The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [123]
WJL: I’m going to raise his percentage, Sir. That should improve his mood.
JEH: Why? What do you need from him?
WJL: I need to expand my Nellis clearance.
JEH: To include?
WJL: Flights from Vietnam.
JEH: Data coheres in odd fashions. You’re my second postcard from Vietnam this morning.
WJL: Sir?
JEH: Dwight Holly called. He told me that Wayne Tedrow Junior and Pete Bondurant were recently granted Vietnamese travel visas.
WJL: That is odd, Sir.
JEH: Yes, and you are being oddly and blithely disingenuous, so I’ll change the subject. How are Count Dracula’s colonization plans proceeding?
WJL: Very well, Sir. Pete Bondurant has purchased a taxi stand and is using it to accrue intelligence for Mr. Hughes. The drivers have picked up dirt on several Nevada state legislators.
JEH: It’s ingenious. Cab drivers are night-riding denizens of the first order. They view wretched foibles from a gutter perspective.
WJL: I thought you’d appreciate it, Sir. And while we’re on the topic of—
JEH: Don’t lead me. Ask your favor while I’m still pixilated and bemused.
WJL: I’d like to initiate a standing-bug operation in Vegas. I want to bug the hotel rooms the legislators stay in most frequently. I’ll bring in Fred Turentine to help me with the installation, and I’d like local agents to do the retrievals and forward copies to me.
JEH: Do it. I’ll assign two agents from the Las Vegas Office.
WJL: Thank you, Sir.
JEH: Thank yourself. You charmed me out of a bad mood.
WJL: I’m glad, Sir.
JEH: What would Tedrow Junior and Le Grand Pierre be doing in Vietnam?
WJL: I couldn’t begin to guess.
JEH: Good day, Mr. Littell.
WJL: Good day, Sir.
60
(Saigon, 11/3/64)
Dig it:
Rickshaw bikes and sandbags. Gun nests and frangipani trees. Grenade nets and gooks.
Saigon at high noon—Brave New Fucking World.
It’s big. It’s tricultural. It’s hot. It’s noisy. It stinks.
The limo crawled. The limo bucked rickshaws. They bumped. They slid. They locked à la Ben-Hur.
White buildings. Pagodas. Propaganda signs: VIGILANCE IS FREEDOM/TREASON HAILS NORTH!
The limo crawled. The shocks creaked. The wheels slid. The cooler fan died.
Mesplède smoked. Chuck smoked. Flash smoked. The driver sold them black-market Kools. Guéry smoked a Cohiba. Chaffee smoked a Mecundo. They smoked pro-Fidel.
Wayne moaned. Wayne got green-gilled. Pete got queasy. Pete read native tongue:
A BAS LES VIET-CONG! HO CHI MINH, LE DIABLE COMMUNISTE!
Qu’est-ce que c’est, toute cette merde?
The limo crawled. They hit Tu Do Street—the Gook Sunset Strip.
Big trees and big shops. Big hotels and big traffic. Big noise en gook.
Pete yawned. Pete stretched. They flew nineteen hours in. Stanton set their rooms up. Hotel Catinat upcoming—sleep most ricky-tick.
The driver rode his horn. The driver clipped a rickshaw. Mesplède sniffed the air and nailed scents.
Nuoc mam—fish sauce—goat bar-b-que. Machine-gun oil/frangipani blossoms/goat shit.
Stanton said, “You’ll lay up for two days, then fly to Dak Sut. You’ll cross into Laos and meet Tran Lao Dinh. An ARVN rifle squad will walk point for you. Two Hueys will meet you and fly you to a dope camp near Saravan. You’ll negotiate right there.”
Buddhist monks jaywalked. Traffic stalled up. Pete yawned. Pete stretched. Pete elbowed more room.
Milt C. ran Tiger now. Milt ran liaison gigs. Milt ran adjunct ops: Ward Littell to bug hotel suites. Milt to bribe hotel clerks. Milt to schmooze them. Milt to tell them: place state legislators within.
Pete’s bigggg decree:
Restrict the Tiger crew. Restrict all pill ops. Rat rival pill crews. Rat said crews to Agent Dwight Holly.
Trash the Vegas pill trade. Dry up West Vegas. Deprive hopheads. Tempt taste buds. Prepare hopheads for Big “H.”
Chaffee waved his ditty bag. Chaffee offered gifts. Shrunken heads—certified—all VC très bien.
Wayne tossed his out. Flash kissed his. Guéry named his “Fidel.”
Pete yawned. Pete popped Dramamine. The Arden bit bugged him. It bugged him incessant. It bugged him nonstop.
He factored Carlos in. 3/56: Carlos bails