Littell loved Dougie Frank’s pedigree. The fuck was ultra-right and FBI-filthy.
Littell said, “He’s perfect. If Mr. Hoover is forced to investigate, he’ll put a blanket on Lockhart and his known associates immediately. If he doesn’t, he’ll risk exposure of all the Bureau’s racist policies.”
Lockhart was holed up in Puckett, Mississippi. Littell said, Go there and recruit him.
He strolled through the main MPD squadroom last night. He saw three prospective motorcade maps. They were tacked to a corkboard in plain fucking view.
He memorized them. All three routes ran by their gun shop and For Rent signs.
Boyd said he felt awe more than fear.
Pete said, I know what you mean.
He didn’t say, I love this woman, If I die, I came this far and lost her for nothing.
90
(Miami, 9/27/63)
Somebody placed a tape recorder on his coffee table. Somebody placed a sealed envelope beside it.
Littell shut the door and thought it through.
Pete and Kemper know you’re here. Jimmy and Carlos know you always stay at the Fontainebleau. You went down to the coffee shop for breakfast and were gone less than half an hour.
Littell opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. Mr. Hoover’s block printing explained the surreptitious entry.
Jules Schiffrin died concurrent with your fall 1960 absence from duty. His estate house was ransacked and certain ledger books were stolen.
Joseph Valachi did extensive Pension Fund forwarding work. He is currently being questioned by a trusted colleague of mine. Robert Kennedy does not know that this interrogation is progressing.
The accompanying tape contains information that Mr. Valachi will refuse to reveal to Mr. Kennedy, the McClellan Committee, and indeed to anyone else. I trust Mr. Valachi to maintain his silence. He has been made aware that the quality and duration of his Federal relocation is predicated on it.
Please destroy this note. Please listen to the tape and keep it in a safe place. I realize that the tape has limitless strategic potential. It should be revealed to Robert Kennedy only as an adjunct to measures of great boldness.
Littell plugged in the machine and prepped the enclosed tape. His hands were butter–the spool kept slipping off the spindle.
He tapped the Play button. The tape splice sputtered and hissed.
Go over it again, Joe. Like I told you before, slow and easy.
Okay, slow and easy then. Slow and easy for the sixteenth goddamn–
Joe, come on.
Okay. Slow and easy for the stupes in the peanut gallery. Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. was the charter bankroller of the Teamsters’ Central States Pension Fund, which loans out money to all kinds of bad people and a few good people at very high interest rates. I did a lot of the forwarding work. Somethnes I delivered cash to people’s safe-deposit boxes.
You mean they gave you clearance to enter their boxes?
Right. And I used to visit Joe Kennedy’s bank regularly. It’s the main Security–First National in Boston. It’s account 811512404. It’s like ninety or a hundred safe-deposit boxes filled with cash. Raymond Patriarca thinks there’s close to a hundred million dollars in there, and Raymond should know, ‘cause him and Irish Joe go back a ways. I got to say the notion of Bob Kennedy as a racket buster makes me laugh. I guess the apple does fall pretty far from the tree, ‘cause Joe Kennedy money has financed one whole hell of a lot of Ouffit deals. I got to say also that old Joe’s the only Kennedy that knows about that money. You don’t tell people, I got a hundred million in cash put away that my sons the President and Attorney General don’t know about. And now Joe’s had this stroke, so maybe he’s not thinking too clear. You would sort of like to see that money put to use and not just sit there, which it might if old Joe kicks off or goes senile and forgets about it. I should also mention that every big guy in the Outfit knows how dirty Joe is, but they can’t shake Bobby down with the knowledge without putting their own fits in the wringer.
The tape ran out. Littell tapped the Stop button and sat perfectly still.