SG: Right. Some cocksucking shakedown precipitated Bobby finding out. The word is Jimmy and Frenchman Pete were in on it. Somebody got careless, and Jewboy Lenny killed himself.
JR: You can’t fault Jimmy and Pete for trying to fuck the Kennedys.
SG: No, you can’t.
JR: And it turned out Lenny was a faggot. Can you believe that?
SG: Who would have believed it?
JR: He was Jewish, Mo. The Jewish race has a higher percentage of homos than regular white people.
SG: That’s true. Heshie Ryskind’s no queer, though. He’s had like sixty thousand blow jobs.
JR: Heshie’s sick, Mo. He’s real sick.
SG: I wish the Kennedys caught his fucking disease. The Kennedys and Sinatra.
JR: Sinatra sold us a bill of goods. He said he had influence with the brothers.
SG: He’s useless. The Haircut kicked his guinea ass off the White House guest list. Asking Frank to plead our case with the brothers is useless.
Non-applicable conversation follows.
Cleveland, 8/4/62. BR1-8771 (Sal’s River Lounge) to BR4-0811 (Bartolo’s Ristorante pay phone). Speaking: John Michael D’Allesio (TEP File #180.4, Cleveland Office), Daniel “Donkey Dan” Versace (File #206.9, Chicago Office). Conversation sixteen minutes in progress.
DV: Rumors are just rumors. You got to consider the source and take It from there.
JMD: Danny, you like rumors?
DV: You know I do. You know I love a good rumor as much as the next guy, and I don’t particularly care if it’s true or not.
JMD: Danny, I got a hot rumor. DV: So tell. Don’t be a fucking cock tease.
JMD: The rumor is J. Edgar Hoover and Bobby Kennedy hate each other.
DV: That’s your rumor?
JMD: There’s more.
DV: I hope so. The Hoover-Bobby feud is stale bread.
JMD: The rumor is Bobby’s racket squad guys are turning snitches. The rumor is Bobby won’t let Hoover near his fucking prospects. Furthermore, I heard the fucking McClellan Committee’s gearing up to go into session again. They’re getting ready to fucking keester the Outfit again. Bobby’s working on turning this major informant. When the committee sessions start, this guy’s supposed to come on as the starring fucking attraction.
DV: I heard better rumors, Johnny.
JMD: Fuck you.
DV: I prefer sex-type rumors. Haven’t you heard any good sex-type shit?
JMD: Fuck you.
Non-applicable conversation follows.
New Orleans, 10/10/62. KL4-0909 (Habana Bar pay phone) to CR8-8107 (Town & Country Motel pay phone). Note: Carlos Marcello (no THP file extant) owns the Town & Country. Speaking: Leon NMI Broussard (THP File #88.6, New Orleans Office) and unidentified (assumed Cuban) man. Conversation twenty-one minutes in progress.
LB: So you shouldn’t give up hope. All is not lost, my friend.
UM: It feels as if it is.
LB: That is simply not true. I know for a fact that Uncle Carlos is still very much a believer.
UM: He is alone, then. A few years ago many of his compatriots were just as generous as be has remained. It is troubling to see powerful friends abandoning the Cause.
LB: Like John F-for-fuckhead Kennedy.
UM: Yes. His betrayal is the worst example. He continues to prohibit a second invasion.
LB: So the fuckhead doesn’t care. I’ll tell you this, though, my friend. Uncle Carlos does.
UM: I hope you are right.
LB: I know I am. I have it on very good authority that Uncle Carlos is financing an operation that could blow the whole Cuban thing to bits.
UM: I hope you are right.
LB: He’s bankrolling some men who want to hit Castro. Three Cuban guys and an ex-French paratrooper. The leader’s an ex-FBI/CIA man. Uncle Carlos said he’d die himself just to make the hit.
UM: I hope this is true. You see, the Cause has become scattered. There are hundreds of exile groups now. Some are CIA-financed and some are not. I hate to say it, but many of the groups are fined with crackpots and undesirables. I think direct action is needed, and with so many factions working at cross-purposes, this will be hard to accomplish.
LB: The first thing somebody should accomplish is cutting the Kennedy brothers’ balls off. The Outfit was very fucking generous to the Cause until Bobby Kennedy went nuts and cut off all our fucking ties.