"He also said that you, qu'est-ce que c'est?, 'snipped links.'"
Pete smiled. Pete showed his pix. There's Jack Z. trussed up. There's Hank the K. dumped.
Mesplede tapped them. "Unfortunate men. They saw things they should not."
Pete coughed. Pete blew smoke rings.
Mesplede coughed. "Chuck said the blond woman killed herself in jail."
"That's right."
"You did not take her picture?"
"No."
"Then Arden is the only one left."
Pete shook his head. "She's unfindable."
"No one is that."
"She has to be."
Mesplede chained cigarettes. "I saw her once before, in New Orleans. She was with one of Carlos Marcello's men."
"She's unfindable. Leave it at that."
Mesplede shrugged. Mesplede dropped his hands. There's the click. There's the slide. There's the hammer back.
Pete smiled. Pete bowed. Pete showed his gun. Mesplede smiled. Mesplede bowed. Mesplede showed his gun.
Pete grabbed a napkin. Pete draped the table. Pete covered the guns.
Mesplede said, "Your note mentioned work."
Pete cracked his knuckles. "Heroin. We move it from Laos to Saigon and funnel it to the States. It's Agency-adjunct and completely unsanctioned. All the profits go to the Cause."
"Our colleagues?"
"We work under a man named John Stanton. I've run dope and exiles for him. We bring in Laurent Guery, Flash Elorde, and an ex-cop to do the chemical work."
A whore walked by. Said whore looked down. Mesplede flashed his tattoos. He flexed his hands. The dogs snapped. The dogs grew big chorizos.
The whore crossed herself. The whore buzzed off--gringos malo y feo!
Mesplede said, "I am interested. I am devoted to the cause of a free Cuba."
"Mort a Fidel Castro. Vive l'entente franco-americaine."
Mesplede grabbed a fork. Mesplede cleaned his nails.
"Chuck described you as 'soft on women.' I will concede the unfindability of Arden if you further prove your loyalty to the Cause."
"How?"
"Hank Hudspeth has defrauded the Cause. He has sold faulty weaponry to exile groups and has diverted the good merchandise to the Klan."
Pete said, "I'll take care of it."
Mesplede flexed his hands. The dogs went priapic.
"I would appreciate a memento."
The setup worked--let's talk guns--my money/your stuff.
Pete called from Houston. Hank was eager. He said catch you a plane. I got a bunker near Polk.
Pete flew to De Ridder. Pete rented a car. Pete hit a Safeway. Pete bought a cooler. Pete bought dry ice.
He hit the local PO. He bought a box. He air-mail-stamped it. He wrote Jean Mesplede's address on top.
He hit a gun shop. He bought a Buck knife. He hit a camera store. He bought a Polaroid. He bought some film.
He drove north. He took back roads. He cut through the Kisatchee Forest. It was hot--80 at dusk.
Hank met him. Hank was eager--I got the stuff!
The bunker was a mine shaft. Part gun hut/part igloo. Ten steps below ground.
Hank walked ahead. Hank hit the top step. Pete pulled his piece and shot him in the back.
Hank tumbled. Pete shot him again. Pete blew his ribs out.
He turned him over. He prepped his camera. He snapped a close-up. The bunker was hot--paved walls in tight.
Pete pulled his knife. Pete stretched Hank's hair. Pete cut side to side.
He notched the blade. He hit the bone. He sheared over and up. He stepped on Hank's head. He jerked hard. He pulled his scalp up.
He wiped it off. He dry-iced it. He boxed it. His hands shook--firsttimer shakes--he'd scalped a hundred Reds.
He wiped his hands. He inscribed the snapshot. He wrote "Viva la Causa!" on the back.
59.
(Las Vegas, 10/4/64)
Janice was in. Wayne Senior was out. Wayne paced his room. Wayne groomed and primped.
He saw Pete at Tiger. They talked an hour back. Pete worked on him. Pete hit him up.
You're a chemist. Let's go to Vietnam. You'll cook heroin. We'll work covert ops.
He said yes. It felt logical. It felt wholly right.
Wayne shaved. Wayne combed his hair. Wayne dabbed a razor cut. Ward slammed him--four nights back--Ward fucked him way up.
He tracked Ward's logic. He improvised. Wayne Senior ran snitches. Wayne Senior thus ran Maynard Moore. Thus he was in on the hit.
Ward left blank spots. Wayne improvised. Wayne Senior dumped his late snitch files. Wayne Senior ran Maynard Moore then.
Wayne brushed his hair. His hand jerked. He dropped the brush. It hit the floor and shattered.
Wayne walked outside. It was windy. It was hot. It was dark.
There--her room/her light.
Wayne walked inside. The hi-fi was on. Cool jazz or some such shit--matched horns discordant.
He turned it off. He tracked the light. He walked over. Janice was changing clothes. Janice saw him--bam--like that.
She dropped her robe. She kicked off her golf cleats. She pulled off her bra and golf shift.
He walked up. He touched her. She pulled his shirt off. She pulled down his pants.
He grabbed her. He tried to kiss her. She slid away. She knelt down. She put his cock in her mouth.
He got hard. He leaked. He got close. He grabbed her hair and pulled her mouth away.
She stepped back. She pulled off his pants. She tripped on his shoes. She sat on the floor. She balled up a skirt. She tucked it under her.
He got down. He ratched his knees. He spread her legs. He kissed her thighs. He kissed her hair and put his tongue in.
She trembled. She made funny sounds. He tasted her. He tasted her outside. He tasted her in.
She trembled. She made scared sounds. She grabbed his hair. She hurt him. She pulled his head up.
He jammed her knees out. He spread her full. She pulled him in. She squeezed a fit. She shut her eyes.
He squeezed her brows. He forced them back open. He put his face down. He keyed on her eyes. He saw green flecks he never saw before.
They moved. They got the fit. They found the sync. They held each other's faces. They locked their eyes in.
He got close. He conjured shit up and held back. Janice buckled. Janice spasmed. Janice clamped her legs.
Wayne sweated. Wayne doused her eyes. She blinked it off. She kept her eyes locked.
A door opened. A door shut. A shadow crossed the light.
Janice buckled. Janice started to cry. Wayne got close. Wayne let go. Wayne shut his eyes.
Janice wiped off her tears. Janice kissed her fingers. Janice put them in his mouth.
They got in bed. They shut their eyes. They left the door open. They left the light on.
House sounds kicked in. Wayne heard Wayne Senior whistle. Wayne smelled Wayne Senior's smoke.
He opened his eyes. His kissed Janice. She trembled. She kept her eyes shut.
Wayne got up. Wayne got dressed. Wayne walked to the bar. Bam--there's Wayne Senior.
Wayne grabbed his stick. Wayne twirled it. Wayne did Daddy's stock tricks.
Wayne said, "You shouldn't have sent me to Dallas."
Part III
SUBVERSION.
October 1964--July 1965
DOCUMENT INSERT: 10/16/64. Pouch communique. To: Pete Bondurant. From: John Stanton. Marked: "Hand Pouch Deliver Only"/ "Destroy Upon Reading."