Captain Dudley Smith stood before the gathering at Monday morning’s general briefing and cringed. It was a steamy day in Hollywood, the kind that makes dogs circle, sniff for blood and bite. Eight AM and the basic aroma in the room was that of aftershave and body odor but all Dudley could think about was the highly groomed, picture-perfect face of Detective Carson Calloway.

Calloway was smooth as satin sheets and had the highly polished look of a movie star. The man oozed charisma and personality, moving around the room like he owned the place, effortlessly comfortable with men of all calibers like he’d been with the LAPD for years. But Calloway was a recent transfer from New York City and a thorn in the Captain’s side. The man was too shiny perfect and Dudley had his suspicions.

1950 was going to be Dudley Smith’s year. It was all about to begin for him. With Mickey Cohen indicted and facing a long prison stay, (the suggestion of ‘tax evasion’ whispered into the DA’s ear by Dudley himself), there were good reasons for Captain Smith to be concerned about the suddenly present alien detective in his midst. For the past two years Dudley had been planning and organizing, setting up the perfect alliances for a strategic, undetectable takeover of Cohen’s rackets. His mouth watered at everything he’d have and how easy it was going to be to get it. No more small time takes for Dudley Smith, and all his hand-chosen thugs and big time wheeler dealer partners were going to benefit greatly. It was brilliant and he knew it.

Sid Hudgens was doing his part; hooking Vincennes up with that television show, ‘Badge of Honor’ and keeping the above average narcotics detective sufficiently occupied with glory-splashed headlines across the front pages of Hush-Hush magazine. Hudgens was keeping all the focus off of Patchett as well as Dudley. And the Captain’s goons? Every one of them was playing their part like effective bit actors in a movie. Every one of them … except Stensland. Dudley groaned as the sloppy mountain of a man grunted into a chair and rubbed his alcohol reddened eyes. Something had to be done to get the bureau’s critical eyes off of Stensand or the stupid boyo just might say the wrong thing.

Dudley shuffled through his notes. Not a big week and not a whole lot to say to the eighty men present. With a little luck he’d be behind his desk soon enough, his jacket off and the breeze of his fan whipping his shirt sleeves until he was finally comfortable again. His eyes rose to the sound of laughter. Calloway was working the room; moving from a knot of huddled homicide detectives to the gathering of uniformed officers in the back and finally sitting with the nine narco detectives and repeating the same obviously off-color joke. Getting the same round of laughter, too. Vincennes rolled his eyes and moved to another empty seat and Dudley’s brow curled. Officers knew when there was an enemy among them … some knew instinctively and quicker than others, but they always knew. It was a confirmation that made Dudley’s suspicions tighten the muscles at the back of his neck.

Calloway was too easy a fit, too on top of things, too … smooth. He had to be an Internal Affairs plant. Dudley was sure of it. A plant to find out everything he’d been planning and was finally poised to put into action.

The handsome New Yorker grinned his flashing white smile. “Morning Cap,” Calloway shouted and strangely, without Dudley calling the meeting to order, every man in the room quieted and prepared for the briefing. Dudley’s lip twitched and he swallowed the bile crawling up his throat with a gulp of bitter coffee. Something had to be done about Calloway, and it had to be done soon.

w

Detective Sergeant Jack Vincennes surveyed the room as he took a spot against the back wall, his mind remarkably sharp after another sleepless night spent on the couch. It was only a matter of time before his wife either moved out or threw him out, their relationship having deteriorated to the point where they were no longer speaking to one another. He didn’t see the point in changing his living arrangements until Linda served him with the divorce papers; he knew she was within her rights as he’d hardly been model husband material, but his stubborn pride made him stay and wait for the inevitable showdown.   

He watched Calloway work the room, noting the looks of admiration from the younger officers as they practically hung on his every word. The man was smooth, no doubt, but Jack couldn’t help but wonder at his motivations. Everything about the man from the way he dressed to his manner of speech seemed a little too perfect. London Shop blazer, Italian loafers, just enough little dab’ll do ya. Vincennes knew the type all too well. 

But his mind was on other matters besides Calloway. In his hands he held a folder containing a list of known drug suppliers who all had a mysterious tie in to a well known Hollywood agent. If his instincts were correct, and they often were, he was looking at a bust of monumental proportions. He was going to have to put in lots of overtime, either on the clock or off, but he tried not to smile as he imagined the headlines. He just needed the okay from Dudley before he moved forward.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Hollywood Jack was back in fighting form.

w

Officer Edmond Exley was at the back of the briefing room standing as far as possible from the other uniformed rank and file. He was different from them; not only was he smarter and quicker on the uptake, but he had a name and reputation to live up to. And if Exley had anything to say about it, he would not only live up to his father’s high standard, but surpass it. He was convinced he would soon be the beacon by which all other officers would be measured.

