It was 1:10 now. He might have called Littell just a tad premature.

Pete sipped coffee and checked his watch every few seconds. Barb Jahelka walked in and spotted him.

Her skirt and blouse looked half-assed demure. No makeup did nice things to her face.

She sat down across from him. Pete said, “I hope you called Freddy.”

“I did.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That he’d never mess with you. And that your partners always make money.”

“Is that all he said?”

“He said you knew Lenny Sands. I called Lenny, but he wasn’t home.”

Pete pushed his coffee aside. “Did you try to kill that dyke you shivved?”

Barb smiled. “No. I wanted to stop her from touching me, and I didn’t want it to cost me the rest of my life.”

Pete smiled. “You didn’t ask me what this is all about.”

“Freddy already gave me his interpretation, and you’re paying me five hundred dollars for a chat. And by the way, Joey says, ‘Thanks for the taste.’”

A waitress hovered. Pete shooed her away. “Why do you stay with him?”

“Because he wasn’t always a drug addict. Because he arranged to have some men who hurt my sister taken care of.”

“Those are good reasons.”

Barb lit a cigarette. “The best reason is I love Joey’s mom. She’s senile, and she thinks we’re still married. She thinks Joey’s sister’s kids are our kids.”

Pete laughed. “Suppose she dies?”

“Then the day of the funeral is the day I say goodbye to Joey. He’ll have to get a new girl singer and a new chauffeur to drive him to his Nalline tests.”

“I bet that’ll break his heart.”

Barb blew smoke rings. “Over’s over. That’s a concept junkies don’t understand.”

“You understand it.”

“I know. And you’re thinking it’s a weird thing for a woman to get.”

“Not necessarily.”

Barb stubbed out her cigarette. “What’s this all about?”

“Not yet.”

“When?”

“Soon. First, you tell me about you and Peter Lawford.”

Barb toyed with her ashtray. “It was brief and ugly, and I broke it off when Peter kept pestering me to go to bed with Frank Sinatra.”

“Which you didn’t feel like doing.”

“Right.”

“Did Lawford introduce you to Jack Kennedy?”

“No.”

“Do you think he told Kennedy about you?”

“Maybe.”

“You’ve heard about Kennedy and women?”

“Sure. Peter called him ‘insatiable,’ and a showgirl I knew in Vegas told me some stories.”

Pete smelled suntan oil. Redheads and bright stage lights-

Barb said, “Where are we going with this?”

Pete said, “I’ll see you at the club tomorrow night and tell you.”

o o o

Littell met him outside Lenny’s building. Night-owl Lenny had his lights on at 3:20 a.m.

Pete said, “The woman’s great All we need is Lenny to front the introduction.”

“I want to meet her.”

“You will. Is he alone?”

Littell nodded. “He came home with a pickup two hours ago. The boy just left.”

Pete yawned-he hadn’t slept in twenty-four-plus hours. “Let’s take him.”

“Good cop-bad cop?”

“Right. Alternating, so we keep him off balance.”

They walked up to the porch. Pete rang the bell. Littell screwed a crimped ugly look on his face.

Lenny opened up. “Don’t tell me, you forgot-”

Pete pushed him inside. Littell slammed the door and threw the bolt.

Chic Lenny cinched his robe. Fey Lenny threw his head back and laughed.

“I thought we were quits, Ward. And I thought you only crawled around Chicago.”

Littell said, “We need some help. And all you have to do is introduce a man to a woman and keep quiet about it.”

“Or?”

“Or we hand you up for the Tony Iannone killing.”

Pete sighed. “Let’s do this civilized.”

Littell said, “Why? We’re dealing with a sadistic little faggot who killed a man and bit his goddamn nose off.”

Lenny sighed. “I’ve been double-teamed before. This routine is nothing new to me.”

Littell said, “We’ll try to make it interesting.”

