The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [244]
Pete knew the spot. One TV supply store/one CIA front. One door guard/one jarhead PFC/carbine at high port.
Stanton got out. Stanton grabbed his briefcase. Stanton walked in. Pete grabbed his binoculars. Pete framed the door.
The cab idled. His view bounced. His view settled flat. He checked the window. He saw drapes. They blocked his view.
He caught the jarhead. He got him in close. He got his carbine. He got the barrel. He got a stamped code.
He resighted. He got in close-close. Weird—a three-zero code—per Bob Relyea’s stock.
The driver cut his engine. Pete timed Stanton’s trip. Ten minutes/twelve/fourt—
There:
Stanton walks out. Stanton shags his cab. Stanton takes off.
Pete nudged the driver—you stay here now. Pete walked to the shop. The jarhead saw him. The jarhead snapped to.
Pete smiled. “It’s all right, son. I’m Agency, and all I need are directions.”
The kid unsnapped. “Uh … yessir.”
“I’m new here. Can you point me to the Hotel Catinat?”
“Uh … yessir. It’s straight left down Tu Do.”
Pete smiled. “Thanks. And by the way, that code stamp on your rifle intrigues me. I’m ex-Corps myself, and I’ve never seen that designation.”
The kid smiled. “It’s an exclusive CIA allotment designation, sir. You’ll never see it on regular military ordnance.”
Pete got pinpricks. Pete got goose bumps. Pete got this cold flush.
He held it close. He held it calm. He didn’t blow up. He hit the Catinat. He chained coffee and cigarettes. He racked logic up.
Call it:
The three-zero code/strict CIA/non-military.
Bob Relyea lied. Bob Relyea konned the kadre. John Stanton helped him. Bob’s gun heists and “pilferings”: bullshit.
Call it:
Stanton got the guns. Per some kickback scheme. His CIA pals helped. They took dope profits. They fake-purchased guns. They laundered dope cash. They paid a CIA source. Said source supplied guns. Stanton and who else made money?
Stanton and Bob. Carlos logically. Trace it back. Track the time line. Trust the time line logically.
Stanton knows Mr. Kao. Mr. Kao pushes white horse. Mr. Kao shares kadre lab space. Kao runs dope camps. Kao ships to Europe. Kao exports there exclusively. Kao runs Saigon dope pads. Kao excludes GIs. Kao pushes to gooks exclusively.
Bullshit.
Kao and Stanton were jungled up. They ran Saigon dope properties. Said properties serviced gooks. Said properties serviced GIs.
Warehouse dope pads/seven minimum/kadre kode breach. Death sentence/no recourse/kadre kode breach.
Backtrack:
It’s 9/65. Kao starts selling dope. Kao tells Stanton this: Me bossman. I run Can Lao. We share lab space. I no hook GIs.
Stanton kowtowed. Kao bought lab space. Stanton told Pete. Stanton showed Pete a ledger for proof.
Stanton lubed Pete. Stanton supplied facts and figures. Stanton supplied phony proof.
Backtrack:
Tran Lao Dinh kills dope slaves. Tran Lao Dinh steals M-base. Tran Lao Dinh resists torture. Pete fries his gonads. J. P. Mesplède assists.
Tran said I steal dope. I sell to Marvs then. That all I do. Pete persisted—give me more details—Mesplède shot Tran some juice.
Tran ad-libbed then. Tran dumped his hot seat. Tran electrified.
Pete talked to Stanton. Pete told Tran’s story. Pete logicked it through:
Tran stole the base. Tran sold it to Kao. Tran did not snitch Kao. Stanton bought Pete’s logic. Stanton praised Pete’s logic. Stanton signed Pete’s logic through.
Make the jump:
Tran worked for Stanton. Tran roamed Tiger Kamp. Tran was Stanton’s pet gook. Tran steals base on Stanton’s orders. Tran supplies Kao. Tran fears Stanton. Tran won’t snitch him. Tran fries with glee.
Kall it kold—Stanton and Kao are kolleagues. It goes back to ’65. Kadre kode breach/death decree/retroactive.
Jump two:
Pete rotates. Wayne rotates. Pete moves stateside. Laurent’s there. Ditto Flash. They funnel stateside. Stanton stays in-country. Ditto Mesplède. Tiger Kamp runs low-supervised. The war escalates. More troops pass through. The kadre hits Saigon half-assed.
Shit percolates. It’s outside their view. It’s covert supervised. Thus Stanton-vetted dope pads sell