Littell smiled. Lyle waved to Sammy. Sammy waved back.
Lyle sipped Johnnie Red. "Marty gives this speech in New York. He's got a captive audience of liberal Jews with deep pockets. He starts attacking the Vietnam War and pissing all the hebes off with words like 'genocide.' He's going outside his civil-rights bailiwick and biting the hand that feeds him."
Pete was in Laos. Wayne was in Saigon. The war hid them there. He called Carlos. Carlos talked up Pete. Carlos said they'd just schemed plans for Cuba.
Littell said let me retire. Carlos said okay. Carlos dittoed Sam's consent. Carlos talked up the '68 election.
Lyle sipped scotch. Peter Lawford walked by. Lyle stared at him.
"He used to pimp for Jack Kennedy. That makes us comrades-in-arms. I get Marty all his white snatch, and sometimes I dig up young meat for Bayard Rustin. Mr. Hoover's got a photo of Bayard with a dick in his mouth. He made a dupe for President Johnson."
Littell smiled. Lyle hailed a waitress. Lyle shagged a quick refill.
"Dwight said they blew that church up with C-4 explosive. Bayard told me it really _was_ a leaky gas main, which makes me think _you_ told him."
Littell sipped coffee. "I told him, yes."
Lyle sipped scotch. "Crusader Rabbit's a white man. I'll tell Dwight that."
Littell smiled. Lyle grinned. Lyle pulled out a checkbook.
"I feel lucky. You think you can cash a check into play chips for me?"
"How much?"
"Two grand."
Littell smiled. "Put my initials and 'suite 108' on the check. Tell the cashier I'm a permanent resident."
Lyle smiled. Lyle wrote the check. Lyle got up and walked-halfsteady.
Littell watched.
Lyle weaved. Lyle slurped scotch. Lyle trekked the casino. Lyle braced the teller's cage. Lyle passed the check. Lyle got his chips.
Littell watched. Littell let some thoughts stir-CRUSADER RABBIT! White Man/gas main.
Lyle braced a roulette stand. Lyle stacked his chips. Red chips-hundreds-two G's. The wheelman bowed. The wheelman twirled. The wheel spun. The wheel stopped. The wheelman raked chips.
Lyle slapped his forehead. Lyle moved his lips. Littell watched. Littell read his lips. Lyle said, "Oh, shit."
Schizo/comrades/young meat.
Lyle might keep _private_ files. Said files might indict. Said files might indict BLACK RABBIT.
Lyle looked around. Lyle saw Littell. Lyle waved his checkbook. Littell waved and nodded.
Lyle walked to the cage. Lyle grabbed the grate. Lyle wrote a check. Lyle fumbled chips.
Their waitress walked by. Littell stopped her.
"My friend's on the floor. Bring him a triple Johnnie Walker."
She nodded. She smiled. Littell gave her ten bucks. She walked to the bar. She poured the drink. She trekked the floor. She hit the roulette stands. She saw Lyle and fueled him.
Lyle guzzled scotch. Lyle stacked his chips. Red chips-hundreds-big stacks.
The wheelman bowed. The wheelman twirled. The wheel spun. The wheel stopped. The wheelman raked chips.
Lyle slapped his forehead. Lyle moved his lips. Littell watched. Littell read his lips. Lyle said, "Oh, shit."
Littell walked over. Littell passed the waitress. Littell slid her ten bucks. She nodded. She _got it_. She smirked.
Lyle walked up. Lyle killed his drink. Lyle chewed the ice.
"I'm down, but I'm not licked, and I've got resources."
"You were always resourceful, Lyle."
Lyle laughed. Lyle swayed haif-blotto. Lyle burped.
"You're patronizing me. It's that saintly quality that Dwight hates about you."
Littell laughed. "I'm no saint."
"No, you're not. Martin Luther Coon's the only saint I know, and I've got some hair-curling shit on him."
The waitress swooped by. Lyle grabbed his refill.
"Hair-curling. Or hair-_kinking_, in his case."
