American Tabloid - James Ellroy [55]
“Don’t applaud until I finish! What kind of Rat Pack Auxiliary are you! Dino, go get me a couple of blondes! Sammy, go get me a case of gin and ten cartons of cigarettes or I’ll put your other eye out! Hop to it, Sammy! When the Chicago Knights of Columbus Chapter 384 snaps its fingers, Frank Sinatra jumps!”
The Knights haw-haw-hawed. A nun pushed a broom by the group and never looked up. Lenny sang, “Fly me to the Coast with Big Sal’s junket tour! He’s the swingin’ gambling junket king, so dig his sweet allure! In other words, Vegas beware!”
The Knights applauded. Sal dumped a paper bag out on a table in front of them.
They sifted through the clutter and grabbed knickknacks. Littell saw poker chips, French ticklers, and Playboy rabbit key chains.
Lenny held up a novelty pen shaped like a penis. “Which one of you big-dick gavones wants to be the first one to sign up?”
A line formed. Littell felt his stomach turn over.
He walked to the curb and vomited. The rye and beer burned his throat. He hunched over and puked himself dry.
Some junket men walked past him twirling key chains. A few laughed at him.
Littell braced himself against a lamppost. He saw Sal and Lenny in the rec hall doorway.
Sal backed Lenny into the wall and jabbed at his chest. Lenny mimed a single word: “Okay.”
The door stood ajar. Littell pushed it all the way open.
Kemper was going through Lenny’s address book. He’d turned on all the living-room lights.
“Easy, son.”
Littell shut the door. “Who let you in?”
“I taught you how to B&E, remember?”
Littell shook his head. “I want him to trust me. Another man showing up like this might frighten him.”
Kemper said, “You need to frighten him. Don’t underestimate him just because he’s queer.”
“I saw what he did to Iannone.”
“He panicked, Ward. If he panics again, we could get hurt. I want to establish a certain tone tonight.”
Littell heard footsteps outside the door. There was no time to kill the lights for surprise.
Lenny walked in. He did a broad stage actor’s double-take.
“Who’s he?”
“This is Mr. Boyd. He’s a friend of mine.”
“And you were in the neighborhood, so you thought you’d break in and ask me a few questions.”
“Let’s not go at things this way.”
“What way? You said we’d talk on the phone, and you told me you were in this by yourself.”
“Lenny—”
Kemper said, “I did have a question.”
Lenny hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “Then ask it. And help yourself to a drink. Mr. Littell always does.”
Kemper looked amused. “I glanced through your address book, Lenny.”
“I’m not surprised. Mr. Littell always does that, too.”
“You know Jack Kennedy and a lot of Hollywood people.”
“Yes. And I know you and Mr. Littell, which proves I’m not immune to slumming.”
“Who’s this woman Laura Hughes? This address of hers—881 Fifth Avenue—interests me.”
“Laura interests lots of men.”
“You’re trembling, Lenny. Your whole manner just changed.”
Littell said, “What are you talk—?”
Kemper cut him off. “Is she in her early thirties? Tall, brunette, freckles?”
“That sounds like Laura, yes.”
“I saw Joe Kennedy give her a diamond broach and at least fifty thousand dollars. That looks to me like he’s sleeping with her.”
Lenny laughed. His smile said, Oh, you heathen.
Kemper said, “Tell me about her.”
“No. She’s got nothing to do with the Teamsters’ Pension Fund or anything illegal.”
“You’re reverting, Lenny. You’re not coming off like the hard boy that took out Tony Iannone. You’re starting to sound like a little fairy with a squeaky voice.”
Lenny went instant baritone. “Is this better, Mr. Boyd?”
“Save the wit for your lounge engagements. Who is she?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.”
Kemper smiled. “You’re a homosexual and a murderer. You have no rights. You’re a Federal informant, and the Chicago FBI owns you.”
Littell felt queasy. His heartbeat did funny little things.
Kemper said, “Who is she?”
Lenny came on hard butch. “This is not FBI-approved. If it was there’d be stenographers and paperwork. This is some sort of