The Cold Six Thousand (79 page)

He’s by the railing. He’s with a Negro man. Negro men mill below. King’s talking to them. It’s jovial. Cars sit below.

Jimmy’s in the wino pad. Fred O. said so. Jimmy
will
shoot. Fred O. said so. Jimmy
will
split. I’ll drop gun 3. Fred O. said so.

Wayne watched the balcony. Brush covered him. Bob Relyea ditto. Bugs crawled. Ants swarmed. Pollen spritzed.

Bob held gun 2. It was aimed up and out. It was eye-sighted in. Wayne held binoculars. Wayne zeroed in tight.

He held on King. He got King’s eyes. He got King’s skin.

Bob said, “He ain’t walking downstairs. If Jimmy don’t shoot inside a minute, I do.”

Code Red/all systems clear/all systems GO. No security extant/no cops visible/Feds and Fed cars ditto. Their car was parked on Main Street. Fred O.’s car ditto.

Bob shoots or Jimmy shoots. Jimmy runs then. They run faster. They run zippo. They run through the same passageway. They’re younger and swift. They cut through the wino-pad wings.

They bag their car. They split. Jimmy bags his car. Jimmy splits. Fred O. drops gun 3 in a doorway—upside Canipe Novelty.

Wayne hits the safe house. Jimmy shows up. Jimmy suicides.

Countdown—6:00 p.m. sharp—pawn to RED KING.

Wayne honed his binoculars. Wayne got King’s eyes. Wayne got King’s skin.

“I’m on him. If Jimmy misses or wounds, I’ll tap you.”

“I want him to punk out. You know that.”

“Otash says he’s solid.”

“He’s a fruitcake. Always has been.”

Wayne watched King. Wayne ran outtakes. Wayne saw that fuck film. The mattress jiggles. King’s flab rolls. That ashtray drops.

Wayne tingled. Bob tingled. Wayne saw his veins pop. They heard a shot slam. They saw red blood on black skin. They heard concurrent pop.

Wayne saw the impact. Wayne saw the neck spray. Wayne saw King drop.

The safe house:

A two-room apartment. Bargain-basement furnished. Three miles off South Main.

Wayne dropped Bob off. Wayne went there. Wayne sat. Fucking Jimmy schizzed out. Fucking Jimmy no-showed.

Fred O. said go there. Fred O. said meet my friend. He’s got the bounty. He’s got your visa. He’s got your Rhodesian passport.

Wayne sat. Wayne waited. Wayne shagged walkie-talkie reports. Fred O. buzzed. Fred O. talked. Fred O. culled juicy cop talk.

He dropped the gun. He did it unseen. Jimmy bagged his sled and took off. The cops showed. The cops found the gun. The cops checked it out.

They talked to folks. They got descriptions. They put broadcasts out. Look for a white man. He’s got a white Mustang. Wrong. Jimmy’s ‘Stang was yellow.

Fred O. buzzed. Fred O. fretted. He’s gone. He smelled shit. He shut “Raul” off. The cops have the plant gun. The Feds will take over. The Feds will obfuscate.

Soft-point bullets. Hard to ID. Ballistic holocaust. It’s a 30.06. It’s the murder weapon. We know that’s a fact.

Trust Mr. Hoover. He’ll extrapolate. Big Dwight says so. Wayne agreed. Wayne said we’re covered. We
both
say so.

Bob was crushed. Bob didn’t shoot. Bob the Klansman bereft. Bob laughed and hailed a cab. Bob booked for West Memphis, Arkansas. Wayne sat. Wayne waited. Wayne gave Jimmy up. He burned the suicide note. He flushed the crystal meth. He smashed the hypodermic. He put gloves on. He wiped the pad. He played the radio.

He heard eulogies. He caught breaking news. He heard Negroes-in-the-street bereft. Riots in progress/nationwide chaos/arson and sack.

Wayne popped a window. Wayne heard sirens. Wayne saw flames sweep and crack.

Wayne thought
I Did That
.

(Washington, D.C., 4/6/68)

U
pdates—live on TV.

Littell watched NBC. Littell caught riots and mourning. Littell watched all-day TV.

Riot dead: four in Baltimore/nine in D.C.

Riots: L.A./Detroit/St. Louis. Chicago/New York. Outrage/chain reaction/big damage stats.

Littell cracked a window. Littell smelled smoke. Littell heard bullets smack.

A newsman pitched a D.C. update. This just teletyped: Negroes see a white man. Negroes swamp his car. Negroes kill said white man. Other Negroes watch.

Littell watched TV. Littell kept a vigil. It ran forty-eight hours plus. He flew to D.C. He did Teamster work. He got the news. He holed up in his apartment. He lived by his TV.

He mourned. He watched TV. He ran scenarios: Mr. Hoover/Dwight Holly/BLACK RABBIT.

