“The complete answer is ‘Things change.’ And you don’t think America’s going to get between the sheets with Dick Nixon when they can cozy up to Jack, do you?”
Hughes pushed himself upright. His bed rails shook; his IV rig teetered.
“I own Richard Nixon.”
Pete said, “I know you do. And I’m sure he’s real grateful for that loan you floated his brother.”
Dracula got the shakes. Dracula got his dentures snagged up on the roof of his mouth.
Dracula got some words out. “I–I–I’d forgotten that you knew about that.”
“A busy guy like you can’t remember everything.”
Drac reached for a fresh hypo. “Dick Nixon’s a good man, and the entire Kennedy family is rotten down to the core. Joe Kennedy’s been lending gangsters money since the ‘20s, and I know for a fact that the infamous Raymond L. S. Patriarca owes him the very shirt off his back.”
He had the Nixon loan documented. He could feed the dope to Boyd and curry big-time favor with Jack.
Pete said, “Like I owe you.”
Hughes beamed. “I knew you’d see my point.”
49
(Chicago, 7/15/60)
Littell studied his new face.
His weak jawline was rebuilt with pins and bone chips. His weak chin was smashed into a cleft. The nose he always hated was flattened and ridged.
Helen said he looked dangerous. Helen said his scars put hers to shame.
Littell stepped back from the mirror. Shifting light gave him new angles to savor.
He limped now. His jaw clicked. He put on twenty pounds in the hospital.
Pete Bondurant was a cosmetic surgeon.
He had a bold new face. His old pre-Phantom psyche couldn’t live up to it.
He was afraid to move on Jules Schiffrin. He was afraid to confront Kemper. He was afraid to talk on the phone–little line clicks popped in his ears.
The clicks could be jaw-pin malfunctions. The clicks could be audial DTs. –
He was six months short of retirement. Mal Chamales said the Party needed lawyers.
A TV boomed next door. John Kennedy’s acceptance speech faded into applause.
The Bureau discontinued their assault inquiry. Hoover knew that he could sabotage Boyd’s Kennedy incursion.
Littell stepped close to the mirror. The scars above his eyebrows furrowed.
He couldn’t stop looking.
50
(Miami/Blessington, 7/16/60–10/12/60)
Pete turned forty on a speedboat run to Cuba. He led a raid on a militia station and took sixteen scalps.
Ramon Gutiérrez sketched up a Cadre mascot: a pit bull with an alligator snout and razor-blade teeth. Ramón’s girlfriend sewed up mascot shoulder patches.
A printer fashioned mascot calling cards. “FREE CUBA!” roared out of the Beast’s mouth.
Carlos Marcello carried one. Sam Gi carried one. Santo Junior handed out dozens to friends and associates.
The Beast craved blood. The Beast craved Castro’s beard on a stick.
Training cycles pushed through Blessington. The invasion plan mandated new ordnance. Dougie Frank Lockhart purchased surplus landing craft and “invaded” Alabama once per cycle.
The Gulf Coast simulated Cuba. Trainees hit the beach and scared the shit out of sunbathers.
Dougie Frank trained troops full-time. Pete trained troops parttime. Chuck, Fulo and Wilfredo Delsol ran the cabstand.
Pete led speedboat runs into Cuba. Everybody went along– except Delsol.
The Obregón kill snipped part of his balls. Pete didn’t judge him–losing blood kin in a flash was no picnic.
Everybody sold dope.
The Cadre supplied spook junkies exclusively. The Miami PD implicitly approved. Narco Squad payouts served as disapproval insurance.
A redneck gang tried to crash their turf late in August. One geek shot and killed a Dade County deputy.
Pete found the guy–holed up with seventy grand and a case of Wild Turkey. He took him out with Fulo’s machete and donated the cash to the deputy’s widow. –
Profits zoomed. The % system worked slick as shit–fat stipends went to Blessington and Guy Banister. Lenny Sands ran the Hush-Hush propaganda war. Purple prose bopped the Beard every week.
Dracula called weekly. He spouted broken-record bullshit: I want to buy up Las Vegas and render it germ-free! Drac was half lucid and half nuts–and only really cagey where coin was concerned. –
Boyd called bi-weekly. Boyd was Bad-Back Jack’s security boss and head pimp.