American Tabloid - James Ellroy [166]
Jimmy Hoffa bopped by Tiger Kab occasionally. Jimmy was Kennedy Hater Number One—for good fucking cause.
Bobby K. had Jimmy dancing to his beat: the old Nuisance Roust/Grand Jury Blues. Jimmy got a wild bug up his ass—manifested by nostalgia for the Darleen Shoftel shakedown.
Jimmy said, “We could do it again. I could neutralize Bobby by getting at Jack. You got to believe that Jack still likes cooze.”
Jimmy was persistent on the topic. Jimmy echoed the hate that the whole Outfit shared.
Sam G. said, “I rue the day I bought Jack Illinois.” Heshie Ryskind said, “Kemper Boyd liked Jack, so we figured he had to be kosher.”
Boyd was now some triple or quadruple agent. Boyd was a self-proclaimed insomniac. Boyd said rearranging lies kept him up nights.
Boyd was the Cuban Study Group liaison. Boyd was on Cadre sabbatical—a ploy designed to simplify his life.
Boyd fed Bobby pro-CIA distortions. Boyd fed the CIA Study Group secrets.
Boyd pressed Bobby and Jack. Boyd urged them to assassinate Castro and facilitate a second invasion.
The brothers nixed the notion. Boyd called Bobby more pro-Cause than Jack—but only up to some ambiguous point.
Jack said, No second invasion. Jack refused to grant whack-the-Beard approval. The Study Group cooked up an alternative called Operation Mongoose.
It was nifty long-range nomenclature. Let’s recapture Cuba some time this century. Here’s 50 million dollars a year—fetch, CIA, fetch!
Mongoose spawned JM/Wave. JM/Wave was the nifty code name for six buildings on the Miami U campus. JM/Wave featured snazzy graph rooms and the latest in covert study workshops.
JM/Wave was grad school for geeks.
Fetch, CIA, fetch. Monitor your exile groups, but don’t act boldly—it might fuck with Jack the Haircut’s poll standings.
Boyd still loved Jack. He was in too deep to see through him. Boyd said he loved his civil rights work—because there was no subterfuge involved.
Boyd had trouble sleeping. It’s a blessing, Kemper—you don’t want my claustrophobic nightmares.
71
(Washington, D.C., 6/61–11/61)
He loved his office. Carlos Marcello bought it for him.
It was a spacious three-room suite. The building was very close to the White House.
A professional furnished it. The oak walls and green leather nearly matched Jules Schiffrin’s study.
He had no receptionist and no secretary. Carlos did not believe in sharing secrets.
Carlos brought him full circle. The ex-Chicago Phantom was now a Mafia lawyer.
The symmetry felt real. He hitched his star to a man who shared his hatreds. Kemper facilitated the union. He knew that it would jell.
John F. Kennedy took Kemper full circle. They were two charming, shallow men who never grew up. Kennedy sicced thugs on a foreign country and betrayed them when he saw how it looked. Kemper protected certain Negroes and sold heroin to others.
Carlos Marcello played the same rigged game. Carlos used people and made sure they knew the rules. Carlos knew that he would pay for his life with eternal damnation.
They walked hundreds of miles together. They went to mass in jungle towns and contributed extravagant church tithes.
They walked alone. No bodyguards or back scratchers walked with them.
They ate in cantinas. They bought entire villages lunch. He wrote deportation briefs on tabletops and phoned them in to New York.
Chuck Rogers flew them to Mexico. Carlos said, “I trust you, Ward. If you say ‘Turn yourself in,’ I’ll do it.”
He fulfilled that trust. Three judges reviewed the evidence and released Marcello on bond. The Littell writ work was considered audaciously brilliant.
Grateful Carlos set him up with James Riddle Hoffa. Jimmy was predisposed to fondness—Carlos handed the Fund books back to him and described the circumstances behind their return.
Hoffa became his second client. Robert Kennedy remained his sole adversary.
He wrote briefs for Hoffa’s formal litigators. The results confirmed his brilliance.
July ’61: A second Sun Valley indictment is dismissed. Littell writs prove the grand