HATE lured them places. HATE lured Wayne to the ranch. He prowled the ranch cyclical. He got the urge and savored it. He picked his entry shots.
Janice leaves. Wayne Senior leaves. He watches them go and walks in. He goes to the dressing room. He smells Janice. He touches her things.
He reads Wayne Senior’s files. He reads Wayne Senior’s tracts.
The Papal Pipeline. Boat Tickets to the Congo—one-way passage on the Titanic.
The tracts went back to ’52. The tracts “probed” Little Rock. The tracts “exposed” Emmett Till. The Little Rock kids spread gonorrhea. Emmett Till raped white girls.
It was bullshit. It was chaste and cowardly HATE.
Wayne Senior lied—“I ‘diversified’ last year.” Bullshit—Wayne Senior pushed long-term hate.
HATE tracts. HATE comic boox. HATE primers. The HATE alphabet.
Wayne read Wayne Senior’s mail file. Mr. Hoover wrote memorandums. Dwight Holly wrote notes. They were long-term pen pals—from 1954 up.
’54 rocked. The Supreme Court banned school segregation. The Ku Klux Klan rocked anew.
Mr. Hoover rocked. Mr. Hoover deployed Dwight Holly. Holly knew Wayne Senior. Mr. Hoover loved Wayne Senior’s tracts. Mr. Hoover collected them. Mr. Hoover displayed them. Mr. Hoover rang Wayne Senior up.
They chatted. Mr. Hoover bored in:
You push hate tracts. Someone has to. They’re harmless and fun. They appeal to the rural right. The rural right is factional. The rural right is dumb.
You have hate credentials. You can help me place plants. We place them in Klan groups. Dwight Holly to supervise. They snitch mail fraud. They scotch your tract rivals. They assist the FBI.
Wayne read file notes. Mr. Hoover wrote. Dwight Holly wrote. Klan klowns wrote komedy. They sucked up to Wayne Senior. They yahooed. They described their koontretemps.
The mail file stopped dead—summer ’63. No Fed notes/no snitch notes/no kommuniqués: Why that? Say what?
Wayne loved the Fed notes. The Fed-speak glowed: “Felony guidelines.” “Acceptable acts to sustain informant credibility.”
Wayne loved the Klan notes. The text glistened. The Klan-speak glowed.
Wayne Senior suborned rednecks. Wayne Senior koddled them. They lived on Fed money. They bought corn liquor. They pulled “minor assaults.”
One note sizzled. Dwight Holly writes—10/8/57.
Holly praised Wayne Senior. Holly enthused: You toughed it out/you retained your kover.
10/6/57. Shaw, Mississippi. Six Kluxers grab a Negro. Said Kluxers employ a dull knife. They sever his balls. They feed their dogs in front of him. Wayne Senior observes.
Wayne read the note. Wayne read it fifty times. The note taught him this:
Wayne Senior fears you. Wayne Senior fears your HATE. It’s unmediated. It’s unexploitative. It’s unrationalized.
Wayne Senior hated petty. Wayne Senior had a rationale. Wayne Senior tried to shape his HATE.
Wayne Senior played him a bug tape. Wayne Senior played it over drinks. The date: 5/8/64. The place: Meridian, Mississippi.
Civil-rights workers talked—four Negro males. Said Negroes defamed white girls. Said girls were “liberal cooze.” Said girls were “punchboards out for black stick.”
Wayne listened. Wayne replayed the tape—thirty-eight times.
Wayne Senior ran a Fed film. Wayne Senior ran it over lunch. The date: 2/19/61. The place: New York City.
A folk club/mixed dancing/dark lips and hickeys.
Wayne watched. Wayne replayed the film—forty-two times.
HATE:
He watched THEM. He found THEM. He nailed THEM in crowds. HATE moved him. HATE rejoined him with Wayne Senior.
They talked. Shit densified. Shit cohered and dispersed. Janice talked to him. Janice studied him. Janice touched him more. She dressed for him. She cut her hair. She wore a Lynette do.
Lynette lost him. She knew it. She knew Dallas cut her loose. He ran from her. He hid out. He carried sex in his head.
Janice and Barb. Snapshots from the ranch. Postcards from the lounge.
His house fucked with him. Wendell Durfee kicked the door in. Lynette died there.
He dumped the bed. He stripped the paint. He peeled the bloodstains. It wasn’t enough.
He sold the house. He took a loss. He indulged a spree. He hit the Dunes and shot dice.
He won sixty grand. He rolled all night. He blew the whole stake. Moe Dalitz watched him. Moe bought him morning pancakes.
He moved to Wayne Senior’s guest house. He installed a phone. He logged bullshit tips and built a tip file.
He dug his two rooms. He dug on his view. Janice strolled. Janice changed clothes. Janice chipped balls out her window.
