American tabloid

45

Jimmy Hoffa said, “I know how Jesus must have felt. The fucking pharaohs rose to power on his coattails like the fucking Kennedy brothers are rising on mine.”

Heshie Ryskind said, “Get your history straight. It was Julius Caesar that did Jesus in.”

Santo Junior said, “Joe Kennedy is a man you can reason with. It’s strictly Bobby that’s the bad seed. Joe will explain certain facts of life to Jack if he makes it.”

Johnny Rosselli said, “J. Edgar Hoover hates Bobby. And he knows you can’t fight the Outfit and win. If the kid is elected, cooler heads than that little cocksucker Bobby’s will prevail.”

The Boys were sprawled in deck chairs out on the speedboat dock. Pete kept their drinks fresh and let them run off at the mouth.

Hoffa said, “Fucking Jesus turned fish into bread, and that’s about the only thing I haven’t tried. I’ve spent six hundred grand on the primaries and bought every fucking cop and alderman and councilman and mayor and fucking grand juror and senator and judge and DA and fucking prosecutorial investigator who’d let me. I’m like Jesus trying to part the Red Fucking Sea and not getting no further than some motel on the beach.”

Ryskind said, “Jimmy, calm down. Go get yourself a nice blow job and relax. I’ve got some reliable local numbers. These are girls who know their trade and would love to satisfy a famous guy like you.”

Rosselli said, “If Jack is elected, Bobby will fade into the woodwork. My bet is he’ll run for governor of Massachusetts, and Raymond Patriarca and the Boston boys will have to worry about him.”

Santo Junior said, “That will never happen. Old Joe and Raymond go too far back. And when push comes to shove, it’s Joe who hands down the law-not Jack or Bobby.”

Hoffa said, “It’s the handing down of grand jury indictments that bothers me. My lawyer said the Sun Valley thing is unlikely to go my way, which means indictments by the end of the year. So don’t make Joe Kennedy sound like Jesus handing God the Ten Commandments on Mount Fucking Vesuvius.”

Ryskind said, “Santo was just making a point.”

Rosselli said, “It’s Mount Ararat, Jimmy. Mount Vesuvius is in fucking Yellowstone Park.”

Hoffa said, “You guys don’t know Jack Kennedy. Fucking Kemper Boyd’s got you convinced he’s a gung-ho anti-Castro guy when he’s really a pinko, Commie-appeasing, nigger-loving fucking homo masquerading as a cunt man.”

Wave spray hit the dock. Cadence counts sounded off fifty yards over-Lockhart was running troops through close-order drill. -

Ryskind said, “I could go for a blow job.”

Rosselli said, “What’s the count at, Hesh?”

Ryskind said, “Somewhere in the vicinity of seventeen thousand.”

Santo Junior said, “Don’t shit a shitter. I’d say eight thousand tops. Anything more than that and you’d be too fucking occupied to make money.”

The dock phone rang. Pete tilted his chair back and grabbed the receiver.

“This is Bondurant.”

“I’m glad it’s you, but don’t you soldier types say hello?”

Jack Ruby-un-fucking-mistakable.

Pete cupped the mouthpiece. “What is it? I told you not to call unless it’s important.”

“What it is is the crazy Fed. He called me yesterday, and I’ve been stalling him.”

“What did he want?”

“He offered me four Gs to fly up to Lake Geneva Goddamn Wisconsin and case the layout of Jules Schiffrin’s house up there. It seems to me this is part of that farkakte Pension Fund-”

“Tell him you’ll do it. Set up a meet someplace quiet fortyeight hours from now and call me back.”

Ruby gulped and stammered. Pete hung up and popped his knuckles ten across.

The goddamn phone rang again-

Pete snagged it. “Jack, what are you doing?”

A man said, “This ain’t Jack. This is a certain Mr. Giancana looking for a certain Mr. Hoffa, who a little birdie told me is there with you.”

Pete waved the phone. “It’s for you, Jimmy. It’s Mo.”

Hoffa belched. “Hit that loudspeaker doohickey on that post there. Sam and me got nothing to hide from you guys.”

Pete tapped the switch. Hoffa yelled straight at the mike stand: “Yeah, Sam.”

The speaker kicked in loud:

“Your West Virginia guys fucked up my boy Lenny Sands, Jimmy. Don’t let anything like that happen again or I’d be inclined to make you apologize in front of an audience. My advice to you is to leave politics the fuck alone and concentrate on staying out of jail.”

Giancana slammed his phone down. The sound made the whole dock shimmy. Heshie, Johnny and Santo shared this green-atthe-gills look.

Hoffa blew verbal. Birds shot up out of trees and covered the sky.