The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [233]
The Cause was flypaper. Pete was a fly. Pete was stuck on 1960. Laurent was a fly. Flash was a fly. They buzzed Cuba persistent.
They talked stale shit. They talked coups and Reds. They talked domino jive. Bob talked stale shit. Bob talked race and Reds. Bob talked domino jive.
Bob vibed hinky. Bob vibed it weeks running. Bob vibed quasi-weird. Bob vibed anxious. Bob vibed scared. Bob vibed jazzed.
Bob vibed stuck. Cuba is flypaper. Cuba is quicksand. Cuba is glue.
Vegas is quicksand. Barb knows it. Barb extricates. Pete knows it. Pete stays.
Pete hit Wayne. Wayne took it. Pete apologized. Pete was frayed. Barb was in exile. The biz was exiled.
Pete wants MORE. Pete’s frustrated. Stanton’s entrenched. Pete’s stuck. Pete’s impeded. Pete’s fuse might fry.
Pete and Barb cut a truce. Said truce was a travel ban—Vietnam nyet. Pete was stuck. Pete was truce-restricted. Pete talked truce overrides.
I’ll fly to Saigon. I’ll brace Stanton. I’ll demand MORE.
And Stanton will wink. And Stanton will smile. And Stanton will mollify.
The war was MORE. The biz was LESS. Wayne Senior was MORE plus. They were equals now. Friends of sorts. Friends with non-Pete dimensions.
Pete seeks MORE. Pete seeks more dope turf and money. Wayne Senior seeks MORE. Wayne Senior dumps his hate biz. Wayne Senior disdains more money. Pete finds frustration. Wayne Senior finds Dick Nixon.
Pete hobnobs with pushers. Pete schleps cab calls. Pete walks flypaper. Wayne Senior plays golf. Wayne Senior shoots skeet. Wayne Senior drinks with Dick Nixon.
He worked for them. They were inimical types. They ran real to putative father. He loved both their women. He lived sans women. Wendell D. and Lynette made that fly. He head-tripped women. He head-tripped Barb mostly. He head-tripped Barb until then.
He hit her. She grabbed a knife. She ran from him and Pete. She grabbed the war. She sifted shit through.
Pete. Pete’s gigs. The Life.
She kicked dope. She kicked the Life. She ran smug now. She jumped off flypaper. Her shit cohered. She lost her allure. He loved her more. He liked her less. His torch fizzled.
He head-tripped Janice. It ran twenty years now. He fucked her for payback on Dallas. He extricated. She paid.
She still limped. She still cramped. Her breath still spasmed. He saw her in Vegas. He saw her with Ward and solo. She saw him watching sometimes. She always smiled. She always waved. She always blew kisses.
It took him back. Old glimpses in windows. Peeks through cracked doors.
She was forty-six now. He was thirty-three. Her hips cocked funny. She had limp side-effects. He wondered how far her legs spread.
Relight the torch. Dig the glow. Groove on the cause-and-effect. She’s real again. She’s in your head—because you’re back with Wayne Senior.
Grunt work. Hate-mail duty. Let’s study hate. Let’s see how it works. Let’s see what it says.
Wayne Senior said I’m storing intelligence. I’m skimming data off the FBI. I’m polling resentment. I’m taking its pulse. It’s academic for now.
Wayne Senior spoke lofty. Wayne Senior spoke abstract. Wayne Senior spoke with forked tongue.
Wayne knew:
He’s teaching you. Read the hate. Don’t hate fatuously.
He rotated. He ran Saigon to D.C. He pulled intercepts. He did sneak-ins. He bagged mail. He mimeographed. He print-dusted. He got zero. He ran ninhydrin tests. He got loop whirls and partials. He learned the Hate Alphabet.
He did re-sneaks. He replaced the mail. He savored the Hate Alphabet.
A for Anger. F for Fear. I for Idiocy. D for Dumb. R for Ridiculous. J for Justification.
Coloreds mock order. Coloreds foist chaos. Coloreds breed lunacy. The haters knew it. Wayne Senior knew it. He knew it. The haters lived to hate. That was wrong. That was lunacy. The haters lived disordered lives. The haters thrived on chaos. The haters mimed the hatees.
S for Stupid. R for Resentful. W for Weak.
He learned his lessons. He took Wayne Senior’s Hate Course. He searched for Wendell Durfee.
He rotated south.