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Kemper mixed the dope. Nйstor mixed the poison. They worked on two desks jammed together.

They had the dispatch hut to themselves. Fulo shut down Tiger Kab at 6:00 p.m. and gave the drivers strict orders: Visit riot scenes and maim Fidelistos.

Kemper and Nйstor kept working. Their hotshot assembly line moved slowly.

They mixed strychnine and Drano into a heroin-like white powder. They packaged it in single-pop plastic bindles.

They played their short-wave set. Awful death tallies sputtered in.

Hush-Hush went to press yesterday. Lenny called him for details. The piece described a resounding Bay of Pigs victory.

Jack could still force a win. The ODs would defame Castro, WIN OR LOSE.

They B amp;E’d the drop house two days ago-a little safety-first trial run. They found two hundred “H” bindles stashed behind a heating panel.

Don Juan Pimentel fed them straight information. His death eliminated witness testimony.

Nйstor cooked up a shot. Kemper loaded a syringe and testfired it.

A milky liquid squirted out. Nйstor said, “It looks believable. I think it will fool the negritos who buy it.”

“Let’s go by the house. We have to make the switch tonight.”

“Yes. And we must pray that President Kennedy acts more boldly.”

o o o

A rainstorm pushed the riot action indoors. Prowl cars were double-parked outside half the nightclubs on and off Flagler.

They drove to a pay phone. Nйstor dialed the drop pad and got an extended dial tone. The house was two blocks away.

They circled by it. The street was middle-class Cubano-small cribs with small front yards and toys on the lawn.

The drop pad was peach-stucco Spanish. It was late-night quiet and nonsecurity dark.

No lights. No cars in the driveway. No TV shadows bouncing out the front window.

Kemper packed at the curb. No doors opened; no window curtains opened or retracted.

Nйstor checked their suitcase. “The back door?”

“I don’t want to risk it again. The lock mechanism almost splintered last time.”

“How do you expect to get in, then?”

Kemper pulled his gloves on. “There’s a dog-access door built into the kitchen door. You scoot down, reach in, and pop the inside latch.”

“Dog doors mean dogs.”

“There was no dog last time.”

“Last time does not mean this time.”

“Fulo and Teo surveilled the place. They’re sure there’s no dog.”

Nйstor slipped gloves on. “Okay, then.”

They walked up the driveway. Kemper checked their blind side every few seconds. Low-hanging storm clouds provided extra cover.

The door was perfect for large dogs and small men. Nйstor scooted down and pulled himself into the house.

Kemper worked his gloves on extra-snug. Nйstor opened the door from the inside.

They locked up. They took off their shoes. They walked through the kitchen to the heat panel. They took three steps straight ahead and four to the right-Kemper paced off exact measurements last time.

Nйstor held the flashlight. Kemper removed the panel. The bindles were stashed in the identical position.

Nйstor re-counted them. Kemper opened up the suitcase and got out the Polaroid.

Nйstor said, “Two hundred exactly.” Kemper shot a re-creation closeup.

They waited. The picture popped out of the camera.

Kemper taped it to the wall and held the flashlight on it. Nйstor switched bindles. He duplicated the arrangement all the way down to tiny tucks and folds.

They sweated up the floor. Kemper swabbed it dry.

Nйstor said, “Let’s call Pete and see how things stand.”

Kemper said, “It’s out of our hands.”

Please, Jack-

o o o

They agreed on a through-to-dawn car stakeout. Local residents parked on the street-Nйstor’s Impala wouldn’t look out of place.

They slid their seats back and watched the house. Kemper fantasized Jack Saves Face scenarios.

Please come home and get your stash. Please sell it quick to validate our hot-off-the-press propaganda.

Nйstor dozed. Kemper fantasized Bay of Pigs heroics.

A car pulled into the driveway. Door slams woke Nйstor up wild-eyed.

Kemper covered his mouth. “Ssssh, now. Just look.”

Two men walked into the house. Interior lights framed the doorway.

Kemper recognized them. They were pro-Castro agitators rumored to dabble in dope.

Nйstor pointed to the car. “They left the motor running.”

Kemper watched the door. The men locked up and walked out with a large attachй case.

Nйstor cracked his window. Kemper caught some Spanish.

Nйstor translated. “They’re going to an after-hours club to sell the stuff.”

The men got back in their car. The inside roof light went on. Kemper saw their faces bright as day.

The driver opened the case. The passenger unwrapped a bindle and snorted it.

And twitched. And spasmed. And convulsed-

GET IT BACK. THEY WON’T SELL IT NOW-

Kemper stumbled out of the car and ran up the driveway. Kemper pulled his piece and charged the dope car head-on.

The OD man spasm-kicked the windshield out.

Kemper aimed at the driver. The OD man lurched and blocked his shot.

The driver pulled a snub-nose and fired. Kemper fired straight back at him. Nйstor ran up firing-two shots took out a side window and zinged off the roof of the car.

Kemper caught a slug. Ricochets ripped the convulsing man faceless. Nйstor shot the driver in the back and blew him into the horn.

It went off AAAH-OOO-GAAAH, AAAH-OOO-GAAAH- LOUD LOUD LOUD.

Kemper shot the driver in the face. His glasses shattered and tore the pompadour off his toupee.

The horn blared. Nйstor blew the steering wheel off the column. The goddamn horn reverberated LOUDER.

Kemper saw his collarbone push through his shirt. He weaved down the driveway wiping somebody’s blood out of his eyes. Nйstor caught him and piggybacked him to their car.

Kemper heard horn noise. Kemper saw spectators on the sidewalk. Kemper saw Cubano punks by the death car-boosting that attachй case.

Kemper screamed. Nйstor popped a real “H” bindle under his nose.

He gagged and sneezed. His heart revved and purred. He coughed up some pretty red blood.

Nйstor gunned the car. Spectators ran for cover. That funnylooking bone flopped out at a funny right angle.

DOCUMENT INSERT: 4/19/6 1. Des Moines Register headline: