"This is Francois. He's half French, and I think he likes boys, which don't discredit all the fine shit he's got for sale."
Francois wore pink pj's. Francois wore hair curlers. Francois wore Chanel No. 5.
Chuck vamped him. "Hey, sweetcakes, have we met before? Did you take my ticket at Grauman's Chinese?"
Francois said, "Fuck you. You cheap Charlie. American Punk No. 10."
Chuck howled. Flash yukked. Mesplede roared. Pete took Bob aside.
"What have we got?"
"We got .50-caliber HMGs, MMGs up the wazoo, M-l32 flamethrowers with replacement parts, .45-caliber SMGs with 30-round magazines, a fucking shitload of M-14s and 34 M-79 grenade launchers."
Pete looked over. Pete saw six pallets--fat under dropcloths.
"You figure six planeloads?"
"I figure six big planeloads, 'cause each stack has two stacks behind it, and we got to string out the flights to keep Wayne's shit going in."
Pete lit a cigarette. "Run down the quality."
"It's just below Army standard, which is what we want, 'cause then it qualifies as surplus, which means it won't draw no suspicion when it goes through Nellis."
Pete walked over. Pete pulled dropcloths. Pete smelled cosmoline. Wood crates/nailed planks/stencil-mark designations.
Bob walked over. "It goes to Nellis, right? Some EM unload it and drive to an Agency drop."
"Right. They won't know that they're transporting covert, so we've got to hide the shit in with some stuff they won't want to pilfer."
Bob scratched his balls. "Flamethrower parts. I got to say there ain't much demand for them in Lost Wages."
Pete nodded. Pete whistled. Pete cued Mesplede. Mesplede grabbed Francois and bartered in.
Pete signaled--six loads/six payments.
Mesplede bartered. Francois bartered. Mesplede bartered back. They talked polyglot--French-Viet--diphthongs and shouts.
Pete walked up. Pete listened. He got the bonnes affaires. He got the tham thams. He got the Lyonnaise slang.
Francois rolled his eyes. Francois stamped his feet. Francois steamed up his pajamas. Mesplede rolled his eyes. Mesplede balled his fists. Mesplede smoked three Gauloises.
Francois went hoarse. Mesplede went hoarse. They coughed. They slapped backs. They bowed.
Francois said, "Okay, big daddy-o."
They drove back. They talked shit. They cut through Bien Hoa. The Cong hit ten days back--mortars predawn.
The stretch got close. They saw the mess. They saw flags at half-mast.
They cut back. They laughed. They slugged Bacardi. They told tales--Paraguay to Pigs--they goofed on CIA gaffes.
It's '62. Let's pluck the Beard. Let's shave him impotent. Let's dope the water. Let's spook the spics. Let's stage a visit from Christ.
They laughed. They drank. They vowed to free Cuba. They stopped and hit the Go-Go.
There's Wayne.
He's alone--per usual. He's pissed--per always. He's watching Bongo and his whores.
64.
(Las Vegas, 11/22/64)
One year.
He knew it. Jane knew it. They never said it.
Littell drove to Tiger Kab. Littell played the radio. Radio pundits assessed. One fool stressed Jackie. One fool stressed the kids. One fool stressed innocence lost.
Jane drove to Vegas. Jane holed up. Jane stayed in his suite. They called it "Thanksgiving." The date hit. They never factored it in.
The papers rehashed it. The IV rehashed it. It rehashed all day. He left early. Jane kissed him. Jane turned on the TV. He returned late. Jane kissed him. Jane turned off the TV.
They talked. They skirted it. They discussed prosaics. Jane was mad. He'd coaxed her to Vegas. He'd coaxed her for IT.
He said he had business. He kissed Jane and walked out. He heard Jane turn on the TV Littell killed the radio. Littell cruised by Tiger Kab. Littell perched across the street.
He parked. He watched the hut. He saw Barb B. There's Barb in lounge garb--heels put her over six feet.
Milt Chargin ran shtick. Barb laughed. Barb palmed a package. Barb grabbed an outgoing cab. Tiger stripes--Miami West--all roads to Cuba.
Littell watched the hut. Drivers walked through--fey minions of tolerant Pete. Pete collected strays. Pete ignored their faults. Pete courted diversion. Pete said he clocked Betty's visits. Pete said he clocked Betty gone.
Two hours tops--don't kill what you can't suppress.
Littell watched the hut. A cab pulled out. Littell tailed it. The cab drove west. Littell stuck close. They hit West LV.
The cab stopped--Monroe and "J"--two men got in. The cab pulled out. Littell stuck close. They hit Tonopah Highway.
The cab stopped. The men got out. The men hit the Moulin Rouge. The cab pulled out. Littell stuck close. They drove straight back to Tiger.
Memo to Pete: No pill sales/no inferred betrayal.
Littell yawned. Littell went queasy. He skipped his dinner. Jane cooked prime rib. She'd cooked all day. She'd watched TV concurrent.
He lied his dinner off. He walked out. He invented "business."
Littell skimmed the radio. Littell caught Jack's Greatest Hits: "Ask not" and "Ich bin." The passed torch and more.
He killed the sound. He drove to the Sahara. The lounge was packed. He stood ringside. He caught Barb's closer.
Barb sang "Sugar Shack." Barb blew the crescendo. She saw him. She waved. She said, "Oops."
She was bad. She knew it. She goofed on it. She played off it. She ragged her shelf life as a chick.
Men loved her. She goofed on her height. She played off it and went knock-kneed. She was a con. She played to the men who knew it.
The Bondsmen bowed. Barb jumped off stage. A heel jammed. She teetered. Littell caught her. He felt her pulse. He smelled her soap. He felt her perspiration.
They walked to the bar. They got a booth. Littell faced the TV.
Barb lit a cigarette. "Pete's idea, right? Look in on me."
"Partially."
"Partially, how?"
"I'm killing time. I thought I'd kill it with you."
Barb smiled. "I'm not complaining. I've got forty minutes."
The TV blipped. Jack's Greatest Hits revived. Paris with Jackie. Touch football games. Romps with his kids.
Barb looked over. Barb saw the TV Barb looked straight back at Littell.
"You can't run from it."
Littell smiled. "Some of us try."
"Do you think about it?"
"It comes and goes."
"I'm all right until something reminds me. Then it gets scary."
Littell checked the screen. Jack and Bobby laughed. A waitress showed. Barb shooed her off.
"Pete never talks about it."
"We're useful. He knows it comes down to that."
Barb chained cigarettes. "Wayne knows. I figured it out."
"Did you brace him?"
"No, I just put it together."
Littell smiled. "He's in love with you."
Barb smiled. "In a tolerable way."
"We're useful. Tell yourself that the next time something reminds you."
Barb stubbed her cigarette. Barb burned her hand. She flinched and cradled it. She said, "Shit."
Littell checked her eyes. Littell saw pinholes--nerves off amphetamines.
Barb lit a cigarette. Littell checked the TV. Jack laughed. Jack worked That Old Jack Magic.
Barb said, "Jane knows."
Littell flinched. "You've never met her. And Pete wouldn't have--"
"He didn't. I heard you two being oblique and put it together."
Littell shook his head. "She's back at the hotel. She's teething on it right now."
"Do you talk about it?"
"We talk around it."
"Is she scared?"
"Yes, because she knows who did it, and there's no way she can be useful."
Barb smiled. Barb wrote "useful" in the air.
"I got a letter from Pete. He said it's going well."
"Do you know what he's doing there?"
"Yes."
"Do you approve?"