The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [170]
“Like ‘Let’s embezzle Jimmy.’ ”
Bruvick lit a cigarette. “I admit it wasn’t the smartest—”
“You got caught. Jimmy put a contract out.”
“Right. Some guys cornered me and shot me. I got away, but I almost lost my leg, and the fucking contract’s still out.”
Pete lit a cigarette. “Jimmy had the K.C. cops run Arden in. Carlos bailed her out and hid you. He didn’t fuck with Jimmy’s contract, because he wanted a wedge on you.”
Bruvick nodded. Bruvick scoped the booze shelf.
“You’re a hump. You wasted my liquor.”
Pete smiled. Pete aimed. Pete cocked his piece. Pete shot Bruvick’s chair.
The legs sheared. The chair crashed. Wood shattered. Bruvick tumbled. Bruvick yelped. Bruvick rosaried.
Pete blew smoke rings. “Carlos set up your charter business. What happened to Arden then?”
The boat pitched. Bruvick dropped his beads.
“She didn’t trust Carlos. She didn’t want to owe him, so she split to Europe. We worked out a pay-phone thing and kept in touch that way.”
Pete coughed. “She came back to the States. She couldn’t give up the Life.”
“Right. She landed in Dallas. She got in trouble there, like late in ’63. She wouldn’t say what happened.”
Pete flicked his cigarette. Pete nailed Bruvick flush.
“Come on, Danny. Don’t make me get ugly.”
Bruvick stood up. His knee went. He stumbled. He braced the wall. He slid back and sat.
He rubbed his knee. He snuffed Pete’s cigarette.
“That’s straight. She wouldn’t tell me what happened. All I know is she hooked up with Littell, then around that time Carlos found her. He said we’d both be safe if she watchdogged Littell, but he still refused to square us with Jimmy.”
Solid. Confirmed. Two-front blackmail. Jimmy’s contract/the safe-house snafu. Arden—that first name unique.
Carlos knows Arden. Carlos makes her name. Carlos distrusts Littell. Carlos finds Arden. Carlos plants Arden. Arden spies on Littell.
It vibed solid—90%—it vibed incomplete.
Pete said, “I don’t want Littell to get hurt.”
Bruvick stood up. His bad knee held.
“I don’t think Arden does, either. She’s playing out some weird thing with him.”
He called Carlos. He got Frau M. He left a message:
I braced D.B.—Danny the boat man—tell Carlos that. Tell him I’ll be by. Say I’d love to chat.
He drove to New Orleans. He stopped in libraries. He studied books en route.
Boats:
Galleys/bridges/radar/trawl decks/scuppers/masts.
He studied the nomenclature. He studied engine stats. He studied maps. Pine Island/Cape Sabel/Key West. Pit stops—Cuba due south.
He detoured. He cruised by Port Sulphur. He saw Tiger Kamp South. He saw the troops. He saw Flash and Laurent. He met Fuentes and Arredondo. They talked night raids. They talked scalp runs. They talked insurgency.
Wayne was in Saigon—one fast rotation—one scheduled run back. Wayne loves to WATCH. Wayne wants to GO. Wayne wants to SEE Cuba up close.
Flash had a plan. I’ll do a speedboat run. I’ll drop Fuentes and Arredondo. Fast—off the north shore—Varcadero Beach.
They reinfiltrate. They build drop zones. They recruit internal. They speedboat back. They funnel arms. They bounce off the Keys. They pull a boat hitch. They lug guns. They fly fast and low. They shuttle. They duck radar—six runs a week.
Pete said no. Pete said why: It’s high mileage/it wastes two men/it’s low capacity.
Flash said, “Que?”
Laurent said, “Quoi?”
Fuentes said, “Que pasa?”
Pete talked hold nets. Pete talked gunwales. Pete talked fuel efficiency.
Pete talked boats.
Carlos said, “Sure, she’s my watchdog. Tell me Ward don’t play angles, then tell me I don’t need one.”
Galatoire’s was dead. They hogged a prime table. Carlos dipped his cigar. Mecundo meets anisette.
“Ward’s fund-book thing is a fucking extravaganza, and Arden is a brilliant fucking bookkeeper. I’m protecting my franchise, and Ward gets some good cooze in the process.”
Pete lit a cigarette. “He’s in love with her. I don’t want him