American Tabloid - James Ellroy [95]
Pete counted off. They stood up and fired on “three”—straight through the window.
Glass exploded. Silencer thunks faded into screams.
The window went down. The curtains went down. They had real targets now—Commie spies up against a blood-spattered wall.
The spics were flailing for guns. The spics were wearing shoulder holsters and cross-draw hip rigs.
Pete vaulted the sill. Return fire hit his vest and spun him backward.
Fulo charged. The Commies fired wide; the Commies fired near-death erratic. They got off un-suppressored big-bore pistol shots— tremendously goddamn loud.
A vest deflection sent Fulo spinning. Pete stumbled up to the couch and emptied both his guns at ultraclose range. He notched head hits and neck hits and chest hits, and took in a big gasping breath of gray viscous something—
A diamond ring rolled across the floor. Fulo grabbed it and kissed it. Pete wiped blood from his eyes. He saw a stack of plastic-wrapped bricks by the TV set.
White powder was leaking out. He knew it was heroin.
31
(Miami, 8/30/59)
Kemper read by the Eden Roc pool. A waiter freshened his coffee every few minutes.
The Herald ran it in banner print: “Four Dead in Cuban Dope War.”
The paper reported no witnesses and no leads. The assumed perpetrators were “Rival Cuban Gangs.”
Kemper linked events.
John Stanton sends him a report three days ago. It states that President Eisenhower’s Cuban-Ops budget has come in way below the requested amount. It states that Raul Castro is funding a Miami propaganda drive through heroin sales. It states that a distribution shack/safe house has already been established. It states that the heroin gang includes two ex-Tiger Kab men: César Salcido and Rolando Cruz.
He tells Pete to clear an Agency/cabstand lease deal. He assumes that Jimmy Hoffa will stipulate vengeance on the men who shot up the stand. He knows that Pete will wreak that vengeance with considerable flair.
He has dinner with John Stanton. They discuss his report at length.
John says, Heroin-pushing Commies are tough competition. Ike will kick loose more money later on, but now is now.
More banana boats are due. Anti-Castro zealots will swarm Florida. Hothead ideologues will join the Cause and demand action.
Rampant factionalism might reign. The Blessington campsite is still short of operational and their Elite Cadre is still untested. The dope clique might usurp their strategic edge and financial hegemony.
Kemper said, Heroin-pushing Commies are tough. You can’t compete with men who’ll go that far.
He made Stanton say it himself. He made Stanton say, Unless we exceed their limits.
Talk went ambiguous. Abstractions passed as facts. A euphemistic language asserted itself.
“Self-budgeted,” “autonomous” and “compartmentalized.” “Need-to-know basis” and “Ad hoc utilization of Agency resources.”
“Co-opting of Agency-aligned pharmacological sources on a cash-and-carry basis.”
“Without divulging the destination of the merchandise.”
They sealed the deal with elliptical rhetoric. He let Stanton think he devised most of the plan.
Kemper skimmed his newspaper. He noticed a page-four banner: “Grisly Causeway Discovery.”
An arsoned Chevy collapses a rickety wooden dock. Rolando Cruz and César Salcido are along for the dip.
“Authorities believe the killings of Cruz and Salcido may be connected to the slayings of four other Cubans in Coral Gables late last night.”
Kemper flipped back to page one. A single paragraph stood out.
“Although the dead men were rumored to be heroin traffickers, no narcotics were found on the premises.”
Be prompt, Pete. And be as smart and farsighted as I think you are.
Pete showed up early, carrying a large paper bag. He didn’t check out the women by the pool or walk up with his usual swagger.
Kemper slid a chair out. Pete saw the Herald on the table, folded to the page-one headline.
Kemper said, “You?”
Pete put the bag on the table. “Fulo and me.”
“Both jobs?”
“That’s right.