The Cold Six Thousand (42 page)

Pete signaled—six loads/six payments.

Mesplède bartered. François bartered. Mesplède bartered back. They talked polyglot—French-Viet—diphthongs and shouts.

Pete walked up. Pete listened. He got the
bonnes affaires
. He got the
tham thams
. He got the Lyonnaise slang.

François rolled his eyes. François stamped his feet. François steamed up his pajamas. Mesplède rolled his eyes. Mesplède balled his fists. Mesplède smoked three Gauloises.

François went hoarse. Mesplède went hoarse. They coughed. They slapped backs. They bowed.

François said, “Okay, big daddy-o.”

They drove back. They talked shit. They cut through Bien Hoa. The Cong hit ten days back—mortars predawn.

The stretch got close. They saw the mess. They saw flags at half-mast.

They cut back. They laughed. They slugged Bacardi. They told tales—Paraguay to Pigs—they goofed on CIA gaffes.

It’s ’62. Let’s pluck the Beard. Let’s shave him impotent. Let’s dope the water. Let’s spook the spics. Let’s stage a visit from Christ.

They laughed. They drank. They vowed to free Cuba. They stopped and hit the Go-Go.

There’s Wayne.

He’s alone—per usual. He’s pissed—per always. He’s watching Bongo and his whores.

(Las Vegas, 11/22/64)

O
ne year.

He knew it. Jane knew it. They never
said
it.

Littell drove to Tiger Kab. Littell played the radio. Radio pundits assessed. One fool stressed Jackie. One fool stressed the kids. One fool stressed innocence lost.

Jane drove to Vegas. Jane holed up. Jane stayed in his suite. They called it “Thanksgiving.” The date hit. They never factored it in.

The papers rehashed it. The TV rehashed it. It rehashed all day. He left early. Jane kissed him. Jane turned on the TV. He returned late. Jane kissed him. Jane turned off the TV.

They talked. They skirted it. They discussed prosaics. Jane was mad. He’d coaxed her to Vegas. He’d coaxed her for IT.

He said he had business. He kissed Jane and walked out. He heard Jane turn on the TV.

Littell killed the radio. Littell cruised by Tiger Kab. Littell perched across the street.

He parked. He watched the hut. He saw Barb B. There’s Barb in lounge garb—heels put her over six feet.

Milt Chargin ran shtick. Barb laughed. Barb palmed a package. Barb grabbed an outgoing cab. Tiger stripes—Miami West—all roads to Cuba.

Littell watched the hut. Drivers walked through—fey minions of tolerant Pete. Pete collected strays. Pete ignored their faults. Pete courted diversion. Pete said he clocked Betty’s visits. Pete said he clocked Betty gone.

Two hours tops—don’t kill what you can’t suppress.

Littell watched the hut. A cab pulled out. Littell tailed it. The cab drove west. Littell stuck close. They hit West LV.

The cab stopped—Monroe and “J”—two men got in. The cab pulled out. Littell stuck close. They hit Tonopah Highway.

The cab stopped. The men got out. The men hit the Moulin Rouge. The cab pulled out. Littell stuck close. They drove straight back to Tiger.

Memo to Pete: No pill sales/no inferred betrayal.

Littell yawned. Littell went queasy. He skipped his dinner. Jane cooked prime rib. She’d cooked all day. She’d watched TV concurrent.

He lied his dinner off. He walked out. He invented “business.”

Littell skimmed the radio. Littell caught Jack’s Greatest Hits: “Ask not” and “
Ich bin
.” The passed torch and more.

He killed the sound. He drove to the Sahara. The lounge was packed. He stood ringside. He caught Barb’s closer.

Barb sang “Sugar Shack.” Barb blew the crescendo. She saw him. She waved. She said, “Oops.”

She was bad. She knew it. She goofed on it. She played off it. She ragged her shelf life as a chick.

Men loved her. She goofed on her height. She played off it and went knock-kneed. She was a con. She played to the men who knew it.

The Bondsmen bowed. Barb jumped off stage. A heel jammed. She teetered. Littell caught her. He felt her pulse. He smelled her soap. He felt her perspiration.

