American Tabloid - James Ellroy [24]
John Kennedy laughed. Littell flashed on the Shoftel job and winced.
Robert Kennedy said, “Duly noted, Roland. You’ll be able to read any statement you like before you testify. And remember, we’re saving your testimony for a televised session. Millions of people will see you.”
Kemper said, “The more publicity you get, the more unlikely it is that Hoffa will attempt reprisals.”
Kirpaski said, “Jimmy don’t forget. He’s like an elephant that way. You know those gangster pictures you showed me? Those guys I saw Jimmy with?”
Robert Kennedy held up some photos. “Santo Trafficante Jr. and Carlos Marcello.”
Kirpaski nodded. “Right. I also want to go on the record as saying that I’ve heard good things about those guys. I heard they hire union men exclusively. No Mafia guy ever said, ‘Roland, you’re a dumb Southside Polack’ to me. Like I said, they visited Jimmy at his suite at the Drake, and all they talked about was the weather, the Cubs and politics in Cuba. I want to go on the record as saying I got no gripe against the fucking Mafia.”
Kemper winked at the one-way. “Neither does J. Edgar Hoover.”
Littell laughed. Kirpaski said, “What?”
Robert Kennedy drummed the table. “Mr. Boyd is performing for some unseen colleague of his. Now, Roland, let’s get back to Miami and Sun Valley.”
Kirpaski said, “I’d like to. Jesus, this snow.”
Kemper stood up and stretched his legs. “Walk us through your observations again.”
Kirpaski sighed. “I was a Chicago delegate to the convention last year. We stayed at the Deauville in Miami. I was still friendly with Jimmy then, because I hadn’t figured out he was a scab cocksucker cutting side deals with—”
Robert Kennedy cut in. “Stick to the point, please.”
“The point is I ran some errands for Jimmy. I went by the Tiger Kab stand, which is spelled with a goddamn K, and picked up some cash so Jimmy could take some guys from the Miami locals out on a boat to shoot sharks with Tommy guns, which is one of Jimmy’s favorite Florida things to do. I must have picked up three grand easy. The cabstand was like the planet Mars. All these crazy Cuban guys wearing tiger-colored shirts. The boss Cuban was this guy Fulo. He was selling these hot TVs out of the parking lot. The Tiger Kab business is strictly cash-operated. If you want my considered opinion, it’s a tax evasion bounce looking to happen.”
Static rattled the speaker—Littell tapped the squelch button and smoothed the volume out. John Kennedy looked bored and restless.
Robert Kennedy doodled on a notepad. “Tell us about Anton Gretzler again.”
Kirpaski said, “We all went out shark shooting. Gretzler came along. Him and Jimmy were talking by themselves over on one end of the boat away from the shark shooters. I was down in the can, being seasick. I guess they thought they had privacy, because they were talking up this not-too-legal-sounding stuff, which I want to go on the record as stating was no skin off my ass, because it didn’t involve collusion with management.”
John Kennedy tapped his watch. Kemper prompted Kirpaski. “What exactly did they discuss?”
“Sun Valley. Gretzler said he had land surveys done, and his surveyor said the land wouldn’t fall into the swamp for five years or so, which would let them off the hook, legally speaking. Jimmy said he could tap the Pension Fund for three million dollars to purchase the land and prefab material, and maybe they could pocket some cash up front.”
Robert Kennedy jumped up. His chair crashed—the one-way glass shimmied. “That is very strong testimony! That is a virtual admission of conspiracy to commit land fraud and intent to defraud the Pension Fund!”
Kemper picked the chair up. “It’s only courtroom valid if Gretzler corroborates it or perjures himself denying it. Without Gretzler, it’s Roland’s