No message from Barb. One message from Wayne: Call me/Lake Tahoe/_urgent_/this number direct.

Pete dropped quarters. Pete got an operator. She patched Tahoe direct. Pete heard two rings. Pete heard Wayne:

"Hello?"

"It's me. Where the hell have-"

"Littell's on to the hit. Grab him and bring him here. And tell Barb go someplace safe."

117

(San Diego, 6/3/68)

Bobby soared.

He jabbed the air. He tossed his hair. He praised Dr. King. He co-opted him. He out-orated him. He made his praise sing.

It all worked. It all sang-the sunburn/the bray/the rolled sleeves.

The crowd soared. The crowd roared. The crowd cheered in sync. Two thousand people/crowd ropes up/parking-lot streams.

Littell watched. Littell willed Bobby: _Please look at me_.

See me. Don't fear me. I won't hurt you again. I'm a pilgrim. I fear _for_ you. My fear's justified.

Bobby stood on a flatbed. The tailgate shook and dipped. Aides stood below him. Aides steadied him.

_Look over. Look down. See me_.

His fear boiled over. It popped two weeks back. His fear stretched and peaked. He linked fear dots. He plumbed fear lines. He read fear hieroglyphs.

The news pic/the El Encanto/suite 301. The Sam line: "Box of goodies." The Carlos line: Pete's "small favor." Fear connections/hieroglyphs/puzzle chips.

It got bad. It ate him up. It ruined his sleep. He split Vegas. He flew to D.C. He called Paul Horvitz.

Paul hung up. He called Mr. Hoover. He called Dwight Holly. They hung up. He drove to the Bureau. Door guards ejected him.

He flew to Oregon. He approached campaign staffers. Staff guards restrained him. He saw his name on a list-all "Known Enemies."

He told the guards I _sense_ things. He said _please_ talk to me. They said no. They manhandled him. They ejected him.

Chips dovetailed. He sensed things. Mr. Hoover _knows_-just like he knew about Jack.

He flew to Santa Barbara. He got a hotel room. He staked out the El Encanto. He watched 301. He followed wires. He found the listening post.

Suite 208/fifty yards up/manned twenty-four hours per day.

He staked it out. He wore disguises. He worked six days and nights. He waited. The post stayed manned-all day/all night.

He went schizzy. He gave up sleep-six days/six nights. He lost weight. He saw goblins. Spots torqued his eyes.

It rained on day 7. One agent stayed on-post.

Luck:

Said agent goes off-post. Said agent visits suite 63. Said agent has a prostitute.

Littell hit 208. Littell picked the door lock. Littell locked himself in. Littell tossed the post.

He found a transcript log. He found a routing log. He found transcripts stacked. He skimmed back through mid-March. He saw:

March 15/16. Two three-way talks transcribed. Bobby plus Paul Horvitz. One man un-ID'd. Bobby's voluble. Bobby's effusive. Bobby talks anti-Mob.

He skimmed the routing log. He hit 3/20. He saw tape copies routed. The tapes for March 15/16. Said tapes routed to the Boys.

To Carlos. To Moe D. To John Rosselli. To Santo and Sam G.

That was this morning. That was twelve hours back.

He tracked Bobby's schedule. He drove south. He hit San Diego. He called the Bureau office. The ASAC hung up. He called SDPD. He told his story. A sergeant blew up.

The sergeant yelled at him. The sergeant said, "You're on a list." The sergeant hung up.

He drove to the rally. He got there early. He saw sound men set up. He braced them. He braced staffers. He got the bum's rush. He left. He came back. The crowd ate him up.

Littell watched Bobby. Littell waved his hands. _Look at me please_. Bobby soared. Bobby waved. Bobby loved up the crowd. Bobby spread contact thin.

Littell waved his hands. Something jabbed him-a needle/a pin/a stick. He went woozy-BOOM like that-he saw Fred Otash thiiiiiinnn.

(Las Vegas, 6/4/68)

Wild Janice-frail now.

More gray hair. More black eclipsed. More lines and hollows.

Wayne walked in. Janice shut the door. Wayne embraced her. He felt ribs. He felt hollows. He felt her curves slack.

Janice stepped back. Wayne took her hands.

"You look pretty good, considering."

"I wasn't going to put on all that powder. I'm not dead yet."

"Don't talk like that."

"Let me indulge myself. You're my first date since Ward deserted me."

Wayne smiled. "You were my first date, ever."

Janice smiled. "Are you talking about the Peru Cotillion of 1949 or the one time we did it?"

Wayne squeezed her hands. "We never got a second shot."

Janice laughed. "You weren't looking for one. It was just your way to cut loose of your father."

"I regret that. That part of it, I mean."

"You mean it was good, but you regret the timing and your motive."

"I regret what it cost you."

Janice squeezed his hands. "You're leading up to something."

Wayne blushed. Shit-you _still_ do that.

"I was hoping there'd be one more time."

"You can't mean it. With me like _this?_"

"You never get things right the first time."

o o o

It went soft. It went slow. It went like he wanted. It went like he planned.

Her body showed the hurt. Sharp bones over skin. Gray tones over white. Her breath tasted bitter. He liked her old taste-Salem Menthols and gin.

They rolled. Her bones scraped him. They touched and kissed long. Her breasts fell. He liked it. Her breasts used to stand.

She still had strength. She pushed him. She clutched and grabbed. They rolled. He tasted her. She tasted him.

She tasted sick. It stunned him. The taste settled in. He tasted her inside. He kissed her new scars. Her breath fluttered thin.

He got her close. She pulled back. She guided him in. He reached over. He turned on the bed lamp. The beam settled in.

It caught her face. It bounced off her gray hair. It caught her eyes flush.

They moved together. They got close and held. They locked their eyes up. They moved. They peaked close together. They let their eyes shut.

o o o

Janice played the radio. KVGS-all lounge stuff.

They hit some Barb songs. They laughed and rolled. They kicked the sheets up. Wayne dimmed the volume. The Bondsmen purred. Barb sang "Twilight Time."

Janice said, "You love her. Ward told me."

"I outgrew her. She grew up and messed with my crush."

Barb segued upbeat-"Chanson d'Amour." Janice dimmed the volume. Barb blew a high note. The Bondsmen cued her back up.

"I ran into her, about two years ago. We had a few drinks and discussed certain men."

Wayne smiled. "I wish I could have been there."

"You were."

"That's all you're saying?"

Janice zipped her lips. "Yes."

Barb segued dreamy-Jimmy Rogers' "Secretly."

Janice said, "I love that song. It reminds me of the man I was with then."

"Was it my father?"

"No."

"Did he find out?"

"Yes."

"What did he do?"

Janice touched his lips. "Be still. I want to listen."

Barb sang. Her voice held. She segued. She went upbeat. Reverb killed the mood.

Wayne killed the volume. Wayne rolled close to Janice. He kissed her. He touched her hair. He got her eyes close up.

"If I told you I could help you settle the one score that counts, would you want to do it?"

Janice said, "Yes."

o o o

She slept.

She ate pain pills. She drifted off. Wayne fluffed her hair on a pillow. Wayne pulled a quilt over her.