The cold six thousand

82

(New Hebron, 8/12/65)

He never thought it. He never said it. It was ugly. It was stupid. It made you THEM.

Wayne took back roads. Wayne saw shit shacks and crop rows. Wayne saw THEM.

They tilled dirt. They hauled brush. They dished slop. Wayne watched. Wayne made them Bongo. Wayne made them Wendell D.

Wicked Wendell-last seen in Bakersfield-redneck California. Work first/Bakersfield _soon_/New Hebron now.

New Hebron was redneck. New Hebron was small. New Hebron was _trиs_ Mississippi. Bob Relyea gigged there. Bob ran Wild Rabbit's hutch. Bob ran his Klan kompound.

Bob had kadre guns. Wayne had kadre money. Kall it: Kadre meets Klan.

Wayne drove slow. Wayne watched THEM. He felt bifurcated. He felt travel-fucked.

He'd rotated west. He split Saigon. He had three weeks in. He cooked horse. He packaged horse. He followed horse west.

Pete was in Laos. Ditto Mesplиde. Mesplиde just rotated in. They ran Tiger Kamp. They ran slaves. They cooked base.

Pete got antsy there. Pete got bored. Pete bought a bomb raid. Pete bought some Marv pilots. Said pilots napalmed Ba Na Key.

They deforested. They depilatoried. They defoliated. They torched a dope camp. They torched a dope field. They spared the camp lab. They cued in Tran Lao Dinh. Tran sacked the lab. Tran stole M-base and equipment. Tran fed it to Tiger Kamp.

Laurent was in Bon Secour, Alabama. Ditto Flash E. Pete nailed a boat there. Flash knew boats. Laurent knew carpentry.

One charter boat-one overhaul-one war boat boocoo.

Pete's plan: You view the guns. You pay Bob. You route said guns-New Hebron to Tiger South. _You_ drive to Bon Secour then. _You_ play backup. _You_ jam this clown Danny Bruvick.

Loops. Rotations. Travel fucks.

Flash was travel-fucked. Flash looped through Cuba. Flash dipped in via speedboat. Flash dropped Fuentes and Arredondo. They stayed there. Flash looped on back. Flash looped to Bon Secour.

Soon:

Arms run #1. The _Ebbtide_ revamped-the new _Tiger Klaw_ boocoo.

Wayne cut east. Wayne hit dirt roads. Wayne saw paper mills and compost burning. Wayne saw Bob's "farm."

One shack-Bob's "Fьhrer Barn." One gun range adjacent. Klan klowns kluster. Klan klowns klique. Klan klowns klip targets.

Wayne pulled in. Wayne parked. Wayne smelled cordite and horse shit. Wayne walked in the barn. Cold air hit him-the "Fьhrer Igloo."

He shut the door. He laughed. He sneezed.

Rebel-flag drapes. Rebel-flag rugs. Rebel-flag furniture. Tracts on a table-Wayne Senior's script-"Red Racemixers"/"Spook Coonfidential."

Ammo on a couch/sheets on a table/hoods on a stool. Dry-cleaned and folded. All cellophaned.

Wayne laughed. Wayne sneezed. The door popped open. Bob Rabbit walked in. Bob wore fatigues. Bob wore jump boots. Bob detached his Klan hood.

Wayne laughed. Bob shut the door. Bob refroze the igloo.

"It ain't _GQ_, but it works."

Wayne tapped his pockets. "I brought the money."

"Your daddy says hi. He always asks about you."

"Let's see the guns."

"Let's jaw first. 'Hey, Bob, how's the hammer hangin'?' 'Long and strong, Wayne, how about you?'"

Wayne smiled. Pete whomped on Bob. Pete boxed his rabbit ears. Pete avenged Ward Littell.

"Let's see the guns."

Bob packed his nose. Bob jammed in Red Man snuff.

"The niggers are rioting in L.A. I told my boys, 'It'd take some napalm and two hundred Wayne Juniors to stop that thing.'"

Wayne sneezed-cold air and snuff.

"Cut the shit and show me the guns."

"Let's jaw first. We discuss the nigger problem, and I show you my correspondence file from the Missouri State Pen."

Wayne said, "You're wearing me thin."

Bob rubbed his nose. "I got letters from Jimmy Ray and Loyal G. Binns. They're both good haters and pliable as shit. I think they'll join up when they get-"

Wayne walked. Wayne bumped Bob deliberate. Wayne walked to the kitchen.

A TV was on. Negroes cavorted. Negroes threw rocks. Negroes stole liquor. The sound was off. Said Negroes yelled. Their teeth glowed bright.

