"You're mine. Nobody's got the right to care for you, and nobody's seen things in you that I didn't see first."
Barb looked at Pete. Barb scoped the wall stains behind him. Barb closed her eyes. Barb ran. Barb ran straight past Pete.
Otash said, "Dom's in the trunk. I'll lay you six to one."
Car surveillance--Fred O.'s car--the seats pushed way back. Fred O.'s tarts and Fred O.'s cologne.
They lounged. They scoped Dom's T-Bird. They scoped Sal's apartment house.
Pete said, "You're on. I say he dumped him in the desert."
Otash lit a cigarette. Smoke billowed. Pete caught the backdraft.
Barb ran. He let her. She'd run straight back. Wayne hit her. Wayne loved her. Wayne's fucking cork snapped. Wayne loved weird. Wayne was fucked up. Wayne was woman-fucked. Wayne gets muscled soon. Wayne gets lectured soon. Wayne's cork gets desnapped.
Pete yawned. Pete stretched. Pete craved Fred O.'s cigarettes.
He scrubbed the suite. He wiped the walls. He burned the rugs. He called Dom's bun boy. He played dumb. He said where's Dom at? The geek said, "Huh?" The geek didn't know. The geek knew shit from Shinola.
He talked to his bellboys. They never saw Sal. Dom signed all the room-service chits. Dom booked the suite. That was good. That played their way.
Otash said, "Sal's on the skids. What kind of movie star lives in a fucking apartment?"
Pete scoped the street. We're in West Hollywood--the fucking Swish Alps.
"You mean what kind of coin can he have?"
Otash picked his nose. "Yeah, after he spends it all on fruit hustlers and dope."
Pete cracked his knuckles. "He's got a gold Rolex."
"That'll do for a start."
The sky went dark. Rain hit. Otash rolled his window up.
"You want to hear my one concern? That he's out spilling his guts to some faggot priest or the queens at the Gold Cup."
Pete cracked his thumbs. "He's out drinking. I'll give you that."
"Dom's in the trunk. I can smell his rancid ass from here."
"The desert. A hundred says so."
"You're on."
Pete peeled off a C-note. A car pulled up. Pete made the paint job--Sal's '64 Ford.
Sal parked. Sal got out. Sal walked inside. Pete cued Otash--we roll on ten.
They ticked down. They ticked slow. They hit ten. They got out. They hauled. They ran up. They made the front door. They made the main hallway.
There's Sal. He's at his door. He's got his mail. He's got his key.
He saw them. He dropped his mail. He fumbled his key. They ran up. Pete frisked him. Otash grabbed his key.
He popped the door. He shoved Sal in. Pete grabbed a chair. Pete shoved Sal down. Otash pried his watch of f.
"This and half your pay for ,your next picture. Cheap for what it gets you."
Brash Sal: "This is a gag, right? The Friars Club sent you."
Pete said, "You know what it is."
Bold Sal: "Yeah. It's a fraternity stunt. You and Freddy joined Chi Alpha Omega."
Otash buffed the Rolex. "Think back, paisan. You'll put it together."
Wise Sal: "I get it. I split the Cavern and didn't pay the bill. You're the collection agency."
Otash said, "The Cavern. That's a start."
Cool Sal: "I get it now. I made a bit of a mess. You want a damage deposit."
Pete said, "He's getting warm."
Otash said, "He'll be hot in two seconds."
Calm Sal: "You guys make a good team. The beefcake Abbott and Costello."
Pete sighed. "The time is upon us."
Otash sighed. "Yeah, just when I started digging on the repartee."
Smart Sal: "That's a big word, Freddy. You must have learned it in goon school."
Pete said, "The trunk or the desert?"
Otash said, "We've got a bet. I say he's outside right now."
Pete said, "The desert, right? You pulled off outside Vegas."
Otash said, "There's always Griffith Park. You've got all those hills and caves."
Pete said, "I saw one of Dom's movies. That thing had to be a yard long."
Brave Sal: "Hills, yards, shit. You're talking Sanskrit."
Pete hummed "The Man I Love." Otash flopped a limp wrist.
Sharp Sal: "I didn't think you guys were that way. Jesus, that's a revelation."
Pete sighed. Otash sighed. Pete picked Sal up. Pete slapped him. Pete dropped him.
Sal spit a tooth out. Said tooth hit Pete's coat. Otash slapped Sal. Otash wore signet rings. Otash laid cuts.
Sal wiped his face. Sal blew his nose. Sal made a mess.
Pete said, "This can all go away. I work the Vegas end, Freddy watchdogs you here. I don't want bad publicity at the Cavern, you don't want a manslaughter bounce."
Sal wiped his nose. Otash supplied a hankie. Pete pulled his photos. Pete tossed them. Pete hit Sal's lap.
Dig that disarray. Dig that drain hair. Dig that blood. Dig that severed thumb.
Sal dabbed his cuts. Sal checked the pix. Sal went gray-green.
"You know, I really liked him. He was bad, but he had this sweet side."
Otash rubbed his knuckles. Otash wiped his rings.
"Us or the fuzz?"
Sal said, "You."
Otash said, "Where is he?"
Sal said, "In the trunk."
Otash drew a dollar sign. Pete paid off--the trunk/six to one.
He flew home. The ride bumped. He worried Barb and Wayne.
Barb sniffed white horse. Wayne knew it. Wayne grieved. Wayne loves Barb. Wayne eschews women. Wayne's a watcher. Wayne's a martyr. Wayne's woman-fucked.
Warn Wayne. Tell Barb soft: I know you--just me.
The plane landed. Vegas glowed radioactive. Pete cabbed to the Cavern. Pete unlocked the suite.
The cat jumped him. He picked him up. He kissed him. He saw the note.
It's flat on the wall. It's taped high. It's his eye-level.
Pete, I'm leaving you for a while to sort some things out. I'm not hiding; I'll be staying at my sister's house in Sparta. I need to get away from Vegas and figure out a way to be with you as long as you're doing the things that you do. You're not the only one who knows me, but you're the only one I love.
Barb
Pete tore the note up. Pete kicked walls and shelves. Pete hugged the cat. Pete let the cat claw his shirt.
96.
(Las Vegas, 11/29/66)
Moe Dalitz said, "Look."
Littell checked the window. Littell saw nuts below. Ten floors down. Nuts with cameras. Nuts with kids in tow.
Moe said, "They think Hughes sleeps in a coffin. They figure he'll wake up at dusk and sign autographs in his cape."
Littell laughed. Littell went ssshhh. Hush now--biz-in-progress.
Ten yards up. Two tables--Mormons meet front men.
Moe grinned. "It's my fucking hotel and my fucking king-size conference room. I'm supposed to whisper in my own joint?"
A Mormon glanced over. Moe smiled and waved.
"Goyishe shitheels. Mormons are roughly synonymous with the Ku Klux Klan."
Littell smiled. Littell steered Moe. They walked ten yards. They bypassed three tables.
"Would you like an update?"
Moe rolled his eyes. "Tell me. Use words of one syllable only."
"Short and sweet, then. I think we'll get our price. They're discussing undistributed profits tax now."