27

(Las Vegas, 1/14/64)

Nigger Heaven: Four spooks/four capsules/one spike.

They usurped the carport. They flanked an old Merc. They laid out red devils. They dumped out the goo.

They spritzed it. They cooked it. They fed the spike. They tied up. They geezed. They dipped. They nodded. They swayed.

All riiiiiiiiiiiight.

Pete watched. Pete yawned. Pete scratched his ass. Stakeout night #6-the dawn shift-hijinx at five fucking a.m.

He parked at Truman and "J." He lounged low. He dug on the view.

That coon called and tipped him. He said Wendell be back. He said Wendell gots a gun. He said Curtis and Leroy-they baaad. They be pushin' white horse.

Check the carport. Check the Evergreen Project. Dope fiends meet there. Dice fiends too. Wendell the dice fiend soo-preem. Look for Curtis and Leroy-two fat boys-they gots big conk hairdos.

Pete popped aspirin. His headache dipped south. Six nights. Shit surveillance. Headaches and coon food. Grime on his car.

The plan:

Clip Curtis and Leroy. Appease the Boys and play civic booster. Clip Wendell Durfee. Indebt Wayne Junior thus.

You owe me, Wayne. Let's see your files.

Six nights. No luck. Six nights slumming. Six nights lounging low.

Pete watched the carport. Pete yawned. Pete stretched. Pete grew Matterhorn-size hemorrhoids.

The dope fiends swaaayed.

They fumbled Kools. They lit matches. They burned their hands. They lit filter tips.

Pete yawned. Pete dozed. Pete chained cigarettes. Whoa, what's-

Two shines cut over "J." Fat boys with big conks-big spray-can hair.

Wait-two _more_ shines-full-scale shine alert.

They cut over Truman and "K." They met the conk guys. They launched some jive.

One guy schlepped a blanket. One guy schlepped dice. The dice guy schmoozed the conk guys. He called them "Leroy" and "Cur-ti."

The duos teamed up. The duos cruised the carport. The dope guys went oh shit. The conk guys evicted them. The dope guys weaved south. The conk guys threw down the blanket.

Leroy brought breakfast-T-Bird and Tokay. Cur-ti rolled. Green dice twirled. Cur-ti crapped out. Leroy rolled snake eyes.

Pete watched. The jigs whooped. The jigs shucked. The jigs stepped high.

A prowl car drove by. The cops scoped the game. The jigs paid them never-no-mind. Said prowl car split. Said cops yawned-fuck these dumb shines.

Leroy crapped out. Cur-ti exulted. The dice guys drank wine.

A new jig crossed "J." Pete made him quicksville-Wendell (NMI) Durfee.

Check his pimp threads. Check his hair net. Check that gun bulge by his balls.

Durfee joined the game. The jive multiplied. Durfee rolled. Durfee did the Wah-Watusi. Durfee slurped wine.

That prowl car reprised. That prowl car dipped by. The cops looked revitalized. Said car hovered. Said car idled. The radio squawked.

The spooks froze. The spooks went nonchalant. The cops rerevitalized. The spooks went telepathic-we sees de ofay oppressor-the spooks up and ran.

They split up. They hauled. They dispersed cluster-style. They jammed down "J" and "K."

The cops froze. The blanket guys hauled. They dumped their jugs. They moved east. They _hauled_.

The cops unfroze. The cops punched the gas. The cops laid tread and pursued. Durfee ran west. Long legs and low weight. Fat Cur-ti and Leroy pursued.

Pete punched the gas. Pete punched too hard. The pedal slipped. The engine kicked and died.

Pete got out. Pete ran. Durfee ran. Durfee outran his fat pals. The conksters waddled and huffed.

They cut down an alley-trash heaps on gravel-shacks on both sides. Durfee slid. Durfee stumbled. Durfee ripped his pants. Durfee's gun fell out.

Pete slid. Pete stumbled. Pete's belt snapped. Pete's gun fell out.

