The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [79]
36
(Little Rock, 2/8/64)
Devoted wife. Schoolteacher. Loving daughter.
The preacher ran on. The casket sat ready. Lakeside Cemetery: cheap burials and segregated plots.
The Sprouls wore black. Janice wore black. Wayne Senior wore blue. The Sprouls stood alone. Wayne stood alone. Daddy Sproul watched him.
Soldier boy. Yankee. She was seventeen. You wooed her. She killed your baby. You made her do it.
Loving spirit. Sacred child. Blessed in Christ’s name.
The service was short. The casket was cheap. The plot was low-rent. The Tedrows shipped the body home. The Tedrows lost control.
Lynette despised religion. Lynette loved movie stars and John Kennedy.
A chauffeur stood around. A Negro man. Tall like Wendell Durfee.
The preacher braced Wayne pre-service. The preacher counseled him.
I feel your loss. I know your grief. I understand.
Wayne said it: “I’m going to kill Wendell Durfee.”
God’s will. The ides of fate. Snatched in her prime.
The plots adjoined Central High. He met Lynette there. Soldiers and rednecks. Negro kids scared.
The chauffeur stood around. The chauffeur filed his nails. The chauffeur wore a hair net. He had Durfee hair. He had Durfee skin. He had Durfee’s lank frame.
Wayne watched him. Wayne retouched his hair. Wayne retouched his skin. Wayne made him Wendell D.
The preacher prayed. The Sprouls wept. The Tedrows stood calm. The chauffeur buffed his nails.
Wayne watched him.
He burned his face. He smashed his teeth. He fed him Big “H.”
37
(Las Vegas, 2/9/64)
The DI count room.
Money—coin bins and hampers stuffed. A swivel spy-camera hooked up.
Your host—Moe Dalitz.
The count men were out. The camera was off. Money sat waist-high. Littell sneezed—the fumes were bad—sting off cash dye and tin.
Moe said, “It’s not that complicated. The count guys are in cahoots with the camera guys. The camera goes on the fritz, accidental on purpose, so the count guys can get the skim out and retally it. You don’t need a college education.”
Mesh hampers—laundry-size. Forty hampers/forty grand per.
Moe dipped in. Moe snagged ten grand—C-notes all.
“Here, for your civil-rights deal. What’s their fucking motto, ‘We Shall Overcome’?”
Littell grabbed the cash. Littell packed his briefcase.
“The skim interests me.”
“You are not alone in that. Certain Federal agencies have been known to be curious.”
“Are you looking for couriers?”
Moe said, “No. We use civilians, exclusive. Squarejohns who owe casino markers. They run the skim and pay off their debts at 7½% of the transport.”
Littell shot his cuffs. “I was thinking of Mr. Hughes’ Mormons, or other trustworthy ones, at a 15% rate.”
Moe shook his head. “I don’t like to fuck with success, but I’ll hear you out anyway.”
Littell sneezed. Moe supplied a Kleenex. Littell wiped his nose.
“You’re going to sell Mr. Hughes some hotels. He’ll want his Mormons or some Mormons to run them. You’ll want your men, you’ll compromise, you’ll want to escalate your skim operations.”
Moe twirled a dime. “Don’t be a cock tease. You’ve got this tendency to string things out.”
Littell hugged his briefcase. “I want to enlist some Mormons, over time, and have them ready by the date you sell Mr. Hughes the hotels. You’d have a pool of potential inside men with skim experience.”
“That’s not enough inducement to pay 15%.”
“At face value, no.”
Moe rolled his eyes. “So, lay it out. Jesus Christ, don’t make me coax you.”
“All right. Mr. Hughes’ people travel on Hughes Aircraft charter flights. I could hire some Mormons to work for Mr. Hughes now, and you could ship the skim bulk and avoid airport security risks.”
Moe flipped the dime. Moe caught it heads-up.
“At face value, I like it. I’ll talk to the other guys.”
“I’d like to get started soon.”
“Take a breather. Don’t wear yourself out.”
“I’m sure that’s a good tip, but I’d—”
“Here’s a better one. Bet Clay over Liston. You’ll make a fucking mint.”
“Is the fight fixed?”
“No, but Sonny’s got some very bad habits.”
Littell flew to L.A.
He flew solo. He booked a Hughes plane. The