Pete said, “It’s a deal.”
Jimmy said, “I’ve got a job in Sun Valley. I want you to come with me.”
o o o
They took a Tiger Kab out. Shark-shoot goodies bulged up the trunk: nail bats, Tommy guns and suntan oil.
Fulo Machado drove. Jimmy wore fresh threads. Pete forgot to bring spare clothes–Hoffa’s stink stuck to him.
Nobody talked–Jimmy Hoffa sulking killed chitchat. They passed buses filled with Teamster chumps headed for the suckerbait tract pads.
Pete did mental arithmetic.
Twelve cab drivers working around-the-clock. Twelve men with Jimmy Hoffa–sponsored green cards–taking short-end taxi-fare splits to stay in America. Twelve moonlighters: stickup men, strikebreakers, pimps. 5% of the top-end money and whatever else he could scrounge–this gig packed potential.
Fulo pulled off the highway. Pete saw the spot where he whacked Anton Gretzler. They followed a bus convoy to the bait cribs–three miles from the Interstate easy.
Movie spotlights gave off this huge glow–extra-bright, like a premiere at Grauman’s Chinese. The cosmetic Sun Valley looked good: tidy little houses in a blacktop-paved clearing.
Teamsters were boozing at card tables–at least two hundred men squeezed into the walkways between houses. A gravel parking lot was crammed with cars and buses. A bar-b-que pit stood adjacent–check that spike-impaled steer twirling and basting.
Fulo parked close to the action. Jimmy said, “You two wait here.”
Pete got out and stretched. Hoffa zoomed into the crowd– toadies swarmed him right off the bat.
Fulo sharpened his machete on a pumice stone. He packed it in a scabbard strapped to the backseat.
Pete watched Jimmy work the crowd.
He showed off the pads. He gave little speeches and wolfed bar-b-que. He seized up and flushed around a blond Polack type.
Pete chain-smoked. Fulo played the cab radio: some Spanish-language pray-for-Jesus show.
A few buses took off. Two carloads of hookers pulled in– trashy Cuban babes chaperoned by off-duty state troopers.
Jimmy huckstered and hawked Sun Valley applications. Some Teamsters grabbed their cars and fishtailed off drunk and rowdy.
The Polack bagged a U-drive Chevy and burned gravel like he had a hot date somewhere.
Jimmy walked up fast–stubby legs chugging on overdrive. You didn’t need a fucking road map: the Polack was Roland Kirpaski.
They piled in to the tiger sled. Fulo gunned it. The radio geek cranked up a donation plea.
Lead-foot Fulo got the picture. Lead-foot Fulo went 0 to 60 inside six seconds.
Pete saw the Chevy’s taillights. Fulo floored the gas and rammed them. The car swerved off the road, clipped some trees and stalled dead.
Fulo brodied in close. His headlights strafed Kirpaski– stumbling through a clearing thick with marsh grass.
Jimmy got out and chased him. Jimmy waved Fulo’s machete. Kirpaski tripped and stood up flashing two fuck-you fingers.
Hoffa came in swinging. Kirpaski went down flailing wrist stumps gouting blood. Jimmy swung two-handed–scalp flaps flew.
The radio clown jabbered. Kirpaski convulsed head to toe. Jimmy wiped blood from his eyes and kept swinging.
8
(Miami, 12/11/58)
Kemper called the car game Devil’s Advocate. It helped him keep his loyalties straight and honed his ability to project the right persona at the right time.
Bobby Kennedy’s distrust inspired the game. His southern accent slipped once–Bobby caught it instantly.
Kemper cruised South Miami. He began the game by marking who knew what.
Mr. Hoover knew everything. SA Boyd’s “retirement” was cloaked in FBI paperwork: if Bobby sought corroboration, he’d find it.
Claire knew everything. She’d never judge his motives or betray him.
Ward Littell knew of the Kennedy incursion. He most likely disapproved of it–Bobby’s crimebuster fervor deeply impressed him. Ward was also an ad hoc infiltration partner, compromised by the Darleen Shoftel wire job. The job shamed him–but gratitude for his THP transfer outweighed his guilt pangs. Ward did not know that Pete Bondurant killed Anton Gretzler; Ward did not know that Mr. Hoover condoned the murder. Bondurant terrified Ward–a sane response to Big Pete and the legend he inspired. The Bondurant matter should be kept from Ward at all cost.
Bobby knew that he was pimping for Jack–supplying him with the numbers of especially susceptible old flames.
Questions and answers next: practice for deflecting skepticism.
Kemper braked for a woman lugging groceries. His game snapped to the present tense.