The Rustin shakedown. Attendant frustration. The Poor People’s March provokes. Time lines/event chains/conclusions pro and con. The FBI investigates/cover-up pro and con/empirical lessons from Dallas.

He holed up. He wept some. He wondered:

The El Encanto bug. The Boys’ “goody box.” Bobby’s bugged suite. Access to Bobby’s campaign.

He ran scenarios. He connected them—King to Bobby. He watched TV. He debunked scenarios—King to Bobby. He stayed inside. He stayed safe. He called Janice.

She got the word. She learned eight days ago. The doctors said it’s cancer.

It’s in your stomach. It’s spreading slow. It’s in your spleen. Your cramps masked the symptoms. Your cramps cost you time. Your cramps skewed early detection.

You might live. You might die. Let us operate. Janice said maybe. Janice said let me think.

He told her:

You love the DI. Move in with me. Relax and play the golf course.

Janice did it. Janice moved in. They talked. Janice blasted Wayne Senior.

Janice wept some. Janice said he talked in his sleep. He asked what he said. She said you reach out for “Bobby” and “Jane.”

She said no more. She zipped her lips and played coy. He consoled her. He convinced her—let them operate.

Janice showed courage. Janice said yes. Janice faced the knife next week.

Sick list:

Janice was gravely ill. Pete almost died. Heart attack/on his boat run/well out at sea.

Pete killed four men. Pete dumped the bodies. Pete turned the boat back. Pete radioed Bay St. Louis. Pete said call my friend in D.C.

Littell got the message. Littell called Carlos. Carlos pledged a cleanup crew. Pete got the boat in. Pete got lucky. No one saw
five
men embark.

The cleanup men got on. The cleanup men cleaned up. The doctors got Pete. The doctors operated. The doctors patched his heart.

Coronary thrombosis. Mid-range this time. You were lucky.

Pete rested. Littell called him. Pete said he got four. Pete said he missed the last two.

Littell called Carlos. Littell relayed the message. Carlos said fuck it. Carlos reprieved the last two.

Pete called Littell back. Pete asked favors. Don’t tell Barb. Don’t scare her. Let me get my shit back. Call Milt Chargin. Say I’m okay. Have him mind the cat.

Littell agreed. Littell called Pete. Littell called one hour back. A nurse came on. She said Pete checked out—“Against doctor’s advice.”

Pete had a visitor. Said visitor spooked him. It was “Carlos Somebody.” It was four hours back.

Littell flipped channels. Littell saw Bobby. Bobby was solemn. Bobby condemned racial hate. Bobby mourned Dr. King.

The scenarios kicked in: bug jobs pro and con/collusion widespread. It got bad. It got wild. It got
real
.

Littell grabbed his Rolodex. Littell found Paul Horvitz.

He made the meet. Paul said he’d risk it. See you at 6:00 p.m.—Eddie Chang’s Kowloon.

Littell weighed
his
risk.

The hotel bug. Potential upshots exponential. Risk it. Tell Paul. Have him warn Bobby.

Littell dressed up. Littell wore his beard and tweeds. Littell walked out.

He walked. He broke curfew laws. He heard sirens. He saw D.C. locked down tight. He saw flames two miles over. He heard klaxons overlap.

He walked fast. He broiled in tweed. A breeze blew soot flakes. A car eased by. A Negro yelled. He heard race obscenities.

A Negro hurled a beer can. A Negro dumped an ashtray. Cigarette butts breezed.

Littell hit Conn. Ave. Water mains erupted. Firemen lugged hoses. Cops stood by fire trucks.

The Kowloon was open. Eddie Chang was feisty. Eddie Chang fed local cops.

Littell walked in. Littell grabbed the back booth. The barman turned the TV up.

Live local feed. Negroes with gas cans. Cars belly-up.

Three men watched. They were bluff-hearty types. They had hardhats and beer guts.

One man said, “Goddamn animals.”

One man said, “We gave them their civil rights.”

One man said, “And look what we got.”

Littell sprawled. Littell went invertebrate. Littell culled Deep South anecdotes.

Paul Horvitz walked in.

He saw Littell. He brushed his pants off. He walked over. He shook his coat sleeves. Ash dropped and whirled.

He dug his feet in. He spanned the booth. He gripped two hat posts.

“An FBI man talked to Senator Kennedy, an hour ago. He showed him a photograph of a man who looked very much like you, without your beard. He said your name was Ward Littell, and he called you a ‘provocateur.’ The senator heard that name and saw that picture and almost freaked out.”

Littell stood up. His knees shook. He banged the tabletop. He tried to talk. He went cottonmouthed. He st-st-st-stuttered.

Paul grabbed his coat. Paul pulled him close. Paul tore his beard off. Paul slapped him. Paul shoved him. Paul knocked his glasses off.

Littell fell back. Littell dumped the table. Paul fast-walked out.

