She looked over. She saw him watching. She got up. She maneuvered with her cane.

She cocked one hip. She stabbed her cane. She limped _con brio_. Littell pulled a chair out. Janice grabbed Barb's cigarettes.

"That redhead played my Christmas party last year."

"She's an entertainer, yes."

Janice lit a cigarette. "You're not sleeping with her. I could tell that."

Littell smiled. Littell twirled her cane.

Janice laughed. "Stop it. You're reminding me of someone."

Littell squeezed his napkin. "He used his stick on you."

Janice twirled her cane. "It was part of the divorce settlement. One million with no beating, two million with."

Littell sipped coffee. "You're volunteering more than I asked for."

"You hate him like I do. I thought you might like to know."

"Did he find out about General Kinman?"

Janice laughed. "Clark didn't bother him. The young man in question did."

"Was he worth it?"

"_It_ was worth it. If I didn't do something drastic, I would have stayed with him forever."

Littell smiled. "I thought you had a life sentence there."

"Seventeen years was plenty. I loved his money and some of his style, but it wasn't enough anymore."

Littell spun the cane. "The young man?"

"The young man is a former client of yours, and he's currently abetting the war effort in Vietnam."

Littell dropped the cane. Janice snatched it up.

"You didn't know?"

"No."

"Are you shocked?"

"I'm hard to shock and easy to amuse sometimes."

Janice squeezed his hands. "And you've got old scars on your face that remind me of this temporary harelip of mine."

"Wayne's mentor put them there. He's my best friend now."

"He's the redhead's husband. Wayne told me."

Littell leaned back. "You're not playing golf. I've been looking for you."

"I'm retrieving my swing. I'm not going to walk eighteen holes with a cane."

"I enjoyed watching you play. I scheduled my breaks around it."

Janice smiled. "I've leased a cottage on the Sands course. Your view inspired me."

"I'm flattered. And you're right, the view makes all the difference."

Janice stood up. "It's off the first hole. The one with the blue shutters."

Littell stood up. Janice winked and walked away. She waved. She dropped her cane and left it there. She limped _molto con brio_.

o o o

He caught Barb's tenner. He stood ringside. He killed time. He ducked Jane's bedtime. He schemed up a trip.

I'll fly to L.A. You drive back. I'll meet you.

He drove home. The lights were on. Jane was still up. The IV was on. A newsman mourned Jack at great length.

Littell turned it off. "I have to fly to L.A. tomorrow. I'll be leaving early."

Jane spun her ashtray. "It's abrupt, and we're coming up on Thanksgiving."

"You should have come next week. It would have been better all around."

"You wanted me here, so I came. Now you're leaving."

Littell nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry."

"You wanted to see if I'd come. You were testing me. You broke a rule that we set for ourselves, and now I'm stuck in this suite."

Littell shook his head. "You could take a walk. You could get a golf lesson. You could read instead of watch TV for sixteen goddamn hours."

Jane threw her ashtray. It hit the TV.

"Given the date, how could you expect me to do anything else?"

"Given the date, we could have talked about it. Given the date, we could have stretched the rules. Given the date, you could have given up some of your goddamn secrets."

Jane threw a cup. It hit the TV.

"You carry a gun. You carry briefcases full of money. You fly around the country to see gangsters, you listen to tapes of Robert Kennedy when you think I'm sleeping, and _I've_ got secrets?"

o o o

They slept solo.

He scooped up her butts. He packed a bag. He packed his briefcase. He packed three suits. He packed appeal briefs and money-ten grand in cash.

He made up the couch. He stretched out. He tried to sleep. He thought about Janice. He thought about Barb. He thought about Jane.

He tried to sleep. He thought about Barb. He thought about Janice.

He got up. He cleaned his gun. He read magazines. _Harper's_ ran a piece-Mr. Hoover misbehaves.

He gave a speech. He fomented. He attacked Dr. King. He disrupted. He appalled. He stirred hate.

Littell turned the light off. Littell tried to sleep.

He counted sheep. He counted money. Skim cuts and embezzlements-civil-rights tithes.

He tried to sleep. He thought about Jane. He counted her lies. He lost count. He ricocheted.

Barb goes knock-kneed. Janice waves her cane. Janice smiles. Janice limps. Janice drops her cane.

He got up. He got dressed. He drove to McCarran. He saw a sign for Kool Menthol-all swimsuits and sun.

He turned around. He drove back. He drove to the Sands. He parked. He primped in his rearview mirror.

He walked by the golf course. He found the cottage and knocked. Janice opened up.

She saw him. She smiled. She plucked her curlers out.

65

(Saigon, 11/28/64)

White Horse-grad research.

Wayne mixed morph clay and ammonia. Wayne ran three hot plates. Wayne boiled three kilos. Shit filtered out.

Wayne dumped the ammonia. Wayne cleaned the beakers. Wayne dried the bricks.

Call it: Test batch #8.

He blew twenty bricks. He filtered wrong. He fucked the process. He learned. He added steps. He sluiced out organic waste.

Pete postponed the ship date. Pete let him learn.

Wayne boiled water. Wayne gauged it. Roger-182F.

He dumped it. He poured acetic anhydride. He filled three vats. He boiled it. He _got_ it.

Roger-182F.

He measured base. He chopped it. He added it. He got the mix. He got the look. He got the smell-vinegar and prune.

He sniffed it. His nose burned. It looked good-good bonds-good reaction mix.

Call it batch #9-diacetyl morphine/impure.

Wayne sneezed. Wayne rubbed his eyes. Wayne scratched his nose.

He lived at the lab. He worked at the lab. He sniffed caustic agents. He built allergies. The kadre bunked away. He dodged them. He dodged Chuck and Bob.

They bugged him. They said go Klan. They said hate spooks. They said hate like we do.

His hate was his hate. They didn't KNOW.

He lived at the lab. He slept all day. He worked all night. Day noise bugged him. He heard mopeds and chants outside. He heard slogan gobbledygook.

He slept through it. He set his clock-tracer rounds at six.

Night noise unbugged him. He heard jukebox clang downstairs. He heard music up his vents.

He did dope work. He built shelves. He filed newspapers. He crossfiled his clips. The Dallas rag and Vegas rag-a week old here.

The Dallas rag flaunted the birthday. The Dallas rag flaunted old stuff. Sidebars and _more_ birthdays-"unrelated" stuff.

Where's Maynard Moore? Where's that Wendell Durfee?

Wayne checked batch #9. There-the right smell/the right burn/the right mass. Precipitants-visible-nondiacetyl mass.

Wayne worked alone. Wayne worked kadre-adjunct. The kadre was in Laos. The kadre was overworked.

Their bomb raid killed camp guards. They needed new guards. Stanton told Pete to hire some Marvs. On-duty Marvs ran expensive. Tran hired deserters-Marvs _and_ VC.

Forty-two guards/eighteen Marvs/twenty-four Congs.

They worked hard. They worked cheap. They shrieked their views: Ho versus Khanh/North versus South/Mao versus LBJ.

Pete got pissed. Pete chartered laws. Pete segregated guard crews. Pete pouched notes down-Saravan to Saigon-on CIA flights boocoo.