American tabloid

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Waves pushed litter up on the shore. Paper cups and cruise-boat programs shredded at his feet.

Littell kicked them out of his way. He passed the spot where he dumped the Montrose B amp;E swag.

Garbage then, garbage now.

He had three dead men to light candles for. Jack Ruby seemed to be safe-he called the Carousel Club once a week to hear his voice.

Sal resisted torture. Sal never said “Littell” or “Ruby.” Kabikoff knew him only as a cop in a ski mask.

“Mad Sal” and “Sid the Yid”-the nomenclature used to amuse him. Bobby Kennedy allegedly loved Mob nicknames.

He was sloughing off his Phantom reports. He was sloughing off his Red Squad work. He told SAC Leahy that God and Jesus Christ were leftists.

He cut Helen down to one night a week. He quit calling Lenny Sands. He had two constant companions: Old Overholt and Pabst Blue Ribbon.

A sodden magazine washed in. He saw a picture of Jack Kennedy and Jackie.

Kemper said the senator had hound blood. Kemper said Bobby held his marriage vows sacred.

Fat Sid said their dad knew Jules Schiffrin. Schiffrin kept the real Pension Fund books-liquor couldn’t numb that one fact.

Littell cut over to Lake Shore Drive. His feet ached and his trouser cuffs spilled sand.

It was dusk. He’d been walking due south for hours.

His bearings clicked in. He saw that he was three blocks away from a real live destination.

He walked over and knocked on Lenny Sands’ door. Lenny opened up and just stood there.

Littell said, “It’s over. I won’t ask anything else of you.”

Lenny stepped closer. Words roared out in one long string.

Littell heard “stupid” and “worthless” and “coward.” He looked Lenny in the eyes and stood there while he roared himself breathless.