The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [53]
Peavy registered his ex-cons. Peavy’s tax sheets looked clean. Ditto Hinton and Spurgeon.
Wayne locked the files up. The clerk locked the vault. Wayne got some coffee. Wayne killed some time.
He dawdled. He killed more time. He drove to the station. He pulled into the lot. Buddy Fritsch pulled out. It was way weird and un-Fritsch-like.
It was 5:10. Fritsch always booked at 6:00 p.m. Fritsch booked like clockwork.
His wife divorced him—late last year. Said wife split with her dyke lover. Fritsch sulked and mooned. Fritsch grooved a cuckold routine.
He splits work at 6:00. He hits the Elks Lodge. He drinks his dinner and plays bridge.
Wayne drove past the station. Fritsch drove down 1st Street. Wayne watched him go. Fritsch turned east. The Elks Lodge was due west.
Wayne U-turned. Wayne laid two cars back. Fritsch hugged the curb lane. Fritsch stopped at Binion’s Casino.
A man walked up. Fritsch cracked his window. The man passed an envelope. Wayne jumped lanes. Wayne nailed a view. Wayne nailed an ID:
Butch Montrose. Sam G.’s boy. One piece of shit.
24
(Las Vegas, 1/6/64)
Barb did the Wah-Watusi. She sang. She shimmied. She shook.
The Bondsmen played loud. Barb missed high notes. She sang for shit. She knew it. She eschewed all airs pertaining to.
The lounge was full. Barb drew men. Call them sad sacks all. Lonely geeks and retirees—plus Wayne Tedrow Junior.
Pete watched.
Barb raised her arms. Barb threw sweat. Barb showed red stubble. It jazzed him. He loved her taste there.
Barb did the Swim. The stage light burned her freckles. Pete watched Barb. Wayne Junior watched Pete. It fucked with his nerves.
His nerves were shot. The Summit came and went. The Boys said no. Ward stated his case. Carlos concurred—let’s push Big “H.”
They lost the referendum—down by four votes.
He saw Carlos in New Orleans. Carlos saw the Zangetty pix. Carlos said “Bravissimo.” They schmoozed. They schmoozed Cuba. They launched laments. The CIA shitcanned the Cuban cause. The rank & file Outfit ditto.
Pete still cared. Carlos too. The old crew found new work.
John Stanton was in Vietnam. The CIA was there large. Vietnam was Cuba with gooks. Laurent Guéry and Flash Elorde freelanced—right-wing muscle on call. They gigged out of Mexico City. Laurent clipped Reds in Paraguay. Flash clipped Reds in the DR.
Pete and Carlos schmoozed Tiger Kab. Good times in Miami—dope and exile recruitment. Tiger-striped cabs/black-and-gold seats/heroin and la Causa.
They schmoozed the hit. Carlos brought it up. Carlos schmoozed new details. Pete keyed on the pro shooter. Chuck said he was French. Carlos had new details.
Laurent brought him in. Laurent went Francophile. The pro had frog credentials. He was an ex-Indochine hand. He was an ex-Algerian killer.
He tried to kill Charles de Gaulle. He failed. He hated de Gaulle. He waxed homicidal. Let’s kill JFK—JFK french-kissed Charlie in Paris.
Carlos waxed mad—Jack Z.’s body washed up—the Dallas paper ran news. Jack’s missing guests got bopkes. Jack was dirty. Jack ran a “hideout.” Jack’s death vibed “gangland job.”
The wash-up felt like a fuck-up. The wash-up felt like a No. Junior said “No files.” The Boys said “No dope.”
Carlos said, “March.” You know what I want—kill the safe-house crew.
Pete drove to Dallas. Pete fake-searched for Arden. Pete searched for Betty Mac. He tapped out. That was good. He warned Betty. Betty got smart and ran.
He got a lead on Hank Killiam. Hank was now in Florida. Hank read the Dallas paper. The Jack Z. bit scared him.
Pete called Carlos. Pete reported the lead. Pete kissed some wop ass. They schmoozed. Carlos ragged on Guy B.
Guy drank too much. Guy talked too much. Guy loved his blowhard pal Hank Hudspeth. They boozed too much. They talked too much. They bragged to excess.
Pete said, “I’ll clip them.” Carlos said, “No.” Carlos changed the subject. Hey, Pete—where’s that hump Maynard Moore?
Pete said a coon killed him. The DPD was pissed. The Klan kontingent issued a kontract.
Carlos laughed. Carlos howled. Carlos