Pete laughed. Dougie Frank scratched his snowy-white beard. “How come I’m the one who had to dress up like Santa Claus?”

“I couldn’t find a red suit my size.”

“You could have dressed up one of the Cubans.”

“Come on. A spic Santa Claus?”

“I think this job is degrading.”

Pete pulled into a ratty dirt playground. Some colored kids saw Santa and went gaga.

Dougie Frank got out and lobbed turkeys at them. The kids ran up and tugged at his beard.

o o o

The local whites got turkeys. The local jigs got turkeys. The Blessington cops got turkeys and hijack Jim Beam.

The trainees got turkey dinners and Trojan prophylactics. Santo Junior sent down a Christmas treat: a busload of Tampa whores. Forty-four men and forty-four hookers made for squeaks off forty-four bunks.

Pete sent the girls home at midnight. Lockhart burned a Yuletide cross out in the boonies. Pete got an urge to hit Cuba and kill Commies.

He called Fulo in Miami. Fulo dug, the idea. Fulo said, I’ll round up some guys and drive down.

Chuck Rogers flew a load of dope in. Pete gassed up the lead speedboat.

Lockhart cruised by with some moonshine. Pete and Chuck traded chugs. Nobody smoked-the shit might ignite.

They sat on the dock. Floodlights lit up the whole campsite.

A trainee screamed in his sleep. Embers blew down off the cross. Pete remembered Xmas ‘45: The L.A. Sheriff’s signed him on fresh out of the Marine Corps.

Fulo’s car dipsy-doodled across the runway. Chuck stacked Tonuny guns and ammo by the dock moorings.

Dougie Frank said, “Can I go?”

Pete said, “Sure.”

Delsol, Obregуn and Fulo piled out of the Chevy. They walked sway-bellied-blitzed by too much beer and turkey.

They waddled over to the dock. Tomбs Obregуn wore shades-at 2:00 a.m. Shades and long sleeves-on a half-assed balmy night.

A dog barked out in the sticks. Chuck Rogers mimicked hound yelps like this late-nite cracker deejay he grooved on. Everybody traded holiday back slaps.

Pete slapped Obregуn’s shades off. The fuck had dope-pinned eyes-floodlight glare nailed them clean.

Obregуn froze. Rogers threw a choke hold on him.

Nobody talked. Nobody had to-the picture spread rбpidamente.

Obregуn squirmed. Fulo jerked his sleeves up. Skin-pop tracks ran down his arms, red and ugly.

Everybody looked at Delsol-Obregуn’s fucking cousin. The picture spread: Let him do it.

Chuck let Obregуn go. Pete handed his gun to Delsol.

Obregуn trembled and almost teetered off the dock. Delsol shot him six times in the chest.

He spun into the water. Steam hissed out his exit wounds.

Fulo dove in and scalped him.

Delsol looked away.

38

A Christmas tree grazed the ceiling. Spray-on snowflakes dusted a huge pile of gifts.

Kemper sipped eggnog. Jack said, “Holidays make you sad, I can tell.”

“Not exactly.”

“My parents overdid having children, but yours should have had the foresight to give you a sibling or two.”

“I had a younger brother. He died in a hunting accident.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“My father and I were stalking deer near our summer place. We kept getting glimpses, and kept firing through brush. One of the glimpses was Compton Wickwire Boyd, age eight. He was wearing a tan jacket and a hat with white ear flaps. It was October 19, 1934.”

Jack looked away. “Kemper, I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it. You said you wanted to talk, and I have to leave for New York in an hour. That story is a guaranteed conversation-stopper.”

The den was overheated. Jack inched his chair away from the fireplace.

“You’re meeting Laura?”

“Yes. My daughter’s having Christmas dinner with some friends in South Bend, then going on a ski trip. She’ll be joining Laura and I in New York.”

Pete’s ring was buffed and polished. He was set to pop the question tonight.

“You and Laura were a hell of a shock.”

“But you’re getting used to it?”

“I think everyone is, to one degree or another.”

“You’re nervous, Jack.”

“I’m announcing in eight days. Obstacles keep popping up in my mind, and I keep wondering how to deal with them.”

“For instance?”

“West Virginia. What do I say to a goal miner who says, ‘Son, I heard your daddy’s one of the richest men in America, and you never had to work a day in your life?’”

Kemper smiled. “You say, ‘That’s true.’ And a grizzled old character actor that we plant in the crowd says, ‘And son, you ain’t missed a damn thing.’”

Jack roared. Kemper snapped to a connection: Giancana and Trafficante ran big blocks of West Virginia.

“I know some people down there who might be able to help you.”

“Then indebt me to them in unconscionable ways, so I can embrace my genetic fate as a corrupt Irish politician.”

Kemper laughed. “You’re still nervous. And you said you wanted to talk to me, which implied a serious discussion.”

Jack rocked his chair back and brushed fake snow off his sweater. “We’ve been thinking of Mr. Hoover. We were thinking he knows the story of Laura’s parentage.”

Devil’s Advoфate clicked in, automatically. “He’s known for years. He knows I’m seeing Laura, and he told me the facts of her parentage before she did.”

Bobby’s kids romped through the room. Jack shooed them out and toed the door shut.

“That voyeuristic little faggot cocksucker.”

Kemper ad-libbed. “He also knows about all your paternity buyouts, and most of your sustained affairs. Jack, I’m your best hedge against Hoover. He likes me and trusts me, and all he wants is to keep his job if you’re elected.”

Jack tapped a humidor on his chin. “Dad’s got himself halfconvinced that Hoover sent you over to spy on us.”

“Your dad’s no dummy.”

“What?”

“Hoover caught me skimming off a car-theft investigation and retired me early. I applied for the McClellan Committee job on my own, and Hoover started keeping tabs on me. He learned I was seeing Laura and asked me for information on you. I said no, and Hoover said, ‘You owe me one.’”

Jack nodded. His look said: Yes, I’ll buy that.

“Dad had a private detective follow you around Manhattan. The man said you keep a suite at the St. Regis.”

Kemper winked. “The way you live rubs off, Jack. I’ve got a pension, a salary and stock dividends, and I’m courting an expensive woman.”

“You’re in Florida a good deal.”

“Hoover has me spying on pro-Castro groups. It’s that ‘one’ I owe him.”

“That’s why you’re so hipped on Cuba as a campaign issue.”

“Right. I think Castro’s a goddamned menace, and I think you should take a hard line against him.”

Jack lit his cigar. His look said: Thank God this is over.

“I’ll tell Dad it’s all okay. He wants a promise, though.”

“Which is?”

“That you won’t marry Laura any time soon. He’s afraid reporters might get nosy.”

Kemper handed him the ring. “Keep this for me. I was planning to ask Laura tonight, but I guess I’ll have to wait until you’re elected.”

Jack slipped it in his pocket. “Thanks. Does this mean you’re out a Christmas gift?”

“I’ll pick something up in New York.”

“There’s an emerald pin under the tree there. Laura looks good in green, and Jackie won’t miss it.”