Relight the torch. Dig the glow. Groove on the cause-and-effect. She's real again. She's in your head-because you're back with Wayne Senior.

Grunt work. Hate-mail duty. Let's study hate. Let's see how it works. Let's see what it says.

Wayne Senior said I'm storing intelligence. I'm skimming data off the FBI. I'm polling resentment. I'm taking its pulse. It's academic for now.

Wayne Senior spoke lofty. Wayne Senior spoke abstract. Wayne Senior spoke with forked tongue.

Wayne knew:

He's teaching you. Read the hate. Don't hate fatuously.

He rotated. He ran Saigon to D.C. He pulled intercepts. He did sneakins. He bagged mail. He mimeographed. He print-dusted. He got zero. He ran ninhydrin tests. He got loop whirls and partials. He learned the Hate Alphabet.

He did re-sneaks. He replaced the mail. He savored the Hate Alphabet.

A for Anger. F for Fear. I for Idiocy. D for Dumb. R for Ridiculous. J for Justification.

Coloreds mock order. Coloreds foist chaos. Coloreds breed lunacy. The haters knew it. Wayne Senior knew it. _He_ knew it. The haters lived to hate. That was wrong. _That_ was lunacy. The haters lived disordered lives. The haters thrived on chaos. The haters mimed the hatees.

S for Stupid. R for Resentful. W for Weak.

He learned his lessons. He took Wayne Senior's Hate Course. He searched for Wendell Durfee.

He rotated south. He made Cuban runs. He rotated west to L.A. He prowled Compton. He prowled Willowbrook. He prowled Watts.

He watched Negroes. Negroes watched him. He stayed cool. He stayed calm. He knew his ABCs. Wendell was nowhere. Wendell, where you be? I hate you. I'll kill you. Hate won't hinder me.

Hate smart-like Wayne Senior. P for Poised. B for Brave. C for Collected.

He did intercepts. He culled hate. He caught lunacy.

Weird:

He muscled a deadbeat. It was late '66. The clown was named Sirhan Sirhan. Sirhan had hate tracts. RFK got some hate notes. They were margin scrawled the same way.

All cap letters/headaches and pus/"Jewish Cancer Machine." Sirhan drools. Sirhan hates stupid. Sirhan foists lunacy.

Don't do it. It's counterproductive. It's dumb. It's insanity.

Hate smart. Like Wayne Senior. Like me.

105

(Las Vegas, Sparta, Bay St. Louis, Cuban Waters, 11/4/67-12/3/67)

You're homeless.

You're a Vegas transient. You're embargoed at home. You're a fucking refugee.

It's jail. It's Skid Row. It mocks rotation. It's Splitsville. It's mockdivorce. It's past separation.

Barb split. Pete traveled-all-love rotations. Pete flew back alone-non-love rotations. The trips trashed him. The trips taught him. The trips made him see: You hate Vegas now. Without Barb it's shit. You're Joe Vegas Refugee.

He had the trifecta. It was all Vegas-bred-Tiger/the dope biz/the Cavern. He couldn't split. The Boys held his lease. It was sealed and marked "Dallas."

He loved the trifecta. He hated the venue. They all intertwined.

Stateless.

He met Barb. She slung plates. No high heels/no spangles. Her sister worked her. Her sister lubed her-goooood profit perks. Barb B.-exlounge queen. Waitress/restaurateur.

He couldn't have her. He couldn't have her on his terms. He couldn't have her at _his_ location.

He hubbed in Vegas. He flew to Mississippi. He hated it. Dumb crackers and dumb niggers. Bugs and sand fleas.

He made boat runs. He got seasick. His pulse raced. He snarfed Dramamine. The runs bored him. Stealth and scalps and nothing more. No good resistance.

He was a transient. He was travel-screwed. He was a rotation refugee.

You want things. You can't have things. You can't give things up. You've got habits. You don't need them. You can't give them up.

Cigarettes. Pizza pie and pecan pie. Stiff drinks and steak.