His eyes wandered the room surveying the scene, his mind quickly taking in each group of detectives, evaluating who was aligned with who and which were the most powerful alliances. It was all part of his game plan; cultivate friendships with the best, the brightest and the most powerful. It was the only way to advance up through the ranks faster than his father, the late, great Preston Exley.

Jack Vincennes stood and caught Ed’s eye. The showboater, he snorted to himself. Once a good cop, he was now only concerned with that god-awful television show and the publicity it gave him. Always in the papers with his latest celebrity drug-bust, giving the public the impression that he was squeaky clean, making the streets safe from dope-fiends and hop-heads. The reality, though, was a bit different … at least according to rumor.

And over near the back was one of the newest detectives in the department, Bud White. When Ed heard a few months back that White had been promoted, he was astounded. In his opinion, White was a mindless thug and not detective material in any way. Maybe there were some in the department that shared his opinion. Why else would White have been paired with probably the worst detective in the LAPD, Dick Stensland.

The sloppiest, lousiest detective he’d ever seen, Dick was sitting … make that lounging … next to White and obvious sleeping. Ed had never heard a good word about him; if he wasn’t drunk, he was a lazy, brutal oaf.

And then … the current golden boy, Carson Calloway. Loud. Trying too hard to be liked and accepted, Exley thought with a mixture of jealousy and awe. Big time cop from back east with lots of political backing, financial support and a bright future. Calloway was the embodiment of everything Exley aspired to. Definitely someone to cultivate.

And coming to the podium, the man he considered his ace in the hole, a man he’d known from childhood, Captain Dudley Smith. Key to Exley’s plan was to leave the uniformed riff-raff and join homicide as a detective. Dudley though, had other ideas. Ed gulped at Dudley’s questions and his disapproval of Exley’s answers … Would you be willing to plant corroborative evidence on a suspect you knew to be guilty, in order to ensure an indictment? … Would you be willing to beat a confession out of a suspect you knew to be guilty? … Would you be willing to shoot a hardened criminal in the back in order to offset the chance that some lawyer would get them off?

Ed’s answers were always and emphatically, ‘no’. How could he become the department’s golden boy yet be guilty of such disregard for justice?

w

Officer Bud White pushed hard against the slump of Stensland’s hunched shoulder. Fucker was asleep again; the next breath was going to be an earthquake of a snore if Bud couldn’t wake the man quick enough. White was sick of being on his own, fucking sick and tired of trying to handle cases with his drunken partner curled on the backseat and sleeping it off. Bud had been a detective for six months and he swore that half that time he was babysitting the man who was supposed to show him the ropes. Six fucking months and they hadn’t made a case yet, hadn’t even made a dent in anything on their roster. He’d worked his ass off to make detective. This wasn’t what he wanted.

An independent thinker with little to no confidence, he’d taken to observing those around him. What Bud discovered was a lot of the same. Partnerships where one detective worked hard as fucking hell and the other drank until he was blind. But … there was one reason he tolerated Stens, one occurrence that kept him at the man’s side and away from becoming one of those hot shots looking for glory on his own.

Six weeks after being assigned as Richard Stensland’s partner and knowing the big fuck was already drunk as a skunk at ten in the morning; Bud had walked into a liquor store to ask the owner a few questions. The bastard was sweating bullets and White knew he was onto something. If it wasn’t for Stensland bursting into the glass door and pushing Bud to the floor, he have taken the bullet from the store owner’s hidden shotgun and it wouldn’t have been pretty. That was the reason a man had a partner, and even pickled with gin and vodka, Dick Stensland was the kind of partner every detective wanted at his side. Keeping the man awake was important. Bud has seen the big guys watching his partner with curled brows and a poised pen over a notebook.

As Stens woke with a loud grunt he rubbed his temples, straightened in the chair, listened to everything presented by the Captain then leaned close, his breath sickening sweet with liquor as he hissed.

“Thanks, partner.”

“Yeah, yeah,” and Bud stood to start his day.

w

Detective Lieutenant Carson Calloway paid close attention to every detail of the briefing, heard all those things the Captain didn’t say about the past and upcoming weeks and wondered how anything gets done in a place like Hollywood. But he had his own plans and his own motives. Three weeks and he’d already busted a large robbery ring (with the help of a few Manhattan friends) and was making serious headway on yet another case that had baffled the LAPD for months. After all, Calloway wasn’t about to step into a new station and not seriously impress the brass. He knew how to use his resources. Los Angeles had its fair share of crime, but Calloway wanted to make sure he got his fair share of juicy assignments. And …

He had other things on his agenda. Most of them fell into place easily enough; meeting, wining and dining, and finally bedding the fabulous and famous actress, Francine Foster for example. He’d schmoosed his way into the right Hollywood parties and smiled his way next to Marilyn Monroe’s biggest rival. In Calloway’s eyes, Foster was far more glamorous, talented and beautiful than the blond bombshell. He’d seen Monroe once when she wasn’t made up for the public, weaving and giggling like a silly school girl attempting to impress her big brother’s best friend. Pitiful. He was embarrassed for her. Monroe wasn’t so pretty without all that paint. But Foster was. She was stunning.

