The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [188]
DR: “Alleged” is correct. I helped to establish her identity two years ago. A New Orleans agent planted her college transcript.
BR: There’s much more to her, Sir. I think she could serve as our wedge if we need to disrupt CRUSADER.
DIR: Expand your thoughts. The millennium bodes.
BR: I had her spot-tailed. My man took a set of prints off a glass she left at a restaurant. We ran them and got her real name, Arden Louise Breen, B-R-E-E-N, married name Bruvick, B-R-U-V-I-C-K.
DIR: Continue.
BR: Her father was a left-wing unionist. The Teamsters killed him in ’52, and it’s still a St. Louis PD unsolved. Allegedly, the woman held no grudge against the Teamsters, allegedly because her father forced her to become a call-house prostitute. She absconded on a KCPD receiving stolen goods warrant in ’56, at the same time her husband embezzled some money from a Kansas City Teamster local and disappeared.
DIR: Continue.
BR: Here’s the ripe part. Carlos Marcello’s front corporation bailed her out on the Kansas City bounce. She disappeared then, she’s got a bookkeeping background, and she’s rumored to have had a long-term affair with that old Mob hand Jules Schiffrin.
DIR: Boffo news, Dwight. Well worth your vexing preambles.
BR: Thank you, Sir.
DIR: I think your tale boils down to one salient truth. Carlos Marcello does not trust CRUSADER RABBIT.
BR: I came to that conclusion, Sir.
DIR: Pull the tails, along with the trash and mail covers. If we need to get at CRUSADER, we’ll go through the woman.
BR: Yes, Sir.
DIR: Good day, Dwight.
BR: Good day, Sir.
86
(Saravan, 9/22/65)
Torture:
Six slaves strapped down. Six Cong-symps wired. Six hot seats / six juice buttons / six testicle feeds.
Mesplède worked the juice box. Mesplède ran the juice. Mesplède asked the questions. Mesplède talked franglogook.
Pete watched. Pete chewed Nicorette gum. It was wet and hot—rainstorm boocoo. The hut sponged heat. The hut stored heat. The hut was a hot-plate boocoo.
Mesplède talked gook. Mesplède talked threat. Mesplède talked fast. His words slurred—gobbledeGOOK.
Pete knew the gist. Pete wrote the script. Pete read six faces.
Slaves escape. All pro-Cong. Who let them? I no know!—all six say it—I know no who!
It droned on—you tell me!—no no! Pete watched. Pete chewed gum. Pete read eyes.
Mesplède lit a Gauloise. Pete cued him. Mesplède hit the buttons. Juice flooowed.
Testicle ticklers—black box to balls—nonlethal volts. Gooks tingle. Gooks absorb. Gooks yell boocoo.
Mesplède cut the juice. Mesplède pidgin-gooked: Congs run! Steal M-base! Tell what you know!
The gooks buzzed. The gooks squirmed. The gooks afterglowed. Talk now! You tell me! Tell what you know! Six gooks jabbered—this gook ensemble—we no know who!
One gook squeals. One gook yips. One gook salivates. Loincloths to ankles/grounded gonads/feed plugs to feet. One gook squirms. One gook prays. One gook urinates.
Pete cued Mesplède. Mesplède hit the buttons. Juice flooowed.
The gooks buckle. The gooks absorb. The gooks gyrate. The gooks scream. The gooks thrash and pop veins.
Pete cogitated. Pete chewed gum. Pete brainstormed eyes shut.
Tran tells Wayne—slaves escape—steal M-base boocoo. They cook it. They dump it. Fuck up our GIs boocoo.
But:
You don’t dump Big “H.” You sell it.
And:
Wayne rotates home. Wayne’s lab is empty. Rival dope cooks could sneak in. Said cooks could utilize. Said cooks could appropriate.
Surveille the lab—do it soon—before you rotate.
Mesplède coughed. “Has that chewing gum put you in a trance, Pierre?”
Pete opened his eyes. “One of them has to know something. Ask them why the guys ran, and turn up the juice if they shit you.”
Mesplède smiled. Mesplède coughed. Mesplède pidgin-gooked. He talked fast. He blurred inflections. He fastballed his words.
Gooks listen. Good absorb. Gooks say: No No No No—
Mesplède hit the buttons. Juice flowed. Near-lethal volts. The gooks screamed. Their nuts flushed. Their nuts swelled.
Mesplède cuts the juice. Gooks absorb pain. Gook