American tabloid

26

The amp made small talk boom. Littell picked up mobster amenities.

He wire-linked Mad Sal’s parlor to his back bedroom closet. He overmiked the walls and got excessive voice vibrato.

The closet was hot and cramped. Littell sweated up his headset.

Talking: Mad Sal and “movie producer” Sid Kabikoff.

Sal went on a gambling binge. Littell confronted him with an LAPD teletype describing his actions. Sal said he blew the fiftyodd grand Littell gave him.

The train-locker heist stood unsolved-Sal didn’t know where the cash came from. The tailor-shop bug blasted scuttlebutt on the topic-but Malvaso and the Duck remained clueless.

Then Jack Ruby called him.

And said, “I finally got a guy for Sal D. to goose up to the Pension Fund.”

His informants were in sync-except for Lenny Sands.

Littell wiped off his headset. Kabikoff spoke, overamp loud: “…and Heshie says his blow-job tally’s closing in on twenty thousand.”

Mad Sal: “Sid, Sid the Yid. You didn’t fly up from bumfuck Texas to schmooze the grapevine with me.”

Kabikoff: “You’re right, Sal. I was passing through Dallas and had a schmooze with Jack Ruby. Jack said, ‘See Sal D. In Chicago. Sal’s the man to see for a big vigorish loan from the Pension Fund.’ Jack said, ‘Sal’s the middleman. He can fix you up with Momo and above. Sal’s the man with access to the money.’”

Mad Sal: “You say ‘Momo’ like you think you’re some kind of made guy.”

Kabikoff: “It’s like you talking Yiddish. Everybody wants to think they’re connected. Everybody wants to be in the loop.”

Mad Sal: “The Loop’s downtown, you fat bagel bender.”

Kabikoff: “Sal, Sal.”

Mad Sal: “Sal, my big fat braciola, you lox jockey. Now you tell me the scheme, ‘cause there’s gotta be a scheme, ‘cause you ain’t tapping the Fund for your little bagel biter’s bar mitzvah.”

Kabikoff: “The scheme is smut movies, Sal. I’ve been shooting smut down in Mexico for a year now. T.J., Juarez, you can get talent cheap down there.” -

Mad Sal: “Get to it. Cut the fucking travelogue.”

Kabikoff: “Hey, I’m setting a mood.”

Mad Sal: “I’ll mood you, you mameluke.”

Kabikoff: “Sal, Sal. I’ve been shooting smut. I’m good at it. In fact, I’m shooting a picture down in Mexico in a couple of days. I’m using some strippers from Jack’s club. It’s going to be great- Jack’s got some gorgeous gash working for him. Sal, Sal, don’t look at me that way. What I want to do is this. I want to make legit horror and action pictures with smut-movie casts. I want to book the legit pictures into the bottom half of double features ahd film the pornographic shit to help defer costs. Sal, Sal, don’t frown like that. It’s a moneymaker. I’ll cut Sam and the Pension Fund in for 50% of my profits plus my payback and vigorish. Sal, listen to me. This deal has got ‘Moneymaker’ scrawled across the fucking stars in fucking neon.”

Silence-twenty-six seconds worth.

Kabikoff: “Sal, quit giving me the evil eye and listen. This deal is a moneymaker, and I want to keep it in the loop. You know, in a way, the Fund and me go way back. See, I heard Jules Schiffrin’s the bookkeeper for the Fund. You know, for the real books that people outside the loop don’t know about. See, I knew Jules way back when. Like feature back in the ‘20s even, when he was selling dope and using the profits to finance movies with RKO back when Joe Kennedy owned it. Tell Sam to remember me to Jules, okay? Just to remind him that I’m a trustworthy guy and I’m still in the loop.”

Littell clamped down on his headphones. Jesus Fucking-

“Jules Schiffrin”/”Fund bookkeeper”/”real books.”

Sweat seeped into the phones-voices fizzed out incoherent. Littell wrote the quotes down verbatim on the closet wall.

Kabikoff: “…so I’m flying back to Texas in a few days. Take my card, Sal. No, take two and give one to Momo. Business cards always make a good impression.”

Littell heard goodbyes and a door slamming. He took off his headset and stared at the words on the wall.

Mad Sal walked up. Fat jiggled under his T-shirt.

“How’d I do? I had to give him some shit or he wouldn’t’ve believed it was the real me.”

“You were good. Now just watch your money. You won’t get another dime from me until I’ve tapped into the Fund.”

“What do I do about Kabikoff?”

“I’ll call you inside a week and tell you whether or not to refer him to Giancana.”

Sal belched. “Call me in L.A. I’m taking another junket out to Gardena.”

Littell stared at the wall. He memorized each and every word and copied them over into his notebook.