The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [56]
He warned him. He said I’m working freelance. Don’t fuck me or I’ll retaliate. You’re a drunk driver/killer. I’ll expose you for that. I won’t let Carlos hurt Bobby.
Bobby suspected the Boys. That meant Bobby KNEW. Bobby didn’t say it flat out. Bobby didn’t need to. Bobby sidestepped the pain.
Mea culpa. Cause-and-effect. My Mob crusade killed my brother.
Littell spooled the tape—tape copy #2.
He’d doctored a dupe. He pouched it to Mr. Hoover. He retained the small talk. He layered in static. He x’d out Bobby’s Mob talk.
Littell hit Play. Bobby talked. His grief showed. His kindness showed through.
Kind Bobby—a chat with his clubfooted friend.
Bobby talked. Bobby paused. Bobby said the name “Littell.”
Littell listened. Littell timed the pauses. Bobby faltered. Bobby KNEW. Bobby never said it.
Littell listened. Littell lived the pauses. The old fear came. It told him this:
You believe in him again.
DOCUMENT INSERT: 1/10/64. Verbatim FBI telephone call transcript. Marked: “Recorded at the Director’s Request”/“Classified Confidential 1-A: Director’s Eyes Only.” Speaking: Director Hoover, Ward J. Littell.
JEH: Good morning, Mr. Littell.
WJL: Good morning, Sir.
JEH: Let’s get to the tape. The sound quality was very poor.
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: The text was unenlightening. If I wish to discuss Airedale dogs with the Dark Prince, I can dial his direct line at will.
WJL: My plant fidgeted, Sir. He moved and caused distortion.
JEH: Will you try again?
WJL: That’s impossible, Sir. My plant was lucky to get one audience.
JEH: Your plant’s voice was familiar. He sounded like a handicapped lawyer the Dark Prince employs.
WJL: You have a fine memory for voices, Sir.
JEH: Yes. And I have a few plants of my own.
WJL: Myself among them.
JEH: I wouldn’t call you a “plant,” Mr. Littell. You’re too gifted and diversified.
WJL: Thank you, Sir.
JEH: Do you recall our conversation of December 2nd? I said I needed a man with a “fallen liberal” image, and hinted that it might be you.
WJL: Yes, Sir. I recall the conversation.
JEH: I’m miffed at Martin Luther King and his egregiously un-Christian Southern Christian Leadership Conference. I want to further penetrate the group, and you’re the perfect “fallen liberal” to help me accomplish my goal.
WJL: In what way, Sir?
JEH: I already have a plant within the SCLC. He has established his ability to procure dossiers on policemen, organized-crime figures and other notables that left-wing Negroes might consider adversaries. My plan is to provide him with a dossier on you. The dossier will portray you as an ousted Bureau man with leftist tendencies, ones which you have frankly yet to outgrow.
WJL: You’ve piqued my interest, Sir.
JEH: Your assignment would be to appear sympathetic to the civil-rights cause, which I know will be no great stretch. You will donate numerous allotments of marked Mob money to the SCLC, in $10,000 increments, over a sustained period of time. My goal is to compromise the SCLC and render them more tractable. Your goal is to convince the SCLC that you have embezzled the money from organized-crime sources, in an effort to assuage your guilt over working for mobsters in the first place. This will also be no great stretch. I’m sure that you can tap the ambivalent aspects of your nature and front a convincing performance. I’m equally sure that you can justify the continued expense to your mobster colleagues, as a proactive means to avoid civil-rights trouble in Las Vegas, which will please them and Mr. Hughes.
WJL: It’s a bold plan, Sir.
JEH: It is that.
WJL: I’d appreciate some more details.
JEH: My plant is an ex-Chicago policeman. He possesses chameleon qualities similar to yours. He’s ingratiated himself with the SCLC very nicely.
WJL: His name, Sir?
JEH: Lyle Holly. His brother was with the Bureau.
WJL: Dwight Holly. He transferred out, I think.
JEH: That is correct. He’s with the Federal Bureau of Narcotics in Nevada now. I think he finds the assignment enervating. A brisk dope trade