AMERICAN TABLOID by James Ellroy

Two Border Patrol clowns deplaned. The pilot said, “Let him go. Where’s he gonna run to?”

Carlos tumbled out of the plane. Carlos ran to the shack, knock-kneed in tight BVDs.

Luis idled the engine. Pete head the bathroom door slam.

Carlos yelled, “ROGERS, WHAT THE FUCK–?”

The window screen popped out. Carlos Marcello squeezed through–and snagged himself bare-assed in the process.

o o o

The run to the Hilton took an hour. Marcello blasted Bobby Kennedy nonstop.

In English. In straight Italian. In Sicilian dialect. In New Orleans Cajun French patois–not bad for a wop.

Luis detoured by a men’s shop. Chuck took down Marcello’s sizes and bought him some threads.

Carlos dressed in the car. Little window-squeeze abrasions bloodied up his shirt.

The hotel manager met them at the freight entrance. They freight-lifted up to the penthouse on the QT

The manager unlocked the door. One glance said Stanton delivered.

The pad featured three bedrooms, three bathrooms and a rec room lined with slot machines. The living room was Kemper Boyd fantasy size.

The bar was fully stocked. A guinea cold-cut buffet was laid out. The envelope by the cheese tray contained twenty grand and a note.

Pete & Chuck,

I’m betting you were able to get ahold of Mr. Marcello. Take good care of him. He’s a valuable friend to the Cause.

JS

Marcello grabbed the money. The manager genuflected. Pete showed him the door and slipped him a C-note.

Marcello snarfed salami and breadsticks. Chuck built a tall Bloody Mary.

Pete paced off the suite. Forty-two yards lengthwise–whoa!

Chuck curled up with a hate mag. Marcello said, “I really had to piss. When you hold a piss that long it pisses you off.”

Pete snagged a beer and some crackers. “Stanton’s got you a lawyer in D.C. You’re supposed to call him.”

“I’ve talked to him already. I’ve got the best Jew lawyers money can buy, and now I’ve got him.”

“You should call him now and get it over with.”

“You call him. And stay on the line in case I need you to translate. Lawyers talk this language I don’t always get the first time around.”

Pete grabbed the coffee table extension. The hotel operator placed his call.

Marcello picked up the bar phone. The long-distance rings came through faint.

A man said, “Hello?”

Marcello said, “Who’s this? Are you that guy I talked to at the Hay-Adams?”

“Yes, this is Ward Littell. Is this Mr. Marcello?”

Pete almost SHIT–

Carlos slumped into a chair. “This is him, calling from Guatemala City, Guatemala, where he does not want to be. Now, if you want to get my attention, say something bad about the man who put me here.”

Pete clenched up wicked bad. He covered his mouthpiece so they wouldn’t hear him hyperventilate.

Littell said, “I hate that man. He hurt me once, and there is very little that I wouldn’t do to cause him discomfort.”

Carlos tee-hee-heed–weird for a bass-baritone. “You got my attention. Now, stow that ass-kiss routine you dropped on me before, and say something to convince me you’re good at what you do.”

Littell cleared his throat. “I specialize in deportation writ work. I was an FBI agent for close to twenty yeas. I’m a good friend of Kemper Boyd, and although I distrust his admiration for the Kennedys, I’m convinced that his devotion to the Cuban Cause supersedes it. He wants to see you safely and legally reunited with your loved ones, and I’m here to see that it happens.”

Pete felt queasy. BOYD, YOU FUCK–

Marcello snapped breadsticks. “Kemper said you were ten grand’s worth of good. Now, if you deliver like you talk, ten grand’s just the start of you and me.”

Littell came on servile. “It’s an honor to work for you. And Kemper apologizes for your inconvenience. He was tipped off on the raid at the last second, and he didn’t think they could pull it off as fast as they did.”

Marcello scratched his neck with a breadstick. “Kemper always gets the job done. I’ve got no complaints against him that can’t wait until the next time I see that too-handsome face of his face-to-face. And the Kennedys keestered 49.8% of the American voters, including some good friends of mine, so I don’t begrudge him that admiration if it don’t fuck with my life and limb.”

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