Pete said, “Five grand, Lenny. All you have to do is introduce Barb Jahelka to another friend of yours.”

Littell popped his knuckles. Lenny said, “Give it up, Ward. Rough-trade mannerisms don’t suit you.”

Littell slapped him. Lenny slapped him back.

Pete stepped between them. They looked ridiculous-two bloody-nosed pseudo tough guys.

“Come on, you two. Let’s do this civilized.”

Lenny wiped his nose. “Your face looks different, Ward. Those scars are soooooo you.”

Littell wiped his nose. “You didn’t seem surprised when Pete mentioned Barb Jahelka.”

Lenny laughed. “That’s because I was still in shock from the notion of you two as playmates.”

Littell said, “That’s not a real answer.”

Lenny shrugged. “How’s this? Barb’s in the Life, and everybody in the Life knows everybody else in the Life.”

Pete lobbed a change-up. “Name some hotels Jack Kennedy takes his women to.”

Lenny twitched. Pete popped his thumbs double-loud.

Littell said, “Name some hotels.”

Swishy Lenny squealed, “This is sooooo fun! Hey, let’s call Kemper Boyd and make it a foursome!”

Littell slapped him. Lenny popped some tears-fag bravado, adieu.

Pete said, “Name some hotels. Don’t make me get rough with you.”

Lenny put on a lisp. “The El Encanto in Santa Barbara, the Ambassador-East in Chicago, and the Carlyle in New York.”

Littell pushed Pete into the hallway-well out of Lenny’s earshot. “Hoover’s got standing bugs in the El Encanto and Ambassador-East. The managers assign those suites to whoever he tells them to.”

Pete whispered. “He’s put it together. He knows what we want, so let’s close him.”

They walked back to the living room. Lenny was guzzling high-test Bacardi.

Littell looked ready to drool. Hoffa said he had ten months off the sauce. Lenny’s liquor cart was radioactive-rum and scotch and all kinds of good shit.

Lenny downed the juice two-handed. Pete said, “‘Jack, this is Barb. Barb, this is Jack.’”

Lenny wiped his lips. “I have to call him ‘Mr. President’ now.”

Littell said, “When was the last time you saw him?”

Lenny coughed. “A few months ago. At Peter Lawford’s beach house.”

“Does he always go by Lawford’s place when he’s in L.A.?”

“Yes. Peter throws wonderful parties.”

“Does he invite unattached women?”

Lenny giggled. “Does he ever.”

“Does he invite you?”

“Usually, dear heart. The President likes to laugh, and what the President likes, the President gets.”

Pete stepped in. “Who else goes to the parties? Sinatra and those Rat Pack guys?”

Lenny poured a stiff refill. Littell licked his lips and plugged the bottle.

Pete said, “Who else goes to those parties?”

Lenny shrugged. “Amusing people. Frank used to come, but Bobby made Jack drop him.”

Littell stepped in. “I read that Kennedy’s coming to Los Angeles on February 18th.”

“That’s true, dear heart. And guess who’s throwing a party on the 19th.”

“Were you invited, Lenny?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Does the Secret Service frisk the guests or run them through a metal detector?”

Lenny reached for the bottle. Pete grabbed it first.

“Answer Mr. Littell’s question, goddamnit.”

Lenny shook his head. “No. What the Secret Service does is eat, drink and discuss Jack’s protean sex drive.”

Pete said, “‘Barb, this is Jack. Jack, this is Barb.’”

Lenny sighed. “I’m not an imbecile.”

Pete smiled. “We’re upping your fee to ten thousand, because we know you’re way too smart to mention this to anybody.”

Littell pushed the liquor cart out of his sight “That specifically includes Sam Giancana and your Ouffit friends, Laura Hughes, Claire Boyd and Kemper Boyd, on the extreme off-chance that you run into them.”

Lenny laughed. “Kemper’s not in on this? Toooo bad-I wouldn’t mind rubbing whatevers with him again.”