want to be reminded of what they did when they didn't think they were coming back home."

  She got into a long dissertation about various politicians and cops that had either helped or hurt her during her stay in the Salinas valley. I watched her while she talked. Except for some lines around her eyes she looked the same as when I met her in 1936. She was on the arm of a fight promoter called Bert Diamond. He'd been talking about managing me when I turned professional. He gave out the impression of a mobbed-up guy with a flashy blonde on his arm and a black book full of connections. After getting to know him, I found out the blonde was rented, and the only thing in his little black book were names of guys he sold vegetables to. He had a lot of people fooled, until one night in 1945 when someone slit his throat. I asked if they ever found out who killed Bert and Billie let out a little sigh. "No," she answered. "They never found the dirty son-of-a-bitch." She ground out a cigarette violently and said, "That damn Bert got himself killed. Guys like him should stay where they belong--selling fruits and veggies. He wasn't tough enough for the boxing world."

  I could agree that guys like Bert didn't belong with the scum who fixed fights and used up boxers to feed their greed. But she was wrong about guys like Bert not belonging in boxing. There weren't enough guys like Bert Diamond in the sport.

  She changed the subject and I spent the next hour drinking rum and telling Billie war stories. Finally, I told her about joining the Highway Patrol and getting assigned by the Attorney General's office to help the Clark County Sherriff fill a vacancy. When I told her about Johnny Del Rio's murder, she laughed and said, "If you find out who did it, and they need money for a good lawyer‑‑let me know."

  "So, Johnny wasn't one of your friends."

  "Sugar, we've had a real nice visit so don't you go spoiling it by acting like a cop. Let's talk about something else. Like how you got your nose broken again."

  "I kind of hoped you might be able to help me find out who killed Johnny."

  "Sugar, I have no idea who killed Johnny and I ain't going to find out who did. Now, you never did tell me what happened to your nose."

  I ignored her question about my nose and I explained how I had to try to keep a lid on an all out mob war. Billie listened impassivity and said, "Sugar, you're worrying too much about tomorrow and it ain't worth worrying about." She refilled my glass and ran her fingers through my hair. She smiled and said, "Billie's a place to relax and you look like you haven't relaxed in a long time."

  Billy still had pin-up girl figure and for the last couple of hours I kept thinking about seeing it again. She always had that effect on me. I knew this before but I just got reminded a couple days ago that sometimes you just can’t control what you do even when it isn’t the best thing for you. I had a feeling coming out here was going to be one of those things. I was sure of it when I kissed Billie and she kissed me back.

  Chapter Seven

  Too Much Fun

  The Nevada sun has been responsible for many tragedies. Scores of animals and settlers have been killed by its merciless rays. Death wouldn't have been a bad choice considering the effect the sun was having on me at six in the morning. I hadn't intended to look at the sun at this hour, but I didn't have a choice because my car was parked facing the east. The orange glow forced me to open my eyes. As soon as I did, my head exploded in a wave of pain. I quickly looked away but the damage was done. Even with my eyes shut, the pain quickly got unbearable. It would help if I could turn my car around, so I wasn't facing the sun. I searched my pockets for my keys but I couldn't find them. Instinctively, I slipped my hand inside my coat and felt for my wallet. It was there but my gun was gone. I started to panic until I remembered I gave it to Rudy, which was one of the few things I remembered from last night. Somewhere around my fifth or sixth glass of rum and water--I faded out. What happened after that was obscured by a whirling fuzzy ball which I couldn't see through.

  In an attempt to ease the pain, I tried to lie down on the car's seat, but I quickly changed my mind when the car started spinning around. That was even more unwelcome than blazing sun. I sat up and concentrated on getting control of my stomach. After surviving the cold sweats, I regained my composure.

  The rest of my body was starting to wake up, and the first thing I noticed was my right hand hurt. Several of my knuckles were scraped and starting to swell up. Unfortunately, that injury usually meant someone got hit. "Maybe," I thought. "I'll get lucky and I find out I got these skinned knuckle
s from falling down."