Francine Foster was also seriously involved with her current co-star and the rumors were wild that wedding bells would be ringing soon. Calloway didn’t care. She was a damn good fuck. Something to dream about in his old age. Whatever Franny Foster did; got married, didn’t get married, continued to play cat and mouse with him or not … didn’t matter one bit. She was just one of his goals when he drove into California, something to tick off on his list.

And he had other goals. Advancement in the department and the bureau was a given. But Carson Calloway wasn’t the callous sort. He was a cop for a reason; and that really was to help people. His education was vast and complex and he had full intentions of using all of it to reach his intended objectives. A degree in psychology helped him figure people out; determine what he was up against … in the station or on the street. It always paid off to see those wheels turning in another detective’s mind and especially in the criminal’s mind. It’s what made him a master at interrogation and already he’d made a name for himself there at the Hollywood station. Just last week, crowds of detectives from as far as West Hollywood and downtown Los Angeles came like they were on some kind of pilgrimage and pressed tight outside the interrogation room windows just to watch.

Needless to say, he’d ruffled a few feathers … Captain Dudley Smith for one. Smith was a man he needed on his side so Calloway took a hard swallow and realized it was time to back off from the showboating. He’d made his point. Now he had something else he wanted to do.

His long time friend was now a psychology professor at the university. Peter Skelly was one of the resources Calloway most often used and enjoyed; rich with insight and suggested approaches but it had already come time to pay back the piper.

Skelly wanted a study done and the university wasn’t about to support it after Kinsey’s blasphemous findings. The research community already knew what Kinsey was up to with his upcoming report. This time he was looking at women; sacred mothers and wives and little sisters and the men controlling grant money for research projects were up in arms against anything even remotely resembling Kinsey’s obsessions. Of course, Skelly wasn’t looking to expose that the average Midwest housewife wanted orgasms or masturbated regularly; he was only seeking information to help him determine what made a woman choose the oldest profession on earth.

Peter Skelly needed information and Calloway had a way to get the research done. Thus began the strangest request Carson Calloway had ever made of a senior officer and his curiosity was peaked as to how Captain Smith would respond to this request.

w

Dudley’s eyes were closed as he basked in cool breezes generated from the oscillating fan blades. Calloway was on his mind. He needed a way to watch that bastard, get a serious look at what he was up to. He wanted to get the man out of the limelight too, push him back into the shadows and keep his hands tied with some useless nonsense that could keep him from reporting to I.A. As his mind spun like the fan, he wasn’t in the least surprised when he heard a sharp, snapping tap on his door and Calloway’s voice.

“Hey Cap, got a few minutes?”

Dudley grinned congenially and waved to a chair. “What’s on your mind, boyo?”

What Calloway was about to ask was almost laughable and he knew it. He also knew that he had the savvy to present it strong enough to get Smith’s ears perked. But in truth, it was a little crazy. Everyone involved; from the Captain, to the men assigned to the detail, to the test subjects themselves were going to get a laugh out of it all. But as for getting Smith to go for it … Calloway had no concerns.

He had big aspirations. Eventually, he wanted Dudley Smith’s desk. In that position he could start making some real changes. Hollywood culture and corruption infected everything and was festering like a rancid wound throughout the LAPD. Not that things were much better in New York. Fifty percent of the NYPD force was inebriated; the other fifty percent had good intentions but little guidance and even fewer instincts for the work. Presenting the idea for such a detail was the beginning of making changes. Those assigned to assist him were about to learn not only a hell of a lot about why a woman became a hooker … but how to start seeing what goes on inside a criminal’s head. Oh yeah, what might look frivolous and unimportant could easily change a few men into solid, efficient detectives who can make serious strides in cleaning up the streets.

“Well Captain, I have a little extra curricular activity in mind and I was hoping to get some help and advice from you.” Calloway knew damn well it was the best way to go about this. It would be a piece of cake to pull together a couple of his new found friends on the force and do this without Smith’s involvement, but a few things were needed. If Dudley thought he was an important part of the project, he just might smooth the rails a bit.

“What kinda … extra curricular activity, Calloway?” Dudley actually felt a hard on growing. Was the idiot about to set himself up with the perfect illegal activity that can get him thrown off the force? He stifled a grin.

“I have a buddy, a psychology professor looking for a team to do a little research task. Gather information from prostitutes for a study geared toward a better understanding as to why these women choose the profession. Sort of a clarification as to the reasoning behind it all.”

