The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [7]
I fucked Jack in ’62. It was lackluster and brief. You bugged some rooms. You got his voice. You taped it. The shakedown failed. Your pals regrouped. You killed Jack instead.
Pete moved his chair. Pete got fresh views. Barb tossed. Her hair swirled.
She didn’t love Jack. She serviced Jack. She cosigned extortion. She wouldn’t cosign death.
6:10 p.m.
Jack should be dead. Guy’s boy ditto. Chuck Rogers had a plane stashed. The crew should be out.
Barb twitched. Pete fought a headache. Pete popped aspirin and scotch.
He got bad headaches—chronic—they started with the Jack squeeze. The squeeze failed. He stole some Mob heroin. A CIA man helped.
Kemper Cathcart Boyd.
They were très tight. They were mobbed up. They shared spit with Sam G. They worked for Carlos M. They worked for Santo Trafficante. They all hated Commies. They all loved Cuba. They all hated the Beard.
Money and turf—dual agendas. Let’s pluck the Beard. Let’s repluck our casinos.
Santo and Sam played both ends. They sucked up to Castro. They bought “H” off Brother Raúl. Carlos stayed pure. Carlos did not fuck la Causa.
Pete and Boyd stole the dope. Sam and Santo nailed them. Pete got the word. They did biz with Fidel.
Carlos stayed neutral. Biz was biz. Outfit laws overruled causes.
They all hated Bobby. They all hated Jack. Jack fucked them at Pigs. Jack raided Cuban exile camps. Jack nuzzled the Beard.
Bobby deported Carlos. Bobby fucked with the Outfit très large. Carlos hated Jack and Bobby—molto bravissimo.
Ward Littell hated them. Ward smuggled Carlos back. Ward played factotum. Ward ran his deportation case.
Ward said, Let’s clip Jack. Carlos liked it. Carlos talked to Santo and Sam.
They liked it.
Santo and Sam had plans. They said let’s clip Pete and Boyd. We want our dope back. We want revenge.
Ward talked to Sam and Carlos. Ward pressed Pete’s case. They quashed said clip plan.
The catch:
We let you live. You owe us. Now whack Jack the K.
Guy Banister was working up a hit plan. His plan resembled Littell’s. Hit plans were running epidemic. Jack pissed off mucho hotheads. The cocksucker was doomed.
Guy had pull. Guy knew Carlos. Guy knew Cuban exiles. Guy knew fat cats with coin. Guy dipped a geek in sheep shit. Guy preempted Ward’s plan.
He pitched it to Carlos. Carlos okayed it. Carlos scotched Ward’s plan. Shit went sideways. Personnel shifted. Some Pete and Ward guys joined Guy’s crew.
Glitches glitched—last-minute—Pete and Boyd unglitched them.
Santo and Sam hated Boyd. They reissued their death decree. Kemper Boyd—mort sans doute.
Barb stirred. Pete held his breath. The aspirin hit. His headache fizzled.
Santo and Sam let him live. Carlos liked him. He loved la Causa. The Boys had plans. He might fit in.
He worked for Howard Hughes—’52 to ’60. He pimped for him. He scored his dope. He did his strongarm work.
Ward Littell lawyered for Hughes. Hughes wanted to buy up Las Vegas. Hughes craved the Vegas Strip. Hughes craved all the hotel-casinos.
Hughes had a buyout plan. Said plan would take years. The Boys had a plan too:
Let’s sell Las Vegas. Let’s bilk Howard Hughes. We’ll keep our work crews. We’ll skim Hughes blind. We’ll still own Las Vegas.
Carlos owned Ward. Ward’s job to be: Broker the deal and tailor it our way.
The Boys owned Pete. The Boys implied:
Go to Vegas. Work with Ward. Pre-pave the Hughes deal. You know muscle work. You know heroin. We might rescind our no-dope rule. We might let you push to the spooks.
We might not kill you. We might not kill your Twist queen.
Barb left her gowns out. Blue spangles and green. Two shows tonite. His wife and her ex-hubby’s trio.
A sad room. Sad Barb. Let’s send one up to Jack.
Hit news preceded the hit. Outfit guys talked. Outfit guys knew. Hesh Ryskind checked into the Adolphus. Hesh had cancer. Hesh came to gloat and die.
Hesh watched the motorcade. Hesh died at 1:00 p.m. Hesh kicked with Jack concurrent.
Pete touched the bed. Pink sheets met red hair—one loud color clash.
The doorbell chimed—the B-flat “Eyes