They walked to the bar. They got a booth. Littell faced the TV.

Barb lit a cigarette. “Pete’s idea, right? Look in on me.”

“Partially.”

“Partially, how?”

“I’m killing time. I thought I’d kill it with you.”

Barb smiled. “I’m not complaining. I’ve got forty minutes.”

The TV blipped. Jack’s Greatest Hits revived. Paris with Jackie. Touch football games. Romps with his kids.

Barb looked over. Barb saw the TV. Barb looked straight back at Littell.

“You can’t run from it.”

Littell smiled. “Some of us try.”

“Do you think about it?”

“It comes and goes.”

“I’m all right until something reminds me. Then it gets scary.”

Littell checked the screen. Jack and Bobby laughed. A waitress showed. Barb shooed her off.

“Pete never talks about it.”

“We’re useful. He knows it comes down to that.”

Barb chained cigarettes. “Wayne knows. I figured it out.”

“Did you brace him?”

“No, I just put it together.”

Littell smiled. “He’s in love with you.”

Barb smiled. “In a tolerable way.”

“We’re useful. Tell yourself that the next time something reminds you.”

Barb stubbed her cigarette. Barb burned her hand. She flinched and cradled it. She said, “Shit.”

Littell checked her eyes. Littell saw pinholes—nerves off amphetamines.

Barb lit a cigarette. Littell checked the TV. Jack laughed. Jack worked That Old Jack Magic.

Barb said, “Jane knows.”

Littell flinched. “You’ve never met her. And Pete wouldn’t have—”

“He didn’t. I heard you two being oblique and put it together.”

Littell shook his head. “She’s back at the hotel. She’s teething on it right now.”

“Do you talk about it?”

“We talk
around
it.”

“Is she scared?”

“Yes, because she knows who did it, and there’s no way she can be useful.”

Barb smiled. Barb wrote “useful” in the air.

“I got a letter from Pete. He said it’s going well.”

“Do you know what he’s doing there?”

“Yes.”

“Do you approve?”

Barb shook her head. “I like the useful part, and I don’t think about the other.”

“Like the notion of plundering one nation in order to liberate another?”

Barb squeezed his hands. “
Stop it
. Remember what
you
do and who you’re talking to.”

Littell laughed. “Don’t say you just want him to be happy.”

Barb laughed. “To a free Cuba, then.”

Janice Tedrow walked in. Littell saw her. Littell watched her. Barb watched him watch.

Janice saw him. Janice waved. Janice grabbed a side booth. She ordered a drink. She faced the TV. She watched Jack and Bobby.

Barb said, “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not. I’m fifty-one years old.”

“You’re
blushing
. I’m a redhead, and I know a blush when I see one.”

Littell laughed. Barb pulled his sleeve up. Barb checked his watch.

“I have to go.”

“I’ll tell Pete you’re okay.”

“Tell him ‘I’m useful.’ ”

“He knows that already.”

Barb smiled. Barb walked. Barb went knock-kneed. Men stirred. Men watched her. Littell watched the TV.

There’s Bobby with Jackie. There’s Jack in the Senate. There’s old Honey Fitz.

Littell got hungry. Littell ordered dinner—the prime rib he’d missed. The waitress was Jack-struck. The waitress perched by the TV.

Littell ate. Littell watched Janice. Janice watched the TV.

She sipped toddies. She chained cigarettes. She twirled her cane. She didn’t
know
. Wayne Senior wouldn’t tell her. He knew him well enough to say.

She looked over. She saw him watching. She got up. She maneuvered with her cane.

She cocked one hip. She stabbed her cane. She limped
con brio
. Littell pulled a chair out. Janice grabbed Barb’s cigarettes.

“That redhead played my Christmas party last year.”

“She’s an entertainer, yes.”

Janice lit a cigarette. “You’re not sleeping with her. I could tell that.”

Littell smiled. Littell twirled her cane.

Janice laughed. “Stop it. You’re reminding me of someone.”

Littell squeezed his napkin. “He used his stick on you.”

Janice twirled her cane. “It was part of the divorce settlement. One million with no beating, two million with.”

