Said plans implied:

Go to Alabama. Stress your reputation. Drop how you avenged Lynette. Start a snitch-Klan. Recruit snitches. Work for the Feds.

He told Pete about it. Pete said, "It's cowardly shit."

He hit Owens. He hit the Nellis gates. He drove straight in. Nellis was beige-beige buildings/beige barracks/beige lawns.

_Big_ barracks. Named for Strip hotels. No goof or satire implied.

His QM contact lived off base. His QM parked on. Wayne had dupe car keys. Wayne left his coin in the car.

He passed the "Sands." He passed the "Dunes." He passed the Officers' Club. He parked. He got out. He saw the QM's Ford.

Two rows up: A '62 Vette.

Red with white side coves. Whitewalls and chrome pipes. Janice's cherried-out car.

Janice left the ranch. Janice left at noon. Janice said she was off to play golf. Boulder/thirty-six holes/Twin Palms Country Club.

Blithe Janice. Golf-shit.

Wayne unlocked the Ford. Wayne rolled down the windows. Wayne scrunched low and tucked himself in.

Cars came. Cars went. He chewed gum. He popped sweat. He stared at the Vette.

Time chugged. Time rescinded. Some instinct said _stick_.

The sun arced. The sun hit the Ford. Wayne broiled. His gum starched and dried out.

There's Janice.

She leaves the O Club. She gets in her Vette. She kicks the key and idles it.

There's Clark Kinman.

He leaves the O Club. He gets in a Dodge. He kicks the key and idles it.

Janice pulls out. Kinman pulls out behind.

Wayne pulled out. Wayne hung back. Cut the leash/cut them some slack.

Wayne hung back. Wayne read his watch dial. Wayne ticked one full minute off.

Now-

He hauled. He closed in. He caught up. Three-car caravan-eastbound-Lake Mead Boulevard.

Janice drove point. Kinman tapped his horn. Kinman goosed her pipes. They _played_. They flirted out their windows. They _goofed_.

Wayne hung back. Wayne held two car-lengths down. Wayne sidled one lane over.

They drove east. They logged eight miles. They hit a desert patch. Motel strips and beer bars. Sand and last-chance fill-ups.

Janice signaled. Janice turned right. Kinman signaled. Kinman turned right.

There-The Golden Gorge Motel.

Gold stucco. One-story/one-room row. Twelve connected rooms.

Wayne pulled right. Wayne braked. Wayne stopped. Wayne checked his rearview.

Janice parked in the motel lot. Kinman parked in close.

They got out. They embraced and kissed. They entered room #4. They bypassed the office. They had their own key.

Wayne got butterflies. Wayne locked the car and walked over.

He stood near room #4. He loitered and listened. Janice laughed. Kinman said, "Get that rascal hard."

Wayne scoped the lot. Wayne saw scrub balls and junk cars. Wayne saw Mexican brats.

Thin room walls. Voices _en espaсol_. Bracero cribs. Crop-picker tenants.

Kinman laughed. Janice went "Oooh."

Wayne loitered. Wayne listened. Wayne lurked. Shades went up. Blinds furled. Brown faces bipped out.

He saw something:

Room #5 had no windows. The door had _two_ locks.

o o o

He held it back. He bypassed Wayne Senior. He ran paper. He checked Clark County deeds. He traced the motel.

Shitfire-Wayne Senior owns it.

It's 6/3/56. Wayne Senior bids and forecloses. The motel's a bargain. The motel's a tax dodge.

Wayne stewed. Pete called the ranch and left messages. Wayne ignored them. Wayne surveilled the motel.

Early p.m. stakeouts. Room #4. Janice and one-star Clark Kinman. Two matinees/three hours per.

He parked down the road. He trained binoculars. He walked by. He listened. He heard Janice sigh.

The Golden Gorge ran twelve units. Beaners camped out in ten. Janice kept her key. It unlocked room #4.

Room #5 had two locks. Room #5 had no windows. Room #5 stayed empty.

The lot buzzed by day. Braceros mingled. Bracero kids yahooed and yelped. Braceros worked hard. Braceros crashed hard. Braceros crashed early.

He popped a burglar once-late in '60. He kept his tool kit. He kept his picklocks.

Room #5 glowed. The door was green. Green like that song:

What's that secret you're keeping?

_DOCUMENT INSERT_: 9/12/64. Confidential memorandum: Howard Hughes to Ward J. Littell.

Dear Ward,

Bravo on the new casino consultants. My aides have chosen three rough and tumble, no-nonsense men from that list you submitted, and they have assured me that they are devout Mormons with germ-free blood.

Their names are Thomas D. Elwell, Lamar L. Dean and Daryl D. Kleindienst. They have extensive union experience in Las Vegas and, according to my aides, will not be afraid to negotiate and "lock horns" with those Mafia boys that Mr. Hoover tells me you have in your pocket. According to my aides, these men "know the ropes." They did not meet with them in person, but have corresponded with your friend Mr. Tedrow in Las Vegas and have solicited his advice. Mr. Tedrow is well respected in Mormon circles, they tell me, and I confirmed that assessment with Mr. Hoover.

The new men will be traveling hither and yon to advance our Las Vegas plans, so I'm pleased that they are cutting down commercial airline costs by flying Hughes charters. I've sent memos to all the charter crews instructing them to have lots of Fritos, PepsiCola and Rocky Road ice cream on hand, because hard-working men deserve to eat well. Also, thanks for getting charter clearance at Nellis Air Force Base, which cuts down costs as well.

Forewarned is forearmed, Ward. You've convinced me that our Las Vegas approach will take time, and I think this casino consultant plan is a winner. I look forward to receiving your first report.

All best,

H.H.

(Las Vegas, 9/12/64)

Wayne Senior said, "I know what my men are transporting."

"Oh?"

"Yes, 'Oh.' They've explained the entire procedure."

They sat poolside. Janice stood close. Janice sunned and putted golf balls.

"You knew at our first meeting. It was quite evident."

"An instinct doesn't equal a certainty."

Littell raised one brow. "You're being disingenuous. You knew then, you know now, and you've known at all points in between."

Wayne Senior coughed. "Don't mimic my gestures. You don't have my flair."

Littell grabbed his prop stick. Littell twirled it. Fuck Wayne Senior sideways.

"Tell me what you want. Be direct, and feel free to use the word 'skim.'

Wayne Senior coughed. "My men have quit the union. They refuse to pay me the percentage I requested."

Littell twirled the stick. "How much do you want?"

"I'd be satisfied with 5%."

Littell twirled the stick. Littell twirled figure-eights. Littell did all Wayne Senior's tricks.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Categorically?"

"Yes."

Wayne Senior smiled. "I have to assume that Mr. Hughes doesn't know what his planes are transporting."

Littell studied Janice. She flexed. She putted. She stretched.

"I would advise you not to tell him."

"Why? Because your Italian friends will hurt me?"

"Because I'll tell your son that you sent him to Dallas."

_DOCUMENT INSERT_: 9/12/64. Dallas _Morning News_ article.

REPORTER WRITING JFK BOOK; SAYS HE'LL "BLOW

Dallas _Times-Herald_ reporter Jim Koethe has a tale to tell, and he'll tell it to anyone who'll listen.