Littell shook his head. "I don't kiss and tell."

"That's a shame, because Janice certainly does."

A ball shanked close. Wayne Senior ducked.

Littell said, "My people will be needing some men to work at Mr. Hughes' hotels, along with some new couriers. I'd like to go through your union files and look for prospects."

Wayne Senior twirled his putter. "_I'll_ pick the men. The last time we did business, my men quit the union and I lost my percentage."

Littell smiled. "I reinstated it."

"You reinstated it reluctantly, and you're the last man on God's green earth that I'd let in my files. Dwight Holly thinks you're a bad man to trust with information, and I would guess that Mr. Hoover concurs."

Littell cleaned his glasses. Wayne Senior blurred.

"I was told that you've become friends with Richard Nixon."

"Dick and I are getting close, yes."

"Do you think he'll run in '68?"

"I'm sure he will. He'd prefer to run against Johnson or Humphrey, but he'll buck the younger Kennedy if he has to."

Littell smiled. "He'll lose."

Wayne Senior smiled. "He'll win. Bobby isn't Jack by a long shot."

A ball rolled up. Littell grabbed it.

"If Mr. Nixon runs, I'll ask you to arrange a meeting with me. I'll state my clients' requests, gauge his response, and take it from there. If Mr. Nixon agrees to honor the requests, he'll be compensated."

Wayne Senior said, "How much?"

Littell said, "Twenty-five million."

97

(New Hebron, 11/30/66)

Klantics:

Klan klowns hauled guns. Klan klowns oiled guns. Klan klowns klipped koupons.

They sat around. They worked inside. They ducked a hailstorm outside. The Fьhrer Bunker-ripe with farts and gun residue.

Wayne lounged. Bob Relyea dipped numbers. Bob Relyea bitched.

"My fucking contacts are getting lazy. They want to burn the serial codes as part of the deal, that's fine with me, even though Pete don't like it. But doing the job myself is another fucking thing."

Wayne watched. Wayne yawned. Bob dabbed M-14s. Bob dabbed pumps. Bob dabbed bazookas. He wore rubber gloves. He swiped a brush. He smeared caustic goo.

Wayne watched. The goo ate numbers-three-zero codes.

Bob said, "My contacts boosted some Army trucks near Memphis. There's this little town called White Haven, where all the caucasoids moved to to get away from the spooks. Half the town's Army EM."

Wayne sneezed. The caustics stung. Wayne lounged and drifted. Wayne Senior/job deals/"Hate Smart."

Bob said, "What do you call a monkey sitting in a tree with three niggers? You call him the Branch Manager."

The Klan klods howled. Bob booted snuff. Bob dipped M-14s. Pete kalled the kompound. Pete found Wayne an hour back. Pete reworked Wayne's rotation.

Don't surveille the gun run. Don't boat to Cuba. Fly to Vegas/meet Sonny/muscle a deadbeat.

Bob packed guns. Flash was due-kadre on kall. The karavan-New Hebron to Bay St. Louis.

Wayne stood up. Wayne toured the hate hut. Dig the wall-mounted shivs. Dig the Rebel drapes. Dig the wall photos: George Wallace/Ross Barnett/Orval Faubus.

Dig the group shots. There's the Regal Knights. There's a jail pic-three cons in the "Thunderbolt Legion."

Said cons wore jail garb. Said cons grinned. Said cons signed their names: Claude Dineen/Loyal Binns/Jimmy E. Ray.

Bob said, "Hey, Wayne. You ever talk to your daddy?"

o o o

He drove north. He flew Memphis to Vegas. He thought about Janice. He thought about Barb. He thought about Wayne Senior.

Janice aged strong. Good genes and will meet carnal desires. Barb aged fast. Bad habits and will meet fucked-up desires. Wayne Senior looked old. Wayne Senior looked good. Wayne Senior had hate-smart desires.

Janice limped. She'd fuck harder now. She'd outgun her handicap. She'd compensate.

The plane touched down. Wayne got off bleary-1:10 a.m.

He walked down the ramp. He trailed some nuns. He dodged skycaps with dollies.

There's Pete. He's by the gate. He's perched by some bag carts. He's _smoking_.

Wayne hitched up his garment bag. Wayne walked over bleary.

"Put that fucking cigarette-"

Pete pushed a bag cart. It hit Wayne's knees. It capsized him. It knocked him flat. Pete ran over. Pete stepped on his chest.

"Here's the warning. I don't care what you feel for Barb or what you think she's doing to herself. Hit her again and I'll kill you."

Wayne saw starbursts. Wayne saw sky. Wayne saw Pete's shoe. He sucked air. He ate jet fumes. He got breath.

"I was telling her something you won't, and I fucking did it to help you."

Pete flicked his cigarette. Pete burned Wayne's neck. Pete dropped a note on his chest.

"Take care of it. You and Sonny. Barb's gone, so we'll pretend this never happened."

A nun walked by. Said nun shot a look-you pagans stop that!

Pete walked off. Wayne sat up. Wayne got more breath. Two punks strolled by. They saw Wayne recumbent. They giggled it up.

Wayne stood up. Wayne dodged skycaps and bag carts. Wayne hit a phone booth.

He dropped coins. He dialed. He got a buzz tone. He got three rings. He got _Him_.

"Who's calling at this ungodly hour?"

Wayne said, "I want that job."

(Las Vegas, 12/1/66)

Onstage: Milt C. and Junkie Monkey.

Milt said, "What's all this tsuris with Howard Hughes?"

Junkie Monkey said, "I heard he's a swish. He moved in to get next to Liberace."

The crowd yocked. The crowd roared.

Milt said, "Come on. I heard he was shtupping Ava Gardner."

Junkie Monkey said, "_I'm_ shtupping Ava. She traded up from Sammy Davis. Sammy's on the golf course. This square comes up to him and says, 'What's your handicap?' Sammy says, 'I'm a one-eyed shvartze Jew. Nobody will sell me a house in a nice neighborhood. I'm trying to effect a peace accord between Israel and the Congo. I've got no place to hang my Sy Devore beanie.'"

The crowd yocked. Milt moved his lips. Milt puppet-talked bad. Pete watched. Pete smoked. Pete mourned Barb.

She was three days gone. She didn't call. She didn't write. _He_ didn't call. _He_ didn't write. He braced Wayne instead.

It was bullshit. Wayne was right. He knew it. Barb split. He exploited it. He indulged. He smoked. He ate burgers. He worked the Fuck-It Diet. He boozed. He caught Milt. He caught Barb's crew. The Bondsmen sans Barb-Shit City.

The lounge was packed. Young stuff mostly. Milt drew hip kids.

Junkie Monkey said, "Frank Sinatra saved my life. His goons were stomping me in the Sands parking lot. Frank said, 'That's enough, boys.'"

The crowd yocked. Pete smoked. A geek tapped his arm. Pete turned around. Pete saw Dwight Holly.

o o o

They hit Pete's office. They stood by the wet bar. They crowded each other. They stood in tight.

Pete said, "It's been a while."

"Yeah, as in '64. Your boy Wayne killed three shines."

Pete lit a cigarette. "And you made out."

Dwight shrugged. "Wayne fucked me up, but you and Littell set it straight. Now, ask me if I came to say thanks."

Pete poured a scotch. "You were in town, so you thought you'd drop by."

"Not quite. I'm in town to see Littell, which I'd prefer you keep to yourself."

Pete sipped scotch. Dwight tapped his chest.

"How's your ticker?"

"It's fine."

"You shouldn't be smoking."

"You shouldn't be jerking my chain."

Dwight laughed. Dwight poured a scotch.