JFK: You’ll never make an untoward demand of me, will you?
BJ: No. I will not.
JFK: God bless you.
BJ: Do you believe in God?
JFK: Only for public appearances. Now, ask me a question.
BJ: Do you have somebody who finds women for you?
JFK (laughing): Not really. Kemper Boyd’s probably the closest thing, but he makes me a tad uncomfortable, so I haven’t really used him since the Inauguration.
BJ: Who’s Kemper Boyd?
JFK: He’s a Justice Department lawyer. You’d like him. He’s wildly good-looking and rather dangerous.
BJ: Are you jealous of him? Is that why he makes you uncomfortable?
JFK: He makes me uncomfortable because his one great regret is that he’s not a Kennedy, which is quite a tough regret to respect. He’s been dealing with some of those lowlife exiles for Bobby’s Study Group, and I think in some ways he’s no better than they are. He just went to Yale Law School, latched onto me and proved himself useful.
BJ: Pimps ingratiate themselves with authority. God, look at Peter.
JFK: Kemper’s no Peter Lawford, I’ll say that for him. Peter’s got no soul to sell, and Kemper sold his at a pretty steep price and didn’t even know it.
BJ: How so?
JFK: I can’t go into details, but he threw over the woman he was engaged to to curry favor with me and my family. You see, he came from money, but his father lost it all and killed himself. He’s living out some unsavory fantasy with me, and once you recognize it, the man becomes hard to take.
BJ: Let’s talk about something else.
JFK: How about Tunnel City, Wisconsin, in 1948?
BJ: To be continued.
JFK: Shit.
BJ: I like cliffhangers.
JFK: I don’t. I hated movie serials when I was a boy.
BJ: You should install a wall clock here. That way, you won’t have to sneak looks at your watch.
JFK: You’re droll. Hand me my trousers, would you?
BJ: Here.
Single door slam deactivates mike. Transcript close: 6:33 p.m., April 8, 1962.
77
(Miami, 4/15/62)
The cop was late. Pete killed time doodling up dispatch sheets.
He drew little hearts and arrows. He wrote out words Lenny and Barb said and underlined them for emphasis.
The words were strong. Cabstand bustle washed over him like total fucking silence.
Lenny’s words spawned a theory. The Outfit wants Bobby K. to know they’ve been helping out with Cuba. Bobby hasn’t been told yet. If he knew, he would have fungooed Kemper Boyd. If he knew, he would have snipped all known Mob-CIA ties.
The Outfit knows that Bobby doesn’t want a Fidel hit. They refused to fund the shooter team for just that reason.
His theory simmered for weeks. He ran guns to exile camps and Kemper worked his two gigs in Mississippi. Kemper was out to depilatory the Beard–his lack of Mob sanction did not seem to bother him one bit.
Barb was out to trim Jack the Haircut.
The cop was late. Pete drifted into Barb Overdrive.
Her words were accumulating–on tape and in print. He had the best words memorized.
Fred Turentine was running the Carlyle bug post–an apartment off 76th and Madison. A Barb Fucks Jack tape/print library was now in the works. Littell’s Hoover ploy succeeded. Feds wired the Presidential Suites at the El Encanto and Ambassador-East.
Mr. Hoover was their extortion colleague. Feds checked the Carlyle suite once a week–let’s keep those bedroom mikes tucked out of sight.
Jack K. was a six-minute bed jockey. Jack K. was a big fucking loudmouth.
Jack called Cuban exiles “lowlifes.” Jack called Kemper Boyd a pathetic social climber.
The cop was late. Pete drew more hearts and arrows.
He had a new theory. Dig it: Barb’s talking to Jack and to ME.
Barb says she won’t leave Joey Jahelka–”because he arranged to have some men who hurt my sister taken care of.” Barb won’t tell Jack the whole story.
Barb hints that big intrigue went down in May ‘48.
Barb knows he’ll play the tapes and read the transcripts. Barb wants him to fill in the blanks. Jack won’t press too hard for answers–she’s just one of his three million steady fucks.