Car horns bleeped long and shrill. Laura pointed down at a line of taxis. “They perch there like vultures. They always make the most noise when I’m playing Rachmaninoff.”
Kemper unholstered his piece. He honed in on a sign marked Yellow Cabs Only.
He braced his arm on the railing and fired. Two shots sheared the sign off the signpost. The silencer went thwack–Pete was a good ordnance supplier.
Laura whooped. Cabbies gestured up, spooked and bewildered.
Kemper said, “I like your hair.”
Laura untied it. The wind made it dance.
o o o
They talked.
He told her how the Boyd fortune evaporated. She told him how she flunked out of Juilliard and flopped as a socialite.
She called herself a musical dilettante. He called himself an ambitious cop. She recorded Chopin on a vanity label. He sent Christmas cards to car thieves he arrested.
He said he loved Jack but couldn’t stand Bobby. She called Bobby deep Beethoven and Jack Mozart most glib. She called Lenny Sands her one true friend and didn’t mention his betrayal. He said his daughter, Claire, shared all his secrets.
Devil’s Advocate snapped on automatically. He knew exactly what to say and what to omit.
He called Mr. Hoover a vindictive old queen. He portrayed himself as a liberal pragmatist hitched to the Kennedy star.
She revived the orphanhood theme. He described the threedaughter combine.
Susan Littell was judgmental and shrill. Helen Agee was courageous and impetuous. His Claire was too close to know just yet.
He told her about his friendship with Ward. He said he wanted a younger brother for keeps–and the Bureau gave him one. He said Ward worshiped Bobby. She said Bobby sensed that Uncle Joe was evil and chased gangsters to compensate for his patrimony.
He hinted at his own lost brother. He said the loss made him push Ward in odd ways.
They talked themselves exhausted. Laura called “21” and had dinner sent up. The chateaubriand and wine made her drowsy.
They left it unspoken.
Not tonight–next time.
o o o
Laura fell asleep. Kemper walked through the apartment.
Two circuits taught him the layout. Laura told him the maid needed a map. The dining room could feed a small army.
He called the Agency’s Miami Ops number. John Stanton picked up immediately.
“Yes?”
“It’s Kemper Boyd. I’m calling to accept your offer.”
“I’m very pleased to hear that I’ll be in touch, Mr. Boyd. We’ll have lots to discuss.”
“Good night, then.”
“Good night.”
Kemper walked back to the drawing room. He left the terrace curtains open–skyscrapers across the park threw light on Laura.
He watched her sleep.
21
(Chicago, 1/22/59)
Lenny’s spare fuck-pad key unlocked the door. Littell hacked the jamb down to the bolt to fake a forensically valid burglar entry.
He broke the blade off his pen knife. The B&E shakes had him hacking too hard.
His trial break-in taught him the floor plan. He knew where everything was.
Littell shut the door and went straight for the golf bag. The $14,000 was still tucked inside the ball pocket.
He put his gloves on. He allotted seven minutes for cosmetic thievery.
He unplugged the hi-fl.
He emptied drawers and ransacked the medicine cabinet.
He dumped a TV a toaster and the golf bag by the door.
It looked like a classic junkie-pad boost Butch Montrose would never suspect anything else.
Kemper Boyd always said PROTECT YOUR INFORMANTS.
He pocketed the money. He carried the swag to his car, drove it to the lake and dumped it in a garbage-strewn tide pool.
o o o
Littell got home late. Helen was asleep on his side of the bed.
Her side was cold. Sleep wouldn’t come–he kept replaying the break-in for errors.
He drifted off around dawn. He dreamed he was choking on a dildo.
o o o
He woke up late. Helen left him a note.
School bodes. What time did you get home? For a (dismayingly) liberal FBI man you certainly are a zealous Communist chaser. What do Communists do at midnight?
Love, love, love,
H
Littell forced down coffee and toast. He wrote his note on plain bond paper.
Mr. D’Onofrio,
Sam Giancana has issued a contract on you. You will be killed unless you repay the $12,000 you owe him. I have a way for you to avoid this. Meet me this afternoon at 4:00. The Kollege KIub, 1281 58th, Hyde Park.