American tabloid

20

United Parcel dropped off three big boxes. Kemper carried them into his kitchen and opened them.

Bondurant wrapped the stuff in oilcloth. Bondurant understood the concept of “goodies.”

Bondurant sent him two submachine guns, two hand grenades and nine silencer-fitted.45 automatics.

Bondurant included a succinct, unsigned note:

“Your move and Stanton’s.”

The machine guns came with fully loaded drums and a maintenance manual. The.45s fit his shoulder rig perfectly.

Kemper strapped one on and drove to the airport. He caught the 1:00 p.m. New York shuttle with time to spare.

o o o

881 Fifth Avenue was a high-line Tudor fortress. Kemper ducked past the doorman and pushed the “L. Hughes” lobby buzzer.

A woman’s voice came on the intercom. “Take the second lift on the left, please. You can leave the groceries in the foyer.”

He elevatored up twelve floors. The doors opened straight into an apartment vestibule.

The vestibule was the size of his living room. The mink woman was leaning against a full-sized Greek column, wearing a tartan robe and slippers.

Her hair was tied back. She was juuust starting to smile.

“I remember you from the Kennedys’ party. Jack said you’re one of Bobby’s policemen.”

“My name’s Kemper Boyd, Miss Hughes.”

“From Lexington, Kentucky?”

“You’re close. Nashville, Tennessee.”

She folded her arms. “You heard me give the cab driver my address, and you described me to the doorman downstairs. He told you my name, and you rang my bell.”

“You’re close.”

“You saw me give that vulgar diamond broach away. Any man as elegantly dressed as you are would appreciate a gesture like that.”

“Only a well-taken-care-of woman would make that kind of gesture.”

She shook her head. “That’s not a very sharp perception.”

Kemper stepped toward her. “Then let’s try this. You did it because you knew you had an audience. It was a Kennedy kind of thing to do, and I’m not criticizing you for it.”

Laura cinched her robe. “Don’t get presumptuous with the Kennedys. Don’t even talk presumptuously about them, because when you least expect it they’ll cut you off at the knees.”

“You’ve seen it happen?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Did it happen to you?”

“No.”

“Because you can’t expel what you haven’t admitted?”

Laura pulled out a cigarette case. “I started smoking because most of the sisters did. They had cases like this, so Mr. Kennedy gave me one.”

“Mr. Kennedy?”

“Or Joe. Or Uncle Joe.”

Kemper smiled. “My father went broke and killed himself. He willed me ninety-one dollars and the gun he did it with.”

“Uncle Joe will leave me a good deal more than that.”

“What’s the current stipend?”

“A hundred thousand dollars a year and expenses.”

“Did you decorate this apartment to resemble the Kennedys’ suite at the Carlyle?”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful. Sometimes I think I could live in hotel suites forever.”

She walked away from him. She turned on her heels and disappeared down a museum-width hallway.

Kemper let five minutes pass. The apartment was huge and quiet-he couldn’t get his bearings.

He worked his way left and got lost. Three corridors led him back to the same pantry; the four entrances to the dining room had him spinning in circles. He hit intersecting hallways, a library, wings-

Traffic sounds straightened him out He heard foot scuffs on the terrace behind the grand piano.

He walked over. The terrace would swallow up his kitchen at least twice.

Laura was leaning against the railing. A breeze ruffled her robe.

She said, “Did Jack tell you?”

“No. I figured it out myself.”

“You’re lying. The Kennedys and a friend of mine in Chicago are the only ones who know. Did Mr. Hoover tell you? Bobby says he doesn’t know, but I’ve never believed him.”

Kemper shook his head. “Mr. Hoover doesn’t know. Lenny Sands told a Chicago FBI man who’s a friend of mine.”

Laura lit a cigarette. Kemper cupped his hands around the match.

“I never thought Lenny would tell a soul.”

“He didn’t have much choice. If it’s any consol-”

“No, I don’t want to know. Lenny knows bad people, and bad people can make you say things you don’t want to.”

Kemper touched her arm. “Please don’t tell Lenny you met me.”

“Why, Mr. Boyd?”

“Because he’s embarrassingly well connected.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m asking you what you’re doing here.”

“I saw you at Joe Kennedy’s party. I’m sure you can fill in the rest yourself.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I couldn’t very well ask Jack or Bobby for your number.”

“Why not?”

“Because Uncle Joe wouldn’t approve, and Bobby doesn’t entirely trust me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m embarrassingly well connected.”

Laura shivered. Kemper draped his suitcoat around her shoulders.

She pointed to his holster. “Bobby told me the McClellan people don’t carry guns.”

“I’m off duty.”

“Did you think I’d be so bored and indolent that you could just ring my bell and seduce me?”

