Wayne hit the key. Wayne punched the gas. Wayne swamped his engine too fast. He clocked two minutes. He hit the key. He kicked the gas slooooooooow.
The engine caught. He yawned and got traction. The whole world sleepytime bluuuured.
Dawn came up. Wayne got in bed dressed. Lynette stirred. Wayne played possum.
She touched him. She felt his clothes. She pulled off his gun.
"Are you having fun? Hiding out from your wife, I mean."
He yawned. He stretched. He banged the headboard.
He said, "Rock Hudson's queer."
Lynette said, "What happened in Dallas?"
He slept. He got two hours tops. He woke up woozy. Lynette was gone. Nothing happened in Dallas.
He fixed toast. He drank coffee. He went back out. He parked behind Hinton's house. He scoped the backyard.
The alley was packed--construction work next door. His shit car fit right in.
He scoped the driveway. Right there per aiways--Hinton's van and Deb Hinton's Impala. Clock the tail in: 9:14 a.m.
Wayne watched the house. Wayne yawned and scratched. Wayne pissed out his a.m. coffee. The workers hung drywall--six men with power tools--saws buzzed and jackhammers bit.
10:24:.
Deb Hinton walks out. Deb Hinton splits. Deb's Impala knocks and pings.
12:08:.
The workers break. They hit their cars. They grab bunch pails and sacks.
2:19:.
Duane Hinton walks out.
He walks through the backyard. He bugs some clothes. He wore said clothes last night. He walks to the fence. He feeds the incinerator. He bights a match.
GOD FUCK JESUS CHRIST.
Wayne drove to Owens and "H." Wayne parked by Woody's Club.
He popped his trunk. He grabbed a pry bar. He circled the block--the street was dead--no wits out and about.
He walked through the lot. He knocked on the trailer. He booked around--still no wits out.
He leaned on the pry bar. He snapped the bock. He walked in. He smelled blood. He slammed the door shut.
He tapped the walls. He tripped a switch. He got overhead bight.
She was dead. On the floor/stage-one rigor/maggots on call. Contusions/head wounds/shattered cheeks.
Hinton gagged her. Hinton wedged a handball in her mouth.
Ear blood. Socket blood. One eyeball gone. Buckshot on the floor. Buckshot in her blood.
Hinton wore sap gloves. The palm fabric broke. The buckshot flew.
Wayne caught his breath. Wayne tracked blood trails. Wayne read spbash marks.
He slid on a rug. He stepped on the eyeball.
Eight assaults. One beating snuff.
He heard it. He thought it was fuck #2. It was Murder One. It vibed Mansbaughter Two. Hinton was white. Hinton had publ. Hinton killed a colored whore.
Wayne drove back. Wayne thought it all through. The gist cohered.
The assault vics pressed charges. They said the assault man took pix. He saw flashbulbs pop. He knew the MO. He was fried to exhaustion. The gist flew by him.
He fucked up. He owed the whore. The cost meant shit.
Wayne parked in the alley. Wayne watched the house. Workmen yelled. Saws buzzed. Jackhammers bit.
Wayne pissed. Wayne missed his can. Wayne sprayed the seat.
Time whizzed. He watched the house. He watched the driveway. Time cranked. Dusk hit. The workmen split.
They grabbed their cars. They cut tracks. They blew horn-honk farewells. Wayne waited. Time labored and lulled.
6:19 p.m.: The Hintons walk out. They schlep golf bags. Odds on night golf. The range down Sahara.
They take off. They take Deb's Impala. Duane's van stays put.
Wayne clocked down two minutes. Wayne got some nerve up. Wayne got out and stretched.
He walked up. He braced the fence. He vaulted it. He came down hard. He scraped his hands and brushed them off.
He ran to the porch. The door looked weak. The latch wiggled. He shook the door. He forced some slack. He snapped the latch off.
He opened the door. He hit a laundry room. Washer/dryer/clothesline. Window bight from inside--and one connecting door.
Wayne stepped inside. Wayne shut the door. Loose floor planks popped up. Wayne stubbed his feet.
He braced the inside door. He jiggled the knob. Bingo--unlocked.
He hit the kitchen. He checked his watch. Give it twenty minutes tops.
6:23:.
The kitchen drawers--nothing hot--flatware and Green Stamps.
6:27:.
The living room--nothing hot--blond wood to excess.
6:31:.
The den--nothing hot--skeet guns and bookshelves.
6:34:.
Hinton's office--go slow here--it's a logical spot.
File shelves/ledgers/a pegged key ring. No wall safe/one wall pic--Hinton and Lawrence Webk.
6:39:.
The bedroom--nothing hot--more blond wood excess. No wall safe/no floor safe/no loose panel strips.
6:46:.
The basement--go slow here--it's a logical spot.
Power tools/a workbench/Playboy magazines. A closet--locked up. That key ring--remember--keys on a peg.
Wayne ran upstairs. Wayne grabbed the ring. Wayne ran downstairs. Wayne jabbed keys at the lock.
6:52:.
Key #9 works. The door pops. The closet unlocks.
He saw one box. That's it, no more. Let's inventory it.
Handcuffs. Handballs. Friction tape. Sap gloves. A Polaroid camera. Six rolls of film. Fourteen snapshots: Negro whores gagged and stomped--eight certified victims plus six.
Plus: Unused film. One roll. Twelve exposures. Twelve potential shots.
Wayne emptied the box. Wayne cleared floor space. Wayne spread the shit out. Shoot it fast. Put it back. Display it like you found it.
He loaded the camera. He shot twelve exposures. They developed and popped out.
Instant prints--Polaroid color.
He grouped Hinton's pix--four separate shots--he got in tight. He got the handball gags. He got the contusions. He got the smashed teeth and the blood.
27.
(Las Vegas, 1/14/64)
Nigger Heaven: Four spooks/four capsules/one spike.
They usurped the carport. They flanked an old Merc. They laid out red devils. They dumped out the goo.
They spritzed it. They cooked it. They fed the spike. They tied up. They geezed. They dipped. They nodded. They swayed.
All riiiiiiiiiiiight.
Pete watched. Pete yawned. Pete scratched his ass. Stakeout night #6--the dawn shift--hijinx at five fucking a.m.
He parked at Truman and "J." He lounged low. He dug on the view.
That coon called and tipped him. He said Wendell be back. He said Wendell gots a gun. He said Curtis and Leroy--they baaad. They be pushin' white horse.
Check the carport. Check the Evergreen Project. Dope fiends meet there. Dice fiends too. Wendell the dice fiend soo-preem. Look for Curtis and Leroy--two fat boys--they gots big conk hairdos.
Pete popped aspirin. His headache dipped south. Six nights. Shit surveillance. Headaches and coon food. Grime on his car.
The plan: Clip Curtis and Leroy. Appease the Boys and play civic booster. Clip Wendell Durfee. Indebt Wayne Junior thus.
You owe me, Wayne. Let's see your files.
Six nights. No luck. Six nights slumming. Six nights lounging low.
Pete watched the carport. Pete yawned. Pete stretched. Pete grew Matterhorn-size hemorrhoids.
The dope fiends swaaayed.
They fumbled Kools. They lit matches. They burned their hands. They lit filter tips.
Pete yawned. Pete dozed. Pete chained cigarettes. Whoa, what's-- Two shines cut over "J." Fat boys with big conks--big spray-can hair.
Wait--two more shines--full-scale shine alert.