61.
(Las Vegas, 11/4/64)
Bugwork.
Littell twisted wires. Littell hung microphones. Fred Turentine hung feeder cords.
They laid cords. They taped wires. They perforated wall mounts. They spackled wall plates.
The Riviera--bug job #9. A big suite--three rooms in. Bugwork--Vegas-wide. Bribed access--four hotels in.
Moe Dalitz bribed managers. Milt Chargin bribed clerks. Mr. Hoover bribed the Vegas SAC. Said SAC pledged agents. Said SAC pledged speed. Said SAC pledged copied tapes.
Tapes to Mr. Hoover. Tapes to Ward Littell.
Turentine looped wires. Littell ran the TV. The news ran on. They caught LBJ's landslide. They caught Bobby's Senate sweep.
Turentine picked his nose. "I hate spackle mounts. The fucking paste stings."
LBJ praised the voters. Ken Keating conceded. Bobby hugged his kids.
"I guess I'm lucky to get the work. It's not like the scandal-rag days. Freddy Otash had me wire every fucking toilet in L.A."
Goldwater conceded. Hubert Humphrey smiled. LBJ hugged his kids.
Turentine flicked snot. "Freddy's scuffling. Pete's got him running leads on some woman. Her husband screwed Jimmy H. on a deal."
Littell killed the sound. Humphrey went mute. LBJ moved his lips.
"Who has the old scandal-rag morgue files? Would Freddy know?"
Turentine hooked wires. "You mean the hot dirt? The unprintable shit that never got published?"
"That's right."
"Why do you--"
"The information could help us. The rags always kept stringers in Vegas."
Turentine popped a neck zit. "If you're willing to pay, Freddy'd be willing to look."
"Call him, will you? Tell him I'll pay double his day rate and expenses."
Turentine nodded. Turentine popped a chin zit. Littell goosed the TV. LBJ praised Bobby. Bobby praised LBJ. Bobby praised the Great Society.
Littell miked a nightstand. Littell miked a couch leg. Littell miked a lamp.
Morgue dirt was old. Morgue dirt was still ripe. Morgue dirt might help Mr. Hughes. They needed dirt. Dirt incurred debt. Let's call Moe D. Let's call Milt C. Let's bug more rooms yet.
Grind joints next--bedroom mounts--Milt to retrieve. Let's bug Vegas. Let's cull dirt. Let's extort.
Littell miked a chair. Turentine flipped channels. There's Mr. Hoover in the flesh.
He said, "King." He said, "Communist sympathizer." He looked old. He looked weak.
The news ran late. Bobby's segments ran long.
Littell went "home." Littell called room service. Littell ate dinner and watched TV Home-suite-home. Room service and valets.
He missed Jane. He pressed her to come for Thanksgiving. She agreed. It scared her. The Boys owned the town.
She told lies. It disturbed him in L.A. He missed her and wanted her here.
Bobby praised LBJ. Bobby praised his programs. Bobby praised Dr. King.
He played his Bobby tapes. He played them most nights. Sometimes Jane overheard. He punted. He lied. He described depositions.
Lies: Bayard Rustin pressed him--meet Dr. King--Bayard proposed a dinner. He declined. He lied. He stressed nonexistent engagements. He lied. He never said "distance."
Distance balanced his risk. Distance balanced his commitment. He subverted King. He aided King. He worked for a balance.
Personal moments would kill it. Affection would blitz respect. Compartments would burn. The risk would grow exponential.
Bobby promised legislation. Bobby promised hard work. Bobby did not mention organized crime. Bobby did not mention Jack.
He knew Bobby. Bobby knew the Boys killed Jack. Bobby on tape: "When the time's right I'll jump on it, and devil take the hindmost."
Don't. Please. Don't risk your safety. Don't risk yourself.
Littell flipped channels. Littell saw LBJ. Littell saw Blatz beer and Vietnam. U.S. advisors. More troops pledged. Buddhist monks on fire.
Pete called him this morning. Pete pitched a plan: Call Drac/work Drac/help me work this new plan.
