The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [32]
WJL: It’s an informed perspective, Sir.
JEH: I’ll concede the point and concede that Lyndon Johnson is no dummy. He has a conveniently dead assassin and a citizenry avenged on national television. What more could he ask for?
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: And he’s appropriately fed up with the Cuban boondoggle. He’s going to drop it as a national-security issue and concentrate on the situation in Vietnam.
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: Your tone did not escape me, Mr. Littell. I know that you disapprove of American colonialism and consider our God-given mandate to contain global communism as ill-conceived.
WJL: That’s true, Sir.
JEH: The attendant irony has not escaped me. A closet leftist as front man for Howard Hughes and his colonialist designs.
WJL: Strange bedfellows, Sir.
JEH: And how would you describe his designs?
WJL: He wants to circumvent anti-trust laws and purchase all the hotel-casinos on the Las Vegas Strip. He won’t spend a dime until he settles his stock-divestment suit with TWA and accrues at least 500 million dollars. I think the suit will resolve in three or four years.
JEH: And your job is to pre-colonize Las Vegas?
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: I would like a blunt assessment of Mr. Hughes’ mental state.
WJL: Mr. Hughes injects codeine in his arms, legs and penis. He eats only pizza pies and ice cream. He receives frequent transfusions of “germ-free” Mormon blood. His employees routinely refer to him as “the Count,” “Count Dracula” and “Drac.”
JEH: A vivid assessment.
WJL: He’s lucid half the time, Sir. And he’s single-mindedly fixed on Las Vegas.
JEH: Bobby’s anti-Mob crusade may have repercussions there.
WJL: Do you think he’ll remain in the cabinet?
JEH: No. He hates Lyndon Johnson, and Lyndon Johnson more than reciprocates. I think he’ll resign his appointment. And his successor may have Las Vegas plans that I will be powerless to curtail.
WJL: Specifically, Sir?
JEH: Bobby had been considering skim operations.
WJL: Mr. Marcello and the others have plans for Mr. Hughes’ holdings.
JEH: How could they not? They have a drug-addicted vampire to victimize, and you to help them suck his blood.
WJL: They know that you bear them no rancor, Sir. They’ll understand that some of Bobby’s plans will be implemented by his successor.
JEH: Yes. And if the Count buys into Las Vegas and cleans up its image, those plans might be abandoned.
WJL: Yes, Sir. The thought had occurred to me.
JEH: I would like to know what the Dark Prince thinks about his brother’s death.
WJL: So would I.
JEH: Of course you would. Robert F. Kennedy is both your savior and your bête noire, and I’m hardly the one to indict you as a voyeur.
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: Would a bug-and-tap approach work?
WJL: No, Sir. But I’ll talk to my other clients and see what they suggest.
JEH: I need someone with a “fallen liberal” image. I may ask a favor of you.
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: Good day, Mr. Littell.
WJL: Good day, Sir.
14
(Las Vegas, 12/4/63)
They worked him. Two pros: Buddy Fritsch and Captain Bob Gilstrap.
They used the chief’s office. They hemmed Wayne in. They deployed the chief’s couch.
He’d stalled the meeting. He’d filed a report and filled lies in. He downplayed Moore’s vanishing act.
He drove Moore’s car to the dump. He stripped the plates. He pulled out Moore’s teeth. He dug out his bullets. He stuffed shotgun shells in his mouth. He gas-soaked a rag. He lit it.
Moore’s head blew. He fucked up would-be forensics. He dumped the car in a sludge pit. It sunk fast.
The pit steamed. He knew chemistry. Caustics ate flesh and sheet metal.
He mock-chased Wendell D. He called Buddy Fritsch and lied. He said I can’t find him. I can’t find Maynard Moore.
He leaned on Willis Beaudine. He told him to split Dallas. Beaudine grabbed his dog and skedaddled. He drove by DPD. He pulled some file sheets. He obscured Wendell Durfee’s KAs. He buttonholed cops—you seen Maynard Moore?
Fritsch de-Wendellized him. Fritsch pulled the plug. Fritsch called him back home.
They worked him. They hemmed him in.