The Cold Six Thousand (47 page)

Need-to-know. Read-and-burn. Compartments. Sealed access. Love-and-hide.

He had Jane. Jane survived her Vegas trip. Jane never went back. They went back to their rules. They resealed their compartments. They hid in L.A.

They ignored their fight. They revived their game. He lied. She lied. They codified. Their code said we aired it. Their code said it hurt. Their code said we survived Dallas.

Jane knew he taped Bobby. Jane knew he bilked Howard Hughes. Jane knew the Boys. Jane knew the Life. Jane feared the Teamsters for real.

Compartments. Sealed access. Love-and-lie. The love worked. The lies hurt. The seal cracked.

He traveled. He sealed off Vegas. He compartmentalized. He met Barb. He joined her fan club. He sat ringside.

They were prom dates. Admiration and earnest chats. Chaste drinks and her show.

Pete rotated through—Vietnam to Vegas—they all socialized. Barb rotated with him. Her eyes went from pinholed to bright.

Pills. Her secret. Her Pete’s-gone-rotation delight.

All men loved her. He told Pete. Pete said he knew that. Barb grew. Barb changed while he watched her. Barb changed her ridiculous lounge act.

She put out more knock-knees. She put out more ad-libs and goofs. I’m six feet tall. I can’t sing. I know terrible things.

He loved her. He loved her more than Janice and Jane.

Janice was Vegas. Jane was L.A. He rotated through. Compartments: candor and lies/separate disclosures.

Janice spilled her secrets. Janice
never
lied. She bragged about sex. She proved her points. She flaunted her prowess.

She talked too much. She enticed men. She lived for the thrill. She thought she controlled men. Her stories disproved it. She confused prowess with heart.

She divorced Wayne Senior. She ditched his name. She went back to “Lukens.” She earned her two million. She paid with cramps. She paid with a limp.

She fought back. She played golf. She broke par as a gimp. She never cried. She never whined. She never complained.

They met at her cottage. They made love. They talked.

Janice
talked
. He listened.

She fucked a Negro man. Wayne Senior found out and killed him. She fucked Clark Kinman. Wayne Senior watched. She fucked bellboys on dares and bets.

She fucked Wayne Junior. She paid.

She talked too much. She drank too much. She limped through A-club tennis. She was pure will unconsidered. She was inimical to Jane.

Janice talked. Janice digressed. Janice discussed Wayne Senior. He was bad. He was cruel. He’d do ANYTHING.

Janice talked. Janice scared him. Wayne Senior was FATHER RABBIT.

(Las Vegas, Miami, Port Sulphur, Saigon,
Saravan, Dac To, Dak Sut, Muang Kao,
3/21–6/15/65)

R
otation:

East to west—V to V—Vietnam to Vegas.

He flew west—rotation 1—Barb met his plane. She sparkled. She beamed. She refuted that letter.

The letter bugged him. Jerky words and the lines “up & down.” He thought about pills—lounge-popcorn uppers and reds to come down.

No/nyet/nein. Noi
in Viet. Barb radiated. Barb fucking glowed.

They
glowed three years in. They glowed with crazy shit concurrent. Barb got better. Barb got stronger. Barb got X-ray eyes.

She saw through show people. She saw through the Life. The Life was rigged. The men took the risks. The men had the fun. The men conspired. The men served causes. The women served tea.

Barb said it: “I peaked early. I extorted JFK.” Barb said it: “You’ve got Cuba. I’ve got the Sultan’s Lounge.”

She didn’t nag him. She didn’t play shrew. She just said she’d changed.

They hashed it out. He sensed cabin fever. Vegas hemmed her in. He sold dope batch #1. He bought two tickets east.

They booked to Miami. They took the cat. They booked a suite at the Doral. The cat leveled it.

He clawed the drapes. He shit on chairs. He killed terrace birds. He bootjacked their room-service food.

They caught Dino. They caught Shecky Green. They got ringside seats. They slept late and made love.

They talked. He laid out Vietnam. He lied. He downplayed the killing. He downplayed the slaves.

Barb pressed him. Barb tripped him up. Barb nailed his lies. He said fuck it. He cut loose. He disclosed.

Barb said, “All that for
Cuba
?”

They got some rays. They ran into Jimmy H. They went out for stone crabs. Jimmy fumed. Jimmy fugued. Jimmy ran nonstop boo-hoo.

His legal woes. Sam G. in stir. His ripe hemorrhoids.

Pete bored in. Pete pumped him. Pete worked his mood. Pete pumped angles. Pete pumped oblique.

It’s Kansas City. It’s ’56. Danny Bruvick fucks you.

Jimmy cut loose—six fucks!/six cocksuckers!/six Arden cunts! Jimmy dished on Arden. Jimmy tossed a bomb:

Arden Bruvick—that cunt—she was Jules Schiffrin’s ex.

