The cold six thousand

HUBBARD, TEX, POP 4001.

o o o

Japs. Slice cords. Betty Mac. Slant eyes/crossbars/capris.

It came. It went. Roads dropped. Roads resurfaced. Ink blots and lagoons.

_He_ came. _He_ went. He felt Frankensteined. Sutures and staples. Green walls and white sheets.

Behold the Body Snatchers. Behold Doc Frankenstein:

You're lucky. A man found you. It's been five days now. God must love you-you cracked up near St. Ann's.

Doc had acne scars. Doc had halitosis. Doc had a drawl.

It's been six days. We cut a fat pad from your head-it was benign. I bet you had some darn bad headaches.

Don't worry now-that man in the car called your wife.

o o o

They brought him back.

Frankenstein came. Frankenstein went. Nuns fluttered and fussed. Don't hurt me-I'm Protestant French.

Frank destapled him. Nuns shaved him. He dehazed. He saw razors and hands. He rehazed. He saw Japs and Betty.

Hands fed him soup. Hands touched his dick. Hands jabbed tubes in. The haze sputtered. Words filtered through. Decrease his dose-don't addict him.

He dehazed. He saw faces:

Student nuns-the brides of Frankenstein. A slight man-Ivy League threads-John Stanton-like. Memory Lane: Miami/white horse/OutfitAgency ops.

He squinted. He tried to talk. Nuns went ssshhh.

o o o

He rehazed. He dehazed. He dehazed for real. Stanton was real-dig his tan-dig his drip-dry suit.

Pete tried to talk. His throat clogged. He hocked phlegm. His dick burned. He pulled his catheter out.

Stanton smiled. Stanton pulled his chair up.

"Sleeping Beauty awakes."

Pete sat up. Pete stretched his IV taut.

"You were tailing me. You saw me go off the road."

Stanton nodded. "And I called Barb and told her you were safe, but you couldn't have visitors yet."

Pete rubbed his face. "What are you doing here?"

Stanton winked. Stanton popped his briefcase. Stanton pulled out Pete's gun.

"You rest. The doctor said we'll be able to talk tomorrow."

o o o

They grabbed a bench. They lugged it outside. Stanton wore a drip-dry. Pete wore a robe.

He felt okay. Headaches-adieu.

He called Barb yesterday. They caught eight days up. Barb was okay. Stanton prepared her. Barb held in tough.

He read the _Times-Herald_. He got the gist. The Koethe snuff came and went. DPD worked it. DPD hassled queers. DPD cut them loose. The case vibed open file. It's a queer job-fuck it.

The _Morning News_ ran a piece. They ragged Koethe. They ragged his "wild talk." Koethe was a perennial crank. Koethe was a "conspiracy nut."

He burned Koethe's notes. The Arden dirt went up. He debated. He decided-don't tell Ward Littell.

It was _sketchy_ dirt-fill it out first.

A nun walked by-a sweet number-Stanton studied her.

"Jackie Kennedy wore hats like that."

"She wore one to Dallas."

Stanton smiled. "You're a fast study."

"I took Latin in school. I know what 'quid pro quo' means."

The nun smiled. The nun waved and giggled. Stanton was cute. Stanton lived on salads and martinis.

"Did you hear about that reporter who got killed? I heard he was writing a book."

Pete stretched. A head stitch popped loose.

"Let's start over. You were tailing me. You saved my life. I said thank you."

Stanton stretched. His shoulder rig showed.

"We know that some Agency men were _at least_ peripheral to the Kennedy thing. We're pleased with the result, we have no desire to dispute the Warren Report, but for deniability's sake, we'd like a rough sketch."

Pete stretched. A stitch popped. Pete rubbed his head. Pete said, "Cuba."

Stanton smiled. "That's not much."

"It says it all. You know who he fucked with, you know who had the money and the means. You saved my life, so I'll be generous. You've met and worked with half the personnel."

The bench was damp. The slats sustained doodles. Stanton drew stars. Stanton wrote "CUBA."

Pete rubbed his head. A stitch unraveled.

"Okay, I'll play."

Stanton drew stars. Stanton put "!" after CUBA.

"Jack broke our hearts. Now Johnson's compounding the hurt."

Pete drew "?" Stanton crossed it out.

"Johnson's quits on the Cause. He thinks it's a loser and he knows it got Jack killed. He's fucked the Agency out of our Cuban ops budget, and some colleagues of mine think it's time to circumvent his policy."

Pete drew "!" Pete drew "$." Stanton crossed his legs. His ankle rig showed.

"I want to bring you to Vietnam. I want you to move Laotian heroin back to the States. I've got a team set up in Saigon. It's all Agency and South Vietnamese Army. You can recruit your own team on both ends. Dope has financed a dozen Vietnamese coups, so let's make it work for the Cause."

Pete shut his eyes. Pete ran newsreels. The French lose Algiers. The French lose Dien Bien Phu.

_Et le Cuba sera notre grande revanche_.

Stanton said, "You funnel the dope to Las Vegas. I've consulted Carlos on that aspect. He thinks he can get the Outfit to rescind their no-dope rule, if you push exclusively to Negroes. We want you to set up a system, buy off the key cops and limit your street exposure to the last two links on the distribution chain. If the Vegas operation flies, we'll expand to other cities. And 65% of the profits will go to worthy exile groups."

Pete stood up. Pete swayed. Pete threw hooks and jabs and popped stitches.

A nun walked by. She saw Pete. She got spooked. She crossed herself.

_C'est un fou_.

_C'est un diable_.

_C'est un monstre Protestant_.