Littell clamped down on his headphones. Jesus Fucking–
“Jules Schiffrin”/”Fund bookkeeper”/”real books.”
Sweat seeped into the phones–voices fizzed out incoherent. Littell wrote the quotes down verbatim on the closet wall.
Kabikoff: “…so I’m flying back to Texas in a few days. Take my card, Sal. No, take two and give one to Momo. Business cards always make a good impression.”
Littell heard goodbyes and a door slamming. He took off his headset and stared at the words on the wall.
Mad Sal walked up. Fat jiggled under his T-shirt.
“How’d I do? I had to give him some shit or he wouldn’t’ve believed it was the real me.”
“You were good. Now just watch your money. You won’t get another dime from me until I’ve tapped into the Fund.”
“What do I do about Kabikoff?”
“I’ll call you inside a week and tell you whether or not to refer him to Giancana.”
Sal belched. “Call me in L.A. I’m taking another junket out to Gardena.”
Littell stared at the wall. He memorized each and every word and copied them over into his notebook.
27
(Gardena, 8/25/59)
Lenny preened and smacked kisses. The junketeers ate it up– go Lenny, go, go, go.
Lenny hated fags. Lenny ate fags like Godzilla ate Tokyo. Lenny ate up the Lucky Nugget lounge.
Pete watched. Lenny spritzed shtick–fag Castro gropes fag Ike at the All-Fag Summit!!!!
“Fidel! Get your beard out of my crotch this instant! Fidel! What a biiiig Havana cigar you have!”
The junketeers loved it. The junketeers thought it was high-tone political satire.
Pete was bored. Stale shtick and stale beer–the Lucky Nugget was an armpit.
Dick Steisel sent him down. Dick had a grievance: Lenny’s recent shit was too coarse to print. Hughes and Hoover loved it– but random homo slurs could deep-six Hush-Hush.
“Fidel! Pass me the K-Y, and we’ll renew diplomatic relations! Fidel! My hemorrhoids are burning up like a United Fruit cane field!”
Kemper Boyd thought Lenny had talent Kemper had a brainstorm: Let’s dispense anti-Castro rage through Hush-Hush!
Lenny could write the stuff up. Lenny used to run bag to Batista–he knew the turf and the style, and Cuban Commies couldn’t sue.
Lenny cranked shtick. Pete screened 10:00 p.m. daydreams. THAT MOMENT flashed by in Technicolor.
There’s Tom Gordean, dead. There’s Boyd, smiling. There’s the suitcase full of UF stock.
They cut their deal right there beside the body. They rented a motel room, popped a shot off and rigged Gordean in a suicide pose. The stupid Key West cops bought the charade.
Boyd sold the stock. They made $131,000 apiece.
They met in D.C. for the split. Boyd said, “I can get you in on the Cuban thing, but it will probably take months. I’ll have to explain the Gordean mission as a fuck-up.”
Pete said, “Tell me more.”
Boyd said, “Go back to L.A., do your Hush-Hush work and baby-sit Howard Hughes. I think Cuba and our combined connections can make us both rich.”
He flew back and did it He told Hughes he might have to go on leave soon.
Hughes was pissed. He unpissed him with a shitload of codeine.
The Cuban Cause had him drooling. He wanted in wicked bad. Santo Trafficante got booted out of Cuba last month, and spread the word that Castro should get butt-fucked for his Crimes Against Casino Profiteering.
Boyd called the cabstand a “potential launching pad.” Boyd had this big throbbing wet dream: Jimmy Hoffa sells Tiger Kab to the Agency.
Chuck Rogers called him once a week. He said the cabstand was running trouble-free. Jimmy Hoffa sent him his monthly 5%–and he wasn’t doing jackshit to earn it.
Boyd had Rogers hire his pet Cubans: Obregón, Delsol, Paez and Gutierrez. Chuck fired the six pro-Castro geeks on the payroll–the fucks drove off hurling death threats.
Tiger Kab was now 100% anti-Castro.
Lenny ended his routine–with a riff on Adlay Stevenson, King of the Turd Burglars. Pete ducked out behind a standing ovation.
The junketeers loved their Lenny. Lenny brushed through them like a prima diva slumming.
Perk-perk-perk–his feelers kicked in strong. He got this feelerverified idea: Let’s tail the little hump.
o o o
They drove north, with three cars between them. Lenny’s Packard had a big whip antenna–Pete used it as a tracking device.