Bob walked in. Bob bumped Wayne deliberate. Bob popped an unplugged meat freezer.

Guns: M-14s/pumps/bazookas.

Bob pinched a nostril. Bob blew excess snuff.

"I got all the requisite ammo and eight M-132 Zippos out at the range. Some guys heisted a National Guard post in Arkansas. My contact knows them, so we got first dibs. I figure you got plenty of shit for Tiger South and your Cuban run."

"How much?"

"Thirty-five, which is a yard-sale fucking price, if you want my opinion.

Wayne grabbed a pump. Wayne checked the slide. Burn marks/no maker code.

"It's been dipped. There's no serial numbers."

"They're all that way. The guys didn't want the shit to be traced back to the heist."

Wayne grabbed an M-14. Wayne grabbed a bazooka.

"It's good ordnance. It looks too good to be Guard issue."

"Don't complain. We got a fucking bargain."

Wayne grabbed an M-14. Wayne checked the barrel lug.

"Pete wanted the serial numbers to show. It's a terror tactic. If the stuff gets captured, the Castro guys will know it's U.S. donation stock."

Bob shrugged. "It's not like you got it at Sears, with the fucking price tag attached and the lifetime warranty."

Wayne peeled K-notes-all krisp and klean/all logged and laundered.

Bob laughed. "You don't try to break one of those at your local Tastee Freez."

Wayne tapped the TV. Wayne got some sound. Guns popped. Sirens hummed. Negroes frolicked.

o o o

Boat work:

Laurent rigged the gun nests. Flash scraped the hull. They lugged tools. They dropped tools. They dripped sweat.

They devolved the _Ebbtide_. They refaced the _Ebbtide_. They reCubafied.

They draped nets. They smeared sails. They scraped teakwood. They camouflaged. They built a mock-Cuban boat.

Flash gripped a sander. Flash scuffed the bridge. Flash scraped mahogany. Danny Bruvick watched. Danny Bruvick moaned. Danny Bruvick sipped Cutty Sark.

Wayne watched. Wayne prickled. Wayne yawned. He drove sixteen hours. He loop-the-looped. He scoured ol' Dixie.

He split New Hebron. He popped bennies. He drove to Port Sulphur. He hit Tiger South. He dropped the guns. He drove to Bon Secour.

Flash had orders-direct from Pete.

Pete don't trust Danny. Danny's got this ex. She's shacked with Ward Littell. We brace Danny-me and Laurent-Jefe Carlos too. We read Danny Tiger Law. You kowtow to Tiger Kode. You kart us to Kuba.

Danny's a punk. Danny's a souse. Danny might call his ex and boo-hoo. Your job-don't let him.

Dusk hit. Flash rigged work lights. Laurent Cubafied. Wayne sipped beer. Wayne studied maps.

Sexy Cuba and Bakersfield-bumfuck California.

o o o

Boat work:

Laurent climbed masts. Laurent stitched sails. Flash tuned the engines. Danny Bruvick watched. Danny Bruvick watched blotto.

Wayne walked to slip 18. Wayne watched long-distance. Flash had new orders-direct from Pete.

The ex is named Arden. Danny's pussy-whipped. Danny might call her and sing the blues. Your job-don't let him. It pertains to Carlos-some weird gig-thus mum's the word.

Flash hauled fuel cans. Laurent soldered drums. Wayne watched. Benflies parched him dry. Wayne sipped apple juice.

A stretch pulled up and idled. A chauffeur popped the back door. Carlos got out. He's the stock _padrone_. He's got the stock sharkskin suit.

He walked slip 19. Laurent snapped to attention. Bruvick rosaried. Flash snapped to. Carlos bowed. Carlos hugged Laurent.

Bruvick snapped to. Carlos ignored him. Carlos walked below deck. Flash walked down. Laurent walked down. Bruvick limped down slow.

The boat pitched and settled. Wayne heard screams.

He found a slip light. He read his maps. The boat pitched. He heard thumps. He heard whimper-screams.

Flash walked up. Laurent walked up. Carlos swaggered a la Il Duce. They walked down slip 19. They wiped their hands on paper towels. They bagged the stretch limo.

The limo pulled out. Wayne watched the boat. Wayne checked his watch and ticked seconds.

There-

Bruvick comes topside. Bruvick limps. Bruvick deboats. He counts change. He hits the dock. He hits the pay phones.

Wayne ran over. Bruvick saw him. Bruvick said, "Fuck."

Wayne saw the hurt:

Loose teeth and fat ears. Puffed lips and abrasions.

o o o

Bon voyage.

