American tabloid

JEH
51

His hangover was brutal. Bad dreams left him schizy-every man in the diner looked like a cop.

Littell stirred his coffee. His hands shook. Mal Chamales toyed with a sweet roll and shook almost as hard.

“Mal, you’re leading up to something.”

“I’m in no position to be asking favors.”

“If it’s an official FBI favor, you should know that I retire exactly three months from today.”

Mal laughed. “Like I said, the Party always needs lawyers.”

“I’d have to pass the Illinois Bar first. It’s either that or move to D.C. and practice Federal law.”

“You’re not much of a leftist sympathizer.”

“Or a Bureau apologist. Mal-”

“I’m up for a teaching job. The word’s out that the State Board of Ed’s breaking the blacklist. I want to cover my bets, and I was thinking you could edit your reports to show that I quit the Party.”

The tall man at the counter looked familiar. The man loitering outside did, too.

“Ward…”

“Sure, Mal. I’ll write it up in my next report. I’ll say you quit the Party to take a job with the Nixon campaign.”

Mal dashed some tears back. Mal almost dumped the table trying to hug him.

Littell said, “Get out of here. I don’t like embracing Commies in public.”

o o o

The diner faced his apartment building. Littell hogged a window seat and killed time polling bumper stickers.

Two Nixon cars were parked at the curb. He saw a NixonLodge decal on his landlord’s windshield.

Traffic whizzed by. Littell caught glimpses: six Nixons and three Kennedys.

The waitress topped off his coffee. He added two shots from his flask.

Instant straw poll results: Nixon sweeps Chicago!

Sunlight hit the window. Wonderful distortions hit him: his new face and his jagged new hairline.

Helen ran up the steps outside his apartment. She looked harried-no makeup, no overcoat, mismatched skirt and blouse.

She saw his car. She looked across the street and saw him in the window.

She ran over. Notebook paper flew out of her handbag.

Littell walked to the door. Helen shoved it open two-handed.

He tried to grab her. She pulled his gun out of his holster and hit him with it.

She hit him in the chest. She hit him in the arms. She tried to pull the trigger with the safety on. She hit him with flailing girl punches-too fast to stop.

Eyeliner ran down her cheeks. Her handbag capsized and spilled books. She shouted odd words: “grant fund rescinding” and “loyalty oath” and “FBI” and “YOU YOU YOU.”

Heads bobbed their way. Two men at the counter pulled their guns.

Helen stopped hitting him. Helen said, “Goddamnit, this is YOU, I know it is.”

o o o

He drove to the office. He boxed in Leahy’s car and ran up to the squadroom.

Leahy’s door was shut. Court Meade saw him and turned away.

Two men walked by in shirtsleeves and shoulder holsters. Littell remembered them: the phone guys rigging lines outside his apartment.

Leahy’s door swung open. A man stuck his head out. Littell remembered him: that guy at the post office yesterday.

The door closed. Voices seeped through it: “Littell,” “the Agee girl.”

He kicked the door off its hinges. He framed the scene a la Mal Chamales. -

Four gray-flannel fascists in conference. Four parasitic, exploitative, right-wing-

Littell said, “Remember what I know. Remember how I can hurt the Bureau.”

o o o

He bought wire cutters, safety goggles, magnetic shielding strips, a glass cutter, rubber gloves, a 10-gauge shotgun, a hundred rounds of double-aught buckshot, a box of industrial dynamite, three hundred yards of acoustical baffling, a hammer, nails and two large duffel bags.

He stored his car in a service garage.

He rented a ‘57 Ford Victoria-with fake Cointelpro ID.

He bought three quarts of scotch-just enough to wean himself thy.

He drove south to Sioux City, Iowa.

He turned in his rental car and caught a train north to Milwaukee.

DOCUMENT INSERT: 10/17/60. Confidential memorandum: John Stanton to Kemper Boyd.

Kemper,

I got a disquieting phone call from Guy Banister, so I thought I’d pass the information along to you. You’re hard to reach these days, so I hope this gets to you within a reasonable length of time.

Guy’s friends with the Miami SAC, who’s tight with the CO of the Miami PD Intelligence Squad. The Squad keeps suspected pro-Castro Cubans under loose surveillance, with routine license plate checks on all the male Latins they are spotted with. Our man Wilfredo Olmos Delsol was seen on two occasions with Gaspar Ramon Blanco, age 37, a known pro-Communist member of the Committee for Cuban Understanding, a Raul Castrofinanced propaganda front. This troubles me, chiefly because of PB’s set-to with Delsol’s cousin Tomas Obregon. Have PB check this out, would you? Our compartmentalization procedures preclude my contacting him directly.

All best,

John