Pete said, “Don’t treat this like a joke.”
Littell said, “Don’t think Sam will let you walk for the Tony job.”
Pete said, “Don’t think that Sam still likes Jack, or that he’d lift a finger to help him. Sam bought Jack West Virginia and Illinois, but that was a long time ago, and Bobby’s been goddamn unfriendly to the Outfit since then.”
Lenny weaved into the cart. Littell steadied him.
Lenny pushed him away. “Sam and Bobby must have something cooking, ‘cause Sam said the Outfit’s been doing some work to help Bobby out with Cuba, but Bobby doesn’t know about it, and Sam said, ‘We sort of think he should be told.’”
Pete caught a quick flash:
The Whack Fidel auditions. Three Ouffit biggies, bored and noncommittal.
Littell said, “Lenny, you’re drunk. You’re not making any-”
Pete cut him off. “What else did Giancana say about Bobby Kennedy and Cuba?”
Lenny leaned against the door. “Nothing. I just heard two seconds of this conversation he was having with Butch Montrose.”
“When?”
“Last week. I went to Chicago for a Teamster smoker.”
Littell said, “Forget about Cuba.” Lenny weaved and flashed the V-for-victory sign.
“Viva Fidel! Down with the U.S. imperialist insect!”
Pete slapped him.
Littell said, “‘Barb, this is Jack.’ And remember what we’ll do if you betray us.”
Lenny spat out some gold bridgework.
o o o
The combo played way off-key. Pete figured they were zorched on his Dilaudid.
The Reef Club rocked. Twist nuts had the floor shaking.
Barb danced close to chaste by her standards. Pete figured the potential gig had her distracted.
Littell commandeered a wraparound bar booth. Barb waved when she saw them walk in.
Pete drank beer. Littell drank club soda. Amplifier boom shook their table.
Pete yawned. He got a room at the Statler and slept through the day and half the evening.
Hoffa sent two grand to Fred Otash. Littell wrote a note to Hoover and sent it via Jimmy’s FBI contact.
The note said, We want to install bugs and wiretaps. The note said, We want to fuck one of YOUR MAJOR ENEMIES.
Hoffa retained Fred Turentine. Freddy was set to tap phones and plant bugs where needed.
Pete yawned. Lenny’s Bobby/Cuba pitch kept twisting through his head.
Littell nudged him. “She’s got the looks.”
“And the style.”
“How smart is she?”
“A lot smarter than my last extortion partner.”
Barb worked the “Frisco Twist” into a crescendo. Her junkie backup group kept playing like she wasn’t even there.
She walked off stage. Twist clowns jostled her across the dance floor. A horny geek followed her and scoped out her cleavage close up.
Pete waved. Barb slid into the booth next to him.
Pete said, “Miss Lindscott, Mr. Littell.”
Barb lit a cigarette. “It’s technically ‘Jahelka.’ When my mother-in-law dies, I’ll go back to ‘Lindscott.’”
Littell said, “I like ‘Lindscott.’”
Barb said, “I know. It fits my face better.”
“Have you ever worked as an actress?”
“No.”
“What about that charade with Lenny Sands and Rock Hudson?”
“I only had to fool the police and spend a night in jail.”
“Was two thousand dollars worth the risk?”
Barb laughed. “Compared to four hundred dollars for three Twist shows a night, six nights a week?”
Pete pushed his beer and pretzels aside. “You’ll make a lot more than two thousand dollars with us.”
“For doing what? Besides sleeping with some powerful man, I mean.”
Littell leaned toward her. “It’s high risk, but it’s only temporary.”
“So? The Twist is temporary and boring.”
Littell smiled. “If you met President Kennedy and wanted to impress him, how would you act?”
Barb blew three perfect smoke rings. “I’d act profane and funny.”
“What would you wear?”
“Flat heels.”
“Why?”
“Men like women they can look down to.”
Littell laughed. “What would you do with fifty thousand dollars?”
Barb laughed. “I’d wait out the Twist.”
“Suppose you get exposed?”
“Then I’ll figure that you’re worse than whoever we’re shaking down and keep my mouth shut.”
Pete said, “It won’t come to that.”
Barb said, “What won’t?”
Pete fought this urge to touch her. “You’ll be safe. This is one of those high-risk things that gets settled nice and quiet.”
Barb leaned close to him. “Tell me what ‘it’ is. I know what it is, but I want to hear you say it.”
She brushed his leg. The contact made his whole body flutter.
Pete said, “It’s you and Jack Kennedy. You’ll meet him at a party at Peter Lawford’s house in two weeks. You’ll be wearing a microphone, and if you’re as good as I think you are, that will just be the start of it.”
Barb took their hands and squeezed them. Her look said, Pinch me, am I dreaming?
“Am I some kind of Republican Party shill?”
Pete laughed. Littell laughed harder.
DOCUMENT INSERT: 2/18/62. Verbatim FBI telephone call transcript: “TAPED AT THE DIRECTOR’S REQUEST”/”DIRECTOR’S EYES ONLY.” Speaking: Director J. Edgar Hoover, Ward J. Littell.
JEH: Mr. Littell?
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: Your communique was quite bold.
WJL: Thank you, Sir.
JEH: I had no idea you were employed by Mr. Hoffa and Mr. Marcello.
WJL: Since last year, Sir.
JEH: I will not comment on the attendant irony.
WJL: I would call it manifest, Sir.
JEH: That is apt. Am I correct in assuming that the ubiquitous and quite overextended Kemper Boyd secured you this employment?
WJL: Yes, Sir. You are correct.
JEH: I bear Mr. Marcello and Mr. Hoffa no ill will. I have viewed the Dark Prince’s crusade against them to be ill-conceived from the start.
WJL: They know that, Sir.
JEH: Am I correct in assuming that you have undergone an apostasy concerning the brothers?
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: Am I to assume that the promiscuous King Jack is the target of your operation?
WJL: That is correct, Sir.
JEH: And the fearsome Pete Bondurant is your partner In this endeavor?
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: I will not comment on the attendant irony.
WJL: Sir, do we have your approval?
JEH: You do. And you, personally, have my astonishment.
WJL: Thank you, Sir.
JEH: Is the apparatus in place?
WJL: Yes, Sir. So far we’ve only been able to wire the Carlyle, and until our plant makes contact with the target and facilitates the affair, we don’t really know where they’ll be coupling.
JEH: If they couple at all.
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: Your note mentioned certain hotels.
WJL: Yes, Sir, the El Encanto and Ambassador-East. I know that our target likes to take women to those hotels, and I know that the Bureau retains standing bugs at both locations.
JEH: Yes, although the Dark King now likes to cavort in the Presidential Suites.
WJL: I hadn’t thought of that, Sir.
JEH: I’ll have trustworthy Bureau men install the apparatus and monitor it. And I will share my tapes with you, if you forward copies of your Carlyle tapes to me.
WJL: Of course, Sir.
JEH: Have you considered wiring the first brother-in-law’s beach house?
WJL: It’s impossible, Sir. Fred Turentine can’t get in to install the microphones.
JEH: When will your plant meet the Dark King?
WJL: Tomorrow night, Sir. At the beach house you just mentioned.
JEH: Is she attractive?
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: I hope she’s wily and resilient and impervious to the boy’s charm.
WJL: I think she’ll do a fine job, Sir.
JEH: I’m quite anxious to hear her on tape.
WJL: I’ll forward only the best transcriptions, Sir.
JEH: You have my admiration. Kemper Boyd taught you well.