"The women, then. That's what we're talking about."
Pete cracked his thumbs. "I'm not negotiating on that. I already warned one of them off, but I couldn't find the other one."
"Give me their names."
"Betty McDonald and Arden something."
Littell touched his tie. Littell scratched his neck. Littell made his hands quash his nerves.
He twitched. He swallowed. He gulped. The room was cold. He shut the window.
"Oswald."
"Yeah. If he goes, this all disappears."
"When are they moving him?"
"Eleven-thirty. If he hasn't named Guy's cutout by then, we can put the skids to all this."
Littell coughed. "I've arranged for a private interview. The ASAC said he hasn't talked, but I want to make sure."
Pete shook his head. "Bullshit. You want to get close to him. You want to run some kind of fucking absolution number on him, so you can do a number on yourself later."
_In nomine patris, et filii et spiritus sancti, Amen_.
"It's nice to have someone who knows you."
Pete laughed. "I wasn't doubting you. I just want to work this fucking thing out."
Littell said, "Moore. There's no way he-"
"_No_. He knows too much, drinks too much and talks too much. After Oswald goes, _he_ goes, and we draw the line at that."
Littell checked his watch. Shit-1:40 a.m.
"He's a policeman. He could get into the basement."
"_No_. He's too crazy. He's working an extradition gig with a Vegas cop, and he gets in the guy's face in the worst possible way. He's not what we want."
Littell rubbed his eyes. "What was the man's name? The cop, I mean."
"Wayne something. Why?"
"Tedrow?"
Pete said, "Yeah, and why do you care? He's got nothing to do with any of this, and the fucking clock is ticking."
Littell checked his watch. Carlos bought it for him. A gold Rolex/pure ostentat-
"Ward, are you in a fucking trance?"
Littell said, "Jack Ruby."
Pete rocked his chair back. The legs squeaked.
Littell said, "He's insane. He's afraid of us. He's afraid of the Outfit. He's got seven brothers and sisters that we can threaten."
Pete smiled. "The cops know he's crazy. He carries a gun. He's been all over the building all weekend, and he's been saying somebody should shoot that Commie. Ten dozen fucking newsmen have heard him."
Littell said, "He's got tax troubles."
"Who told you that?"
"I don't want to say."
A breeze kicked up. The windowpanes creaked.
Pete said, "And?"
"And what?"
"There's more. I want to know why you'll risk it, with a fucking psycho who knows both our names."
_Cherchez la femme, Pierre_.
"It's a message. It tells everyone who went to that safe house to run."
9
(Dallas, 11/24/63)
Barb walked in. She wore his raincoat. The sleeves drooped. The shoulders sagged. The hem brushed her feet.
Pete blocked the bathroom. Barb said, "Shit."
Pete checked her ring hand. Pete saw her wedding ring.
She held it up. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm just getting used to it."
Pete carried his ring. It came too small-fucking pygmy-size.
"I'll get used to it when I get mine fitted."
Barb shook her head. "Used to _it_. What _you_ did."
Pete snared his ring. Pete tried to squeeze his finger in. Pete jabbed at the hole.
"Say something nice, all right? Tell me how the late show went."
Barb dumped his coat. "It went fine. The Twist is dead, but Dallas doesn't know it."
Pete stretched. His shirt gapped. Barb saw his piece.
"You're going out."
"I won't be that long. I'm just wondering where you'll be when I get back."
"I'm wondering who else knows. I know, so there has to be others."
His headache revived. His headache paved new ground.
"Everyone who knows has a stake. It's what you call an open secret."
Barb said, "I'm scared."
"Don't think about it. I know how these things work."
"You don't know that. There's never been anything _like_ this."
Pete said, "It'll be all right."
Barb said, "Bullshit."
o o o
Ward was late. Pete watched the Carousel Club.
He stood two doors down. Jack Ruby shooed cops and whores out. They paired off. They piled in cars. The whores jiggled keys.
Jack closed up the club. Jack cleaned his ears with a pencil. Jack kicked a turd in the street.
Jack went back inside. Jack talked to his dogs. Jack talked very loud.
It was cold. It was windy. Motorcade debris swirled: Matchbooks/confetti/Jack Jackie signs.
Ward was late. Ward might be with "Arden."
He left Ward's room. He heard the phone ring. Ward made him run. He saw Ward and Arden. They didn't see him. He told Ward the safe-house tale.
He said, "Arden." Ward schizzed. He called Ward on Ruby. Ward played it oblique.
Fuck it-for now.
Jack's dogs yapped. Jack baby-talked Yiddish. The noise carried outside. A Fed sled pulled up. Ward got out. His coat pockets bulged.
He walked up. He unloaded his pockets-rogue-cop show-and-tell.
Brass knucks/a sash cord/a pachuco switchblade.
"I went by the property room at the PD. Nobody saw me."
"You thought it through."
Ward restuffed his pockets. "_If_ he doesn't agree."
Pete lit a cigarette. "We'll cut him up and make it look like a heist."
A dog yipped. Ward flinched. Pete blew on his cigarette. The tip flared red.
They walked up. Ward knocked on the door. Pete put on a drawclass="underline" "Jack! Hey, Jack, I think I left my wallet!"
The dogs barked. The door opened. There's Jack. He saw them. He said, "Oh." His mouth dropped and held.
Pete flicked his butt in. Jack gagged on it. Jack coughed it out wet.
Pete shut the door. Ward grabbed Jack. Pete shoved him. Pete frisked him. Pete pulled a piece off his belt.
Ward hit him. Jack fell down. Jack curled up and sucked air.
The dogs ran. The dogs crouched by the runway. Ward grabbed the gun. Ward dumped five shells.
He knelt down. Jack saw the gun. Jack saw the one shell. Ward shut the drum. Ward spun it. Ward aimed at Jack's head.
He pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked. Jack sobbed and sucked air. Ward twirled the gun. Ward pulled the trigger. Ward dry-shot Jack's head.
Pete said, "You're going to clip Oswald."
Jack sobbed. Jack covered his ears. Jack shook his head. Pete grabbed his belt. Pete dragged him. Jack kicked out at tables and chairs.
Ward walked over. Pete dumped Jack by the runway. The dogs yapped and growled.
Pete walked to the bar. Pete grabbed a fifth of Schenley's. Pete grabbed some dog treats.
He dumped the treats. The dogs tore in. Ward scoped the jug. Ward was a lush. Ward was on the wagon. Booze turned him to mush.
They pulled chairs up. Jack sobbed. Jack wiped his schnoz. The dogs snarfed the treats. The dogs waddled and wheezed. The dogs crapped out cold by the runway.
Jack sat up. Jack hugged his knees. Jack braced his back on the slats. Pete grabbed a stray glass. Pete dumped ice dregs and poured Schenley's.
Jack studied his shoes. Jack squeezed his Jew star on a chain.
Pete said, "_L'chaim_."
Jack looked up. Pete waved the glass. Jack shook his head. Ward twirled the gun. Ward cocked the hammer.