The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [101]
“Cover yourself. I’ll take care of my end.”
Wayne Senior loved it. Wayne Senior riffed:
Pay it off—don’t call Littell—he’s on their side.
The deck was hot. The air stung. Fireflies jumped.
Wayne Senior sipped rum. “You disarmed him and knee-dropped him. I’m curious about your justification.”
“I still think like a policeman. When he broke that bottle, he signaled his intent to hurt me.”
Wayne Senior smiled. “You revealed yourself with that answer.”
“You’re saying I still need a rationale.”
“I’m saying you’ve revised your basis for action. You err on the aggressive side now, which you—”
“Which I rarely did as a cop.”
Wayne Senior twirled his stick. “I want to pay off your suit. Will you accept the favor?”
“You can’t make me hate them like you do. Will you accept that?”
Wayne Senior flicked a wall switch. Cold air hissed out.
“Am I that predictable a father?”
“In some ways.”
“Can you predict my next offer?”
“Sure. It’s a job offer. It relates to your quasi-legal union or one of the fourteen casinos you own in violation of Nevada Gaming Commission law.”
Cold air swirled. Bugs beat their wings. Bugs evacuated.
“It sounds like you’ve investigated me.”
“I burned my file when I left the PD.”
“Your file on your fath—”
“You used to run card cheats out of rival casinos. A guy named Boynton and a guy named Sol Durslag, who works for the Clark County Liquor Board. You’ve got some Nellis guy in your pocket. You’re selling pilfered food and liquor to half the hotels on the Strip.”
Wayne Senior stretched. “You anticipated my offer. I need someone to run shipments to the hotels.”
Wayne counted fireflies. They jumped. They lit up. They fell.
“It’s ‘yes’ to both offers. Don’t let it go to your head.”
The Rugburn Room:
A hipster hive. Six tables/one stage. A beatnik gestalt.
Milt Chargin employed a duo. They were Miles Davis acolytes. They played bongos and bass sax.
Milt drew a hip crowd. Femme dykes served beer. Sonny Liston showed and dredged some cheers up.
Sonny hugged Wayne. Sonny sat down. Sonny met Barb and Pete. Sonny hugged them. They hugged Sonny. Sonny sized Pete up.
They arm-wrestled. Hipsters bet. Pete won two out of three.
Milt went on. Milt did Lenny Bruce shtick. Lawrence Welk auditions a junkie. Pat Nixon bangs Lester, the priapic shvoog.
The crowd laughed. The crowd toked maryjane. Sonny popped dexies. Pete and Barb declined.
Wayne popped three. Wayne got a hard-on. Wayne scoped Barb sidelong. Wayne grooved on her hair.
Milt did fresh stuff. Milt did “Fucko, the Kids’ Show Clown.” Milt blew up condoms. Milt tied them off. Milt tossed them high.
The crowd went nuts.
They snared the condoms. They waved cigarettes. They popped them—ka-pow!
Milt did Fidel Castro. Fidel hits a fag bar. Jack Kennedy walks in. Fidel says, “Let’s party, muchacho.” Jack says, “I’ll meet you at the Bay of Pigs, but you’ve got to shtup Bobby, too.”
Pete howled. Barb howled. Wayne roared.
Milt did Sonny shtick.
Sonny kidnaps Cassius Clay. Sonny dumps him in Mississippi. The Klan holds him hostage. Martin Luther King goes down.
Marty wears whiteface. Marty digs being white. It’s a bold apostasy. Fuck this negroid shit.
Marty calls God up. God puts J.C. on. J.C.’s a swinger. He’s gigging with Judas and the Nail Drivin’ Five.
Marty says to J.C., “Listen, daddy-o, I’m having a crisis of faith here, I’m doing this revisionist number. I’m starting to think the white man’s got it dicked, he’s got all the bread and the white women and the hi-fi shit, and if you can’t beat ‘em, assimilate and stop all this civil-rights shuck-and-jive.”
J.C. sighs. Marty waits. Marty waits a looooong time. Marty waits to hear his life’s work affirmed.
J.C. pauses. J.C. laughs. J.C. spiels God’s word on high:
NO SHIT, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER!
The crowd cracked up. The room evaporated. Sonny roar-roar-roared.
Milt did LBJ. Milt did James Dean. Jimmy, the mumble-mouthed