  I wanted to find my keys, get my gun and go home but I doubted the fuzzy ball would let me walk very far. Even if I could make it to Billie's front door, it was too early for anyone to be awake. The sun had risen enough that it wasn't in my eyes anymore and the warmth felt good on my chest. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

  When I opened my eyes, it was mid morning. Inside my car was like an oven. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, at least I'd managed to sweat out enough booze to let me move. I got out of the car and stumbled to Billie's front door. The place was empty except for a few colored maids who were cleaning up the debris from last night. One of them looked at me and laughed. A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. I turned around and Rudy shook his head in mock disbelief. He pointed to a chair and said, "Why don't you sit before you fall." Rudy told the bartender to give him a glass of club soda and a couple of aspirins. "Take these," he commanded. I grabbed the glass with both hands. One was not enough to control its rambunctious nature. It took a bit of doing, but I swallowed the aspirins and managed to drink most of the remaining club soda without spilling it. Rudy seemed pleased he'd preformed his humanitarian duty, and I was pleased I didn't bring the club soda and aspirins back up on Billie's carpet. "You wait here," he said. "Miss Billie wants to talk to you." From the way he said it, I had a feeling the reason for my right hand being skinned up was going to be discussed. I had only one defense--a poor one--I'd been drinking. A loser's excuse and I wouldn't insult Billie by using it.

  She entered the room and sat across from me. I waited for her to tell me how big a jack-ass I'd been. Instead, she smiled and asked how I felt. There aren't words to adequately describe how bad I felt. I mumbled, "I've been better."

  Billie laughed and said, "That's an understatement if I ever heard one. The last time I saw someone look as bad as you do, he was in a pine box." Billie lit a cigarette and offered me one.

  "No thanks, I gave them up."

  Billie leaned forward and touched my hand. "Sugar, you do a lot of things well, but drinking isn't one of them. I'd give it up if I were you." She looked at Rudy and said, "Go get Ella." He returned with a small colored woman. Billie invited her to sit and said, "Ella this is Kelly. He's a friend of mine and I want you to tell him what your cousin told you about Jake's place the other night."

  Ella looked very uncomfortable and said, "Ma'am, I don't mean to sass you but I don't know if I should. If Mister Jake ever finds out, it would go bad on my cousin Charlene."

  Billie put a hand on Ella's shoulder. "Don't worry. Kelly won't tell on your cousin. Will you Sugar?"

  "You've got my word. I won't say a thing."

  Ella still didn't look very comfortable but she said, "All right, if Miss Billie says so--I'll tell you. My cousin Charlene, she cleans up for Mister Jake. She comes in twice a week on Wednesdays and Fridays. Last Wednesday she finds a rug that's got blood all over it. She asked Mister Jake what to do with it and he says burn it. He tells her that the blood's from a fight a couple of the customers got into over a girl. Charlene don't say anything but she knows there's too much blood for a fight--unless someone got killed. But she does like he says and burns the rug. When she goes to get her money--Jake he grabs her arm and tells her to forget about that rug. She says she will and tries to walk away. But Jake grabs her real hard and says he'd be mad if he found out he couldn't trust her. Then he gives her an extra twenty‑dollar bill and tells her he'll see her on Friday. She's afraid to go back to Mister Jake's but she's scared to quit since he might think she said something." Ella gave me a hard look. "You're not lying to me about not saying anything are you?"

  "I'm like a priest I never tell anything that's told to me in confidence."

  Ella smiled and Billie asked, "Do you have any questions for Ella?"

  My head felt like a good breeze would make it fall off, and I couldn't think of anything else anyway. I tried to smile and said, "Not right now."

  After Ella left, Billie poked me in the ribs. "What's all this crap about you being like a priest? Just when did you become Father O'Brien?"

  "It's all I could think to say," I confessed. "But it sounded good didn't it?"

  Billie grabbed me by the arm and helped me to my feet. "Go home and get some sleep."

  A damn good idea, but I didn't have my keys or gun. "I can't go unless I have my keys and I seem to have lost them."

  Billie giggled and called out Rudy's name. "You didn't lose them, Sugar. I told Rudy to take them from you. Just in case you decided you were going to drive home, and take my word for it, you wouldn't have made it."

  "Ah, about last night, do I have anything to apologize for?"

  "Don't worry, Sugar. You were almost the perfect gentleman."

  I was wondering if anything happened between me and Billie last night, from the way she said ‘almost’ I got my answer.

  I said goodbye to Billie and Rudy handed me my gun and keys. I asked him, "How did I end up in my car last night?"

  "I put you there. Miss Billie was going to let you stay with her but you got to feeling your oats. I thought your car would be a lot better than putting you in the store room. It's got spiders and scorpions."

