The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [215]
Sonny said, “Motherfucker don’t like the hebes.”
The text rambled. Typos reigned. Longhand margin notes crawled. “Kill Kill Kill!”/“Death to Israel!”/“Zionist Pig-Suckers Must Die!”
Sonny said, “Motherfucker’s got a grievance.”
Wayne dropped the tracts. Wayne shut the drawers. Wayne kicked a chair back.
“We’ll give him two hours. He owes Pete a grand and change.”
Sonny chewed a toothpick. “Barb split on Pete. Frankly, I seen it coming.”
“Maybe I got to her.”
“Maybe Pete’s evil ways did. Maybe she said, ‘Quit selling hair-o-wine to Sonny’s fellow niggers or I’ll leave your white ass, you honky motherfucker.’ ”
Wayne laughed. “Let’s call her and ask.”
“You call. You the motherfucker who’s in love with her and too mother-fucking scared to say boo.”
Wayne laughed. Wayne chewed his nails. Wayne tore a nail back.
The Pete thing hurt. Pete bruised his balls. Pete trimmed his balls back. He was wrong. Pete was right. He knew it.
He called Wayne Senior. They talked. Wayne Senior pledged Work. “Good work”/“in time”/“soon.” He might take it. He might not. He owed Pete rotations: Saigon/Mississippi/the funnel.
Sonny said, “Let’s go to L.A. We’ll find Wendell Durfee and shoot his black ass.”
Wayne laughed. Wayne chewed his nails. Wayne tore hangnails back.
Sonny said, “Let’s kill some street nigger and say it’s Wendell. It’ll put the fucking quietus on all that shit you carrying around.”
Wayne smiled. The door jiggled—whazzat?
The door stuck. The door popped. A doofus walked in. A young guy/all swarthy/thick rat’s-nest hair.
He saw them. He trembled. He crap-your-pants cringed.
Sonny said, “Ahab the A-rab. Where’s your camel, motherfucker?”
Wayne shut the door. “You owe the Golden Cavern eleven-sixty. Fork up or Brother Liston will hurt you.”
The doofus cringed. Don’t hurt me. His shirttail hiked up. Wayne saw a belt piece. Wayne snatched it fast. Wayne dumped the clip.
Sonny said, “How come you got two last names?”
Sirhan gestured. His hands moved mile-a-minute. He made geek semaphore.
“Forgive me … I take falls … race horses … many headaches … I forget I lose money if I don’t take medicine.”
Sonny said, “I don’t like you. You starting to look like Cassius Clay.”
Sirhan spieled some Arab shit. Sirhan spieled singsong. Sonny threw a left. Sonny hit the wall. Sonny tore plaster.
Wayne twirled the gun. “Brother Liston knocked out Floyd Patterson and Cleveland ‘Big Cat’ Williams.”
Sonny threw a right. Sonny hit the wall. Sonny tore plaster. Sirhan moaned. Sirhan exhorted Allah. Sirhan dumped his pockets fast.
Booty: ChapStick/pen/car keys. C-notes/fives/dimes.
Wayne grabbed the money. Sonny said, “What you got against the kikes?”
Wayne hit the Cavern. Wayne unlocked his room. Wayne saw a letter on the dresser.
He opened the envelope. He smelled Barb straight off.
Wayne,
I’m sorry for that night & I hope it didn’t cause any trouble between you & Pete. I told him you were justified, but he didn’t get it. I should have told him that I tried to stab you, which might have told him how far down I’d sunk & how much sense you made.
I’m a coward for not writing directly to Pete, but I’m going to invite him to Sparta for Christmas, to see if we can work things out. I hate his business & I hate his war & I’d be an even bigger coward if I didn’t say so.
I miss Pete, I miss the cat & I miss you. I’m working at my sister’s Bob’s Big Boy & avoiding the bad habits I picked up in Vegas. I’m starting to wonder what a 35-year-old ex-shakedown girllounge bunny does with the rest of her life.
Barb
Wayne reread the letter. Wayne caught subscents. There’s the Ponds and lavender soap. He kissed the letter. He locked up his room. He walked to the lounge.
There’s Pete.
He’s drinking. He’s smoking. The cat’s on his lap. He’s watching the Bondsmen—Barb’s combo sans Barb.
Wayne shagged a waiter. Wayne passed him the letter. Wayne tipped him five bucks. Wayne pointed to Pete. The guy understood.
The guy walked over. The guy dropped the letter. Pete tore at the envelope.
He read the letter. He wiped