7.–Like you wanted, I’m spreading myself between Blessington, our Miami business & the cabstand. Jimmy Hoffa is sort of pissed that you’re pals with the Kennedys, but he’s pleased with the lease deal, & the more Cuban immigrants that hit Miami the more $ Tiger Kab makes. And thanks for the merchandise you gave me for H.H. Since I’m in Florida all the time I guess that that stuff is what’s keeping me on his payroll. I’d quit, but I know you want to cultivate some kind of Agcy. connection with him. I call him once a week to keep my hand in. H.H. says he’s got Mormons looking after him now. They’re helping him dodge the TWA process servers & doing the work I used to, except for procuring merchandise. I think that as long as I can supply that I’ll draw an L.A. paycheck.
8.–Lenny Sands is editing Hush-Hush singlehandedly. I thought that quban piece he wrote was pretty good & got some good plugs in for the Cause.
That’s it. I don’t like writing things down, so tell Stanton to destroy this.
Viva La Causa!
PB
37
(Blessington, 12/24/59)
Lockhart put his feet up on the dashboard. His fiber-fill Santa Claus suit had him sweating.
“You won’t let me bomb churches or kill niggers. Now, what about enforcing the Klan Moral Kode?”
Pete played in–Dougie Frank was good for yuks. “What’s that?”
“Well, you get word Joe Redneck’s sister Sally has eyes for Leroy with the rumored 12-inch hog leg, and you catch them at it. You heat up your KKK branding iron and mark Sally as a race mixer.”
“What about Leroy?”
“You ask him where he got his, and do they make them that size in white.”
Pete laughed. Dougie Frank blew his nose out the window.
“I’m serious, Pete. I’m the Imperial Wizard of the South Florida Royal Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, and so far all I’ve done is hand out CIA bonus money and start up a softball team to play your goddamn crypto-jigaboo exiles.”
Pete swerved around a stray dog. The truck hit a pothole; the gift-wrapped turkeys in the back bounced and slid.
“Don’t tell me your FBI operator let you do lynchings.”
“No, he didn’t. But he also didn’t say, ‘Dougie Frank, don’t kill no niggers while you’re on the U.S. Government payroll, now.’ You see the difference? You’re tellin’ me I can’t do it, and you mean it.”
Pete saw shacks up ahead–good turkey drop-off spots. Santo Junior said to lube the locals–he had excess poultry stock off a hijack and figured free Christmas birds would promote goodwill.
“Do your job. This is big stuff we’re involved in, so treat it seriously.”
Lockhart said, “I am. I am doing my job and keeping my mouth shut about Chuck Rogers flying white powder airlines into the Fort Blessington airstrip, yessir. What I’m also sayin’ is my boys need some recreation.”
Pete swung around a turn. “I’ll talk to Jimmy Hoffa. Maybe he can take your guys out shark shooting.”
“What I had in mind was enforcing Moral Kode Bylaw Number Sixty-nine.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s where you catch Leroy’s brothers Tyrone and Rufus knockin’ on Sally’s door.”
“What do you do?”
“Tar and feather Sally.”
“What about Tyrone and Rufus?”
“You make them pull down their pants to see if it runs in the family.”
Pete laughed. Dougie Frank scratched his snowy-white beard. “How come I’m the one who had to dress up like Santa Claus?”
“I couldn’t find a red suit my size.”
“You could have dressed up one of the Cubans.”
“Come on. A spic Santa Claus?”
“I think this job is degrading.”
Pete pulled into a ratty dirt playground. Some colored kids saw Santa and went gaga.
Dougie Frank got out and lobbed turkeys at them. The kids ran up and tugged at his beard.
o o o
The local whites got turkeys. The local jigs got turkeys. The Blessington cops got turkeys and hijack Jim Beam.
The trainees got turkey dinners and Trojan prophylactics. Santo Junior sent down a Christmas treat: a busload of Tampa whores. Forty-four men and forty-four hookers made for squeaks off forty-four bunks.