Two niggers showed up. They vibed jungle stud. They vibed plantation buck.
They hit on white nurses. They sparked rapport. They sat with them. They danced with them. They danced sloooow.
Wayne seized up. Wayne watched them. Wayne gripped the table.
They danced. They did the Stroll. They did the Watusi. Wayne watched them. Chuck caught it. Chuck signaled Bob.
They watched Wayne. Pete watched Wayne. Wayne watched the niggers dance. They worked their hips. They lit cigarettes. They fed the nurses puffs.
Wayne gripped the table. Wayne tore a plank loose. The stew pot fell. Fishheads flew.
Pete said, "Let's walk."
o o o
They hit the docks. They met Stanton's ARVNs. Two _trung uys_-junior grade-first-lieutenant gooks.
The lab was close. They walked over. The ARVNs walked point. Tracers popped. Red light tinged the water.
There-
The building's white brick. It's smeared with gook graffiti. One nightclub/one dope den/one floor per each. _Three_ floors-with lab space on top.
They walked in. They scoped out the Go-Go. There's a bar. There's a bandstand. There's a shrunken-head motif.
Shrunken-head wall mounts. Shrunken-head ashtrays. Shrunken-head candlesticks.
More B-girls. More ARVNs. More GIs. More musk and more Ricky Nelson. More "Herro, Maly Roo."
They walked upstairs. The ARVNs chaperoned them. There's the dope den.
Floor pallets/wood planks recumbent/dope beds boocoo. Piss troughs and shit buckets. Four walls as fart envelopes.
O-heads boocoo. O-heads in orbit. Slants and some round-eyes. One jigaboo.
They walked through. They pallet-hopped. They dodged fumes. Pete held his nose. Scents sizzled and mixed.
Sweat/smoke/fart residue.
The ARVNs wiggled flashlights-you rook rook rook:
See the dope skin. See the dope eyes. See the Jockey shorts de rigueur.
Chaffee said, "The Americans are ex-Army. They got discharged and stuck around. The colored guy pimps slant girls out of the Go-Go."
The ARVNs flashed the spook's pallet. Said spook flew dee-luxe. Dig his silk pillow. Dig his down bed and silk sheets.
Pete sneezed. Flash coughed. Stanton squashed a turd. Chuck laughed. Guйry kicked a pallet. Guйry dislodged a gook.
Mesplиde laughed. Bob laughed. Wayne watched the spook.
They walked. They hit the back door. They took side stairs up. There's the lab-dig it!
Stoves. Vats. Oil drums. Beakers/kettles/pans. Shelves. Mustard jars with taped labels.
Stanton said, "I got everything Wayne asked for."
Chaffee sneezed. "It's quality stuff. I got most of it in Hong Kong."
Coffee filters. Lime sacks. Suction pumps and extraction tubes.
Pete said, "We cook it bulk and ship it that way. Wayne and I work the in-country and Vegas ends. We follow the courier flights to Nellis and go from there."
Chuck lit a cigarette. "Ward Littell's got to get clearance, which as I understand it means he's got to brown-nose Wayne Senior."
Wayne shook his head. "He doesn't need to. There's a one-star named Kinman who can do it."
The room smelled. Caustic agents settling in. Lime dust boocoo.
Pete sneezed. "I'll call Ward and tell him."
Wayne checked the shelves. Wayne read labels:
Chloroform. Ammonia. Sulfate salts. Muriatic Acid. Hydrochloric Acid. Acetic anhydride.
He cracked jars. He smelled compounds. He touched the powder stock.
"1 want to refine to the maximum viable dosage strength here. We finalize the quality here and tell the distribution guys in Vegas not to cut it any further."
Stanton smiled. "You've got your test pilots one floor down."
Chaffee smiled. "They've got opiate tolerances you can work off."
Mesplиde smiled. "Inject them with a caffeine compound first. It will serve to open their capillaries and secure you a more accurate reading."
Pete cracked a window. Tracers rounds flew. Dig the streetside procession:
Slants in robes-baldies all-loud chants in sync.
Yawns went around. Looks went around. Fuck this-we're jet-fucked and fucked from no sleep.
Stanton locked the lab. Chaffee greased the ARVNs. You guard the lab/you stay all night-ten dollars U.S.
Everyone yawned. Everyone was fried. Everyone dog-yawned and stretched.
They walked downstairs. They cut through the den. They cut through the Go-Go. The Go-Go rocked anew.
More round-eyes. More GIs. Some U.S. embassy types.
The spook pimp was up. The spook pimp was de-O'd and revived.
He bossed his whores around. He made his whores strip. He made his whores hop on three tables.
They linked up. They performed table tricks. They French-kissed and went 69.
Wayne weaved. Pete steadied him. A Buddhist monk walked in.
His robe dripped. He looked stupefied. His robe reeked of gas. He bowed. He squatted. He lit a match. He gook-cooked with gas.
He whooshed. He flared. Flames hit the ceiling. The lez shows dispersed. The monk burned. The fire spread. Some clubhoppers screeched.
The barman stretched a fizz cord. The barman spritzed club soda. The barman sprayed the monk.
61
(Las Vegas, 11/4/64)
Bugwork.
Littell twisted wires. Littell hung microphones. Fred Turentine hung feeder cords.
They laid cords. They taped wires. They perforated wall mounts. They spackled wall plates.
The Riviera-bug job #9. A big suite-three rooms in. Bugwork-Vegas-wide. Bribed access-four hotels in.
Moe Dalitz bribed managers. Milt Chargin bribed clerks. Mr. Hoover bribed the Vegas SAC. Said SAC pledged agents. Said SAC pledged speed. Said SAC pledged copied tapes.
Tapes to Mr. Hoover. Tapes to Ward Littell.
Turentine looped wires. Littell ran the TV. The news ran on. They caught LBJ's landslide. They caught Bobby's Senate sweep.
Turentine picked his nose. "I hate spackle mounts. The fucking paste stings."
LBJ praised the voters. Ken Keating conceded. Bobby hugged his kids.
"I guess I'm lucky to get the work. It's not like the scandal-rag days. Freddy Otash had me wire every fucking toilet in L.A."
Goldwater conceded. Hubert Humphrey smiled. LBJ hugged his kids.
Turentine flicked snot. "Freddy's scuffling. Pete's got him running leads on some woman. Her husband screwed Jimmy H. on a deal."
Littell killed the sound. Humphrey went mute. LBJ moved his lips.
"Who has the old scandal-rag morgue files? Would Freddy know?"
Turentine hooked wires. "You mean the _hot_ dirt? The unprintable shit that never got published?"
"That's right."
"Why do you-"
"The information could help us. The rags always kept stringers in Vegas."
Turentine popped a neck zit. "If you're willing to pay, Freddy'd be willing to look."
"Call him, will you? Tell him I'll pay double his day rate and expenses."
Turentine nodded. Turentine popped a chin zit. Littell goosed the TV. LBJ praised Bobby. Bobby praised LBJ. Bobby praised the Great Society.
Littell miked a nightstand. Littell miked a couch leg. Littell miked a lamp.
Morgue dirt was old. Morgue dirt was still ripe. Morgue dirt might help Mr. Hughes. They needed dirt. Dirt incurred debt. Let's call Moe D. Let's call Milt C. Let's bug more rooms yet.
Grind joints next-bedroom mounts-Milt to retrieve. Let's bug Vegas. Let's cull dirt. Let's extort.
Littell miked a chair. Turentine flipped channels. There's Mr. Hoover in the flesh.
He said, "King." He said, "Communist sympathizer." He looked old. He looked weak.