The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [86]
Wayne yelled, “Pull!” Janice tossed a clay. Wayne nailed it. His ears popped. His bad hand throbbed.
“I’m not going to hide under a sheet and rat off mail violators, so that you can sell more hate tracts.”
“You’ve been talking to Ward Littell. You’re in a vulnerable state, and men like Littell and Bondurant are starting to look good to you.”
The sun hit the deck. Wayne squinted it off.
“They remind me of you.”
“I won’t take that as a compliment.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I’ll say it once. Don’t be seduced by lowlifes and thieves.”
“It won’t happen. I’ve resisted you for twenty-nine years.”
Janice left for golf. Wayne Senior left for cards. Wayne stayed alone at the ranch.
He set up the gun room. He spooled the film in. He watched.
Said film ran high-contrast. Black and white skin/black & white stock.
King shut his eyes. King went ecstatic. King preached in Little Rock. He saw him live in ’57.
The woman bit her lips. Lynette always did that. The woman had Barb-style hair.
It hurt. He watched anyway. King thrashed and threw sweat.
The film blurred—lens haze and distortion. The skin tones blurred—King went Wendell Durfee–dark.
It hurt. He watched anyway.
40
(Dallas, 2/13/64)
10:00 p.m.—lights out.
The women’s tier. Twelve cells. One inmate locked up.
Pete walked in. The jailer went ssshh. A Carlos guy bribed him last night.
One cell row. One side wall. Barred-window light.
Pete walked down. His heart thumped. His arms pinged. His pulse misfired. He swilled scotch outside. The jailer supplied it. He shut down. He fueled up. He carved some will out.
He walked. He grabbed at the cell bars. He anchored himself.
There’s Betty Mac.
She’s on her bunk. She’s smoking. She’s wearing tight capris.
She saw him. She blinked. I KNOW him. He warned me last—
She screamed. He pulled her up. She bit at his nose. She stabbed him with her cigarette.
She burned his lips. She burned his nose. She burned his neck. He threw her. She hit the bars. He grabbed her neck and pinned her.
He ripped her capris. He tore a leg free. She screamed and dropped her cigarette.
He looped the leg. He looped her neck. He cinched her. He threw her up. He stretched the leg. He looped a crossbar.
She thrashed. She kicked. She swung. She clawed her neck. She broke her nails. She coughed her dentures out.
He remembered that she had a cat.
41
(Las Vegas/Los Angeles/Chicago/
Washington, D.C./Chattanooga,
2/14/64–6/29/64)
He worked. He lived on planes. He compartmentalized.
Legal work: appeals and contracts. Money work: embezzlement and tithes.
He honed his lies. He studied Jane. He learned her lie technique. He juggled his commitments.
3/4/64: Jimmy Hoffa goes down. Chattanooga—the Test Fleet case—twelve bribe-proof jurors.
Littell filed appeals. Teamster lawyers filed writs. The Teamsters passed a resolution: We love Jimmy Hoffa. We stand behind him intact.
Jimmy got eight years Fed time. Trial #2 pends. Chicago—Pension Fund Fraud—a probable conviction.
The “real” books were safe. The Boys had them. The fund-book plan would GO.
Littell wrote briefs. Jimmy’s men swooned. Littell wrote more briefs. Littell filed more writs. Littell swamped the courts.
Let’s stall. Let’s keep Jimmy out. Let’s stall and delay—three years and up. Drac will own Vegas then. The Boys will own Drac. The fund-book plan will FLY.
He worked for Drac. He wrote stock briefs. Drac hindered him. Drac dodged subpoenas. PI Fred Otash helped.
Otash ran look-alikes—Howard Hughes clones—subpoena men served them thus. Otash was capable. Otash had Pete skills. Otash pulled shakedowns. Otash doped horses. Otash fixed scrapes.
Drac stuck to his coffin. Mormons tended him. Drac sucked blood. Drac ate Demerol. Drac shot codeine. Drac made phone calls. Drac wrote memos. Drac watched cartoons.
Drac called Littell frequently. Drac monologued:
Stock strategy/stock margins/the germ plague. Quell all microbes! Quell all germs! Place condoms on doorknobs!
Drac craved Las Vegas. Drac bared his fangs. Drac coveted. Drac gloated. Drac sucked