Kemper made his eyes mist over. “I was thinking of my friend Ward, and these walks we’d take along the lakefront in Chicago. I’ve been missing him lately, and I think I confused the Chicago lakefront climate with Manhattan’s. What’s the matter, you look sad.”
“Oh, nothing.”
She took the bait. His Chicago/friend talk nailed her.
“Horseshit, ‘Oh, nothing.’ Laura…”
“No, really, it’s nothing.”
“Laura…”
She pulled away from him. “Kemper, it’s nothing.”
Kemper sighed. Kemper feigned perfect chagrined exasperation.
“No, it’s not, it’s Lenny Sands. Something I said reminded you of him.”
She relaxed. She was buying the whole verbal package.
“Well, when you said you knew Lenny you were evasive, and I haven’t brought him up because I thought it might bother you!’
“Did Lenny tell you that he knew me?”
“Yes, and some other nameless FBI man. He wouldn’t give me any details, but I could tell that he was afraid of you both.”
“We helped him out of trouble, Laura. There was a price. Do you want me to tell you what that price was?”
“No. I don’t want to know. It’s an ugly world that Lenny lives in… and… well, it’s just that you live in hotel suites and work for my quasi-family and God knows who else. I just wish we could be more open somehow.”
Her eyes convinced him to do it. It was dead risky but the stuff of legends.
Kemper said, “Put on that green dress I gave you.”
o o o
Pavillon was all silk brocade and candlelight. A pre-theater crowd came dressed to the nines.
Kemper slipped the maitre d’ a hundred dollars. A waiter led them back to the family’s private room.
Time stood still. Kemper posed Laura beside him and opened the door.
Joe and Bobby looked up and froze. Ava Gardner put her glass down in slow motion.
Jack smiled.
Joe dropped his fork. His soufflй exploded. Ava Gardner caught chocolate sauce on the bodice.
Bobby stood up and balled his fists. Jack grabbed his cummerbund and pulled him back into his chair.
Jack laughed.
Jack said something like, “More balls than brains.”
Joe and Bobby glowed-radioactively pissed.
Time stood still. Ava Gardner looked smaller than life.
29
He rented a suite at the Adoiphus Hotel. His bedroom faced the south side of Commerce Street and Jack Ruby’s Carousel Club.
Kemper Boyd always said DON’T SCRIMP ON SURVEILLANCE LODGING.
Littell watched the door with binoculars. It was 4:00 p.m. now, with no Live Striptease Girls until 6:00.
He’d checked Chicago-to-Dallas flight reservations. Sid Kabikoff flew in to Big D yesterday. His itinerary included a rent-a-car pickup.
His final destination was McAllen, Texas-smack on the Mexican border.
He flew down to make a smut film. He told Mad Sal that he was shooting it with Jack Ruby strippers.
Littell called in some sick time. He coughed when he talked to SAC Leahy. He purchased his airplane ticket under a pseudonym-Kemper Boyd always said COVER YOUR TRACKS.
Kabikoff told Mad Sal that “real” Fund books existed. Kabikoff told Mad Sal that Jules Schiffrin kept them. Kabikoff told Mad Sal that Jules Schiffrin knew Joe Kennedy.
It had to be a benign business acquaintance. Joe Kennedy cut a wide business swath.
Littell watched the door. An eyestrain headache slammed him. A crowd formed outside the Carousel Club.
Three muscular young men and three cheap-looking women. Sid Kabikoff himself-fat and sweaty.
They said hellos and lit cigarettes. Kabikoff waved his hands, effusive.
Jack Ruby opened the door. A dachshund ran out and took a shit on the sidewalk. Ruby kicked turds into the gutter.
The crowd moved inside. Littell visualized a rear-entry reconnaissance.
The back door was hook-and-eye latched, with slack at the door-doorjamb juncture. A dressing room connected to the club proper.
He walked across the street and hooked around to the parking lot He saw one car only: a ‘56 Ford convertible with the top down.
The registration was strapped to the steering column. The owner was one Jefferson Davis Tippit.
Dogs yapped. Ruby should rename his dive the Carousel Kennel Club. Littell walked up to the door and popped the latch with his penknife.
It was dark. A crack of light cut through the dressing room.
He tiptoed up to the source. He smelled perfume and dog effluvia. The crack was a connecting door left ajar.
He heard overlapping voices. He made out Ruby, Kabikoff and a man with a deep Texas twang.
He squinted into the light. He saw Ruby, Kabikoff and a uniformed Dallas cop-standing by a striptease runway.
Littell craned his neck. His view expanded.
The runway was packed. He saw four girls and four boys, all buck naked.
Ruby said, “J.D., are they not gorgeous?”
The cop said, “I’m partial to women exclusively, but all in all I got to agree.”
The boys stroked erections. The girls oohed and aahed. Three dachshunds cavorted on the runway.
Kabikoff giggled. “Jack, you’re a better talent scout than Major Bowes and Ted Mack combined. 100%, Jack. I’m talking no rejections for these lovelies.”
J.D. said, “When do we meet?”
Kabikoff said, “Tomorrow afternoon, say 2:00. We’ll meet at the coffee shop at the Sagebrush Motel in McAllen, and drive across to the shoot from there. What an audition! All auditions should go so smooth!”
One boy had a tattooed penis. Two girls were knife-scarred and bruised. A dogfight erupted-Ruby yelled, “No, children, no!”
o o o
Littell ordered a room-service dinner: steak, Caesar salad and Glenlivet. It was a robbery-stash splurge-and more Kemper’s style than his.
Three drinks honed his instincts. A fourth made him certain. A nightcap made him call Mad Sal in L.A.
Sal pitched a tantrum: I need money, money, money.
Littell said, I’ll try to get you some.
Sal said, Try hard.
Littell said, It’s on. I want you to refer Kabikoff for a Fund loan. Call Giancana and set up a meeting. Call Sid in thirty-six hours and confirm it.
Sal gulped. Sal oozed fear. Littell said, I’ll try to get you some money.
Sal agreed to do it Littell hung up before he started begging again.
He didn’t tell Sal that his robbery stash was down to eight hundred dollars.
Littell left a 2:00 a.m. wake-up call. His prayers ran long- Bobby Kennedy had a large family.
o o o
The drive took eleven hours. He hit McAllen with sixteen minutes to spare.
South Texas was pure hot and humid. Littell pulled off the highway and inventoried his backseat.
He had one blank-paged scrapbook, twelve rolls of Scotch tape and a Polaroid Land Camera with a long-range Rolliflex zoom lens. He had forty rolls of color film, a ski mask and a contraband FBI flashing roof light
It was a complete mobile evidence kit.
Littell eased back into traffic. He spotted the Sagebrush Motel: a horseshoe-shaped bungalow court right on the main drag.
He pulled in and parked in front of the coffee shop. He put the car in neutral and idled with the air conditioner on.
J.D. Tippit pulled in at 2:06. His convertible was overloaded: six smut kids up front and camera gear bulging out of the trunk.
They entered the coffee shop. Littell snapped a zoom-lens shot to capture the moment
The camera whirred. A picture popped out and developed in his hand in less than a minute.
Amazing-
Kabikoff pulled up and beeped his horn. Littell snapped a shot of his rear license plate.