Littell squinted. Wait now, what's-

He saw the pathway. He saw the door. He saw the "301." It's the bungalow. It's the "Mob meet spot." It's his gig for Dwight Holly.

Littell dropped the paper. Thoughts jumped and garbled. The Boys/that gaffe/"box of goodies."

108

(Los Angeles, 3/30/68)

Death kit:

Four hypos / full loads / premixed: Big "H" and Novocain anesthetic.

One.44 mag. One silencer. One roll of duct tape. One paper-bag carryall. One pack of moist towelettes.

We're here. We're at 5th and Stanford. It's Skid Row. It's Bum Hell.

Wayne lounged. Wayne watched the hotel. Wayne jiggled his sack. He stood outside a blood bank. Bums hobnobbed. Nurses culled donors up.

_He's there_. He's in the Hiltz Hotel. He's in room 402. It's four floors up.

Wayne watched the front door. Wayne savored. Wayne stalled.

He'd rotated south. He hit Bob's kompound. He found it cleaned out. It vibed raid. It vibed heedless. It vibed state cops. Bob had friends. Bob was Fed-vouched. It vibed _dumb_ state cops.

Wayne flew to Vegas then. Wayne checked the Cavern. Wayne picked messages up:

Call Pete. He's in Sparta. Call Sonny.

He called Pete. He got no answer. He called Sonny. Sonny was jazzed. Sonny said, "This nigger called me." Sonny cited said nigger source.

Bam:

Sonny's guy saw Wendell. Wendell was nom-de-plumed. Wendell's now Abdallah X.

It was warm. It was eighty at noon. Skid Row was crammed up. Winos/amputees on skateboards/he-shes rouged up.

They jostled Wayne. Wayne felt zero. Wayne felt ate up. His skin buzzed. He rode eggshells. His bloodstream froze up.

He walked over.

He walked through the front door. He passed bums in the lobby. He passed a TV cranked up.

'68 Novas! Buy now! _Se habla espaсol_ at Giant Felix Chevrolet!

A wino convulsed. Wayne dodged his legs. Wayne took side stairs up. He lost his feet. He lost _his_ legs. He fought gravity.

He hit the fourth floor landing. He saw the hallway. He saw wood doors inset.

He passed 400. He passed 401. He hit 402. He touched the knob. He turned it. The door popped.

He's right there. He's backlit. You've got window light. There's Wendell in a straight-back chair. There's Wendell with a short-dog.

Wayne stepped inside. Wayne shut the door. Wayne almost threw up. Wendell saw him. Wendell squinted. Wendell grinned all fucked up.

Wayne stood there.

Wendell said, "You looks familiar."

Wayne stood there.

Wendell said, "Give me a hint."

Wayne said, "Dallas." Wayne almost threw up.

Wendell slurped wine. Wendell looked bad. Wendell wore injection welts. Wendell wore needle tracks.

"That's a good hint. Makes me think you a certain husband with a grievance. I've fucking widowered more than a few of them, so that narrows it down somewhat."

Wayne scoped the room. Wayne saw empty short-dogs. Wayne smelled wine upchucked.

Wendell said, "That was some weekend. Remember? The President got shot."

Wayne moved. Wayne took two steps. Wayne kicked out and up. He hit the chair. He hit the jug. He knocked Wendell flat.

Wendell puked wine and bile. Wayne stepped on his neck. Wayne fullweight-pinned him. Wayne dug through his sack.

He grabbed a hypo. Wendell thrashed. He shot his neck up. Wendell de-thrashed. Wendell soared. Wendell went smack-back.

Wayne dropped the hypo. Wayne grabbed a hypo. Wayne shot his hands up. Wendell shuddered. Wendell resoared. Wendell went more smack-back.

Wayne dropped the hypo. Wayne grabbed a hypo. Wayne shot his hips up. Wendell grinned. Wendell soar-soared. Wendell went waaay smackback.

Wayne dropped the hypo. Wayne grabbed a hypo. Wayne shot his knees up. Wendell grinned. Wendell soooooared. Wendell smaaacked out and up.