He hid his habits in Sparta. Barb never saw. He flew out. He depurified. He binged on rotations.

Transient. Glutton. Exile. Exiled on boat runs/exiled down south/ exiled in Vegas.

Drac's town now-Drac's town cosmetic.

He knew Drac. They went back. They met in '53. He worked for Drac. He scored Drac dope. He scored Drac his women. Drac was a glutton then. Drac was a glutton still.

He cruised the Dl. He bribed a Mormon for a look-see. He bought a looooong look.

Drac dozed. Drac wore drip cords. Drac got a transfusion. Mormon blood/hormone-laced/pure. Drac was gaunt. Drac was svelte. Drac was chic. Drac wore a Kotex-box hat and Kleenex-box slippers.

Drac was on dope. Barb was of f dope. Pete pushed dope non-boocoo. Pete was hamstrung. Pete was profit-screwed. Pete was a dope refugee.

He begged Stanton. He said _let me expand_. Stanton always refused. He pouched Stanton. He pleaded and begged. Stanton always refused. Stanton always cited Carlos. Stanton always cited the Boys.

They don't want it. Live with it. It stands as their call. He lived with it. He hated it. He felt refugized.

He got ideas.

I'll fly to Saigon. I'll brace Stanton. I'll break the truce. I'll tell Barb to stamp my visa. I'll make her unleash my gonads.

I'll tell Stanton to expand the biz or shove it up your ass. Stanton would shit. Carlos would shit. The Boys _might_ temporize.

It might work. It might shake them. It might serve to de-refugize. He needed it. He needed something. He needed MORE.

He got bored. He got crazed. He fretted shit.

Like: Cuba-_mucho_ boat runs-no at-sea resistance.

Like: Bob Relyea-nervous and hi-amped.

He's talking trash. He's saying our work's dead. He's saying I've got work transcendent.

He went by Bob's kompound. He saw Bob with guns. He saw Bob burn three-zero codes.

Huh? What? Don't grab at straws. Don't be this skittish refugee.

He got bored. He got crazed. His pulse skipped.

_DOCUMENT INSERT_: 12/3/67. Bug-extract transcript. Marked: "Confidential"/"Stage-1 Covert"/"Eyes Only": Director, SA D. C. Holly.

Location: Card room/Grapevine Tavern/St. Louis/listening-postaccessed. Speaking: Norbert Donald Kling Rowland Mark DeJohn, paroled felons (Armed Robbery/Bunco/GTA) presumed organized-crime associates. (Conversation 14. 1 minutes in progress.)

NDK: And people hear, you know. Word goes out.

RMDJ: It's like the name of this place. The Grapevine.

NDK: Yeah. The grape for the ape.

RMDJ: Guys come through, they hear, they start thinking.

NDK: They think, shit, 50 G's for a good deed, and it don't go unrewarded.

RMDJ: You do it down south, no jury would convict you.

NDK: You're right. It's like those guys in Mississippi. They wax those civil rights humps and walk scot-free.

NDK: You know who I saw here? Like in May?

RMDJ: Who?

NDK: Jimmy Ray. I bought goofballs off him in Jeff City.

RMDJ: I heard he broke out.

NDK: He did. He breaks out, then he's disappointed that there's no big manhunt.

RMDJ: That's Jimmy in a nutshell. Hey, world, notice me.

NDK: He hates niggers. You got to give him that.

RMDJ: He was tight with the guards. At Jeff City, I mean. I never liked that about him.

NDK: The guards were klanned-up. That was the attraction to Jimmy.

RMDJ: That one guard was a pisser. Remember him? Bob Relyea.

NDK: Bob the Brain. Jimmy called him that.

RMDJ: I heard he's klanned-up down south now.

NDK: Kianned-up and a snitch is what I heard. As in, he works for the Feds.

RMDJ: That could be. Remember, he left Jeff and joined the Army.

NDK: Jimmy said he might go see him.

RMDJ: Jimmy's a talker. He always talked about a whole lot of things.

NDK: He heard about the bounty. He nearly bust a gut talking about that.