Littell listened.
Hughes continued.
Littell didn’t even try to respond.
81
Pete held the flashlight. Freddy replaced the dial housing. The work went down bite-your-nails nervous and slow.
Freddy fucked with some loose wires. “I hate Pacific Bell phones. I hate night jobs and working in the dark. I hate bedroom extensions, because the goddamn cords get tangled up behind the goddamn bed.”
“Don’t complain, just do it.”
“My screwdriver keeps jamming. And are you sure Littell wants us to tap both extensions?”
Pete said, “Just do it. Two extensions and a pickup box outside. We’ll stash it in those shrubs by the driveway. If you quit complaining, we can be out of here in twenty minutes.”
Freddy gouged his thumb. “Fuck. I hate Pacific Bell phones. And Lenny don’t have to use his home phones to rat us. He can rat us in person or rat us from a pay phone.”
Pete gripped down on the flashlight. The beam wiggled and jumped.
“You fucking stop complaining, or I’ll shove this fucking thing up your ass.”
Freddy flinched and bumped a shelf. A Hush-Hush clipping file went flying.
“All right, all right. You been jumpy since you got off the airplane, so I’ll only say it once. Pacific Bell phones are the shits. When you tap their lines, half the time the incoming callers can hear clicks. It’s fucking unavoidable. And who’s going to monitor the pickup box?”
Pete rubbed his eyes. He was nursing an on-and-off migraine since the night he killed Wilfredo Delsol.
“Littell can get some Feds to watch the box. We only need to check it every few days.”
Freddy bent a lamp over the phone. “Go watch the door. I can’t work with you standing over me.”
Pete walked into the living room. His headache popped him right between the eyes.
He popped two aspirin. He washed them down with Lenny’s cognac, straight from the bottle.
The stuff went down smooth. Pete knocked back a short refill.
His headache de-torqued. The veins above his eyes stopped pulsing.
Santo bought the charade so far. Santo never said how Delsol fucked him.
Santo said Sam G. got fucked, too. He didn’t mention hijacked dope or fifteen dead men. He didn’t say some big Outfit guys cozied up to Fidel Castro.
He said he had to cut the Cadre loose.
“Just for now, Pete. I’ve heard there’s Federal pressure coming down. I want to extricate out of narcotics for a while.”
The man just imported two hundred pounds of Big “H.” The man was talking up extrication with a straight face.
Santo showed him a police report. The Miami fuzz bought the charade. They considered it one grisly dope killing-with assumed Cuban exile perpetrators.
Boyd and Nйstor went back to Mississippi. The dope was stashed in forty safe-deposit boxes.
They resumed their Whack Castro training. They didn’t care that the Outfit dug Fidel now. They didn’t seem to know that there were men who could make them stop.
Their fear wasn’t screwed on tight.
His was.
They didn’t know you don’t fuck with the Outfit.
He did.
He always sucked up to men with REAL power. He never broke the rules they set. He had to do what he did-but he didn’t know WHY.
Santo swore vengeance. Santo said he’d find the dope thieves-whatever it cost, whatever it took.
Boyd thought they could sell the dope. Boyd was wrong. Boyd said he’d snitch the Mob-Agency links. Boyd said he could level out Bobby’s rage.
He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. He’d never risk losing stature with the Kennedys.
Pete took another drink. His three shots killed a third of the bottle.
Freddy lugged his tools out. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you back to your hotel.”
“You go. I want to take a walk.”
“Where to?”
“I don’t know.”
o o o
The Rabbit’s Foot Club was a hotbox-four walls trapping smoke and stale air. Underaged Twisters ruled the dance floor-a big liquor-law infraction.
Joey and the boys played half on-the-nod. Barb was singing some dippy wah-wah tune. A single sad-ass hooker sat at the bar.
Barb spotted him. She smiled and fumbled some lyrics.
The only half-private booth in the room was occupied. Two Marines and two high-school girls-ripe for eviction.
Pete told them to shove off. They caught his size and did it The girls left their fruity rum drinks on the table.
Pete sat down and sipped at them. His headache leveled off a bit more. Barb closed with a weak “Twilight Time” cover.
A few Twisters clapped. The combo dispersed backstage. Barb walked straight over and joined him.
Pete slid close to her. Barb said, “I’m surprised. Ward said you were in Miami.”
“I thought I’d come out and see how things were going.”
“You mean you thought you’d check up on me?”
Pete shook his head. “Everybody thinks you’re solid. Freddy Turentine and I came out to check on Lenny.”
Barb said, “Lenny’s in New York. He’s visiting a friend.”
“A woman named Laura Hughes?”
“I think so. Some rich woman with a place on Fifth Avenue.”
Pete toyed with his lighter. “Laura Hughes is Jack Kennedy’s half-sister. She used to be engaged to that man Kemper Boyd that Jack told you about. Boyd was Ward Littell’s FBI mentor. My old girlfriend Gail Hendee slept with Jack on his honeymoon. Lenny gave Jack speech lessons back in ‘46.”
Barb took one of Pete’s cigarettes. “You’re saying this is all too cozy for words.”
Pete gave her a light. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Barb tossed her hair back. “Did Gail Hendee work gigs with you?”
“Yes.”
“Divorce gigs?”
“That’s right.”
“Was she as good as me?”
“No.”
“Were you jealous that she slept with Jack Kennedy?”
“Not until Jack fucked me personally.”
“What are you saying?”
“That I had a personal stake in the Bay of Pigs.”
Barb smiled. Bar light twinkled off her hair.
“Are you jealous of Jack and me?”
“If I hadn’t heard the tapes I might have been.”
“What are you saying?”
“That you’re not giving him anything real.”
Barb laughed. “This nice Secret Service man always drives me back to where I’m staying. We stopped for pizza last time.”
“You’re saying that’s real?”
“Only compared to an hour with Jack.”
The jukebox fired up. Pete reached over and pulled the plug.
Barb said, “You blackmailed Lenny into this.”
“He’s used to getting blackmailed.”
“You’re nervous. You’re tapping your knee against the table, and you don’t even know you’re doing it.”
Pete stopped. His fucking foot started twitching to compensate.
Barb said, “Does our thing scare you?”
Pete jammed his knees down steady. “It’s something else.”
“Sometimes I think you’ll kill me when all this is over.”
“We don’t kill women.”
“You killed a woman once. Lenny told me.”
Pete flinched. “And you cozied up to Joey so he’d buy hits on those guys who raped your sister.”
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t move. She didn’t show a fucking ounce of fear.
“I should have known you’d be the one to care.”
“What are you saying?”
“That I wanted to see if Jack cared enough to do the checking that you did.”
Pete shrugged. “Jack’s a busy man.”
“So are you.”
“Does it bug you that Johnny Coates is still alive?”
“Only when I think of Margaret. Only when I think that she’ll never let a man touch her.”
Pete felt the floor dip.
Barb said, “Tell me what you want.”
Pete said, “I want you.”
o o o