  I had to find out what he meant by, "feeling my oats." I held up my hand and asked, "What happened?"

  "You hit a door. You seemed to think its name was Ted."

  "Did I hit anything else?"

  "No, right after that you passed out." He walked me to my car and said, "Maybe you should find something else to hit since doors usually win." He pointed me toward my car and said, "Take it easy driving--slugger."

  The aspirins were wearing off and my hand hurt. I broke at least one, maybe more, knuckle caps hitting Ted‑the‑door last night. I needed to get home, take more aspirin, and soak my hand before it started to swell up. I drove as fast as I could, but I wasn't up to going the speed limit.

  Billie's about face on helping with my investigation didn't really surprise me. It's in her best interest to pass along anything damaging about Jake Bozak. Billie always was first and foremost a good business woman, if that information happened to help me at the same time, so much the better.

  I liked seeing Billie again. She was older and harder looking but she still did something to me. My thoughts of Billie were pushed aside when I turned onto the main road leading back to Las Vegas. I'd need all my concentration to keep my car between the lines.

  When I got home, I pulled myself up the steps to my apartment. Tacked to my door was a note. It read, 'Got to talk to you Important...Dick.' I didn't want to talk to him but he said it's important. When he answered the phone, he sounded upset. "Jeez--Kelly where have you been? I've been looking for you since last night."

  I told him I'd been following some leads on my own.

  Dick asked, "Did you find out anything?"

  "Yeah, Johnny was trying to sell airplane instruments a while back. Apparently he had a whole trunk full of them."

  "That's interesting because the FBI just arrested a civilian employee for stealing airplane parts down in Arizona. I asked if we could talk to him too. They didn't want to but I had the Attorney General call them and they agreed, but we have to be there by tomorrow morning. If we aren't, they ain't going to wait for us.--So pack your bags and I'll pick you up in an hour."

  The last thing in the world I wanted to do was to go to Arizona, but I couldn't say I didn't want to go because of a huge hangover. Dick wouldn't buy that. Hangovers were something he had on a regular basis.

  The day had been going downhill ever since I woke up with the sun in my eyes. I threw some clothes in a suit case, took two aspirins and soaked my hand in warm water with Epsom salts. I laid-out on my bed and waited for Dick. It felt good and I quickly fell asleep. I dreamed about airplanes, leggy blondes, and boxing with doors named Ted.

  Chapter Eight

  Two in One Week

  I woke up to Dick banging on my door. My insides felt like they'd been sandpapered. Dick laughed and said, "Damn,
Kelly do you feel as bad as you look?"

  "Worse."

  "I told you drinking that rum and water shit isn't good for you. Take my word kid don't drink nothing but whiskey. That way you won't feel so bad the next day.”

  I'd heard that same old lame crap before. Every drunk has some kind of theory that a particular type or brand of booze will lessen the damage John Barleycorn can do. They're all nuts but I was too wounded to argue the point. It took awhile but I stuffed in some toiletries into my suitcase. I threw it into Dick's car, and fell into the passenger seat, "You drive."

  “Damn, you really must have tied one on you never want me to drive.”

  The drive to Phoenix wound through some of the most desolate real estate anywhere in the world. I got bored looking at miles and miles of nothing but white sand, a few plants that refused to die and fell asleep. I didn't wake up until we were almost to Kingman. Dick smiled and said, "Feel any better?"

  I did feel a little better but I was a long way from feeling good, "Yeah, a little."

  "You'll feel a lot better once we get to Phoenix and get some food in you."

  Just the mention of food made me feel bad again. "Let's talk about that when we get to Phoenix--okay."

  Dick laughed and said, "Some greasy eggs and bacon would taste real good right now don't you think?"

  To keep Dick from talking about food I said, "Do you think this guy the J.Edgar's grabbed has anything to do with Johnny Del Rio?"

  "If we're lucky he will, but I haven't been real lucky recently. How about you?"

  The way my luck had been running this guy had never seen or heard of Johnny, I closed my eyes and waited for us to arrive in Phoenix--it was mid-afternoon by the time we got to there. We found a cheap motor-court and the landlord showed us to our "cabin." It smelt of mildew and was a stark white cubical with battleship grey linoleum and two brown iron beds. At least it had indoor plumbing and I didn't plan on being here long enough to let the lack of amenities bug me. The landlord gave me a suspicious look when I asked where the FBI office was located. He told me it was downtown in the Federal building.