He gained ground. He stopped. He grabbed Durfee's gun. He lost ground. He gravel-slid.

A siren nudged his ass-loud and full-tilt.

Durfee hopped a fence. The conksters swung over. The prowl car swerved. It fishtailed. It brodied up. It blocked Pete off.

He dropped the gun. He raised his hands. He smiled subservient. The cops got out. The cops pulled saps. The cops raised Ithaca pumps.

o o o

They booked him-407 PC.-Clark County Sheriff's.

They dumped him in a sweat room. They cuffed him to a chair. Two dicks worked on him-phone books and verbal shit.

We traced that gun. It's hot. You're a heist man. I found the gun-fuck you.

Bullshit. Why you down here? Tell us your biz.

I crave chitlins. I crave pork rinds. I crave dark trim. Bullshit. Tell us your-

I'm a civil-rights worker. We shall over-

They swung their phone books-fat ones-L.A. directories. You're a heist man. You rob crap games. You tried to rob those coons.

You're wrong-I crave collard greens.

They whopped his ribs. They whopped his knees. They aired it out good. They torqued his cuffs two ratchets up. They let him stew.

His wrists went numb. His arms went numb. He held a class-A piss.

He ran options:

Don't call Littell. Don't call the Boys. Don't look _trиs_ dumb. Don't call Barb-don't scare her.

His back went numb. His chest went numb. He pissed in his pants. He dug in. He dredged some juice. He snapped the cuff chain. He moved his arms and rewired his blood.

The dicks walked back in. They saw the snapped chain. One geek whistled and clapped.

Pete said, "Call Wayne Tedrow. He's on LVPD."

o o o

Wayne Junior showed up. The dicks left them alone. Wayne Junior took off his cuffs.

"They said you tried to take down a dice game."

Pete rubbed his wrists. "Do you believe that?"

Wayne Junior frowned-diva with a grievance. Wayne Junior tucked his head up his ass.

Pete stood up. Some blood rewired. His eardrums popped.

"Have they got a seventy-two-hour detention law here?"

"Yeah, release or arraign."

"I'll ride it out, then. I've been there before."

"What do you _want?_ You want a favor? You want me to quit coming to your wife's shows?"

Pete jiggled his arms. Some numbness went.

"Durfee's here. He's hanging out with two guys named Curtis and Leroy. I saw them around those shacks on Truman and 'J.'"

Wayne Junior flushed-blood to his brows-blood-circuit overload.

Pete said, "Kill him. I think he came here to kill you."

28

(Washington, D.C., 1/14/64)

White House pickets:

Civil Rights and Ban the Bomb. Young kids on the Left.

They marched. They chanted. Their shouts overlapped. It was cold. They wore overcoats. They wore Cossack hats.

Bayard Rustin was late. Littell waited. Littell sat in Lafayette Park.

Relief pickets chatted. Shop talk swirled. LBJ and Castro. The Goldwater threat.

The groups shared coffee. Lefty girls brought snacks. Littell looked around-no Bayard Rustin yet.

He knew Rustin's face. Mr. Hoover supplied pix. He met the SCLC plant. They talked last night.

Lyle Holly-ex-Chicago PD.

Lyle worked the Red Squad. Lyle studied the Left. Lyle talked Left and _thought_ Right. They shared similar credentials. They shared the same disjuncture. Lyle cracked racial jokes. Lyle said he loved Dr. King.

He knew Lyle's brother. They worked the St. Louis Office-'48 to '50.

Dwight H. was Far Right. Dwight worked kovert Klan jobs. Dwight fit _right_ in. The Hollys were Hoosiers. The Hollys had Klan ties. Daddy Holly was a Grand Dragon.

They were post-Klan now. They got law degrees and became cops.

Dwight was _post_-FBI. Dwight was _still_ Fed. Dwight joined the Narcotics Bureau. Dwight was restbess. Dwight jumped jobs. Dwight craved a bold new cop gig: Chief Investigator/U.S. Attorney's Office/Southern Nevada District.