AMERICAN TABLOID by James Ellroy

“Right.”

“Did Lawford introduce you to Jack Kennedy?”

“No.”

“Do you think he told Kennedy about you?”

“Maybe.”

“You’ve heard about Kennedy and women?”

“Sure. Peter called him ‘insatiable,’ and a showgirl I knew in Vegas told me some stories.”

Pete smelled suntan oil. Redheads and bright stage lights–

Barb said, “Where are we going with this?”

Pete said, “I’ll see you at the club tomorrow night and tell you.”

o o o

Littell met him outside Lenny’s building. Night-owl Lenny had his lights on at 3:20 a.m.

Pete said, “The woman’s great All we need is Lenny to front the introduction.”

“I want to meet her.”

“You will. Is he alone?”

Littell nodded. “He came home with a pickup two hours ago. The boy just left.”

Pete yawned–he hadn’t slept in twenty-four-plus hours. “Let’s take him.”

“Good cop–bad cop?”

“Right. Alternating, so we keep him off balance.”

They walked up to the porch. Pete rang the bell. Littell screwed a crimped ugly look on his face.

Lenny opened up. “Don’t tell me, you forgot–”

Pete pushed him inside. Littell slammed the door and threw the bolt.

Chic Lenny cinched his robe. Fey Lenny threw his head back and laughed.

“I thought we were quits, Ward. And I thought you only crawled around Chicago.”

Littell said, “We need some help. And all you have to do is introduce a man to a woman and keep quiet about it.”

“Or?”

“Or we hand you up for the Tony Iannone killing.”

Pete sighed. “Let’s do this civilized.”

Littell said, “Why? We’re dealing with a sadistic little faggot who killed a man and bit his goddamn nose off.”

Lenny sighed. “I’ve been double-teamed before. This routine is nothing new to me.”

Littell said, “We’ll try to make it interesting.”

Pete said, “Five grand, Lenny. All you have to do is introduce Barb Jahelka to another friend of yours.”

Littell popped his knuckles. Lenny said, “Give it up, Ward. Rough-trade mannerisms don’t suit you.”

Littell slapped him. Lenny slapped him back.

Pete stepped between them. They looked ridiculous–two bloody-nosed pseudo tough guys.

“Come on, you two. Let’s do this civilized.”

Lenny wiped his nose. “Your face looks different, Ward. Those scars are soooooo you.”

Littell wiped his nose. “You didn’t seem surprised when Pete mentioned Barb Jahelka.”

Lenny laughed. “That’s because I was still in shock from the notion of you two as playmates.”

Littell said, “That’s not a real answer.”

Lenny shrugged. “How’s this? Barb’s in the Life, and everybody in the Life knows everybody else in the Life.”

Pete lobbed a change-up. “Name some hotels Jack Kennedy takes his women to.”

Lenny twitched. Pete popped his thumbs double-loud.

Littell said, “Name some hotels.”

Swishy Lenny squealed, “This is sooooo fun! Hey, let’s call Kemper Boyd and make it a foursome!”

Littell slapped him. Lenny popped some tears–fag bravado, adieu.

Pete said, “Name some hotels. Don’t make me get rough with you.”

Lenny put on a lisp. “The El Encanto in Santa Barbara, the Ambassador-East in Chicago, and the Carlyle in New York.”

Littell pushed Pete into the hallway–well out of Lenny’s earshot. “Hoover’s got standing bugs in the El Encanto and Ambassador-East. The managers assign those suites to whoever he tells them to.”

Pete whispered. “He’s put it together. He knows what we want, so let’s close him.”

They walked back to the living room. Lenny was guzzling high-test Bacardi.

Littell looked ready to drool. Hoffa said he had ten months off the sauce. Lenny’s liquor cart was radioactive–rum and scotch and all kinds of good shit.

Lenny downed the juice two-handed. Pete said, “‘Jack, this is Barb. Barb, this is Jack.’”

Lenny wiped his lips. “I have to call him ‘Mr. President’ now.”

Littell said, “When was the last time you saw him?”

Lenny coughed. “A few months ago. At Peter Lawford’s beach house.”

“Does he always go by Lawford’s place when he’s in L.A.?”

“Yes. Peter throws wonderful parties.”

“Does he invite unattached women?”

Lenny giggled. “Does he ever.”

“Does he invite you?”

“Usually, dear heart. The President likes to laugh, and what the President likes, the President gets.”

Pete stepped in. “Who else goes to the parties? Sinatra and those Rat Pack guys?”

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