They saw the limo and waved. Wayne got out and walked up. They were hanging things on a line strung between two tree trunks. Wayne smelled decomposition.
Mesplede walked up. Wayne pushed him aside. There: five scalps, Tiger-paw marked.
The Cubans posed-feet dug in, smirks, bandoliers and gun belts. Mesplede hovered. He wore his scalping knife on a thong.
Wayne said, “No more runs. No political bullshit while you’re working for me. One more infraction and muerto.”
The Cubans readjusted: smirks, thumbs in their belt loops, feet dug in wiiiiide. Mesplede knife-scratched his neck.
Wayne plucked the scalps off the clothesline. Wayne walked merc to merc. Wayne mashed the scalps in their faces.
“Viva Fidel, you fucking lowlifes.”
The suite phone rang at midnight. It jolted him up. He fell asleep with the lights on. Santo Domingo was a window blur. He thought about the gashed-eye kid straight off.
“Hello.”
“Did I wake you?”
“Yes and no.”
Mary Beth said, “I hope you weren’t dreaming.”
“Well, yes and no.”
“I’d ask you how things are going, but I’m not sure I want to know.”
Wayne rubbed his eyes. “I got a lead on the woman who bailed your son out of jail.”
“Sweetie, I wasn’t talking about Reginald.”
Wayne looked at his briefcase. “I know you weren’t. I told you because it’s about you and me, and not about what I do for a living.”
“Or about the people you work for?”
Wayne sighed. “Babe, please don’t do this. Not on the telephone.”
Mary Beth sighed. “It’ll be worse in person.”
“Then let’s be fucking civil and not do it at all.”
“We should say good night now.”
“Yes, I think we should.”
The line clicked and disconnected. Wayne looked out the window. The sky was neon-free. The Midget told Sam G. he wanted mucho neon. Sam said they’d provide some.
The buzzer rang. Wayne got up and opened the door. It was Celia Reyes. He met her in convention-time Miami. She was Sam’s consort then.
She said, “Hello, Mr. Tedrow.” She wore a white dress and a linen blazer. She extended her hand. He stepped aside and held the door open. Celia sat on the couch.
“I wanted to thank you for my friend Ramon. The doctor said you gave generously of your time.”
Wayne pulled a chair up. “I’m glad he’ll be all right.”
“The doctor said it was quite a sight. You carrying Ramon, with a briefcase attached to your wrist.”
The briefcase sat between them. Wayne pointed to it.
“It was unwieldy, yes.”
Celia smiled. “You’re not questioning my presence here.”
“I half-expected some sort of approach.”
“Why is that?”
“You could make the point that I wanted it.”
“I have a friend. We think you may be sympathetic to our work.”
Wayne smiled. “Yes, that may be true.”
“Would it upset you if I told you that we knew some things about you prior to your actions today?”
“People tend to know things about me. It tends to do me more harm than good.”
“May I inquire about your beliefs?”
Wayne said, “I’m following signs. I’m beginning to think that I may have a purpose that exists beyond my will to comprehend it.”
Celia pointed to the briefcase. “The contents?”
“$400,000.”
“May I have it?”
“Yes.”
“Will there be more?”
“Yes.”
Celia picked up the briefcase and walked to the door. Wayne opened it. A shadow flicked down the hallway. A smoke ring evaporated. Wayne knew it was her.
“Celia said you were quite gracious.”
“She caught me at the right moment.”
“I won’t press you about that.”
“You could. I’d be candid. I’d press you on a few topics and hope you ‘d be candid in return.”
“You can ask me anything. I’ll give you answers or I won’t.”
“I was going to ask you about your relationship with Dwight Holly and about a young man you knew at the Freedom School and almost certainly rescued from harm a year later.”
“I’m not telling you.”
“That’s a direct answer.”
“I told you it would be.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I hope my bluntness won’t terminate our working together.”
“I won’t permit it. I’m a very blunt ex-policeman, and I tend to get the answers I want.”
“You haven’t asked me what Celia and I know about you, which is a more pressing question to ask.”
“I’ll assume you know everything, and let it go at that.”
“I’ve enjoyed talking to you, Mr. Tedrow.”
“Thank you for calling, Miss Klein.”
Wayne woke up over Texas. Airplane scotch and voodoo herbs put him out from takeoff.
Dipshit was reading Playboy. The little hump looked haggard and scared.
Deep-gouged bluffs loomed below them. Trees stuck out sideways. Storm clouds made them vanish.
Wayne thought, This Is All Magic.
Wayne thought, I’ve Gone Red.
JEH: Good morning, Dwight.
DH: Good morning, Sir.
JEH: Your telex implied that you have bad news. “Tell it like it is,” as President Nixon often states in his fawning efforts to sound au courant with longhairs and insurrection-seeking Negroes.
DH: Yes, Sir.
JEH: There’s also “Can you dig it?” and “Are you cool with it?” which are new favorites of the white radio personalities who have taken up the chant that I am too old for this job.
DH: Yes, Sir.
JEH: “Right on, brother” is an expression that is considered “in the groove” these days. I addressed Vice President Agnew in that manner last week. He gave me a clenched-fist salute. I was deeply gratified. It was akin to receiving the French Legion of Honor.
DH: Yes, Sir.
JEH: You’re stalling, Dwight.
DH: Chief Reddin called me, Sir. He told me that he had taken Marsh Bowen off roster. He’s been fired from LAPD, so LAPD is in no way accountable for his actions. The firing was clandestine, which protects us at least so-
JEH:
DH: I think Scotty Bennett went to Reddin and offered a rationale for the firing. I believe that Bennett’s personal animus precipitated this action.
JEH: Bennett has favored us in at least one regard. He did not expose the late Jomo Kenyatta Clarkson and his late crime partner as the killers of the late hate merchant Dr. Fred Hiltz, which has spared the Bureau a great deal of ape-inspired scrutiny.
DH: Yes, Sir.
JEH: Jomo Kenyatta Clarkson has fucked Pat Nixon on numerous occasions. A confidential informant in the Hollywood community informed me of this fact. They were under the influence of the drug Quaaludes, commonly known as “ludes.”
DH: Yes, Sir. I was think-
JEH: There will be Bureau raids on Black Panther offices in Denver, Chicago and Salt Lake City during the first week of June. I am grateful for it, but it lacks the illuminating pizzazz of our operation, which is a fully formed explication of Negro criminality and indigenous moral sloth. I want the BTA and/or the MMLF to sell heroin. The public has been numbed to death and charmed to sleep by the Panthers. They need evil apes they can sink their teeth into. I assure you that I am telling it like it is.