Work him-slow now-ease in.
"You mean Mr. Hoover has shit."
Lyle swirled scotch. "He's got his, I've got mine. I've got a big stash at my place in L.A. Mine's better, 'cause I've got daily access to Saintly Marty himself."
Tweak him-slow now-ease in.
"Nobody has better intelligence than Mr. Hoover."
"Shit, I do. I'm saving it for my next contract powwow. I tell my handler, 'You want the goods, you raise my pay-no tickee, no washee.'"
Sammy Davis walked by. Lyle bumped into him. Sammy swerved. Sammy goofed-cat, you are blitzed!
Lyle swerved. Lyle slugged scotch. Lyle pinched a zit on his chin.
"White chicks dig him. He must be hung."
Fumes glowed. Mash and smoke-86 proof. Littell salivated. Littell stepped away.
Lyle pulled two checkbooks-both embossed-"L.H." and "SCLC." He kissed them. He slung them. He drew them quick-draw style. He twirled them and aimed.
"I've got a lucky feeling, which means I just might have to float a loan from the civil-rights movement."
Littell smiled. Lyle weaved. Lyle settled. Lyle walked off blitzed.
Littell watched.
Lyle braced the cage. Lyle showed a checkbook-blue for SCLC. Lyle wrote a check. Lyle kissed said check. Lyle fumbled chips.
Reds-ten stacks-five G's.
Slow now-ease in-this is for real.
Littell walked to the phone stand. Littell grabbed a booth. He picked up. The line clicked active. He got service quick.
"Desert Inn. How may I help you?"
"It's Littell, suite 108. I need an outside line to Washington, D.C."
"The number, please."
"EX4-2881."
"Please hold. I'll connect you."
The line buzzed-long-distance coming-static popped and clicked. Littell looked around. Littell saw Lyle. Lyle's at a crap table. Lyle's stacking chips.
The shooter rolls. Lyle slaps his forehead. Lyle says, "Oh, shit."
Static clicked. The call clicked in. Mr. Hoover said, "Yes?"
Littell said, "It's me."
"Yes? And the purpose of this unsolicited contact?"
"White Rabbit suggested a meeting. He arrived at the Desert Inn drunk. He's running up a casino debt with SCLC money."
The line fuzzed. Littell cleared the cord. Littell slapped the receiver. There's Lyle. Lyle's at the cage. Lyle's ecstatic. Lyle's got more chips.
Reds-high stacks-maybe ten G's.
The line fuzzed. The line popped. The line cleared.
Mr. Hoover said, "Cut off his credit and get him out of Las Vegas immediately."
The line fuzzed. The call faded. Littell heard hang-up clicks. There's Lyle. Lyle's at a crap table. Lyle's in a crowd. Lyle's stacking chips.
Sammy Davis bows. Sammy Davis prays. Sammy Davis rolls the dice. The crowd cheers. Lyle cheers. Sammy Davis genuflects.
Littell walked over. Littell pushed his way in.
Lyle crowded Sammy. Lyle played Sammy's foil. Sammy goofed on the white freak. He winked at a blonde. He flicked lice off his coat. He went ick.
Red chips down-pass-line bets-all Lyle's money. Good money-Lyle's up twenty G's.
Sammy gets the dice. Sammy holds them out. Lyle blows wet kisses. Sammy goofs on Lyle-he's a Rat Pack reject-the crowd genuflects.
Sammy rolls. Sammy hits 7. Lyle hits forty G's. The crowd cheers. Lyle hugs Sammy. Sammy grabs the dice.
Lyle blows on them. Lyle drools on them. Lyle genuflects. Sammy pulls a handkerchief. Sammy makes entertainment. Sammy wipes said dice.
Sammy rolls. Sammy hits 7. Lyle hits eighty G's. The crowd cheers. Lyle hugs Sammy. Lyle snuffs his cigarette.
Sammy grabs the dice. Lyle shoves up close. Sammy steps way back. The blonde horns in. Sammy grabs her. Sammy rubs the dice on her dress.