Littell sipped coffee. “You’re volunteering more than I asked for.”

“You hate him like I do. I thought you might like to know.”

“Did he find out about General Kinman?”

Janice laughed. “Clark didn’t bother him. The young man in question did.”

“Was he worth it?”

“
It
was worth it. If I didn’t do something drastic, I would have stayed with him forever.”

Littell smiled. “I thought you had a life sentence there.”

“Seventeen years was plenty. I loved his money and some of his style, but it wasn’t enough anymore.”

Littell spun the cane. “The young man?”

“The young man is a former client of yours, and he’s currently abetting the war effort in Vietnam.”

Littell dropped the cane. Janice snatched it up.

“You didn’t know?”

“No.”

“Are you shocked?”

“I’m hard to shock and easy to amuse sometimes.”

Janice squeezed his hands. “And you’ve got old scars on your face that remind me of this temporary harelip of mine.”

“Wayne’s mentor put them there. He’s my best friend now.”

“He’s the redhead’s husband. Wayne told me.”

Littell leaned back. “You’re not playing golf. I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’m retrieving my swing. I’m not going to walk eighteen holes with a cane.”

“I enjoyed watching you play. I scheduled my breaks around it.”

Janice smiled. “I’ve leased a cottage on the Sands course. Your view inspired me.”

“I’m flattered. And you’re right, the view makes all the difference.”

Janice stood up. “It’s off the first hole. The one with the blue shutters.”

Littell stood up. Janice winked and walked away. She waved. She dropped her cane and left it there. She limped
molto con brio
.

He caught Barb’s tenner. He stood ringside. He killed time. He ducked Jane’s bedtime. He schemed up a trip.

I’ll fly to L.A. You drive back. I’ll meet you.

He drove home. The lights were on. Jane was still up. The TV was on. A newsman mourned Jack at great length.

Littell turned it off. “I have to fly to L.A. tomorrow. I’ll be leaving early.”

Jane spun her ashtray. “It’s abrupt, and we’re coming up on Thanksgiving.”

“You should have come next week. It would have been better all around.”

“You wanted me here, so I came. Now you’re leaving.”

Littell nodded. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“You wanted to see if I’d come. You were testing me. You broke a rule that we set for ourselves, and now I’m stuck in this suite.”

Littell shook his head. “You could take a walk. You could get a golf lesson. You could read instead of watch TV for sixteen goddamn hours.”

Jane threw her ashtray. It hit the TV.

“Given the date, how could you expect me to do anything else?”

“Given the date, we could have talked about it. Given the date, we could have stretched the rules. Given the date, you could have given up some of your goddamn secrets.”

Jane threw a cup. It hit the TV.

“You carry a gun. You carry briefcases full of money. You fly around the country to see gangsters, you listen to tapes of Robert Kennedy when you think I’m sleeping, and
I’ve
got secrets?”

They slept solo.

He scooped up her butts. He packed a bag. He packed his briefcase. He packed three suits. He packed appeal briefs and money—ten grand in cash.

He made up the couch. He stretched out. He tried to sleep. He thought about Janice. He thought about Barb. He thought about Jane.

He tried to sleep. He thought about Barb. He thought about Janice.

He got up. He cleaned his gun. He read magazines.
Harper’s
ran a piece—Mr. Hoover misbehaves.

He gave a speech. He fomented. He attacked Dr. King. He disrupted. He appalled. He stirred hate.

Littell turned the light off. Littell tried to sleep.

He counted sheep. He counted money. Skim cuts and embezzlements—civil-rights tithes.

He tried to sleep. He thought about Jane. He counted her lies. He lost count. He ricocheted.

Barb goes knock-kneed. Janice waves her cane. Janice smiles. Janice limps. Janice drops her cane.

He got up. He got dressed. He drove to McCarran. He saw a sign for Kool Menthol—all swimsuits and sun.

He turned around. He drove back. He drove to the Sands. He parked. He primped in his rearview mirror.

He walked by the golf course. He found the cottage and knocked. Janice opened up.

She saw him. She smiled. She plucked her curlers out.