He agreed. He called Drac and snowed him. Drac agreed to Pete's "plan." Pete dropped the name Clark Kinman. Bypass Wayne Senior through him.
He called Kinman. He pitched a meet. He deciphered the gist of Pete's "plan."
Heroin/Vietnam. "Ordnance"/hfdden dope/cosmetic donations.
It meant one thing. The Boys waived the no-dope rule. The Boys never told him.
Pete sounded happy. Pete came off engaged. Pete built airtight compartments. There's Betty Mac. There's heroin. There's the partition.
Littell flipped channels. Bobby waved. Bobby hugged his kids.
Kinman served drinks. Littell sipped club soda. Kinman sipped scotch himself.
"I know about you. You brought the Hughes charter deal to Wayne Senior."
The den was stuffy. The den was GI. Airplane models and airplane wall plaques.
Littell smiled. "I hope your compensation sufficed."
Kinman sipped scotch. "I'm an officer in the United States Air Force. I'm not going to tell a perfect stranger if, where, or how I was compensated, if in fact I was."
Littell twirled his coaster. "You could call Wayne Senior for a reference."
"We're not on good terms. He told me he doesn't like you, which refers you pretty good these days."
A door slammed upstairs. Music kicked on. A female voice hummed along.
Littell stirred his drink. "Do you know who I work for?"
"I was informed that it was Howard Hughes, who folks say has designs on Las Vegas. I figured he was good for the town, which is why I facilitated the charter deal."
"For which you were or were not compensated."
The music dipped. Footsteps tapped downstairs. A woman hummed along.
Kinman smiled. "I've got a friend here. That means you've got five minutes to state your case and skedaddle."
Littell toed his briefcase. "Mr. Hughes wants to donate U.S.-supplied Vietnamese Army surplus to the Air National Guard. He wants to publicize the donations and credit you with inspiring the gift. All he requires is expanded ground clearance for periodic courier flights from Saigon."
Kinman chewed ice. "With no contraband checks?"
"He would appreciate that courtesy, yes."
"'That courtesy' will cost $5,000 per month, in cash, nonrefundable."
Littell popped his briefcase. Littell dumped forty grand. Drac gave him fifty. He kept and tithed ten.
Kinman whooped. Janice Tedrow walked in.
She limped. She swung a cane. She rubbed a scar on her lips.
62.
(Dak Sut, 11/7/64)
Heat. Bugs. Bullshit.
Dak Sut featured peasants. Dak Sut featured clay-mud. Dak Sut featured thirty-three huts.
ARVNs called peasants que lam. Chaffee called ARVNs "Marvin." Pete called them "Marv." Chuck called them "Marv." Bob Relyea called them "Sahib."
Wayne itched. Wayne slapped bugs. Wayne scoped Dak Sut. He saw pigs. He saw rice bins. He saw the Dak Poko River.
A bridge. Brown water. Thick jungle ahead.
They flew up. Three Marvs came along. Chaffee hired a Huey. The pilot slurped wine. Chuck and Bob tossed hate tracts out.
Wayne itched. Wayne slapped bugs. Wayne wore fatigues and a .45. Wayne packed a 12-gauge pump.
GI gear--kadre kustomized. Dum-dums and beehive rounds--steel darts encased.
Laos was close. The Marvs knew the way. The Marvs had their guide--some ex-Cong stashed in a hut.
Tran Dinh camped near Saravan. Tran Dinh had men. Tran Dinh had two Hueys prepped. They'd fly to Joe Warlord's camp. They'd "negotiate."
Wayne itched. Wayne slapped bugs. Wayne scoped Dak Sut. Peasants hovered. Mesplede dispensed Kools. Pete hit hut 16. Pete hauled the Cong out.
Chuck deshackled him. Bob rigged a collar. The Marvs leashed him up. Nice collar--poodle-sized and spiked.
Chuck fucked with the leash. Chuck laid some slack in. Chuck cinched the Cong up.
Wayne walked over. The Cong wore black pj's. The Cong wore torture cuts.
Chuck said, "Bow wow."
Bob sang "Walkin' the Dog."
They moved out.