"And?"
"And the Bakersfield fuzz discouraged me from procuring in their jurisdiction."
"And?"
"And Wendell was looking for a _nom de pimp_ with irresistible panache. I suggested the name Cassius Cool, which he adopted."
Wayne tapped the money. "Keep going. I know there's more."
The King tapped his crown. "I'm getting a vision… yes… you killed three unarmed Negro men in Las Vegas… and… yes… Wendell made your wife climax before he killed her."
Wayne pulled his piece. Wayne raised it. Wayne cocked it. Wayne heard echoes. Wayne heard hammers click.
He looked around. He checked the bar. He saw fags. He saw guns. He saw suicide.
He holstered up. The King grabbed his money.
"Wendell enticed some crackers into a rigged dice game and was firmly advised to leave Bakersfield. I heard he lit out for L.A."
Wayne looked around. Wayne saw fags with guns. Wayne saw mean faces.
The King laughed. "Grow up, child. You can't kill _all_ the niggers."
83
(Saigon, 8/20/65)
Pete said, "Wayne took some scalps."
Cocktail hour. Drinks at the Catinat. Grenade nets and gook brass galore.
Stanton snarfed pвtй. "Cuban or Negro American?"
Pete smiled. "He's back. I'll tell him you asked."
"Tell him I was pleased to learn that he's diversified."
The bar was packed. MACV guys hobnobbed. Trilingual talk flowed.
Pete lit a cigarette. "The Relyea thing pissed me off. I want to move recognizable U.S.-sourced guns."
Stanton smeared toast. "You've made that clear. That said, I should state that Bob's done a bang-up job so far."
"He has, but he's deep off in all that Klan shit, which could draw heat any fucking second. You want my opinion? We should rotate Laurent back to Laos to work Tiger Kamp, and keep Mesplиde in the States permanently to shag guns. He's got good connections, he's willing, and he's fucking capable."
Stanton shook his head. "One, Bob's got better connections, and he's got enough FBI cover to divert any trouble he might create. Two, you brought that Bruvick guy in, which lit a fire under Carlos, who is now all aflutter for the Cause, in a way he hasn't been since '62. He's _active_ now, he's the _only_ committed Outfit man, and I'm sure he's got gun sources. Three, Laurent's tight with Carlos, which is why I want him full-time stateside, instead of Mesplиde. He's the best man to work with Carlos and funnel our weaponry."
Pete rolled his eyes. "Carlos is a _Mob_ executive. The only gun contacts he's got are other exile groups with shit ordnance of their own. He won't be able to shag stuff as good as that Relyea batch, and how many fucking armory heists can we count on?"
A siren blew. The room froze. The gook brass drew guns. The siren died. The all-clear blew. The gook brass stashed their guns.
Stanton sipped wine. "We're covered as is. You and Wayne rotate, because you're the A-level personnel and you know the in-country and Vegas ends of the business. When Wayne's caught up at the lab, he's free to work Vegas and the funnel, and you-"
"John, Jesus Christ, will you-"
"No, let me finish. We lost Chuck, _c'est Ia guerre_, but Tran and Mesplиde are more than enough to run Tiger Kamp. We keep Mesplиde incountry, and we leave Flash and Laurent in Port Sulphur and Bon Secour. In other words, we're _covered_, and I don't want you second-guessing a perfectly operational system."
The siren blew. The all-clear blew. The AC died. A waiter cracked doors. A waiter cracked windows. A waiter rigged bomb nets.
Pete checked his watch. "I'm meeting Wayne. He's got a lead on some donation shit in Da Nang."
Hot air settled in. Waiters pulled fan cords.
"How many scalps did he take?"
"Four."
"Do you think he enjoyed it?"
Pete smiled. "With Wayne you never know."
Stanton smiled. "Will you allow me some sort of concession before you go?"
Pete stood up. The ceiling loomed. Pete dodged fan blades.
"Your shit's operational. It's just not as passionate as my shit."
o o o
They flew up. MACV ran Hueys-milk flights from Tan Son Nhut.
They sat on the back slats. Some admin pogues flew along. Dig it-let's catch this show in Da Nang.
Wayne yawned. Wayne just rotated in. Wayne was travel-fucked.
The flight overbooked. The kiddie brass partied. They made noise. They matched coins. They twirled their.45s.
The rotors whipped. The doors shook. The radio screeched. Pete and Wayne huddled. Pete and Wayne talked loud.
Agreed: Bob Relyea bites. Agreed: He's Wayne Senior's punk rabbit. Agreed: He shags good guns. Agreed: D. Bruvick's sly and yellow.
Carlos warned Bruvick. Carlos said don't call Arden-don't rat our Cuban runs. Bruvick fudged and tried to call. Wayne interdicted.
Agreed: Let's oust him. Agreed: Let's find a new boat man.
They agreed. Pete hedged somewhat. Pete said Carlos wants Bruvick. Bruvick's his inside man. Carlos distrusts everyone. Carlos plants informants.
Ergo: Bruvick makes Cuban runs. Bruvick calls Carlos. Bruvick informs on _us_.
Wayne _got_ it. Wayne digressed. Bruvick's ex Arden-now with Ward Littell. She's a spy. She watches Ward. She reports to Carlos.
Right-you got it-and that's _all_ you get.
Wayne said okay. Pete riffed on Carlos-the Graduate Course.
He runs people. He eats people. He's tight with John Stanton. He's greedy. He'll press John-feed me dope points. John will bow. _We'll_ bow too. We owe Carlos that. Carlos braced the other Boys. They waived Outfit laws. They let us white-dust West Vegas.
Agreed: We owe Big Carlos. Agreed: We owe Blueblood John.
The flight bumped. The gun doors shook. The pogues ate Dramamine.
Agreed: Tiger ops-overhead stratospheric-the lab/Tiger Kamp/ Tiger South. Bribes to ARVN5/bribes to Can Lao boss-man "Mr. Kao"/ bribes to Tran Lao Dinh.
Transport bribes. Nellis AFB bribes. Cop bribes: Sheriff's and LVPD. Ops costs: in-country and out. Ops costs transcontinental.
We ship white horse-big poundage-we dust West LV. Profits soar. Jigs love white horse. Profits dip non sequitur. Because of the fucking Watts Riot-live on fucking TV.
Jigs see the riot. Jigs exult. Monkey see/monkey do. They roam West LV. They chuck some spears. They burn some shacks. We suspend kadre business. We retrieve Tiger Kabs. Cops quell the riot. Jigs go to jail. Profits de-escalate.
Agreed: Biz is down now-we're in bear-market turf. Agreed: We'll expand-and we'll re-escalate. We'll hire more pushers-expendable jigs-we'll bull-market reintegrate.
The Huey cruised low. They saw firefights. They saw villages sacked. Wayne talked expansion-let's _re_-dust West Vegas. Let's _pre_-dust black L.A.
Pete laughed-the Boys won't vouch it-you fucking _know_ that.
Know _shit_. Durfee might be there. I fucking know _that_.
o o o
Da Nang: Hot sun and hot sea winds. Spritzy sea spray.
Their gun contact no-showed. Pete got pissed. Wayne pitched diversion: Let's hit that USO show.
They rickshawed in. Their coolie pulled weight. Their coolie ran chop-chop. They raced some shavetails. Said shavetails were bombed. The rickshaw race rocked.
Pete ate Dramamine. Wayne ate salt pills. They hit access roads. They hit the naval base. They hit the bleacher setup.
The coolies saw it. The coolies braked hard. Four wheels brodied. Four wheels slid and locked.
Dead heat.
Pete laughed. Wayne laughed. The shavetails went green and upchucked.