
L.A. – the lurid Lotusland of malevolent myth and far-out fable. That one fearful fall. Hear me hatch this story of the Hush-Hush holocaust.
My name is Danny Getchell. I hoard scandal skank. I heap hurt on Hollywood stars. I’m the edifying editor of Hush-Hush magazine.
I dish dirt. I create baaad journalistic juju. I juke the juvenile antics of silly celebrities. I try them in a court of public opinion. I’ve made millions of enemies.
I’ve got a corrupt corps of informants. My snitches toss me tantalizing tidbits. I buy off bellhops and busboys. I bug bathhouses and bordellos and wiretap at will I’m the imp of infiltration.
Cal Kashner is my No. 1 snitch. Cal’s a cop. He’s corruption personified. He’s contemptible and caustic and convinced that he’s all calm charisma. Cal calls himself Cool Cat. He’s the vulgar vampire of the vice squad. The LAPD loves and loathes Cal. He’s made more enemies than I have.
Oct. 4: A breezy day in L.A. a fine day to dig up and distribute dirt.
Cal Kashner called. He left a message with my secretary. He said he had some information. It was one way-out wallop of dirt.
I drove up to Cal’s pad in Coldwater Canyon. Cal’s Cadillac was camped out front. I bopped up to the door and rang the buzzer. It bzzzzd and boinged through the house.
Nobody answered the door. I leaned on the lock and let myself in.
HOLY HUSH-HUSH HANNAH!
Dig it: Cal Kashner – dead on a deep-pile carpet! Shockingly shot!! A fat corpse laid out in state!!!
The living room was wrecked and racked and tramped into a trash heap. Overturned ottomans. Chairs chiseled into chunks. Bookshelves bottomed-up. Sofas stabbed down to their stuffing.
Heaps of Hush-Hush dirt files – scattered and skittered and blotting up blood by the body.
Scads of scandal skank. A victim with a score to avenge? Palpitating payback? A murdered man mashed to mulch by - ?
I heard a floorboard squeak. A shadow shot out and sheared me. A voice shot out of the dark.
Her vibrating vibrato. The voice that made men childlike chumps and callow castratos. “
You’re next Danny, unless you help me.”

Her fair skinned face crested into the crimson light of the room. The sensuous silhouette stepped silently but steadily toward me carefully clutching her handbag in one hand and the corpse maker in the other. Slowing and stiffening my breathing, the only words I could speak softly slipped out. “You, did this?”
“You don’t ‘ask’ questions Danny, you make up answers. This time the tables are turned. I could deny killing this pile of garbage but we both know anyone would accept an award for putting him to the curb.”
Fear does strange things to a man, it can make him cowardly and crazy causing him to quiver at the mere sight of it. In my case it fills me with contradictory contempt which sticks in my craw. Foolishly a smiled filled my face. “You’re speakin like a script. No rehearsals Doll, this is real life.”
I could tell by the titillating twinkle in her eye she was torn, tempted to confirm the thoughts twisting in my mind. Then with gutsy girlish grace she lifted the gun to my grin. “Now there’s that wit we all can live without. Too bad Danny.”
I heard the caustic click of the cocking of the chamber. “KABOOM!” She whispered followed by a chilling chortle. “Let me write you a script Danny, Act I: Girl comes to Hollywood with stars in her eyes. Act II: Some scummy slug of a cop picks me up at the bus station. Act III: Crummy Cal had me climbing bedposts to fame. Well, I’m here at the top now but….” She paused panning the place, “DEBTS! DEBTS! DEBTS!” A sheepish smile appeared, “Well my
DEBT is now paid in full!” She playfully pointed the pistol at Cal and began to sing over and over: “Paid in full… Paid in full!”
The psychotic sinister chant sent scads of chills sailing down my spine. This ghoulish gal is gone! “How poetic, maybe you did rehearse!” I spoke with the cool charisma of a critic.
“STOP!” she shrieked, shooting a shot in the sofa, “STOP! STOP! STOP!” with each shout she shot. The table. The lamp. Then poor Cal Kashner right in the can.
‘Hit the dirt!’ dawned in my noggin. That would make 2, 3 then 4, “Hmmm how many more?” I mumbled. That can’t be more than a six shooter. One that killed Cal, that leaves one. This Dame is damned if she thinks the last bullet dealt will have Danny’s name on it.
In one swift swoop I swept her from her feet. She screamed, shot at the ceiling and swore as she hit the floor. Her head hit hard against the turned over hutch. Silently still she laid with her legs sprawled out and her slip showing.
“Out like a light!” I grabbed the gun still hot in her hand. Then noticed that to my triumph my twisted little tootsie took one in the temple, “Too Chez!” It must have ricocheted, recklessly ringing her, “I bet that scene wasn’t in the script my little scamp.”
I proudly praised the Prince of Peace himself for the pile of priceless presents plopped at my wingtips. “Do I dare dance over my delight? I don’t mind if I do...” I darted, dancing, directly to the phone and dialed. “Dave get the snaps in here pronto!” I had a hunch this one would be heavenly so I hid some hired hands to help before I hopped on Cal’s call.
“Now... the combination to the safe!” I sneered at my success while stepping over the silent stiff simps to the safe. “Let’s see 36 right... 24 left... 38 right...” The handle clicked and I collected the catalogues of information and insights on Hollywood’s favorite fem fatales and freaks.
My boy’s bolted in from the breezeway and began to browse through the bounty that will be tomorrow’s byline. Suddenly sirens howled in the distance.
“You have ten minutes.... get busy and move it out... you boys were never here! Box this and bundle that stack. Back by the bedroom are tons of tapes and racks of reels. We’ll heat up Hush-Hush headlines tonight!!!”
My men mined through the mounds of materials like maniacs.
“One more mouth to drop.” I dialed the man that made Miss Gilda Gold a movie star while frequent flashes flooded the room like fireworks on the fourth.
“It’s all about fame.” I muttered, “ Louis! Sorry, just talking to myself... Getchel here, gotta heartbreak headline. Help me finish....!”