AMERICAN TABLOID by James Ellroy

“I worked auto-theft infiltration assignments for the past nine years, and it had gotten to the point where I was too well known to car thieves to go undercover convincingly. The Bureau bylaws contain an early-retirement clause for agents who have engaged in prolonged stints of hazardous duty, and I utilized it.”

“‘Utilized’? Did those assignments debilitate you in some way?”

“I applied for a position with the Top Hoodlum Program first. Mr. Hoover rejected my application personally, although he knew full well that I had desired organized crime work for some time. No, I wasn’t debilitated. I was frustrated.”

Kennedy brushed hair from his forehead. “So you quit.”

“Is that an accusation?”

“No, it’s an observation. And frankly, I’m surprised. The FBI is a tight-knit organization that inspires great loyalty, and agents do not tend to retire out of pique.”

Kemper raised his voice–just barely. “A great many agents realize that organized crime, not domestic Communism, poses the greatest threat to America. The Apalachin revelations forced Mr. Hoover to form the Top Hoodlum Program, which of course he did with some reluctance. The program is accruing anti-Mob intelligence, but not seeking hard evidence to build toward Federal prosecution, but at least that’s something, and I wanted to be part of it.”

Kennedy smiled. “I understand your frustration, and I agree with your critique of Mr. Hoover’s priorities. But I’m still surpnsed that you quit.”

Kemper smiled. “Before I ‘quit,’ I snuck a look at Mr. Hoover’s private file on the McClellan Committee. I’m up-to-date on the Committee’s work, up to and including Sun Valley and your missing witness Anton Gretzler. I ‘quit’ because Mr. Hoover has the Bureau neurotically focused on harmless leftists, while the McClellan Committee is going after the real bad guys. I ‘quit’ because given my choice of monomaniacs, I’d rather work for you.”

Kennedy grinned. “Our mandate ends in five months. You’ll be out of work.”

“I have an FBI pension, and you’ll have forwarded so much evidence to municipal grand juries that they’ll be begging your investigators to work for them ad hoc.”

Kennedy tapped a stack of papers. ‘We work hard here. We plod. We subpoena and trace money and litigate. We don’t risk our lives stealing sports cars or dawdle over lunch or take women to the Willard Hotel for quickies. Our idea of a good time is to talk about how much we hate Jimmy Hoffa and the Mob.”

Kemper stood up. “I hate Hoffa and the Mob like Mr. Hoover hates you and your brother.”

Bobby laughed. “I’ll let you know within a few days.”

o o o

Kemper strolled by Sally Lefferts’ office. It was 2:30–Sally might be up for a quickie at the Willard.

Her door was open. Sally was at her desk fretting tissues–with a man straddling a chair up close to her.

She said, “Oh, hello, Kemper.”

Her color was up: rosy verging on flushed. She had that too-bright I’ve-lost-at-love-again glow on.

“Are you busy? I can come back.”

The man swiveled his chair around. Kemper said, “Hello, Senator.”

John Kennedy smiled. Sally dabbed at her eyes. “Jack, this is my friend Kemper Boyd.”

They shook hands. Kennedy did a little half-bow.

“Mr. Boyd, a pleasure.”

“My pleasure entirely, sir.”

Sally forced a smile. Her rouge was streaked–she’d been crying.

“Kemper, how did your interview go?’

“It went well, I think. Sally, I have to go. I just wanted to thank you for the referral.”

Little nods went around. Nobody’s eyes met. Kennedy handed Sally a fresh tissue.

Kemper walked downstairs and outside. A storm had fired up–he ducked under a statue ledge and let the rain graze him.

The Kennedy coincidence felt strange. He walked straight from an interview with Bobby into a chance meeting with Jack. It felt like he was gently pushed in that direction.

Kemper thought it through.

Mr. Hoover mentioned Sally–as his most specific link to Jack Kennedy. Mr. Hoover knew that he and Jack shared a fondness for women. Mr. Hoover sensed that he’d visit Sally after his interview with Bobby.

Mr. Hoover sensed that he’d call Sally for an interview referral immediately. Mr. Hoover knew that Bobby needed investigators and interviewed walk-in prospects at whim.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *