(LOS ANGELES, 9:00 A.M., FRIDAY, 10/12/62)
Mayor Sam allotted me ten minutes. We crashed in green wing chairs. His secretary served eye-openers. She built 100-proof vodka mimosas. They were revered by the City Hall set.
Mayor Sam said, “Motel Mike signed on as my bodyguard. What’s a little kidnap caper between friends?”
I laughed and cut to it. Let’s not prolong this. Mayor Sam could get brusque.
“Fuck decks. I know you’ve got the big one, and I’m willing to pay.”
Mayor Sam did not blink. He rubbed his fingers together and went for the gist.
“Twenty grand. That’s the number. Anything less—sayonara, baby.”
I said, “Ten grand and a wall-peek film of Liz Taylor and Bo Belinsky. It’s high-resolution infrared, with good sound quality.”
Mayor Sam said, “Shit, that’s a good deal.”
The beach displayed all the signs. Cars were triple-parked on PCH southbound. Numbskulls jumped on their hoods to sneak views. Fans jammed up the sand, street to wave line. I heard “They’re here!” and “He’s here!” and “Maybe we’ll see Jackie!”
Eddie Chacõn called my service. He told me to be prompt and park in Mrs. Lawford’s garage slot. The door was up and Pat’s Bonneville was missing. I drove straight in.
I got out and hooked down the north pathway. I smelled his cigar smoke. He was out by the pool. I pulled a lounge chair up beside his.
He wore sunglasses. That slayed me. He traveled incognito. I stifled a laugh.
“Hello, Mr. Kennedy.”
He doffed his shades. Bright sunlight made him blink.
“Hi, Freddy. Eddie said you’ve got something for me.”
I passed him Mayor Sam’s fuck deck. It came brown paper–wrapped. This ghastly object. I did not strip the paper and peek.
He tossed me a paper bag. It was heavy. Heads popped over the fence line. “Oh, gawwd—I saw Bobby!”
“Fifty grand. Jack says thanks. He concedes that he stiffed you in ’55, but he’s compensating you now.”
I said, “That means it’s over.”
“That’s right.”
“And it was nothing but a cover-up from the gate.”
He tossed me a cigar. It bounced off my chest and skittered close to the pool.
“I knew you’d take it all the way. ’48 would have sufficed, but you took it back to Gwen’s little sister, and did some good there. I told Jack, and that’s why he kicked out the bread.”
I said, “Loose ends out in the world. You wanted me to identify and curtail them. Jack’s the big guy, and you’ll move in when he’s done.”
He said, “Well put, if blunt. I also wanted to see who else you’d reel in and how much you’d find out.”
“Hoffa? The Aadlands?”
He blew smoke rings. Two old girls jumped above the fence line and waved. He waved right back.
“Hoffa’s deal with you was another cover-up. That’s why he folded so quick when Marilyn died. He put you out as bait at Fox, to see what you could detect about the scams he and the Aadlands were putting money into. You’re a whizbang detective, and Jimmy’s a numbnuts. He bought all of Marilyn’s crazy notions and thought they were moneymakers. Star power. He was up for some enchantment, and fell for it. Eddie’s bracing the Aadlands tomorrow. He’s turning them as informants. They’ll testify against Hoffa in my jury-tampering case in Tennessee.”
I laughed. “Bill Parker. Does he get the FBI gig?”
“No. He’s too intemperate and juiced up. Pete Pitchess is only marginally better. Jack and I are looking at John Doar. He’s a Justice lawyer, and a civil rights man. He’s got a New Frontier look to him.”
I grabbed my brown bag and stood up. Kennedy stood up. We exchanged bone crushers. He winced first.
“You’re not as bad as you used to be, Freddy. You can take some pride in that.”
I plumbed a line due east. There was nothing to do and no place to go. There was nobody to extort or intimidate. There were no opportunities disguised as love.
Loose ends.
That plumb line due east.
I U-turned onto Sunset. I saw Pali High—home of the Dolphins. I saw the Farr house and the Bay Theater. A jog north took me by Fifth Helena. A jog south took me back to Sunset and east to the Strip. Gwen’s place stood empty. The living room had sustained damage. The dutiful Sheriff’s wife will forward a check. I cruised by the Chapman Park Hotel and reversed course. I drove by Hollygrove and scoped that big tree.
I drove to the run-down house on Dunoon. Natasha’s junker Ford was gone. She’s off at the drugstore or the market. She doesn’t roll anywhere else.
I’m an eideteker. I see things and imprint things that no one else sees. Natasha’s front door has a built-in mail chute. It’s long and wide. I brain-screened the dimensions the first time I was here.
A light rain kicked on. I walked up to the porch. I dropped Jack’s fifty grand and a get-well card down the chute.