Pete said, “Excuse me.” Pete walked to the john. Pete found a throne. Pete sat down. Pete hashed it all through.

Jules Schiffrin—Mob money man—dead in ’60. The “real” fund books—Schiffrin’s property. Arden Bruvick: bookkeeper.

It’s ’56. It’s K.C. Danny Bruvick splits. Jimmy fugues out. Cops bust Arden. The T&C Corp bails her. Carlos M. owns T&C.

Cut to:

’59—New Orleans—J.P. Mesplède passes through. Mesplède sees Arden—with some Carlos goon.

Cut to:

1960—Wisconsin—Ward Littell steals the books. Schiffrin heart-attacks and drops dead.

Cut to:

Fall ’63. Carlos taps Ward. Carlos says this:

You got the books. Jimmy don’t know it. The Boys and I do. We know you. We
own
you. You’ll sell Drac our hotels. You’ll
work
the books. You’ll dredge up data. You’ll funnel skim through.

Cut to:

Dallas—hit time—Arden meets Ward. She works for Jack Ruby. She keeps
his
books. She’s seen the safe house. She’s seen the targets. She’s seen the crew.

Ward falls for Arden. Carlos wants her dead. Ward makes Arden “Jane.” Ward hides “Jane.” Ward brews fund-book schemes.

So:

Did Carlos find Arden? Did Carlos pledge mercy? IF YOU SPY ON LITTELL? Arden was a bookkeeper. Arden knew Schiffrin. Arden
lived
with Littell.

Sound logic, but:

He saw Ward with “Jane.” They were
real
. He
knew
it.

It scared him. He teethed on it. He riffed:
Real
deals with women could be undercut—and thus shot to shit.

Barb saw him pump Jimmy. Barb gauged his john run. Barb got halfway hip. He filled her in. He abridged it. He omitted Carlos. He omitted Big D.

Barb loved it. Barb loved secrets. Barb held them tough. They discussed it. He told her—I’ll probe up more stuff.

He called Fred Otash. Otash weighed in. Otash said I’m on it—don’t sweat. I’ll buy
more
cops. I’ll put out
more
search fees. My cops will check files and call back.

They schmoozed. Otash had news. Otash said Ward hired him. Ward craved dirt. Ward bought a dirt search—let’s find the old scandal-rag files.

Pete riffed on his Arden search. Pete said don’t tell Ward—don’t clue Ward in. Otash played ball. Otash had Arden pix already. Otash
knew
Arden was Jane.

Pete teethed on it. Pete sifted it. Pete lived with it. Pete ran rotations.

Vegas was good—100%. White horse hits. The word expands. Clients accrue: Sniffers/tasters/junkies/skin-popper geeks.

The street pushers worked. The street pushers proselytized. They wore flash threads. They drove jig rigs. They glorified “H.” They glamorized it. They accessorized it. They Tupperwared it.

They cruised the projects. They drew crowds. They sniffed powdered milk and bopped strong. They debunked that addiction jive.

They wore pendants. They wore processed hair. They carried mock-gold guns. They lied. They said spooks ran the biz. They denied that the White Man existed.

Wayne tailed them. It scared them. They knew Wayne’s rep. Wayne Junior be baaaaaaaaaaaad. Wayne Junior kill our kin.

Profits accrued. Milt totaled them. Milt praised the horse epidemic. It was restricted. It was contained. No whites need apply.

A dope punk moved in. Said punk brought ambition. Said punk sniffed the air. Said punk sniffed the wrong vibration:

Horse is cool—let’s sell some—the Mob don’t mind.

Pete dispatched his niggers. Said niggers grabbed said punk.

Santo T. had a shark named Batista. He lived in Santo’s pool. He ate burgers. He ate steak. He ate pizza.

The niggers dropped the punk in the pool. Batista ate him live.

White horse stayed west. Junkies stayed home. Junkies eschewed white Vegas. Tiger Kabs prowled west. Tiger orbs glowed.

So far:

No new pushers. No pending fuzz heat. No unbribed narcs making noise.

Tiger Kab was hip. Sonny Liston tigerized. Sonny ate at the hut. Sonny drank at the hut. Sonny went on local TV.

Sonny did ads. Sonny proselytized:

“Tiger Kab packs a knockout punch.” “Tiger Kab kicks Cassius Clay’s patootie.”

Fag drivers drove. Straight drivers drove. Pete enforced faction détente. Fag drivers sold boys. Fag celebs bought boys. Fag drivers drove fags to hotels.

Fag clerks minced. Fag clerks smirked. Fag clerks supplied rooms. Said rooms: Bugged/tapped/extortionized.

Fag drivers drove fags. Fag drivers turned tricks. Donkey Dom tricked with Sal Mineo. Donkey Dom tricked with Rock Hudson.

Sonny said it:

“Tiger prowls 24 hours! If you don’t swing, don’t ring!”

Tiger Kab swung in Vegas. Tiger Kamp rocked Laos hard.

