The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [124]
New Orleans—’59—Mesplède sees Arden. Arden has a date. He’s a Carlos man/he’s a wop. 11/63: Arden visits the safe house. Carlos thus orders her clipped.
He factored Carlos in. He held back. He never told Ward. He called Fred Otash. He said call around.
Run Arden. Call your contacts. Glom me some leads. Check Arden out. Check out her ex—one Danny Bruvick.
Flash kissed his shrunken head. Flash applied some tongue. Chaffee laughed. Mesplède named his head “de Gaulle.”
Chuck waved his head. Wayne grabbed it. Wayne threw it out.
Chuck said, “There’s times I think we hired the wrong Tedrow.”
No sleep—his head wouldn’t stop.
The room was okay—comme ci/comme ça—likewise the Tu Do Street view.
The bed sagged. The grenade-screen creaked. The AC sputtered. Fumes cut through—nuoc mam sauce—ce n’est pas bon.
Street noise carried up. Choppers buzzed the roof. Pete gave up.
Pete oiled his piece. Pete put out his bedside pix. Barb/the cat snarling/Barb with the cat.
Stanton set up an outing—1900 hours—Saigon by night. We’ll check out the natives. We’ll dig the night view.
Pete sat on the terrace. Pete dug the now view. Pete saw ARVN cliques. Pete saw gook cops.
Chaffee called them “White Mice.” Mesplède called GIs “Con Van My.”
The skyline clashed—tin roofs and spires—M-60 machine guns.
He loved war zones. He saw Pearl Harbor. He saw Okinawa. He saw Saipan. He saw Pigs. He avenged Pigs. He scalped Reds beaucoup.
Dusk hit. The roof crews rejoiced. They arced their guns. They shot tracer rounds. They made fireworks.
The new cadre was goooood. The new cadre was #1. Cadre with a “K” now.
Stanton liked the guys. Stanton said Bob Relyea was a “Head Man.” He killed VC. He chopped their heads off. He sold them to clinics.
Flash named his head “Khrushchev.” Stanton named his head “Ho.” Chuck named his head “JFK.”
They rendezvoused. They grabbed a stretch limo.
Bob Relyea showed up. Chuck hugged him. They laughed. They shared spit. They talked Klan.
The limo sagged—nine riders plus weight.
The kadre packed sidearms. The driver packed grenades. Relyea packed a 30.06.
They swung off Tu Do. They hit side streets. The limo flew flags: The MACV/the ARVN/the skull & bones.
Rickshaws clogged traffic. The driver rode his horn. The gooks ignored it. The driver yelled, “Di, di!”
Mesplède popped the sunroof. Mesplède popped a clip up. The noise was bad. The shells blew down. Flash caught them hot. The gooks heard the noise. The gooks pulled over. The gooks ducked low and booked.
The driver punched it. Mesplède flexed his tattoos. Two pit bulls grew boners. Two parachutes flew.
“You must announce your intent to these people. They understand only force.”
Reylea fanned playing cards—all ace-of-spades.
“They understand force and superstition. These cards, for instance. You drop one on a dead VC and scare off potential converts.”
Chaffee said, “Affirmative on that. I like the Viets, but they’re primitive as hell. They talk to shadows and dead chickens.”
Flash chewed a shell. “Where the GIs? I only count four men so far.”
Stanton said, “They tend to wear civvies. They stand out because they’re white or colored, and they don’t like to compound things by wearing uniforms.”
Flash shrugged. Qué pasa “compound”?
Pete lit a cigarette. “A six-figure troop commitment by summer. That means breathing room.”
Flash shrugged. Qué pasa “commitment”? Guéry shrugged. Qu’est-ce que c’est?
Pete laughed. Stanton laughed. Relyea cut cards. He fanned cards. He flipped cards. He pulled cards off Wayne’s shirt.
“Chuck and me got distribution plans. I been sending tracts to inmates throughout the Missouri prison system, which was my pre-U.S. Army employer. I been sending them stuck inside these Voice of America pamphlets, which means the inmates get a soft version of the truth and the real thing.”
Chuck lit a cigarette. “Aerial drops are the best. You fly low and bombard the troops.”
Relyea shook his head. “Negative on that. You waste good tracts on the nigger EM.”
Chuck winked. “Wayne’s daddy’s a tract man. He throws a