The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [219]
“Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
“Well, your call intrigued me.”
“I was hoping it would. Young men like you get all sorts of dubious overtures, but this is certainly not one of them.”
Paul dumped his overcoat. Paul untied his scarf.
“Senator Kennedy gets the overtures, not me.”
Littell smiled. “That’s not what I meant, son.”
“I got your meaning, but I chose to ignore it.”
Littell sprawled. Littell drummed the table.
“You look like Andrew Goodman, that poor boy who died in Mississippi.”
“I knew Andy at the COFO School. I almost went down myself.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Are you from there?”
“I’m from De Kalb. It’s a smidge between Scooba and Electric Mills.”
Paul sipped tea. “You’re some sort of lobbyist, right? You knew you couldn’t get to the senator, so you thought you’d find yourself an ambitious young aide.”
Littell bowed—courtly/très South.
“I know that ambitious young men will risk looking foolish and go out on a snowy night on the off-chance that something is real.”
Paul smiled. “And you’re ‘real.’ ”
“My documents are wholly real, and one thorough reading will convince you and Senator Kennedy of their authenticity.”
Paul lit a cigarette. “And yours?”
“I claim no authenticity, and would prefer that my documents speak for themselves.”
“And your documents pertain to?”
“My documents pertain to misdeeds perpetrated by members of organized crime. I will supplant the initial batch with subsequent parcels and deliver them to you in discreet bunches, so that you and/or Senator Kennedy can investigate the allegations at your leisure and your discretion. My only requirement is that there be no public disclosure pertaining to any information I give you until late 1968 or early 1969.”
Paul twirled his ashtray. “Do you think Senator Kennedy will be President or President-elect then?”
Littell smiled. “From your mouth to God’s ears, although I was thinking more of where I’ll be then.”
Wall vents popped. The heat came on. Littell broke a sweat.
“Do you think he’ll run?”
Paul said, “I don’t know.”
“Does he remain committed to the fight against organized crime?”
“Yes. It’s very much on his mind, but he feels uncomfortable going public with it.”
Littell popped sweat. His tweeds broiled. His faux beard slipped. He splayed his hands. He cupped his chin. It played effete. It stopped the slip.
“You can depend on my loyalty, but I would prefer to remain anonymous in all our transactions.”
Paul stuck his hand out. Littell passed the notes.
DOCUMENT INSERT: 1/8/67. Verbatim FBI telephone call transcript (OPERATION BLACK RABBIT Addendum.) Marked: “Recorded at the Director’s Request”/“Classified Confidential 1-A: Director’s Eyes Only.” Speaking: Director, BLUE RABBIT.
DIR: Good afternoon.
BR: Good afternoon, Sir.
DIR: I read your memo. You attribute the failure of a Stage-2 operation to faulty condensor plugs.
BR: It was a technical failure, Sir. I would not blame Fred Otash or BIG RABBIT.
DIR: The blameworthy one is thus Fred Turentine, the reptilian “Bug Man to the Stars,” a lowly minion of Otash and BIG RABBIT.
BR: Yes, Sir.
DIR: I gain no succor from foisting blame on a hired hand. I gain only dyspeptic fury.
BR: Yes, Sir.
DIR: Give me some good news to allay my agitation.
BR: Otash was very good on the post-op. He leaned on Mineo and warned him to keep quiet. I would strongly suggest that PINK RABBIT will not risk personal ridicule or bad publicity for the SCLC by going public with word on the shakedown.
DIR: I was looking forward to the film. Bayard and Sal, O bird thou never wert.
BR: Yes, Sir.
DIR: Let’s discuss CRUSADER RABBIT.
BR: He did a superb job on the installations, Sir.
DIR: Did you have him spot-tailed?
BR: On three occasions, Sir. He’s tail-savvy, but my men managed to sustain surveillance.
DIR: Expand your answers. I have a lunch date in the year 2010.
BR: CRUSADER RABBIT was not spotted doing anything remotely suspicious.
DIR: Besides installing illegal bug-mounts at our behest.
BR: Including Bobby Kennedy’s place in Santa