He lived in the guest house. He played at the Sultan’s Lounge. He met Pete there. They watched Barb and socialized.
Pete introduced him. He blushed. They hit the Sands. They sipped frosty mai tais. They talked. Barb got tipsy and riffed on sex extortion. Barb said, “I worked JFK.”
She stopped—looks traveled—looks dispersed wiiiiiide. Barb knew about Dallas. The looks said, “We all do.”
That was March. Pete and Barb were back from Mexico. Pete and Barb were tan.
They flew to Acapulco. They flew back weird. Pete was thin. Barb was thin. Pete had lip scars. They had a cat—a stripedy tom—they loved his scraggly ass.
Wayne called Ward Littell. Wayne said, “What’s up with Pete?” Wayne dropped Pete’s “kid brother” line. Ward explained it all:
Pete killed his brother. Pete botched a hit. Pete killed François B. accidental. That was ’49. Wayne was fifteen then. Wayne lived in Peru, Indiana.
Pete got phone calls. Pete left Vegas. Wayne met Barb for lunch. They talked. They hashed neutral topics. They eschewed Pete’s work. They talked up Barb’s sister in Wisconsin. They talked up her Bob’s Big Boy franchise. They talked up Barb’s lowlife ex.
Barb teased him. Barb saw him with Janice. He copped to his sixteen-year crush.
Pete trusted him. Pete gauged his Barb crush. Pete tagged it kid stuff. Barb was great. Barb made him laugh. Barb pulled his eyes off of THEM.
He pressed Pete—find me real work—Pete dodged his requests. He pressed Pete on Dallas—give me more details—Pete dodged his full press.
He said, “Why are you so fucked up and stoked on a cat?”
Pete said, “Shut up.” Pete said, “Smile more and hate less.”
43
(Dallas/Las Vegas/Acapulco/New Orleans/
Houston/Pensacola/Los Angeles,
2/14/64–6/29/64)
He found the cat. He relocated him. The cat dug Vegas. The cat dug the Stardust Hotel.
The cat dug their suite. The cat dug room-service chow. Barb fucking shit. Who fucking body-snatched you?
You flew off. You flew back. You came home undone. You don’t eat right. You don’t sleep right. You shudder.
He did all that. He chain-smoked too. He gnashed his teeth. He drank himself to sleep. He reran one nightmare:
Saipan, ’43. Japs. Roads rigged with slice cords. Jeeps pass by. The cords hit. Heads topple clean.
He got headaches. He popped scotch. He popped aspirin. Bedtime scared him. He read books. He watched TV. He messed with the cat. His arms pinged. He pissed more. His feet got numbed up.
He fought it. He flew to New Orleans. He rigged a slice cord. He staked Carlos out. He thought it through. He ran Yes and No lists. The Nos won in a walk.
Don’t do it. The Boys would kill Barb—just for a start.
They’d kill Barb’s mother. They’d kill Barb’s sister. They’d kill the clan Lindscott worldwide.
He flew back to Vegas. He found a cat-sitter. Barb took a week off. They flew to Acapulco. They got a cliffside suite. They watched spics dive for tourist chump change.
He carved some nerve. He sat Barb down. He told her EVERYTHING.
François and Ruth Mildred Cressmeyer. Each and every paid hit. Betty Mac. The no
ose on the crossbars. Her nails at her neck.
He spilled facts. He spilled names. He spilled numbers. He spilled details. He spilled new Dallas shit. He spilled on Wendell D. and Lynette.
Barb ran.
She packed her bag. She ran from him. She moved out. He tried to stop her. She grabbed his gun. She aimed at him flush.
He backed off. She ran. He got drunk and studied the cliff. The drop ran six hundred feet.
He ran up. He swayed. He ran up ten times. He ran up sober and drunk. He punked out ten times. He dipped and caught himself. He stopped on pure lack of guts.
He scored some red devils. He slept through whole days. He dungeoned the bedroom up. He ate pills. He slept. He ate pills. He slept. He woke up and thought he was dead.
Barb was there. She said, “I’ll stay.” He cried and tore the bed up.
Barb shaved him. Barb fed him soup. Barb talked him off pills and cliff drops.
They flew to L.A. He saw Ward Littell. Ward knew about Betty. Carlos had bragged the job up.
They made plans. They schemed precautions. Ward was smart. Ward was good. Ward made an Arden a Jane.
Shit looked all new now. Ward said he understood. Vegas looked new—hard hues and hot weather.
He scored on the Clay fight. He cat-proofed the suite. He banked a six-digit roll. The cat dug the suite. The cat perched. The cat pounced. The cat killed wall mice.
Pete called Farlan Moss. Moss worked Sheriff’s Vice. Moss entrapped fruits and whores with panache. Pete hired him. The job: Sift dirt on Monarch Cab and Eldon Peavy.
