The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [258]
A Negro hurled a beer can. A Negro dumped an ashtray. Cigarette butts breezed.
Littell hit Conn. Ave. Water mains erupted. Firemen lugged hoses. Cops stood by fire trucks.
The Kowloon was open. Eddie Chang was feisty. Eddie Chang fed local cops.
Littell walked in. Littell grabbed the back booth. The barman turned the TV up.
Live local feed. Negroes with gas cans. Cars belly-up.
Three men watched. They were bluff-hearty types. They had hardhats and beer guts.
One man said, “Goddamn animals.”
One man said, “We gave them their civil rights.”
One man said, “And look what we got.”
Littell sprawled. Littell went invertebrate. Littell culled Deep South anecdotes.
Paul Horvitz walked in.
He saw Littell. He brushed his pants off. He walked over. He shook his coat sleeves. Ash dropped and whirled.
He dug his feet in. He spanned the booth. He gripped two hat posts.
“An FBI man talked to Senator Kennedy, an hour ago. He showed him a photograph of a man who looked very much like you, without your beard. He said your name was Ward Littell, and he called you a ‘provocateur.’ The senator heard that name and saw that picture and almost freaked out.”
Littell stood up. His knees shook. He banged the tabletop. He tried to talk. He went cottonmouthed. He st-st-st-stuttered.
Paul grabbed his coat. Paul pulled him close. Paul tore his beard off. Paul slapped him. Paul shoved him. Paul knocked his glasses off.
Littell fell back. Littell dumped the table. Paul fast-walked out.
The hardhats twirled their stools. The hardhats looked over. The hardhats flashed shit-eating grins.
One man flashed a Fed badge.
One man said, “Hi, Ward.”
One man said, “Mr. Hoover knows all.”
114
(Los Angeles, 4/8/68)
Some crazy A-rab. Two names the same.
Wayne brought him up. Wayne said he muscled him. The A-rab stiffed the Cavern. The A-rab packed hate tracts. The A-rab packed a piece.
Wayne got his hate-mail gig. Wayne pulled hate letters. Guess what? The A-rab sent Bobby K. notes.
Craaaazy shit. “Jew Pigs”/“RFK Must Die.”
Pete drove freeways. Pete looped L.A. Pete drove old-man slow.
He felt weak. He felt sapped. He felt drained. He took midget steps now. His breath sputtered. He carried a cane. He measured his steps. He got minor satisfaction. He got more wind each day.
You’re young. You’re strong. The docs said so. The next one kills you. The surgeon said so.
They split your chest. They cleared your tubes. They stitched and stapled you. You checked out. You bought surgical clippers. You de-stitched yourself slow. You used scotch for disinfectant. You used scotch for anesthetic. You used scotch for the pain.
Pete drove freeways. Pete looped downtown L.A. Pete drove old-man slow.
Carlos bopped to his bedside. Carlos said the boat job—bravo. Carlos mentioned the “small favor.” I know you know about it. I know Ward told you.
Pete said sure. You get a favor. I get retirement.
Carlos said go to L.A. Find Fred Otash a stooge.
Carlos said I like Fred. Wayne Senior referred him. I like Wayne Senior too. He’s classy. He’ll get Ward’s job. Ward retires soon.
Pete left the hospital. Pete flew to L.A. Pete saw Fred O. Fred O. was skinny. Fred O. said why.
He ran a stiff. He ran him for eight months. He ran the King fall guy.
Bob Relyea worked the gig. Dwight Holly played ramrod. Wayne Senior ran ops. Wayne Junior was sequestered now. Wayne Junior worked backup.
He killed Wendell Durfee. The LAPD caught it. They had questions still. The snuff vibed revenge/the vic killed your wife/we’d like to talk to you.
Pete weighed the details. Pete gauged Fred O. Pete tore the “small favor” up.
Oh shit. The Boys need a stooge. It’s a Bobby hit.
Fred O. confirmed it. Fred O. named no names. Fred O. confirmed implicit. Pete recalled the A-rab. Fred O. was Lebanese. Call it synergy.
Pete dished on the A-rab. Pete dished partial stats. Fred O. fucking drooled. Pete flew to Vegas. Pete kissed the cat hello and goodbye. Pete tossed Wayne’s Cavern room.
He found his hate-mail copies. He went through them. He found the A-rab’s notes.
RFK MUST DIE!