The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [203]
Ghouls swarmed outside. Wayne saw Barb there. Glass walls provided views. Barb saw Wayne. Barb waved. Wayne waved back.
Ghouls prowled. Hotel fuzz prowled. Somebody yelled, “Limos!” Somebody yelled, “Him!”
Ghouls whooped. Ghouls dispersed. Ghouls ran outside. Wayne checked the glass walls. Wayne caught a view.
He saw cops. He saw limos. He saw a mock Howard Hughes. He made him. He popped him—back in ’62.
He hosted a kid’s show. He flashed his dick. He groped prepubescents. Cops called him “Chester the Molester.”
Ghouls jumped him. Chester posed for pix magnanimous. Chester signed autographs. A limo eased by. A window went down. Wayne caught a blip: White hair/dead eyes/dumb hat.
Somebody yelled, “He’s a fake!” The ghouls up and ran. The ghouls chased the limo.
Barb walked inside. Wayne saw her. Wayne detoured up.
“Aren’t you working tonight?”
Barb laughed. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Wayne smiled. “I was thinking of Pete and Ward, and how this whole thing started.”
Barb yawned. “Tell me over coffee, all right?”
A ghoul ran by. They dodged him. They walked to the bar. They grabbed seats and faced the casino.
A waitress showed. Barb cued her. She brought coffee fast. The floor was slow. Chester shot craps. Ghouls meandered through.
Barb sipped coffee. “It’s been months, and I still want a cigarette.”
“Not like Pete does.”
Chester rolled. Chester crapped out. Chester blew money.
Barb watched him. “There’s these secrets that people know.”
“Not everyone.”
Barb unrolled her napkin. Barb twirled her spoon.
“To start, there’s a certain city in Texas. Then there’s the plans the Outfit has for Mr. Hughes.”
Wayne smiled. “Tell me some secrets I don’t know.”
“For instance?”
“Come on. Pete has half the rooms in Vegas bugged.”
Barb twirled her knife. “All right. Donkey Dom’s shacked at the Cavern. He’s four nights in with Sal Mineo, and they haven’t left the suite. Bellboys are bringing them poppers and K-Y. Pete’s wondering how long it can last.”
Wayne laughed. Wayne checked the floor. Chester rolled. Chester made his point. Chester made money.
Barb smiled. Barb walked. Barb hit the john. Ghouls swarmed Chester. Chester-Hughes magnetized.
Chester sponged love. Chester bowed magnanimous. Chester posed for pix.
Barb walked back. Barb walked unsteady. She sat down. Her lids dipped. Her eyes went smack-back.
She smiled. She twirled her knife. Wayne slapped her. She gripped the knife. She stabbed down. She missed Wayne’s hands.
Wayne slapped her. Barb stabbed down. The blade hit the table. It stuck. It twanged. The knife held.
Barb touched her cheek. Barb rubbed her eyes. Barb shot some tears.
Wayne grabbed her hands. Wayne bent her arms. Wayne jerked her head low.
“You’re strung out. You’re sticking shit up your nose and fucking over Pete every time you do it. You think you’re high and mighty because you hate the war and Pete’s business, but it’s just a bullshit excuse, because you’re a no-talent lounge chick with a dope habit and limited fucking—”
Barb jerked her hands. Barb grabbed the knife. Wayne slapped her. She dropped the knife. She rubbed her cheek. She wiped her eyes.
Wayne touched her hair. “I love you. I’m not going to let you fuck yourself over without a fight.”
Barb stood up. Barb wiped her eyes. Barb walked off smack-back unsteady.
Floorshow:
Chester performed. Crowds cliqued up—all drunks and geeks. Chester posed. Chester huckstered Las Vegas. Chester ran airplane crash riffs.
Newsmen bopped by. Newsmen yukked. Fuck you—you’re that kidsshow freak.
Wayne watched. Wayne scoped the floor.
He sipped bourbon. He sulked. He sniffed Barb’s napkin. He smelled her hand cream. He smelled her bath oil.
Chester signed autographs. Chester riffed on Jane Russell’s breasts. Chester eyed little kids.
Wayne sipped bourbon. His thoughts raced. He saw Janice walk by. She still limped. She still strutted. Her gray streak still glowed.
She walked the floor. She fed baby slots. She blew money. She nailed a jackpot. She scooped