The hardhats twirled their stools. The hardhats looked over. The hardhats flashed shit-eating grins.

One man flashed a Fed badge.

One man said, “Hi, Ward.”

One man said, “Mr. Hoover knows all.”

(Los Angeles, 4/8/68)

S
ome crazy A-rab. Two names the same.

Wayne brought him up. Wayne said he muscled him. The A-rab stiffed the Cavern. The A-rab packed hate tracts. The A-rab packed a piece.

Wayne got his hate-mail gig. Wayne pulled hate letters. Guess what? The A-rab sent Bobby K. notes.

Craaaazy shit. “Jew Pigs”/“RFK Must Die.”

Pete drove freeways. Pete looped L.A. Pete drove old-man slow.

He felt weak. He felt sapped. He felt drained. He took midget steps now. His breath sputtered. He carried a cane. He measured his steps. He got minor satisfaction. He got more wind each day.

You’re young. You’re strong. The docs said so. The next one kills you. The surgeon said so.

They split your chest. They cleared your tubes. They stitched and stapled you. You checked out. You bought surgical clippers. You de-stitched yourself slow. You used scotch for disinfectant. You used scotch for anesthetic. You used scotch for the pain.

Pete drove freeways. Pete looped downtown L.A. Pete drove old-man slow.

Carlos bopped to his bedside. Carlos said the boat job—bravo. Carlos mentioned the “small favor.” I know you know about it. I know Ward told you.

Pete said sure. You get a favor. I get retirement.

Carlos said go to L.A. Find Fred Otash a stooge.

Carlos said I like Fred. Wayne Senior referred him. I like Wayne Senior too. He’s classy. He’ll get Ward’s job. Ward retires soon.

Pete left the hospital. Pete flew to L.A. Pete saw Fred O. Fred O. was skinny. Fred O. said why.

He ran a stiff. He ran him for eight months. He ran the King fall guy.

Bob Relyea worked the gig. Dwight Holly played ramrod. Wayne Senior ran ops. Wayne Junior was sequestered now. Wayne Junior worked backup.

He killed Wendell Durfee. The LAPD caught it. They had questions still. The snuff vibed revenge/the vic killed your wife/we’d like to talk to you.

Pete weighed the details. Pete gauged Fred O. Pete tore the “small favor” up.

Oh shit. The Boys need a stooge. It’s a Bobby hit.

Fred O. confirmed it. Fred O. named no names. Fred O. confirmed implicit. Pete recalled the A-rab. Fred O. was Lebanese. Call it synergy.

Pete dished on the A-rab. Pete dished partial stats. Fred O. fucking drooled. Pete flew to Vegas. Pete kissed the cat hello and goodbye. Pete tossed Wayne’s Cavern room.

He found his hate-mail copies. He went through them. He found the A-rab’s notes.

RFK MUST DIE! RFK MUST DIE! RFK MUST DIE!

He called Sonny Liston. He said where’d you brace that A-rab? Sonny said the Desert Dawn Motel. He hit the Desert Dawn. He bribed the desk clerk. He checked registration stats.

Bam: Sirhan B. Sirhan/Pasadena, California.

He flew back to L.A. He called the DMV. He got Sirhan’s full stats. He called Fred O. He said sit tight. He said I’ll stake him out.

Carlos called last night. Carlos waxed sly. You figured it out. Fred O. said so. You know, I’m not surprised.

Carlos waxed assertive then. Carlos said this:

Ward’s soft on Bobby. You know Ward. He’s liberal martyr Littell. Sever contact for now. Ward’s smart. Ward smells things. Conniver Littell.

Pete said sure. I’ll do it. You know I want out.

Carlos laughed. Pete saw Big D. Jack’s head goes ka-blooey. Jackie dives for scraps.

Chez Sirhan: A small crib/old wood-frame/near Muir High School. Car Sirhan: A jig rig/spinners and skirts/a coon maroon Ford.

Pete pulled up. Pete parked. Pete waited. Pete chewed Nicorette gum.

He thought about Barb. He ran the radio. He got some Barb tunes. He got the news—dig it—King Killer at Large!

He thought about Wayne. Wayne the spook assassin. Jigs from Wendell Durfee on up. He ran instincts. He laid bets. Wayne Senior sandbagged Wayne. Wayne Senior recruited him. It was fucked-up daddy stuff.

He ran the dial. He got more King. He got Bobby campaign stuff.

Sirhan walked out.

He darted. He walked funny. He smoked. He skimmed a racing form. He sideswiped a tree. He face-plowed a hedge.

Two kids walked by. They ogled Sirhan—dig on
that
freak!

Sirhan walked funny. Sirhan looked funny. Sirhan had wild hair and big teeth. Sirhan dropped his cigarette. Sirhan lit a cigarette. Sirhan flashed yellow teeth.

Sirhan got in his car. Sirhan U-turned. Sirhan drove southeast.