Wayne dropped the hypo. Wayne grabbed the tape. Wayne pulled a strip up. He taped Wendell's mouth. He rolled three loops dense. He cinched Wendell's neck up.

He dropped the tape. He grabbed the mag. He cocked it back. He fixed the silencer. He bent low. Wendell's eyes rolled back.

Wayne grabbed his right hand. Wayne shot off his fingers. Wayne shot off his thumb. Wendell squirmed. Big "H" constrained him. His eyes rolled _waaaay_ back.

Wayne dumped the shells. Wayne reloaded. Wayne cocked his piece back. He grabbed Wendell's left hand. He shot off his fingers. He shot off his thumb.

Wendell squirmed. Big "H" constrained him. His eyes rolled _mooooore_ back.

Wayne dumped the shells. Wayne reloaded. Wayne cocked his piece back. Wendell puked. Bile blew out his nostrils. Wendell shit in his pants.

Wayne leaned down. Wayne aimed tight. Wayne shot his legs off at the knees. Blood spritzed. Bone chips flew. Wayne grabbed the towelettes.

Wendell's stumps twitched. Wayne grabbed a chair. Wayne watched him bleed to death.

o o o

The flight ran late. He flew numb. He dozed L.A. to Vegas. He smelled things that weren't there.

Cordite and blood. Cheap wine. Burned silencer threads.

The plane landed. He got off. He smelled things that weren't there.

Burned bone and vomit. Scented towelettes.

He walked through McCarran. He found a phone. He got an operator. She patched Sparta direct.

He heard eight rings. He got no answer. No Barb and Pete there.

He walked outside. He veered toward the cab line. Two men walked up. They flanked him. They braced him. They slammed a two-cop press.

It's Dwight Holly. It's a swarthy guy. It's that guy Fred Otash.

Shakedown Fred-skinny now-this cadaver.

They grabbed him. They led him. He felt limp. He felt numb. He saw two cars double-parked. He saw a Fed sedan. He saw Wayne Senior's Cadillac.

They stopped between cars. They patted him down. They let him go slack. He stumbled. He almost fell. He smelled Wendell dead.

Holly said, "Durfee wasn't for free."

Otash said, "We stiffed that tipoff through Sonny."

Holly said, "I've got a print transparency on you. If you say no, I'll have a guy roll it around Durfee's room."

Wayne looked at them. Wayne _saw_ them. Wayne got _IT_. Wayne Senior/his hate talk/the hate-mail intercepts.

Wayne said, "Who?"

Holly said, "Martin Luther King."

109

(Sparta, 3/31/68)

TV news-breaking:

LBJ's out. The war fucked him up. He won't seek Term Two. It's Humphrey v. Bobby. The race looks tight.

Barb watched the news. Pete watched Barb. Barb dug on the Bobby aspects. The house was cold. Barb's sister was cheap. Barb's sister skimped on the heat.

He flew Saigon to Sparta. Barb welcomed him reluctant. Barb ragged him incessant. Barb ragged his travel-ban breach.

Barb flipped channels. Barb caught war news. Barb caught some Memphis strike.

Trash workers. A support march. One riot so far. Sixty injured/looter damage/one nigger kid dead. Crazy King's there. Crazy King's _between_ riots. One "Poor People's" riot on tap.

Barb watched the news. Pete watched Barb. Barb watched the news rapt. Pete popped gum. Pete obeyed Barb's rule-don't smoke inside.

He chewed gum. He chewed double sticks. He fretted shit.

He called Bob's kompound. He got a weird tone. It vibed disconnect. He called the Cavern. He left Wayne a message. Wayne never called back. He punked out. He stalled his speech. He set his flight back.

Barb flipped channels. Barb caught Bobby. Barb caught Crazy King. Pete stood up. Pete blocked the screen. Pete turned off the set.

Barb said, "Shit."

Pete popped his gum. "Hear me out on some things. You'll like part of it."