Arden shook her head. "I don't want to get more specific."
Littell shook his head. "We don't have to discuss it."
Arden smiled. "I'm wondering why you're going to so much trouble to help me."
"You know why."
"I may ask you to say it."
"I will. If we go forward on this."
"'This?' Are we going to define any of our terms at all?"
Littell coughed--full ashtrays/stale smoke.
"Confirm something for me. You've been in trouble, you've run before, you know how to do it."
Arden nodded. "It's something I'm good at."
"That's good, because I can get you a completely new identity."
Arden crossed her legs. "Is there a disclosure clause in all 'this'?"
Littell nodded. "We can hold back some secrets."
"That's important. I don't like to lie unless I have to."
"I'm going to Washington for a few days. Then I'll be setting up a base in Las Vegas. You can meet me there."
Arden grabbed her cigarettes. The pack was empty--she tossed it.
"We both know who's behind this. And I know they all pass through Vegas."
"I do work for them. It's one reason why you'll be safe with me."
"I'd feel safer in L.A."
Littell smiled. "Mr. Hughes lives there. I'll need to get a house or apartment."
"I'll meet you, then. I'll trust you that far."
Littell checked his watch--1:24 p.m.--Littell grabbed the phone by the bed.
Arden nodded. He pulled the phone to the bathroom. The cord almost snapped. He shut the door. He dialed the Adolphus. The switchboard patched him through.
Pete picked up. "Yes?"
"It's me."
"Yeah, and you're the white man of the week. I wasn't a hundred percent sure that he'd do it."
"What about Moore?"
"He goes. I'll tail him and get him alone."
Littell hung up. Littell walked back. Littell dropped the phone on a chair.
He sat on the bed. Arden slid close.
Arden said, "Say it."
He squinted. Her freckles jumped. Her smile blurred.
"I've got nothing but the wrong things, and I want to take something good out of this."
"That's not enough."
Littell said, "I want you." Arden touched his leg.
12.
(Dallas, 11/24/63).
Reruns: The thumb. Pete and Moore. Killer Jack and Killer Lee.
Wayne drove I-35. The reruns hit. A soundtrack sputtered: He calls Moore. He says, "Meet me. I've got a lead on Durfee." He lies. He drops details. Static fries the line and blows the connection.
Moore gets the last word. Moore says, ". . . have us big fun."
The freeway was flat. Flat blacktop/flat empty. Flat sand adjacent. Sand flats and scrub. Jackrabbit bones. Sand grit in circulation.
The soundtrack distorted. He'd fucked up the call. The Jack and Lee Show fucked with him.
A rabbit jumped. It hit the road. It cleared his wheels clean. A wind kicked up. It tossed scrub balls and waxed paper.
There's the sign: Rest Stop #10.
Wayne pulled in. Wayne scoped the parking lot slooooow.
Gravel paving. No cars. Tire tracks on sand adjacent. Flat sand. Drift sand. Scrub balls hip-high.
Goooood cover spots.
A men's room. A ladies' room. Two stucco huts and a crawl space between. The huts fronted sand drifts. Said drifts ran way inland. The wind stirred loose sand.
Wayne parked. Beaudine said 3:00. He told Moore to meet him at 4:00. The current time--2:49.
He pulled his piece. He popped the glove box. He pulled out the money--six cold.
He got out. He walked through the men's room. He checked the stalls gun-first. The wind kicked cellophane through.
He walked out. He hit the ladies' room. Empty stalls/dirty sinks/bugs pooled in Lysol.
He walked out. He hugged the walls. He moved around back. Shitfire--there's Wendell Durfee.
He's got pimp threads. He's got a hair net. He's got a jigaboo conk. He's got a piece--it's a quiff automatic.
Durfee stood by the wall. Durfee ducked sand. It messed up his conk good.
He saw Wayne. He said, "Well, now."
Wayne drew down on him. Durfee raised his hands. Wayne walked up slow. Sand filled his shoes.
Durfee said, "Why you doin' this for me?"
Wayne grabbed his piece. Wayne popped the clip. Wayne tucked it down his pants barrel first.
The wind tore a scrub pile. Durfee's sled got exposed. It's a '51 Merc. It's sand-scraped. It's sunk to the hubs.
Wayne said, "Don't talk to me. I don't want to know you."
Durfee said, "I might need me a tow truck."
Wayne heard gravel crunch--back in the lot. Durfee futzed with his hair net. Durfee heard shit.
"Willis said you had money."
Gravel crunch--tire crunch--Durfee missed the sounds dead.
"I'll get it. You wait here."
"Shit. I ain't goin' nowhere without it. You fuckin' Santa Claus, you know that?"
Wayne holstered his piece. Wayne circled back to the lot. Wayne saw Moore's 409.
It's upside his car. It's idling hard. It's throbbing on hi-end shocks. There's Moore. He's at the wheel. He's chomping Red Man.
Wayne stopped. His dick fluttered. Piss leaked out.
He saw something.
A speck--up the freeway--some kind of mirage or a car.
He anchored his legs. He walked up jerky. He leaned on Moore's car.
Moore rolled down his window. "Hey, boy. What's new and noteworthy?"
Wayne leaned in close. Wayne braced on the roof.
"He isn't here. That guy gave me a bad lead."
Moore spat tobacco juice. Moore hit Wayne's shoes.
"Why'd you tell me four o'clock, when you're here before three?"
Wayne shrugged. How should I know? I'm bored with you.
Moore pulled a knife. Moore picked his teeth. Moore sheared pork chop fat. He sprayed juice haphazard. He doused Wayne's shirt.
"He's out back. I reconnoitered a half hour ago. Now, you get your ass back there and kill him."
Wayne saw reruns--in slooooow motion.
"You know Jack Ruby."
Moore picked his teeth. Moore tapped the blade on the dash.
"So what? Everyone knows Jack."
Wayne leaned in the window. "What about Bowers? He saw Kennedy get--"
Moore swung the knife. Moore snagged Wayne's shirt. Moore grabbed Wayne's necktie. They hit heads. Moore swung the knife. His hand hit the door ledge.
Wayne pulled his head back. Wayne pulled his piece. Wayne shot Moore in the head.
Recoil-- It knocked him back. He hit his car. He braced and aimed tight. He shot Moore in the head/Moore in the neck/Moore with no face and no chin.
He ripped the seats. He tore up the dash. He blew the windows out. It was loud. It echoed loud. It outblew wind gusts.
Wayne froze. The 409 bounced--reverb off hi-end shocks.
Durfee ran out. Durfee lost his legs. Durfee slid and fell flat. Wayne froze. There's that speck up I-35--it's a car oh luck.
The car drove up. The car pulled in. The car stopped by Moore's sled. Sand blew. Scrub balls bounced. Gravel scattered.
The speck-car idled. Pete got out. Pete put his hands up.
Wayne aimed at him. Wayne pulled the trigger. The pin clicked--you're empty--you're fucked.
Durfee watched. Durfee tried to run. Durfee stood up and fell flat. Pete walked up to Wayne. Wayne dropped his gun and pulled Durfee's gun. Wayne popped in the clip.
His hand slipped. The gun fell. Pete picked it up.