HH: Is that you, Ward?
WJL: It's me.
HH: I had a premonition last night. Do you want to hear about it?
WJL: Certainly.
HH: I know that tone. Mollify the boss so he'll get back to business.
(WJL laughs.)
HH: Here's my premonition. You're going to tell me that it will take years to divest my TWA stock, so I should mind my p's and q's and put the whole thing out of mind.
WJL: Your premonition was accurate.
HH: That's all you have to say? You're letting me off that easy?
WJL: I could describe the legal processes involved in divesting half a billion dollars' worth of stock and tell you how much you've impeded the progress by dodging various subpoenas.
HH: You're feeling your oats today. I'm not up to sparring with you.
WJL: I'm not sparring, Mr. Hughes. I'm observing.
HH: And your latest estimate is?
WJL: We're two years away from a judgment. The appeals process will extend for at least nine to fourteen months. You should discuss the details with your other attorneys and move things along by pre-submitting your depositions.
HH: You're my favorite attorney.
WJL: Thank you.
HH: Only Mormons and FBI men have clean blood.
WJL: I'm not much of an expert on blood, Sir.
HH: I am. You know the law, and I know aerodynamics, blood and germs.
WJL: We're expert in our separate fields, Sir.
HH: I know business strategy as well. I have the assets to purchase Las Vegas now, but I prefer to wait and make the purchase with my stock windfall.
WJL: That's a prudent strategy Sir. But I should point out a few things.
HH: Point, then. I'm listening.
WJL: One, you are not going to purchase the city of Las Vegas or Clark County, Nevada. Two, you are going to attempt to purchase numerous hotel-casinos, the acquisition of which violates numerous state and federal antitrust statutes. Three, you cannot make those purchases now. You would need to deplete the cash flow necessary to operate Hughes Tool to do it, and you have yet to ingratiate yourself with the Nevada State Legislature and the right people in Clark County. Four, that is my job-and it will take time. Five, I want to wait and follow some other hotel-chain developments through the court process and collate the antitrust rulings and precedents.
HH: Jesus, that was some speech. You're a long-winded guy.
WJL: Yes, Sir.
HH: You didn't mention your Mafia pals.
WJL: Sir?
HH: I talked to Mr. Hoover. He said you've got those guys in your pocket. What's that guy's name in New Orleans?
WJL: Carlos Marcello?
HH: Marcello, right. Mr. Hoover said he eats out of your hand. He said, "When the time's right, Littell will jew those dagos down and get you your hotels at rock-bottom prices."
WJL: I'll certainly try.
HH: You'll do better than that.
WJL: I'll try, Sir.
HH: We've got to devise a germ policy.
WJL: Sir?
HH: At my hotels. No germs, no Negroes. Negroes are wellknown germ conduits. They'll infect my slot machines.
WJL: I'll look into it, Sir.
HH: My solution is mass sedation. I've been reading chemistry books. Certain narcotic substances possess germ-killing characteristics. We could sedate the Negroes, lower their white-blood count and keep them out of my hotels.
WJL: Mass sedation would require certain sanctions that we might not get.
HH: You're not convinced. I can tell by your voice.
WJL: I'll give it some thought.
HH: Think about this. Lee Oswald was a germ conduit and a deadly-disease transmitter. He didn't need a rifle. He could have breathed on Kennedy and killed him.
WJL: It's an interesting theory, Sir.
HH: Only Mormons and FBI men have clean blood.
WJL: You've got quite a few Mormons in Nevada. There's a man named Wayne Tedrow Senior that I may approach on your behalf.
HH: I've got some good Mormons here. They set me up with Fred Otash.
WJL: I've heard of him.
HH: He's the "Private Eye to the Stars." He's been running a string of Howard Hughes look-alikes all over L.A., like Pete Bondurant used to. Those subpoena servers follow them around like robots.
WJL: Again, Sir. Dodging subpoenas only prolongs the whole process.
HH: Ward, you're a goddamn killjoy.
(WJL laughs.)
HH: Freddy's Lebanese. Those people have high white-cell counts. I like him, but he's no Pete.
WJL: Pete's working with me in Las Vegas.
HH: Good. Frenchmen have low white-cell counts. I read it in the _National Geographic_.
WJL: He'll be pleased to hear it.
HH: Good. Tell him I said hello, and tell him to procure me some medicine. He'll know what I mean. Tell him my Mormons have been bringing me inferior goods.
WJL: I'll tell him.
HH: Let me make one thing clear before I hang up.
WJL: Sir?
HH: I want to buy Las Vegas.
WJL: You've made yourself clear.
HH: The desert air kills germs.
WJL: Yes, Sir.
20
(Las Vegas, 12/23/63)
The Party-a Vegas perennial-Wayne Senior's Christmas bash.
A fag redid the ranch house. He added ice sculptures and snow-flocked walls. He hired elves and nymphs.
The elves were wetbacks. They slung hors d'oeuvres. They wore mock-rag coats. The nymphs whored at the Dunes. They served cleavage and drinks.
The fag brought a bandstand. The fag added a dance floor. The fag hired a bumfuck quartet.
Barb the Bail Bondsmen-a singer and three swish ex-cons.
Wayne circulated. The combo bugged him. He popped the trumpet for flim-flam. He popped the sax for stat rape.
The singer compensated-red hair and wild legs.
Lynette circulated. The crowd meshed. Cops and Vegas trash. Mormons and Nellis brass.
Wayne Senior circulated. Janice danced solo. A crowd watched her. Janice shimmied. Janice swayed. Janice dipped loooow.
Wayne Senior walked up. Wayne Senior twirled his walking stick. A Nellis one-star grabbed it.
He cued the combo. Barb tapped a beat. The combo vamped. Barb palmed maracas.
The one-star knelt. The one-star dropped the stick looooow.
Barb ad-libbed. "Vegas limbo mighty good, lady go down like she should."
Janice spread her legs. Janice rolled her hips. Janice popped looooow. The crowd clapped. The crowd stomped. Barb milked the beat.
Janice went looooow. Janice popped sequins and spangles. Janice popped seams. Her high heels snapped. She kicked off her shoes. She went under and up.
The crowd clapped. Janice bowed looooow. She ripped her dress. Her red panties showed.
Wayne Senior passed her a Salem. The lights went low. The combo vamped "Moonglow." A baby spot blinked. It focused on Janice. It swooped and caught Wayne Senior low.
They linked up. Janice held her cigarette. Smoke blew through the light.
Circle dance.
Wayne Senior smiled. Wayne Senior loved it. Janice mugged and mocked this corny shit.
They swayed. Janice dropped sequins. The spotlight jumped. Wayne saw Lynette. Lynette saw Wayne. Lynette saw Wayne ogle Janice.
He dodged her eyes. He walked outside. He paced the front deck. He smelled marijuana-pot alert below.
Janice toked up for parties. Janice shared with the help. You had zorched valets. You had a hundred cars-now check the runway:
One airplane valet-parked-one guest's Piper Deuce.
Wayne paced. Wayne walked the deck. Wayne fretted Dallas up.
Jack Ruby observed Hanukkah. The paper ran x-clusive pix. Two pages in: HOPE FADES FOR MISSING POLICEMAN.
Wayne watched the party. A glass door killed the noise. Check the wino elves-they're digging on Barb.
Wayne watched her.
Barb moves her lips. Barb bumps her hips. Barb hits the mike stand. Barb scans the room. Barb sees a face and melts.