The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy [88]
Mr. Hoover called him. They talked and sparred. Mr. Hoover mocked Bobby.
LBJ hated Bobby. LBJ needed Bobby. He might make Bobby his Veep choice. Bobby might seek that Senate seat.
He played his Bobby tapes. It was late-night communion. The tapes woke Jane up sometimes. Jane heard voices in her sleep.
He lied. He said you’re not dreaming—I’m playing deposition tapes.
Mr. Hoover tracked Bobby’s moves—Bobby the lame-duck AG. Bobby should step down. Nick Katzenbach should succeed.
Fed heat might descend then. Fed heat might hit Vegas. Mr. Hoover might warn him. The Boys might say yes—hire those skim men—Wayne Senior might provide said.
He lunched with Wayne Senior—once a month—they played at respect. Wayne Senior foresaw Drac’s Vegas. Wayne Senior craved his own bite.
Let’s confer. Let’s place my Mormons near the Count. Let’s bite ol’ Drac.
Skim runs might work. He had his own skim plan. He craved yet another tithe source.
Money owned him. Money bored him. He had money alliances. He formed money bonds. He had one nonmoney friend.
Pete left Vegas—mid-February—Pete returned bereft.
Pete flew to Dallas. Pete flew back. Pete returned with burn scars and a cat. Littell bought the Dallas papers. Littell read back-page squibs.
There—PROSTITUTE DIES IN CUSTODY, SUICIDE RULED.
He called Carlos. He played dumb. Carlos brought it up. Carlos laughed. Carlos said she bit her tongue off.
That meant two down. That meant two at large—Hank K. and Arden-Jane.
Littell talked to Pete. They discussed the safe-house hits. They discussed Arden-Jane.
Pete said, “I won’t touch her.” Pete meant it. Pete looked sad and weak. He got headaches. He’d dropped weight. He worshiped his cat.
Pete wanted Monarch Cab. Pete hired a PI. The PI surveilled Eldon Peavy. Let’s stay useful. Let’s revive Tiger Kab. Let’s help the Boys out.
Pete had money alliances. Pete formed money bonds. Pete had a new cat. Pete had a kid brother. Wayne Junior et Pete.
Les frères de sang. Littell, un conseiller des morts.
Everyone’s scared. Everyone saw Big D.
42
(Las Vegas, 2/14/64–6/29/64)
Hate.
It moved him. It ran him. It called his shots. He stayed cool with it. He stayed justified.
He never said NIGGER. They weren’t all bad. He knew it and stayed justified. He found the bad ones. They knew him. Wayne Junior—he baaaaaaad.
He worked the Deuce. He threw hurt. He spared his hands and used his sap. He never said NIGGER. He never thought NIGGER. He never condoned the concept.
He worked double shifts. He stayed double-justified. The owner had rules. The pit boss had rules. Rules ruled the Deuce high and wide.
Wayne had rules. Wayne enforced said. Do not paw women. Do not hit women. Treat whores with respect.
He enforced his rules. He bridged race lines. He enforced his Rule of Intent. He predicted rude acts. He preempted them. He employed all due force.
He tracked THEM. He trailed THEM. He prowled West LV. He looked for Wendell Durfee. It was futile. He knew it. The HATE drew him there.
He got FEAR back. Said FEAR made him stay.
Wayne Junior—he baaad. He kill black folk. He whip dark boodie.
The Deuce showed the Liston-Clay fight. THEY attended. THEY shucked. THEY cheered.
He perceived intent. He enforced. He preempted. Some Muslims pushed tracts. He ejected them. He abridged their civil rights.
THEY called him “Junior.” It fit. It honored his HATE. It distinguished his HATE from Wayne Senior’s.
Sonny Liston passed through. Sonny looked Wayne up. Sonny knew Wayne’s story. Sonny said, “You did the right thing.” Sonny waxed pissed. Cassius Clay kicked his ass. Fuck all that Muslim shit.
They hit the Goose. They got blitzed. They drew a crowd. Sonny said he knew umpteen niggers. Said niggers prowled Niggerland. They’d shake the nigger trees and find Wendell Durfee.
HATE:
He stole play chips. He cruised West LV. He spread said chips around. He called it tip bait. He paid THEM for help to find HIM.
THEY took the chips. THEY used him. THEY spit on the chips and broke them.
It was futile. He knew