Pete rotated. Pete left Vegas. Pete cut the Barb cord. Wayne rotated. Stanton worked in Saigon. Laurent and Chuck worked in Laos.

Pete detached Flash—4/65—strict orders: Hit the Gulf. Hit exile camps. Scout for good troops.

Pete detached Mesplède—4/65—strict orders: Hit the U.S. Hit the South. Scout gun dealers out.

Bob Relyea left Laos—5/65—Bob Relyea hit Mississippi. Bob was Fed now. Bob did snitch work. It was klandestine.

Chuck to follow Bob. Chuck to hit Houston. Chuck to scout guns. Chuck to scout Gulf-close—close to Mississippi. Close to Mesplède and pal Bob.

Chuck snickered to Bob. Bob snickered to Chuck. They snickered contrapuntal. They snickered through Bob’s big farewell.

They implied mischief. They indulged wordplay. They inferred klown-ery. Birmingham, Alabama. Really BOMBingham. Bogalusa—tee-hee—BOMBalusa.

Bob split for Fed work. Chuck changed roommates. Chuck bunked with Laurent Guéry now. Chuck bugged him. Chuck hassled him. Chuck harangued him:

With Klan klaptrap. With klownish klaims. With klaims of krossburns to kome.

Rotations all—Dallas to Vegas—Dallas to Vietnam. Grad-school hijinx and reunions.

Chuck shot. Chuck shot from the knoll. Mesplède shot Oswald’s gun. Flash and Laurent stood in Boyd’s team. They got scuttled pre-hit.

Rotations—Saigon to the Gulf—the Gulf to Cuba. Flash is Cuban. Flash is dark. Flash could get in.

The plan:

Flash goes in. Flash charts resistance. Flash finds good men. Flash smuggles them out. Flash boats them in. Flash feeds Guéry and Mesplède.

They’ve got a shack. It’s Gulf-close. They’ve got electrodes. They torture the men. They test their balls. They ensure their loyalty.

Rotations—Cuba to the Gulf—the Gulf to Vietnam.
Bigggggggg
U.S. troop numbers.

Stanton logged said numbers. Stanton logged provocations. Stanton vibed a long war.

The Cong hits Pleiku. Eight Yankees die. LBJ reacts. Air strikes: Operation Flaming Dart.

The Cong hits Qui Nhon. Twenty-one Yankees die. LBJ reacts. More air strikes: Flaming Dart II.

U.S. troops arrive—“advisors”—two Marine battalions. More air strikes: Operation Rolling Thunder.

Two battalions arrive—logistical troops—20,000 men. They get deployed. They get dispersed. They get detached to Marv units.

Firefights. Dead Yanks. Incoming rotations. Buildups—incremental—40,000 men per.

Troops hit Saigon. Troops R&R. Troop numbers swell. Long war good. Kadre like it. Buildup most boocoo.

Wayne lived in Saigon. Wayne lived in his lab. Wayne said
his
fucking world swelled. More people. More noise. More songs up his vents. More Marvs. More O-heads. More whores.

More cover. More white horse. More money.

Stanton laundered profits. Stanton fed Pete. Pete fed Mesplède. Mesplède bought righteous
guns
.

.50-calibers/Ithacas/BARs/antitank guns.

Flash found a troop site. It was Gulf-close and gooood. It was near Port Sulphur, Louisiana. It housed sixty troopers—Cubano shitkickers all.

Mesplède dropped some guns off. The shitkickers roared. Pete rotated through. Pete dug on the troops. Pete dug their maneuvers.

The troopers were hard-ons. The troopers were
très
hard. The troopers were
très sanguinaire
.

Pete rotated. Pete hit Saigon. Pete met Stanton’s CIA crew. Six men plus Stanton—all Cubafied.

They talked Cuba. They talked ops. They talked polygraph tests. They’d be mandatory and random. They’d go kadre-wide. Let’s ID and whack traitors. Let’s uproot thieves. Let’s assure loyalty.

Stanton flew to Laos. Stanton brought his poly machine. Pete tested. Pete tested clean. Tran tested. Tran tested clean.

Stanton stayed for a visit. Stanton watched the spring burn.

Guards unshackled slaves. Slaves piled brush. Guards formed a fire brigade. They stacked the piles. They positioned them—one per stalk row.

Slaves filled drums with propane gas. Guards dipped torches. Guards whooped. Guards lit torches. Guards torched brush.

The fields burned. The sky flared. The fields burned all night. Guards cheered. Slaves cheered. Tiger Kamp cinderized.

Ash blew. Ash settled. Ash nourished kamp-wide.

Stanton loved it. Stanton stayed. Stanton stayed for the Clay-Liston fight. Chuck rigged a hookup—closed-circuit shit—a feed off MACV in Saigon.

Sonny lost. The fight vibed nonclimax. Sportswriter stupes yelled, “Fix!”