(Bon Secour, 7/22/65)
Boats: Charter jobs. Teak hulls and big motors. Forty slips / thirty bare / thirty boats out.
Pete strolled dockside. Pete scoped slip 19. There's the Ebbtide. It runs fifty feet. Dig those high gunwales.
Nice shit. Mounted poles and cargo space. Spiffy brass fittings.
A guy worked on deck. He was mid-size. He ran mid-forties. He had a bum leg. He had a bad limp.
It was hot. The air dripped. Clouds densified. Mobile Bay--Shitsville--bait shacks and congestion.
Pete strolled deckside. Pete scoped slip 19.
He traced Jane's call. He flew in. He ran checks. "Dave Burgess" owned the Ebbtide. "Dave Burgess" chartered out. "Dave Burgess" knew guys in New Orleans. Add 2 and 2. Add D.B. "Dave Burgess" was Danny Bruvick.
The T&C Corp owned the Ebbtide. Carlos owned T&C. Carlos was New Orleans.
He bribed a cop. He checked phone sheets. He ran phone checks. "Burgess" was good. "Burgess" used pay phones--right of f the dock.
"Burgess" called Carlos. "Burgess" called Carlos frequent. "Burgess" called Carlos four times last month.
Pete walked slip 19. "Burgess" scrubbed fishhooks. Pete stepped on deck. "Burgess" looked up.
He tweaked a bit. He perked a bit. His antennae twitched.
That speargun--watch.
"Burgess" reached for it. "Burgess" grabbed. "Burgess" nailed the grip. Pete aimed. Pete kicked out. Pete nailed the grip.
The speargun skittered. "Burgess" said, "Shit."
Pete walked up. Pete grabbed the speargun. Pete popped the spear out to sea.
"Burgess" said, "Fuck."
Pete pulled his shirt up. Pete showed his piece.
"You're thinking 'Jimmy Hoffa sent this guy,' and you're wrong."
"Burgess" sucked a thumbnail. "Burgess" flexed his hand. Pete checked the boat out. The boat enticed. The boat seduced.
Nice: Steel hull/grappling posts/fittings. Nice: Hardwood from the Philippines.
"Burgess" flexed his wrist. "She's an old rum-runner. She's got all the--"
Pete pulled his shirt up. Pete showed his piece. Pete pointed belowdeck. "Burgess" stood up. "Burgess" sighed. "Burgess" squared his bum leg and limped.
He wore shorts. Dig his scars. Dig his bullet-pocked knee.
He crossed the deck. He passed the wheelhouse. He took back stairs down. Pete tailed him. Pete scoped details.
Two wheel stands/control posts/full instruments. Teak walls/hall space/rear cabins. Rear engines/rear storage/rear cargo traps.
Pete walked ahead. Pete saw an office: two chairs/one desk/one booze shelf.
He pulled "Burgess" in. He grabbed a chair. He pushed "Burgess" down. He tucked "Burgess" in. He poured a libation.
The boat swayed. Pete sloshed Cutty. "Burgess" grabbed it. "Burgess" drained it. "Burgess" liquor-flushed.
Pete poured a refill. Pete poured big. "Burgess" refueled. "Burgess" sucked Cutty up.
Pete cocked his piece. "You're Danny Bruvick. I'm Pete Bondurant, and we've got some friends in common."
Bruvick burped. Bruvick flushed. Bruvick vibed lush.
Pete twirled his piece. "I want the whole story of you, 'Arden,' and Carlos Marcello. I want to know why Arden is shacked up with Ward Littell."
Bruvick eyed the bottle. Pete poured him a pop. Bruvick refueled. The boat dipped. Bruvick doused his lap.
"You shouldn't let me drink too much. I might get courageous."
Pete shook his head. Pete pulled his silencer. Pete tapped his piece. Bruvick gulped. Bruvick pulled beads out. Bruvick rosaried.
Pete shot the Cutty. Pete shot the Gilbey's. Pete shot the Jack D. Bottles spritzed. Teakwood cracked. Soft-points tore holes.
The room shook--sonic booms--the boat aftershocked.
Bruvick spazzed out. Bruvick squeezed his beads. Bruvick grabbed his ears.
Pete pulled his hands down. "Start with Arden. Give me her real name and lay out some perspective."
Bruvick sneezed. Gunpowder tickled noses. Gun cordite stung.
"Her real name's Arden Breen. Her old man was a labor agitator. You know, a Commie type."
Pete cracked his knuckles. "Keep going."
Bruvick tossed his hair. Glass shards flew.
"Her mother died. She got rheumatic fever. The old man raised Arden. He was a drunk and a whore chaser. He had a different name for every day of the week, and he raised Arden in whorehouses and union halls, meaning bad union halls, meaning the old man talked Red, but cut management deals every chance he got, which was--"
"Arden. Get back to her."