“Your buddy needs to get laid, boyo. What is it you think I can do to help you with this … project?”

“Pretty simple sir. If you can assign me two men and make sure we’ve all got the same evening available every week for twelve weeks to gather the information, it would help a lot. I’d prefer men with various personalities in order to gauge how the women react to them. It’s a hundred point questionnaire, will probably take about four hours to complete.”

“Where are you planning to get the girls?” Dudley continued to fight his laughter, biting the inside of his mouth a pretending to review personnel rosters. He already knew who he’d put on the stupid detail and how useful this foolishness was going to be for him, but getting as much as possible out of Calloway was vital.

“I figured we can pick one every interview night right out of the cell. We should give the chosen test subject a free pass on charges that night for participating, sir.”

“And how can you guarantee that you and your fellow officers aren’t just planning a little hooker party during these interview nights?” A chuckle finally escaped his chest.

“Sir! Of course not! These interviews will be taped and we’ll have access to them for our own reference and understanding as well as the university’s. This is a legit study, Dudley. I’d never propose something illegal; never expect you to help me. Jesus, Captain!”

“Alright, boyo. Where do you plan to do these interviews?”

Calloway shrugged. “We can do them here at the station.”

“No. Listen,” Dudley dramatically curled his brow and rubbed his chin. “There’s an old abandoned motel about forty miles from here. It would be perfect.”

“A motel? I don’t think so,” Calloway snorted. “It’s our goal to make these women feel safe and comfortable.”

“And since when is a hooker not comfortable in a motel? The Victory Motel is the perfect place, Calloway. Quiet. Far enough from everyone else. I trust you won’t try anything … unsavory with these girls. When do you plan to start all this?”

“As soon as possible. If you give me the men and arrange schedules, I’d like to start tonight.” Calloway’s heart was pumping like a race horse. He was getting the cooperation he wanted. It would all be interesting, informative and exactly the way he liked going about being a detective. Investigation at its best with the potential to make a real difference down the road. Improvement in his and his fellow officer’s way of doing the job. Fucking perfect! But Dudley stifled his excitement with one small statement.

“Not tonight,” the Captain grunted and closed the personnel file folder. “Saturday nights would work best. You’ll have several fresh subjects to choose from. It will give me a few days to choose and assign men to this detail and arrange the scheduling.” He saw Calloway deflate. “It’s that or nothing. And … if you’re expecting the department’s full cooperation you’ve got another thing coming, Calloway. There will be no pay for this … extracurricular activity. I need to find men willing to give up their Saturdays for your project and do it without compensation.”

“I understand, Cap. That’ll be fine.” He stood and reached out his hand. “Thanks.”

“I’ll inform you of the men assigned and arrange for a briefing here in my office before you begin. Now, don’t you have real work to do Detective Calloway?”

Dudley watched the man leave, closed his door and laughed aloud. Everything he needed had just dropped into his lap like movie magic. He quickly sat and reviewed his thoughts.

Problem number one: Knowing what Calloway was up to just got easier.

Problem number two: Protecting Patchett’s lucrative prostitution business was simply solved. Calloway wouldn’t be coming across any of Patchett’s movie star look alike whores on a Saturday night. They were all dolled up and entertaining at secret Fleur-de-lis ‘Whatever you Desire’ parties and it was highly unlikely even one of them would find themselves in a Saturday night lock-up at the Hollywood station.

Problem number three: Jack Vincennes. Even with the distractions of his own extracurricular activities on ‘Badge of Honor’ and his hot shot Hush-Hush headlines … Vincennes was still too smart to expect the man to remain in the dark. Dudley needed another layer of diversion to hold the detective’s attention, just until the first few strides were made in taking over Cohen’s rackets. “Twelve weeks should do it,” the Captain grinned.

Problem number four: Getting the department’s scrutiny away from Stensland. Easy as pie. Assignment to the detail would give Stensland a chance to get as drunk as he wanted and even dry out before his next appearance at the station. He wasn’t gonna like it, but it would also serve as a slap on the wrist from Dudley. Then there was Stensland’s new partner, Wendell White. It might be fun to put that brute on the detail if for nothing else than watching Calloway squirm. The idiot did ask for different personalities, now didn’t he?

And finally, problem number five: Planting the perfect eye to watch over Calloway and report everything that’s said and done. Dudley scratched his temple. Who was the man for that job? Then he spotted him, skulking outside the door like a weasel.

“Come in here, Exley.”

Eager beaver scurried inside, pressed his glasses higher on his nose and grinned. Nodded. “Yes sir.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Edmond? You’re not even scheduled on duty until tonight.”

“I … ah … I just wanted to ask. Is there anything I can do? Anything? I heard through the grapevine there’s going to be a special detail formed and I was wondering if I can volunteer.”

Dudley shook his head. Problem number five was well in hand.