“No, I thought I’d buy you dinner first.”

Laura laughed and coughed smoke. “Is Kemper your mother’s maiden name?” -

“Yes.”

“Is she alive?”

“She died in a nursing home in ‘49.”

“What did you do with the gun your father left you?”

“I sold it to a classmate in law school.”

“Does he carry it?”

“He died on Iwo Jima.”

Laura dropped her cigarette in a coffee cup. “I know so many orphans.”

“So do I. You’re sort of one your-”

“No. That’s not true. You’re just saying it to make points with me.”

“I don’t think it’s much of a stretch.”

She snuggled into his suitcoat. The sleeves flopped in the wind.

“Repartee is one thing, Mr. Boyd, and the truth is another. The truth is my robber-baron father fucked my movie-star mother and got her pregnant. My movie-star mother had already had three abortions and didn’t want to risk a fourth. My movie-star mom disowned me, but my father enjoys flaunting me in front of his legitimate family once a year. The boys like me because I’m provocative, and they think I’m nifty because they can’t fuck me, because I’m their half-sister. The girls hate me because I’m a coded message from their father that says men can fuck around, but women can’t. Do you get the picture, Mr. Boyd? I have a family. My father put me through boarding school and several colleges. My father supports me. My father informed his family of my existence when Jack brought me home from a Harvard alumni mixer as the unwitting pawn in a rather vicious ploy I had initiated to assert myself into the family. Imagine his surprise when Father said, ‘Jack, you can’t fuck her, she’s your half-sister.’ Little Bobby, twenty and Calvinistic, overheard the conversation and spread the word. My father figured what the hell, the word’s out, and invited me to stay for dinner. Mrs. Kennedy had a rather traumatic reaction to all of this. Our ‘embarrassingly well connected’ friend Lenny Sands was giving Jack speech lessons for his first congressional campaign, and was at the house for dinner. He stopped Rose from making a scene, and we’ve been sharing secrets ever since. I have a family, Mr. Boyd. My father is evil and grasping and ruthless and willing to destroy anybody who so much as looks the wrong way at the children he publicly acknowledges. And I hate everything about him except the money he gives me and the fact that he would probably destroy anybody who tried to hurt me as well.”

Car horns bleeped long and shrill. Laura pointed down at a line of taxis. “They perch there like vultures. They always make the most noise when I’m playing Rachmaninoff.”

Kemper unholstered his piece. He honed in on a sign marked Yellow Cabs Only.

He braced his arm on the railing and fired. Two shots sheared the sign off the signpost. The silencer went thwack-Pete was a good ordnance supplier.

Laura whooped. Cabbies gestured up, spooked and bewildered.

Kemper said, “I like your hair.”

Laura untied it. The wind made it dance.

o o o

They talked.

He told her how the Boyd fortune evaporated. She told him how she flunked out of Juilliard and flopped as a socialite.

She called herself a musical dilettante. He called himself an ambitious cop. She recorded Chopin on a vanity label. He sent Christmas cards to car thieves he arrested.

He said he loved Jack but couldn’t stand Bobby. She called Bobby deep Beethoven and Jack Mozart most glib. She called Lenny Sands her one true friend and didn’t mention his betrayal. He said his daughter, Claire, shared all his secrets.

Devil’s Advocate snapped on automatically. He knew exactly what to say and what to omit.

He called Mr. Hoover a vindictive old queen. He portrayed himself as a liberal pragmatist hitched to the Kennedy star.

She revived the orphanhood theme. He described the threedaughter combine.

Susan Littell was judgmental and shrill. Helen Agee was courageous and impetuous. His Claire was too close to know just yet.

He told her about his friendship with Ward. He said he wanted a younger brother for keeps-and the Bureau gave him one. He said Ward worshiped Bobby. She said Bobby sensed that Uncle Joe was evil and chased gangsters to compensate for his patrimony.

He hinted at his own lost brother. He said the loss made him push Ward in odd ways.

They talked themselves exhausted. Laura called “21” and had dinner sent up. The chateaubriand and wine made her drowsy.

They left it unspoken.

Not tonight-next time.

o o o

Laura fell asleep. Kemper walked through the apartment.

Two circuits taught him the layout. Laura told him the maid needed a map. The dining room could feed a small army.

He called the Agency’s Miami Ops number. John Stanton picked up immediately.

“Yes?”

“It’s Kemper Boyd. I’m calling to accept your offer.”

“I’m very pleased to hear that I’ll be in touch, Mr. Boyd. We’ll have lots to discuss.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

Kemper walked back to the drawing room. He left the terrace curtains open-skyscrapers across the park threw light on Laura.

He watched her sleep.