The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [263]
Ward mimeo’d the Jane sheets. Ward wrote cover notes. Ward filled envelopes. Ward was secretive. Ward was heedless. She watched him. She peeked and saw.
She did the pencil trick. She traced a scratch-pad sheet. She bagged a cover note verbatim. Ward wrote to “Paul Horvitz.” He was on Bobby’s staff. Ward pleaded. Ward groveled. Ward pressed. Ward said here’s more dirt. Ward said I’m not a spy. Ward said please don’t hate me.
It was pathetic. Janice said so.
He called her again. She disdained cancer talk. She talked about Ward.
He’s guilt-wracked. He’s paranoid. He’s confused. He’s talking crazy. He says the Feds are on me. He says the Boys might be out for Bobby.
He plays Bobby tapes. He plays them late at night. He thinks I’m asleep. He sleeps fitful. He prays for Bobby. He prays for Martin Luther King. He split ten days ago. He hasn’t called. I think he wigged out.
I miss him. I might burn his stash pile. It might drive some sense home. It might wake him up.
Wayne said don’t do it. Janice laughed. Janice said it was just talk. Wayne proposed a date. He said I’ll pass through Vegas soon. We’ll meet at Ward’s suite.
Janice said yes.
He wanted her. Dying or not. He knew it. Janice got him thinking. Everything did.
He got an urge. It was time-travel stuff. It reached back fourteen years. He called his mother in Peru, Indiana.
The call shocked her. He let her calm down. They broke some ice. They bridged some pauses. They talked. He lied his life off. She said all good things.
You were a tender child. You loved animals. You set trapped coyotes free. You were a brilliant child. You learned complex math. You excelled at chemistry. You carried no hate. You played with colored children. You loved righteously.
I was pregnant once. It was ’32—two years before you. Wayne Senior had a dream. He saw the baby as a girl. He wanted a boy.
He beat my stomach in. He used brass knuckles. The baby died. Wayne Senior was right. It was a girl. The doctor told me.
Wayne said goodbye then. His mother said God bless.
Wayne thought it through. Wayne called Janice. Wayne set up their date.
116
(Long Beach, 6/3/68)
Bobby! Bobby! Bobby!
The crowd chanted it. The crowd went nuts. Speak Bobby speak!
Bobby climbed a flatbed truck. Bobby grabbed a microphone. Bobby rolled up his sleeves.
The Southglen Mall. Three thousand fans—Speak Bobby Speak! Parking-lot frenzy. Kids on daddies’ shoulders. Sound speakers on stilts.
The fans loved Bobby. The fans fucked up their vocal cords. The fans fucking shrieked. Watch Bobby smile! Watch Bobby toss his hair! Hear Bobby speak!
Pete watched. Likewise Fred O.
They watched Bobby. They watched his bodyguards. They watched the cop crew. The numbers were low. Bobby loved contact. Bobby shined on security.
Fred watched cops move. Fred watched cops scan. Fred watched cops flank. Fred nailed details. Fred memorized.
Fred met Sirhan. They “met” at the track. They “met” six weeks back. Fred staged a play for Sirhan. Fred beat up a Jew.
He was a big man. He had a big beak. He wore a big beanie. He was a very big Jew.
Fred kicked his ass. Sirhan watched. Sirhan dug the show. Fred dished rapport—I’m Bill Habib—I’m Arab too.
Courtship/subornment/recruitment/sheep dip.
Fred palled with Sirhan. Fred bought him booze. Fred ragged the Jews. They met every day. They worked up a mojo. They ragged Bobby K. They met semi-private. Fred stayed skinny. Fred stayed camouflaged.
Fred tweaked Sirhan. Fred studied Sirhan. Fred learned:
How far to push him. How much booze to pour him. How much hate to stoke. How to get him talking. How to get him fuming: Kill RFK!
How to get him blackout drunk. How to get him fucked-up blotto. How to push him to memory loss. How to get him stalking rallies. How to get him talking death. How to get him talking fate. How to get him target shooting out in the hills—blasting at mock–Bobby K.’s.
Fred gauged Sirhan. Fred said:
He’s drinking hard. He’s drinking every night. He’s drinking with and without me. He’s hitting rallies. He’s rally-hopping