Looks traveled. Hey-it's lunchtime-let's cook by electric chair.

They scrounged. They ad-libbed. Flash scrounged hot dogs. Laurent scrounged corned beef.

They packed them in. They stuffed the hoods. They pulled the switches. Sparks popped. The meat fried. The hoods dripped fat.

The meat cooked uneven. The concept rocked. The reality stunk.

Mesplиde supplied mustard. Flash supplied buns.

(Las Vegas, 7/16/65)

Candles-a full forty-five.

Pete blew them out. One puff did it. Barb cut the cake.

"Make a wish, and don't mention Cuba."

Pete laughed. "I already did."

"So tell."

"No. You jinx it that way."

Barb cranked the AC. Barb chilled down the suite.

"Did it involve Cuba?"

"I'm not saying."

"Vietnam?"

Pete licked icing. "Vietnam's no Cuba."

Barb scratched the cat. "Tell me why. It's your birthday, so I'll indulge you."

Pete sipped coffee. "It's too big, too fucked up, and too mechanized. You've got choppers with belly lights that can flash a one-mile-square patch of jungle. You've got carpet bombing and napalm. You've got gooks with no fucking charm and a bunch of shifty little cocksuckers in black pajamas who've lived guerrilla warfare for fifty fucking years."

Barb lit a cigarette. "Cuba's got more pizzazz. It fits your imperialist aesthetic."

Pete laughed. "You've been talking to Ward."

"You mean I stole his vocabulary."

Pete cracked his knuckles. The cat humped his knees.

"Flash smuggled two guys in. They were heisting casinos and killing croupiers. In Havana, that takes balls."

"Killing unarmed men?"

Pete laughed. "Militia guys work the casinos."

Barb laughed. "Distinction noted."

Pete kissed her. "Nobody disapproves like you. It's one of the ten thousand reasons why we work."

Barb pried the cat off. Barb squeezed his knees.

"Ward said you've let me grow up."

Pete smiled. "Ward gets to you. You think you know him, then he pulls out one more stop."

"For instance?"

"He cares about people who can't do him any good, but he's not a sucker about it."

"For example?"

"He got wind of some Klan shit. He pulled a stunt that nobody else would have pulled."

Barb smiled. "Including you?"

Pete nodded. "I helped him out on the back end. I braced a kadre guy and laid down some rules."

Barb stretched. The cat clawed her skirt.

"I had lunch with Ward. He was worried. He saw Jane going through his papers."

Pete stood up. Pete spilled his coffee.

Fuck-

o o o

"The ARVN boss man's getting ready to bomb Hanoi. He's talking to his financial advisor, One Lump Sum, and his Secretary of Fruitness, Come San Chin. They're in this chink restaurant in Saigon. Come San Chin's snarfing a big bowl of cream-of-some-young-guy."

Pete yukked. Pete watched the building.

He flew to L.A. He brought Milt C. for chuckles. He shagged a rental car.

He _felt_ it: Jane's bent. She's a plant. Carlos placed her with Ward.

He called Fred Otash. He quizzed him-what have _you_ got? Otash spieled a tip per Danny Bruvick-Arden-Jane's ex.

Danny's a boat man. Danny's got a pseudonym. Danny runs a charter biz-"somewhere in Alabama."

Carlos lived in New Orleans. Alabama was close.

Pete watched the building. Milt picked his nose. Ward was in Chicago. Sam G. called him in. Arden-Jane was upstairs.

"The Rat Pack tours Vietnam. Frank's glomming all the slant-eyed trim. Dino's bombed out of his gourd. He's so blotto that he blunders behind the Viet Cong lines. This little slant comes up to him. Dino says, 'Take me to your leader.' The slant says, 'Ky, Mao, or Ho Chi Minh?' Dino says, 'We'll dance later. Right now, take me to your leader.'"

Pete yukked. Pete watched the building.

Milt bummed a cigarette. "Freddy T. sent me a tape. Three legislators and six hookers jungled up at the Dunes."

Pete stretched. Pete watched the building.

Milt blew smoke rings. "I'm doing some more TV ads with Sonny. 'Tiger Kab, the Vegas champ. Call now or I'll kick your patootie.'"

Pete yukked. Pete watched the building. Milt ditched his shoes. Milt aired out his feet.

"We've got some deadbeats. I do not see the wisdom of consigning white horse on credit."

"I'll take care of it."

Milt yukked. "Let's use Sonny. Dig, he loves fur coats, he's always buying them for his bitches, and Donkey Dom just clipped a fur shop in Reno. Dig, Sonny can do our collections, and we can pay him off in fur."

Pete yukked-Milt, you slay me. Pete saw Jane walk out.

The doorman smiled. The doorman shagged her car. She got in. She pulled out. She drove west.

Pete kicked the engine. Pete pulled out. Pete tailed her. They took Wilshire west. They took Bundy south. They took Pico west toward the beach.

Pete laid back. Jane jumped lanes. Jane pulled right. Jane signaled. Jane turned.

There: the B. of A.-West L.A. branch.

She pulled up. She locked the car. She walked in.

Milt scoped her. "Nice pins. I could dig her love in a semi-large way."

Pete lit a cigarette. Milt bummed one.

"So, who is she? You call me at 5:00 a.m. You say, 'Let's go to L.A.,' you don't explain yourself. I'm starting to think you just brought me along for the laughs."

Jane walked out. Jane lugged a coin sack. Jane walked to the parkinglot phone.

She dialed "0." She fed the slots. She talked. She listened. She cupped the receiver. The call dragged on. She jiggled coins. She refed the slots.

Pete watched her. Pete timed her: five minutes/six/eight.

Milt yawned. "I'm digging on the intrigue. It's not like she hasn't got a phone at her crib."

Ten minutes/twelve/fourteen.

She hung up. She walked to her car. She got in and pulled out.

Pete tailed her. They took Pico east. They drove six miles plus. They took La Brea north.

They crossed Wilshire. They crossed 3rd. They took Beverly east. They took Rossmore north.

There-she pulls left. She signals. She turns. She's upside the Algiers-a white-brick/mock-mosque motel.

She parked. She got out. She palmed a folder. The joint had big windows. Dig the see-thru surveillance.

She walked inside. She stopped a clerk. She passed him the folder.

Milt said, "I smell tsuris. Carlos has points in that joint."

Pete said, "I know."

o o o

He weighed it. He diced it. He fucking julienned it. Carlos had points. Carlos had _control_ points. Carlos hired the crew.

They flew home. Milt buzzed off. Pete hit Tiger Kab. He rehearsed his shtick. He built some lies. He called PC Bell.

A clerk picked up. "Police Information. Who's requesting?"

Pete coughed. "Sergeant Peters, LAPD. I need the connect on a payphone call."

"Time, location, and origin number, please."

Pete grabbed a pen. "1:16 p.m. today. No origin number, but it's the pay phone outside the Bank of America at 14229 West Pico, Los Angeles."

The clerk coughed. "Please hold for that information."

Pete held. Pete watched the lot. Donkey Dom shot dice. Donkey Dom ogled boys. Donkey Dom adjusted his basket.

The line buzzed. The clerk coughed.

"That call was long-distance. The connect was a charter-boat slip in Bon Secour, Alabama."