Bruvick rubbed his knees. "She quit school early, but she always had a head for figures. She met these two whores who went to the bookkeeping school I went to in Mississippi and picked up some skills from them. She kept some whorehouse and union hall books, you know, gigs her old man got her. She'd work these classier houses and spy on the johns. She'd pump them for stock tips and shit like that. She was good at anything involving numbers and ledgers. You know, money calculations."
Pete cracked his thumbs. "Get to it. You're working up to something."
Bruvick rubbed his bad knee. Scar tissue pulsed.
"She started working in some classier houses. She met this money guy Jules Schiffrin. He was tied in with--"
"I know who he was."
"Okay, so she started tricking with him regular. He kept her, you know, and she met lots of people in the Life, and she helped him with these socalled 'real' pension-fund books that he was working on."
Pete cracked his wrists. "Keep going."
Bruvick rubbed his knee. "Her old man got killed in '52. He screwed Jimmy H. on a management deal, so Jimmy had him clipped. Arden didn't care. She hated the old man for his goddamn hypocrisy and the shitty way he raised her."
The boat pitched. Pete grabbed the desk.
"Arden and Schiffrin. Spill on that."
"Spill what? She learned what she could from him and broke it off."
"And?"
"And she started hooking freelance, and got a thing going with Carlos. I met her in '55. We had mutual friends in those whores who went to school with me. I was working the K.C. local. We got married and cooked up some plans."
"Like 'Let's embezzle Jimmy.'"
Bruvick lit a cigarette. "I admit it wasn't the smartest--"
"You got caught. Jimmy put a contract out."
"Right. Some guys cornered me and shot me. I got away, but I almost lost my leg, and the fucking contract's still out."
Pete lit a cigarette. "Jimmy had the K.C. cops run Arden in. Carlos bailed her out and hid you. He didn't fuck with Jimmy's contract, because he wanted a wedge on you."
Bruvick nodded. Bruvick scoped the booze shelf.
"You're a hump. You wasted my liquor."
Pete smiled. Pete aimed. Pete cocked his piece. Pete shot Bruvick's chair.
The legs sheared. The chair crashed. Wood shattered. Bruvick tumbled. Bruvick yelped. Bruvick rosaried.
Pete blew smoke rings. "Carlos set up your charter business. What happened to Arden then?"
The boat pitched. Bruvick dropped his beads.
"She didn't trust Carlos. She didn't want to owe him, so she split to Europe. We worked out a pay-phone thing and kept in touch that way."
Pete coughed. "She came back to the States. She couldn't give up the Life."
"Right. She landed in Dallas. She got in trouble there, like late in '63. She wouldn't say what happened."
Pete flicked his cigarette. Pete nailed Bruvick flush.
"Come on, Danny. Don't make me get ugly."
Bruvick stood up. His knee went. He stumbled. He braced the wall. He slid back and sat.
He rubbed his knee. He snuffed Pete's cigarette.
"That's straight. She wouldn't tell me what happened. All I know is she hooked up with Littell, then around that time Carlos found her. He said we'd both be safe if she watchdogged Littell, but he still refused to square us with Jimmy."
Solid. Confirmed. Two-front blackmail. Jimmy's contract/the safehouse snafu. Arden--that first name unique.
Carlos knows Arden. Carlos makes her name. Carlos distrusts Littell. Carlos finds Arden. Carlos plants Arden. Arden spies on Littell.
It vibed solid--90%--it vibed incomplete.
Pete said, "I don't want Littell to get hurt."
Bruvick stood up. His bad knee held.
"I don't think Arden does, either. She's playing out some weird thing with him."
He called Carlos. He got Frau M. He left a message: I braced D.B.--Danny the boat man--tell Carlos that. Tell him I'll be by. Say I'd love to chat.
He drove to New Orleans. He stopped in libraries. He studied books en route.
Boats: Galleys/bridges/radar/trawl decks/scuppers/masts.
He studied the nomenclature. He studied engine stats. He studied maps. Pine Island/Cape Sabel/Key West. Pit stops--Cuba due south.
He detoured. He cruised by Port Sulphur. He saw Tiger Kamp South. He saw the troops. He saw Flash and Laurent. He met Fuentes and Arredondo. They talked night raids. They talked scalp runs. They talked insurgency.
Wayne was in Saigon--one fast rotation--one scheduled run back. Wayne loves to WATCH. Wayne wants to GO. Wayne wants to SEE Cuba up close.
Flash had a plan. I'll do a speedboat run. I'll drop Fuentes and Arredondo. Fast--off the north shore--Varcadero Beach.
They reinfiltrate. They build drop zones. They recruit internal. They speedboat back. They funnel arms. They bounce off the Keys. They pull a boat hitch. They lug guns. They fly fast and low. They shuttle. They duck radar--six runs a week.
Pete said no. Pete said why: It's high mileage/it wastes two men/it's low capacity.
Flash said, "Que?"
Laurent said, "Quoi?"