Daddy Sproul called him. Daddy waxed revisionist. Daddy dropped details. He said Lynette got scraped in Little Rock. He said she hemorrhaged and almost died.
The marriage survived. Trite shit would tear it for real.
Lynette set up TV trays. LBJ crashed their dinner. He announced some Warren probe.
Wayne killed the sound. LBJ moved his lips. Lynette toyed with her food.
"I thought you'd want to follow it more."
"I had too much stuff going on. And it's not like I had a stake in the man."
"Wayne, you were there. It's the kind of thing people tell their grand . . ."
"I told you, I didn't see anything. And we're not in the grandchild business."
Lynette balled her napkin. "You've been nothing but sullen since you got back, and don't tell me it's just Wendell Durfee."
"I'm sorry. That crack was ugly."
Lynette wiped her lips. "You know I gave up on that front."
"Tell me what it is, then."
Lynette turned the TV off. "It's the new sullen you, with that patronizing attitude that all the cops have. You know, 'I've seen things that my schoolteacher wife just wouldn't understand.'"
Wayne jabbed his roast beef. Wayne twanged the fork.
Lynette said, "Don't play with your food."
Wayne sipped Kool-Aid. "You're so goddamn smart in your way."
Lynette smiled. "Don't curse at my table."
"You mean your TV tray."
Lynette grabbed the fork. Lynette mock-stabbed him. Blood juice dripped and pooled.
Wayne flinched. Wayne hit the tray. His glass tipped and doused his food.
Lynette said, "Shit."
Wayne walked to the kitchen. Wayne dumped his tray in the sink. He turned around. He saw Lynette by the stove.
She said, "What happened in Dallas?"
Wayne Senior lived south--Paradise Valley with land and views.
He had fifty acres. He grazed steers. He butchered them for bar-b-que meat. The house was tri-level--redwood and stone--wide decks with wide views.
The carport covered an acre. A runway adjoined it. Wayne Senior flew biplanes. Wayne Senior flew flags: The U.S./the Nevada/the Don't-Treadon-Me.
Wayne parked. Wayne killed his lights. Wayne skimmed the radio. He caught the McGuire Sisters--three-part harmony.
Janice had a dressing room. It faced the carport. She got bored. She changed clothes. She left her lights on to draw looks.
Wayne settled in. The Sisters crooned. "Sugartime" merged with "Sincerely." Janice walked through the light. Janice wore tennis shorts and a bra.
She posed. She dropped her shorts. She picked up capris. Her panties stretched and slid low.
She put the capris on. She unpinned her hair and combed it back. Her gray streak showed--silver in black--the pink capris clashed.
She pirouetted. Her breasts swayed. The Sisters supplied a soundtrack. The lights dimmed. Wayne blinked. It all went too fast.
He calmed down. He turned the car off. He walked through the house. He went straight back. Wayne Senior always perched outside. The northdeck view magnetized.
It was cold. Leaves strafed the deck. Wayne Senior wore a fat sweater. Wayne leaned on the rail. Wayne killed his view.
"You never get bored with it."
"I appreciate a good vista. I'm like my son that way."
"You never called and asked about Dallas."
"Buddy and Gil briefed me. They were thorough, but I'd still like to hear your version."
Wayne smiled. "In time."
Wayne Senior sipped bourbon. "The crap-game ruckus tickled me. You chasing that colored boy."
"I was brave and stupid. I'm not sure you would have approved."
Wayne Senior twirled his walking stick. "And I'm not sure you want my approval."
Wayne turned around. The Strip beamed. Neon signs pulsed.
"My son rubbed shoulders with history. I wouldn't mind a few details."
Cars left Vegas--the losers' exodus--southbound headlights.
"In time."
"Mr. Hoover saw the autopsy pictures. He said Kennedy had a small pecker."
Wayne heard gunshots north-northeast. Broke gambler blows town. Broke gambler pulls gun. Broke gambler unwinds.
"LBJ told Mr. Hoover a good one. He said, 'Jack was a strange bedfellow long before he entered politics.'"
Wayne turned around. "Don't gloat. It's fucking undignified."
Wayne Senior smiled. "You've got a foul mouth for a Mormon."
"The Mormon Church is a crock of shit, and you know it."
"Then why'd you ask the Saints to kill your baby?"
Wayne grabbed the rail. "I forgot that I told you that."
"You tell me everything--'in time.'"
Wayne dropped his hands. His wedding band slid. He missed meals. He dropped weight. He fretted up Dallas.
"When's your Christmas party?"
Wayne Senior twirled his stick. "Don't divert conversation so abruptly. You tell people what you're afraid of."
"Don't press on Lynette. I know where you're going."
"Then I'll go there. It's a kid marriage that you're bored with, and you know it."
"Like you and my mother?"
"That's right."
"I've heard it before. You're here and you've got what you've got. You're not a cluck selling real estate in Peru, Indiana."
"That's right. Because I knew when to fold my hand with your mother."
Wayne coughed. "You're saying I'll meet my Janice and walk like you did."
Wayne Senior laughed. "Shitfire. Your Janice and my Janice are one and the same."
Wayne blushed. Wayne's ears fucking singed.
"Shitfire. Just when I think I've lost sway with my boy, I light him up like a Christmas tree."
A shotgun blew somewhere. It roused some coyote yells.
Wayne Senior said, "Someone lost money."
Wayne smiled. "He probably lost his stake at one of your joints."
"One of? You know I only own one casino."
"The last I heard, you had points in fourteen. And the last time I checked, that was illegal."
Wayne Senior twirled his stick. "There's a trick to lying. Hold to the same line, regardless of who you're with."
"I'll remember that."
"You will. But you'll remember who told you right about the same time."
A flying bug bit Wayne. Wayne swatted it.
"I don't see your point."
"You'll remember that your father told you, and speak some godawful truth out of pure cussedness."
Wayne smiled. Wayne Senior winked. He twirled his stick. He dipped it. He ran his stick repertoire.
"Are you still the only policeman who cares about those beat-up colored whores?"
"That's right."
"Why is that?"
"Pure cussedness."
"That and your spell in Little Rock."
Wayne laughed. "You should have been there. I broke every states' rights law on the books."
Wayne Senior laughed. "Mr. Hoover's going after Martin Luther King. He's got to find himself a 'fallen liberal' first."
"Tell him I'm booked up."
"He told me Vietnam's heating up. I said, 'My son was in the EightySecond Airborne. But don't hold your breath for him to re-enlist--he'd rather fight rednecks than Reds.'"
Wayne looked around. Wayne saw a chip bucket. Wayne grabbed some Land o' Gold reds.
"Did you tell Buddy to send me to Dallas?"
"No. But I've always thought a cold money run would do you some good."
Wayne said, "It was enlightening."
"What did you do with the money?"
"Got myself in trouble."
"Was it worth it?"
"I learned a few things."
"Care to tell me?"