Moss said he’d do it. Moss promised full disclosure. Moss promised results.
Carlos called Pete. Carlos eschewed Betty talk. Carlos made nice.
“Pete, I hope you swing Monarch. I’d love to buy in for some points.”
Pete said, “No.” Betty Mac hovered. Carlos said, “Let’s wait on Hank K.”
Pete said, “Okay.” Pete sat and waited. He shitcanned the scotch. His sleep improved. His nightmares lulled off.
He palled with Wayne. He palled with the cat. He spot-checked Monarch. He drooled. He called Fred Otash. He called his cop pals. They ran bulletin checks.
Wendell Durfee—where you be? Wendell be nowhere.
He got restless. He drove to Big D. Betty Mac hovered and laid down ghost tracks. He checked around. He checked the DPD file. He got no Durfee leads and no sightings.
Carlos called him. Carlos said, “Go. Clip Hank Killiam.”
Pete drove to Houston. Pete picked up Chuck Rogers. Chuck lived with his folks. They were dings. They wore Klan sheets to bed.
Pete and Chuck split eastward—Pensacola-bound.
They drove back roads. They dawdled. Chuck talked up Vietnam. John Stanton was there now. The CIA was in deep. Chuck knew a Saigon MP—a cat named Bob Relyea—ex-prison guard/ex-Klan.
Chuck talked to Bob. They enjoyed shortwave chats. Bob extolled Vietnam nonstop. It was hot. It was groovy. It was Cuba on Meth.
Chuck talked Cuba—Viva la Causa!—Pete ragged the De Ridder “troops.” They agreed—fuck Hank Hudspeth and Guy B. in the neck. They drank too much. They talked too much. They sold bad guns.
The South was wild—spring rains and big voodoo.
They drove through Louisiana. They bunked at exile camps. Chuck drilled the troops. Pete cleaned dirty guns.
The troops were substandard. The troops were spic trash. They split Cuba. They migrated. They scrounged right-wing welfare. They lacked balls. They lacked skills. They lacked savoir faire.
Chuck knew all the back roads. Chuck knew rib joints Dixiewide. They cut through Mississippi. They cut through Alabama. They dodged Fed cars. They hit cross burns. Chuck knew sheet boys statewide.
Nice kids—a bit dumb—a bit inbred.
They bunked at Klan kamps. They split at dawn. They passed torched churches. De-churched coons stood by.
Chuck laughed. Chuck waved. Chuck yelled, “Howdy, you-all!”
They hit Pensacola. They staked out Hank K. Hank K. stayed inside. They invaded his pad. They slit his throat. They drove his body around. They dawdled. They cruised to 3:00 a.m. They found a TV-store window.
They tossed Hank in. Hank broke the glass. Hank crashed Zeniths and RCAs.
The Pensacola Trib/third column/page 2: BIZARRE SUICIDE. LOCAL MAN dives to death.
Chuck flew to Houston. Pete drove to Vegas. Pete sloughed off Hank K. Hank was male. Hank knew the rules. Hank got no gender relief.
Pete killed time. Pete palled with the cat. Pete palled with Wayne. They caught Barb’s gigs. They sat ringside. Wayne dug on Barb. Wayne played it straight. Wayne honored women that way.
6/14/64: Guy Banister dies. It’s heart attack #4. Chuck calls. Chuck gloats. Chuck explicates.
Carlos said, “Kill him.” Chuck employed excess digitalis.
Chuck laughed. Chuck said, “Don’t be hurt. Carlos wanted to give you a rest.”
DOCUMENT INSERT: 6/30/64. Confidential Report. From: Farlan D. Moss. Submitted to: Pete Bondurant. Topic: “Criminal Activities of Eldon Lowell Peavy (White Male/46), the Monarch Cab Business & the Golden Cavern Hotel-Casino/with Index of Known Criminal Associates.”
Mr. Bondurant,
As promised, my report & attached rap sheet carbons on Subject Peavy’s KAs. As we discussed, please make no copies and destroy upon reading.
OWNERSHIP & LICENSE/TAX STATUS OF
LEGITIMATELY OWNED BUSINESSES
Subject PEAVY is the sole owner of the Monarch Cab Company (1st Clark County Licensed 9/1/55), the Golden Cavern Hotel-Casino (Nevada Gaming Commission licensed 6/8/57), the “Sid the Surplus Sergeant” Store (business license transferred to Subject PEAVY 12/16/60) & the Cockpit Cocktail Lounge in Reno (Nevada liquor license #6044/dated 2/12/58). (Note: Said lounge is a homosexual meeting place.) All of Subject PEAVY’s state & local operating licenses are up-to-date & in good standing, as are his Federal, state & county (Clark/Washoe) business taxes, personal taxes, property taxes, workers compensation fund taxes & his registering of ex-convicts in his employ. Subject PEAVY (no doubt eager to guard his reputation & retain his seats on the Nevada Gaming Control Board & Clark County Liquor & Control Board) is a scrupulous record keeper & observer of official business codes.
