American Tabloid - James Ellroy [49]
Kemper smiled and walked back to the party. The main room was crowded now—maneuvering was a chore.
The mink woman had heads turning.
She made a butler pet her coat. She insisted that Leonard Bernstein try it on. She mambo-stepped through the crowd and snatched Joe Kennedy’s drink.
Joe gave her a small, gift-wrapped box. The woman tucked it in her purse. Three Kennedy sisters walked off in a huff.
Peter Lawford ogled the woman. Bennett Cerf slid by and peeked down her dress. Vladimir Horowitz waved her over to the piano.
Kemper took a private elevator down to the lobby. He picked up a courtesy phone and badged the switchboard girl for a straight patch to Chicago.
She put him through. Helen answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“It’s me, sweetheart. The one you used to have a crush on.”
“Kemper! What are you doing with that syrupy southern accent!”
“I’m engaged in subterfuge.”
“Well, I’m engaged in law school and looking for an apartment, and it is so difficult!”
“All good things are. Ask your middle-aged boyfriend, he’ll tell you.”
Helen whispered. “Ward’s been moody and secretive lately. Will you try to—?”
Littell came on the line. “Kemper, hi.”
Helen blew kisses and put her extension down. Kemper said, “Hello, son.”
“Hello yourself. I hate to be abrupt, but have you—?”
“Yes, I have.”
“And?”
“And Bobby said yes. He said he wants you to work for us sub rosa, and he wants you to follow up on that lead Roland Kirpaski gave us, and try to determine if there really are secret Pension Fund books hiding untold zillions of dollars.”
“Good. This is … very good.”
Kemper lowered his voice. “Bobby reiterated what I told you. Don’t take unnecessary risks. You remember that. Bobby’s more of a stickler for legalities than I am, so you just remember to be careful, and remember who you have to look out for.”
Littell said, “I’ll be careful. I may have a Mob man compromised on a homicide, and I think I might be able to turn him as an informant.”
The mink woman walked through the lobby. A slew of bellboys rushed to get the door for her.
“Ward, I have to go.”
“God bless you for this, Kemper. And tell Mr. Kennedy that I won’t disappoint him.”
Kemper hung up and walked outside. Wind roared down 76th Street and toppled trashcans set out on the curb.
The mink woman was standing under the hotel canopy. She was unwrapping Joe Kennedy’s gift.
Kemper stood a few feet away from her. The gift was a diamond broach tucked inside a roll of thousand-dollar bills.
A wino stumbled by. The mink woman gave him the broach. Wind fanned the roll and showed off at least fifty grand.
The wino giggled and looked at his broach. Kemper laughed out loud.
A cab pulled up. The mink woman leaned in and said, “881 Fifth Avenue.”
Kemper opened the door for her.
She said, “Aren’t the Kennedys vulgar?”
Her eyes were drop-dead translucent green.
15
(Chicago, 1/6/59)
One jiggle snapped the lock. Littell pulled his pick out and closed the door behind him.
Passing headlights strafed the windows. The front room was small and filled with antiques and art deco gewgaws.
His eyes adjusted to the dark. There was good outside light—he didn’t need to risk turning lamps on.
Lenny Sands’ apartment was tidy and midwinter stuffy.
The Icepick Tony killing was five days old and unsolved. The TV and papers omitted one fact: that Iannone died outside a queer tryst spot. Court Meade said Giancana put the fix in: he didn’t want Tony slandered as a homo, and refused to believe it himself. Meade quoted some scary bug-post talk: “Sam’s got scouts out rousting known fruit rollers”; “Mo said Tony’s killer is gonna get castrated.”
Giancana couldn’t believe a self-evident fact. Giancana thought Tony walked into Perry’s Little Log Cabin by mistake.
Littell got out his pen flash and Minox. Lenny’s recent schedule included Vendo-King pickups until midnight. It was 9:20 now—he had time to work.
Lenny’s address book was tucked under the living-room phone. Littell skimmed through it and noted auspicious names.
Eclectic Lenny knew Rock Hudson and Carlos