He staked it out. He wore disguises. He worked six days and nights. He waited. The post stayed manned--all day/all night.

He went schizzy. He gave up sleep--six days/six nights. He lost weight. He saw goblins. Spots torqued his eyes.

It rained on day 7. One agent stayed on-post.

Luck: Said agent goes off-post. Said agent visits suite 63. Said agent has a prostitute.

Littell hit 208. Littell picked the door lock. Littell locked himself in. Littell tossed the post.

He found a transcript log. He found a routing log. He found transcripts stacked. He skimmed back through mid-March. He saw: March 15/16. Two three-way talks transcribed. Bobby plus Paul Horvitz. One man un-ID'd. Bobby's voluble. Bobby's effusive. Bobby talks anti-Mob.

He skimmed the routing log. He hit 3/20. He saw tape copies routed. The tapes for March 15/16. Said tapes routed to the Boys.

To Carlos. To Moe D. To John Rosselli. To Santo and Sam G.

That was this morning. That was twelve hours back.

He tracked Bobby's schedule. He drove south. He hit San Diego. He called the Bureau office. The ASAC hung up. He called SDPD. He told his story. A sergeant blew up.

The sergeant yelled at him. The sergeant said, "You're on a list." The sergeant hung up.

He drove to the rally. He got there early. He saw sound men set up. He braced them. He braced staffers. He got the bum's rush. He left. He came back. The crowd ate him up.

Littell watched Bobby. Littell waved his hands. Look at me please. Bobby soared. Bobby waved. Bobby loved up the crowd. Bobby spread contact thin.

Littell waved his hands. Something jabbed him--a needle/a pin/a stick. He went woozy--BOOM like that--he saw Fred Otash thiiiiiinnn.

118.

(Las Vegas, 6/4/68)

Wild Janice--frail now.

More gray hair. More black eclipsed. More lines and hollows.

Wayne walked in. Janice shut the door. Wayne embraced her. He felt ribs. He felt hollows. He felt her curves slack.

Janice stepped back. Wayne took her hands.

"You look pretty good, considering."

"I wasn't going to put on all that powder. I'm not dead yet."

"Don't talk like that."

"Let me indulge myself. You're my first date since Ward deserted me."

Wayne smiled. "You were my first date, ever."

Janice smiled. "Are you talking about the Peru Cotillion of 1949 or the one time we did it?"

Wayne squeezed her hands. "We never got a second shot."

Janice laughed. "You weren't looking for one. It was just your way to cut loose of your father."

"I regret that. That part of it, I mean."

"You mean it was good, but you regret the timing and your motive."

"I regret what it cost you."

Janice squeezed his hands. "You're leading up to something."

Wayne blushed. Shit--you still do that.

"I was hoping there'd be one more time."

"You can't mean it. With me like this?"

"You never get things right the first time."

It went soft. It went slow. It went like he wanted. It went like he planned.

Her body showed the hurt. Sharp bones over skin. Gray tones over white. Her breath tasted bitter. He liked her old taste--Salem Menthols and gin.

They rolled. Her bones scraped him. They touched and kissed long. Her breasts fell. He liked it. Her breasts used to stand.

She still had strength. She pushed him. She clutched and grabbed. They rolled. He tasted her. She tasted him.

She tasted sick. It stunned him. The taste settled in. He tasted her inside. He kissed her new scars. Her breath fluttered thin.

He got her close. She pulled back. She guided him in. He reached over. He turned on the bed lamp. The beam settled in.

It caught her face. It bounced off her gray hair. It caught her eyes flush.

They moved together. They got close and held. They locked their eyes up. They moved. They peaked close together. They let their eyes shut.

Janice played the radio. KVGS--all lounge stuff.

They hit some Barb songs. They laughed and rolled. They kicked the sheets up. Wayne dimmed the volume. The Bondsmen purred. Barb sang "Twilight Time."

Janice said, "You love her. Ward told me."

"I outgrew her. She grew up and messed with my crush."

Barb segued upbeat--"Chanson d'Amour." Janice dimmed the volume. Barb blew a high note. The Bondsmen cued her back up.

"I ran into her, about two years ago. We had a few drinks and discussed certain men."

Wayne smiled. "I wish I could have been there."

"You were."

"That's all you're saying?"

Janice zipped her lips. "Yes."

Barb segued dreamy--Jimmy Rogers' "Secretly."

Janice said, "I love that song. It reminds me of the man I was with then."

"Was it my father?"

"No."

"Did he find out?"

"Yes."

"What did he do?"

Janice touched his lips. "Be still. I want to listen."

Barb sang. Her voice held. She segued. She went upbeat. Reverb killed the mood.

Wayne killed the volume. Wayne rolled close to Janice. He kissed her. He touched her hair. He got her eyes close up.

"If I told you I could help you settle the one score that counts, would you want to do it?"

Janice said, "Yes."

She slept.

She ate pain pills. She drifted off. Wayne fluffed her hair on a pillow. Wayne pulled a quilt over her.

He checked his watch. It was 6:10 p.m.

He walked to his car. He grabbed two laundry bags. He grabbed a scratch pad and pen. He walked back. He bolted the door. He walked the living room. He pat-checked the walls. He patted and touched.

No hollow thunks/no wall seams/no panels.

He walked the bedroom. He worked around Janice. He patted and touched. No hollow thunks/no wall seams/no panels.

He walked Littell's study. He slid out a cabinet. He saw a wall seam. He found a catch and flipped it. A panel slid back.

He saw shelves. He saw a .38 snubnose. He saw ledgers stacked.

He opened the blue ones. He saw Teamster nomenclature. He opened the brown ones. He saw typed notes and hand scrawl. He skimmed the text.

Arden-Jane indicts Teamsters. Arden-Jane indicts mobsters. ArdenJane culls anti-Mob facts.

Book 2--page 84: Arden-Jane rats "Chuck the Vice" Aiuppa. Arden-Jane rats Carlos M. She heard a rumor. She confirmed it. She transcribed.

March '59. Outside New Orleans. Carlos gives "Chuck the Vice" work. A "cajun fuck" fucked Carlos. Carlos says clip him.

"Chuck the Vice" obeys. "Chuck the Vice" kills said fuck. "Chuck the Vice" buries him.

Across from Boo's Hot-Links--six miles from Fort Polk. Look there--you'll find the bones.

Wayne pulled page 84. Wayne grabbed his scratch pad. Wayne wrote a note:

Mr. Marcello, My father bought Arden Breen--Jane Fentress's file from her before she left Ward Littell. Ward has no idea that such a file exists.

My father plans to extort you with information contained in the file. Can we discuss this? I'll call you within 24 hours.

Wayne Tedrow Jr.

Wayne checked Littell's desk. Wayne found an envelope. Wayne dropped the page and note in.

He sealed the envelope. He addressed it: Carlos Marcello/Tropicana Hotel/Las Vegas.

He grabbed the ledger books. He filled a laundry bag. He walked out. He killed the bedroom lights. He kissed Janice.

He touched her hair. He said, "I love you."