Because the Night Read Online Free PDF

lack of sleep combined to produce a head pounding that had the pavement wobbling before his eyes. To combat it he rolled up the windows and turned the air conditioning on full, shivering as a fresh adrenaline rush overtook him. Two new cases, three dead and one presumed dead. No sleep for at least another twelve hours.
    The Big Orange Insider occupied the first floor of a pseudo art-deco chateau on San Vicente a block south of Sunset. Lloyd walked in, bypassing the receptionist, knowing she made him for a cop and would be instantly buzzing the editorial offices to tell them the enemy was coming. He walked into a large room crammed with desks and smiled as suspicious eyes darted up from typewriters to appraise him. When the eyes turned hostile he bowed and blew the assembly a kiss. He was beginning to feel at ease when two women waved back. Then he felt a tugging at his sleeve and turned to see a tall young man pressed into him.
    â€œWho let you back here?” the young man demanded.
    â€œNo one,” Lloyd said.
    â€œAre you a policeman?”
    â€œI’m a defector. I’ve quit the cops, and I’m seeking asylum with the counterculture fourth estate. I want to peddle my memoirs. Take me to your wisest ghost writer.”
    â€œYou have thirty seconds to vacate the premises.”
    Lloyd took a step toward the young man. The young man took two steps backwards. Seeing the fear in his eyes, Lloyd said, “Shit. Detective Sergeant Hopkins, L.A.P.D. I’m here to see Marty Bergen. Tell him it’s about Jack Herzog. I’ll be waiting by the reception desk.”
    He walked back to the reception area. The woman at the desk gave him a deadpan stare, so he busied himself by perusing the enlarged and framed editorial cartoons that adorned the four walls. The L.A.P.D. and L.A. County Sheriff’s were attacked in vicious caricatures. Fat, porcine-featured policemen cloaked in American flags poked sleeping drunks with tridents; Chief Gates was dangled on a puppet’s string by two men in Ku Klux Klan robes. Wolf-faced cops herded black prostitutes into a paddy wagon, while the officer at the wheel guzzled liquor, a speech balloon elaborating his thoughts: “Wow! Police work sure is exciting! I hope these bimbos are holding some cash. My car payment is overdue!”
    â€œI’ll admit it’s a bit hyperbolic.”
    Lloyd turned to face the voice, openly sizing up the man who owned it. Martin Bergen was over six feet tall, blond, with a once strong body going to flab. His florid face was contorted into a look of mirthless mirth and his pale blue eyes were liquid but on target. His breath was equal parts whiskey and mint mouthwash.
    â€œYou should know. You had what? Thirteen or fourteen years on the job?”
    â€œI had sixteen, Hopkins. You’ve got what?”
    â€œEighteen and a half.”
    â€œPulling the pin at twenty?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI see. What’s this about Jack Herzog?”
    Lloyd stepped back in order to get a full-body reaction. “Herzog’s been missing for over three weeks. His pad has been wiped. He was working Personnel Records downtown and on a loan-out to Hollywood Vice. No one at Parker Center or Hollywood Station has seen him. What does that tell you?”
    Marty Bergen began to tremble. His red face turned pale and his hands plucked at his pants legs. He backed into the wall and slid down into a folding metal chair. The woman at the desk brought over a glass of water, then hesitated and hurried off into the ladies room when she saw Lloyd shake his head.
    Lloyd sat down beside Bergen and said, “When did you see Herzog last?”
    Bergen’s voice was calm. “About a month ago. We still hung out. Jack didn’t blame me for what I did. He knew we were different that way. He didn’t judge me.”
    â€œWhat was his state of mind?”
    â€œQuiet. No—he was always quiet, but lately he’d been moody, up