ILLEGAL ON-SITE ACTIVITIES (PER ABOVE BUSINESSES)
Subject PEAVY’s four businesses sustain criminal enterprises & serve as gathering spots for known criminals & homosexuals. All four are police-agency protected, which should serve to hinder you in your takeover strategy. The Cockpit Lounge (protected by Washoe County Sheriff’s Dept.) is a distribution point for homosexual pornography (films & photographs), Mexican-made fetish paraphernalia & amyl nitrite vials pilfered from the Washoe County Medical Center. Male prostitutes congregate on the premises & the pay phones are used as contact points for a “Date-A-Boy” service run by Cockpit bartenders RAYMOND “GAY RAY” BIRNBAUM (white male/39/see rap sheet index) & GARY DE HAVEN (white male/28/see index). Subject PEAVY allegedly receives a percentage of all profits accrued from felonious enterprises conducted on the Cockpit premises.
The “Sid the Surplus Sergeant” Store (521 E. Fremont) serves as a pick-up point for male prostitutes working out of the Glo-Ann Motel (604 E. Fremont) and as a contact point for “Chicken Hawks” (older or married homosexual men who prey on young boys) attempting to instigate assignations. Losing gamblers & male UNLV students anxious to earn money congregate in the parking lot & sleep in their cars there in hope of promoting “dates.” The store manager, SAMMY “SILK” FERRER (white male/44/also a Monarch cab driver/see rap sheet index), permits said “dates” to occur in back rooms on the store premises & often surreptitiously films them thru hidden wall peeks. FERRER compiles film footage, edits it into pornographic “loops” & sells said “loops” out of the Hunky Monkey Bar, a notorious establishment catering to “rough trade” homosexuals. FERRER & Subject PEAVY also screen pornographic films (homosexual & heterosexual content) in back rooms on the premises. This is a re
creational activity for Monarch Cab personnel & their favored customers. (Note: Actors ROCK HUDSON & SAL MINEO & ex-heavyweight champ SONNY LISTON are Monarch Cab/Golden Cavern habitues & frequently view films at “Sid the Surplus Sergeant.”)
The Monarch Cab Company & its office/dispatch hut (919 Tilden St., N. Las Vegas) is the hub of Subject PEAVY’S illegal (albeit protected) enterprises. Subject PEAVY employs 14 full & part-time drivers, 6 of whom are presumed homosexuals with no criminal records & no outstanding Nevada State traffic warrants. The other 8 (all known homosexuals) are:
The prev. ment’d SAMMY “SILK” FERRER; HARVEY D. BRAMS; JOHN “CHAMP” BEAUCHAMP; WELTON V. ANSHUTZ; SALVATORE “SATIN SAL” SALDONE; DARYL EHMINTINGER; NATHAN WERSHOW & DOMINIC “DONKEY DOM” DELLACROCIO. All 8 drivers have extensive criminal records, with offenses inc. sodomy, armed robbery, flim-flam, statutory rape, male prostitution, narcotics possession & dismissed homicide charges (see rap sheet index). DELLACROCIO, BEAUCHAMP, BRAMS & SALDONE also work out of the Golden Cavern Hotel-Casino as male prostitutes. DELLACROCIO (a part-time driver & dancer in the “Vegas A Go-Go” show at the New Frontier Hotel) is also a pornographic film actor. DELLACROCIO sometimes recruits other chorus dancers to work as male prostitutes.
Monarch Cab maintains & services illegally placed slot machines in numerous West Las Vegas bars. The operation is overseen by MILTON H. (HERMAN) CHARGIN (white male/53/no criminal record), a non-homosexual & former scandal magazine writer (Lowdown & Whisper magazines), a part-time Monarch Cab dispatcher & Subject PEAVY’s on-site “Executive Officer,” i.e., the man who imposes order on Subject PEAVY’s crew.
All 14 drivers sell prescription pills (Seconal, Nembutal, Tuinal, Empirin-Codeine, Dexedrine, Dexamyl, Desoxyn, Biphetamine) supplied to them by Las Vegas-based doctors. (Said doctors are paying off gambling markers to local hotel-casinos, as part of a reciprocal agreement between casino pit bosses & Subject PEAVY. See Known Associates Index for list of doctors & casino personnel.)
The drivers sell largely to Negroes in W. Las Vegas, Mexicans & Nellis AFB enlisted men in N. Las Vegas, lounge entertainers & Los Angeles-based homosexual junketeers who use Monarch Cab limousines for airport pick-ups & reside at the Golden Cavern. Again, this operation is LVPD & CCSD-sanctioned.