They fueled up. They stocked transfer guns. They stocked their personal shit: Browning pumps and Berettas. Scalp knives and suppressors. One Zippo choked for big flames.

_Tiger Klaw_-kool kamouflaged. Guns port. Guns starboard. Six gunwale slits. Tommys below-deck-hooked to swivel tricks.

They shoved off-6:00 a.m.-south by southeast. Bruvick navigated. Laurent read maps. Flash read comic books. Wayne read street maps. Wayne studied Bakersfield. Truck farms and wetbacks. Stoop crops and Wendell Durfee.

They bucked waves. They made time. It was hot. They got spray wet. They caught glare off the sea.

They wore Coppertone. The boat pitched. They ate Dramamine. Bruvick got the sweats and shakes-forced sobriety.

Flash hid his booze. Flash said Pete loathed Bruvick. Flash said it was private shit-per Ward Littell.

Flash read compass stats. Flash read maps. Flash ran the script:

We rendezvous offshore-near Varcadero Beach. We meet our men. We grapple boats. They get the guns. We get carte blanche. We're upside the beach. We're close to a Militia post-one barracks with Beards.

Flash was happy. Flash was homicidal. Flash waxed cautionary. Flash said:

Watch for boat robbers-they kill fishermen-they got little skiffs. They steal fish. They steal boats. They sport Fidel beards.

Laurent was happy. Laurent was homicidal. Laurent pumiced his scalp knife.

Dusk hit. They made Snipe Key. They refueled. They ran their sails. They recamouflaged.

Bruvick begged for booze. Flash shackled him up. They walked offboat. They found a crab shack. They ate crab claws and Dexedrine.

Wayne got buzzed. Flash went pop-eyed. Laurent ratched his teeth. They brought Bruvick dinner. They deshackled him. They brought him one _cerveza_. Bruvick siphoned it.

They shoved off. They ran south-southeast. They plowed currents. The boat pitched. Clouds hid the moon.

Bruvick steered. Bruvick sweated. Bruvick rosaried. Flash fucked with him. Flash issued threats. Flash mocked his rosaries.

They applied lampblack. Their hands jumped-wiiild Dexedrine. They went blackface. Laurent was tall. Laurent looked like Wendell Durfee.

Flash ran compass stats. They hit Cuban waters.

Wayne walked the bow. Wayne caught spray. Wayne ran his Bausch Lombs. Waves jumped. Fish jumped. A flare popped and streaked. Wayne saw _the_ boat. Wayne saw a boat in retreat.

Due right-four hundred yards-speck in retreat.

Flash popped a flare. The sky whooshed. Bruvick cut the boat near. There: _Their_ boat/the meet.

The boats bumped. Flash tossed a grappling hook. Flash hooked a deck ledge clean. Wayne saw Fuentes and Arredondo.

They tossed their hooks. They jumped bows. They flew. Laurent grabbed them. They dogpiled. They rolled.

Wayne said, "The other boat? _La boata? Quй es esto?_"

Fuentes stood up. "Militia. They… _quй es_… checked us out?"

Arredondo stood up. "_Los putos de Fidel_. They smell our fish."

Wayne smelled fish. Wayne scoped the boat. Wayne saw their camouflage: Fish poles/fish guts/fish heads.

Flash ran up. Flash hugged the guys. Flash went effusive. Spanish flowed-"_chinga_" for "fuck." "_Puta roja_" for "whore red."

Wayne lugged weapons-plastic-wrapped/tape-sealed/heavy.

He double-timed. He hit the cargo holds. He ran the galley steps. He funneled. He made eight trips. He ran the swamp line.

He tossed. Flash tossed. Fuentes caught. Arredondo caught and stacked. Little guys-strong-good catchers.

Bruvick watched. Bruvick scratched a neck rash. Bruvick rosaried. Fuentes degrappled. Fuentes waved. Arredondo shoved their boat off.

Laurent grabbed Bruvick. Flash mummyized. He cuffed him. He taped him. He made him King Tut. He taped his mouth. He taped his legs. He mast-pole mummified.

Laurent rigged a raft. Wayne dropped anchor. Flash said, "Let's kill Communists."

o o o

They took Berettas. They took knives. They took Browning pumps. They took a plastic-wrapped Zippo. They took a raft. They oared in. They surfed swells and ate grit.

Two miles of black sea. Three miles to beach lights. There now: One barracks and one sentry hut.

Off the beach. Off loose sand. Off dirt access ruts.

They flanked. They oared left. Breakers slammed them. Wayne and Flash puked.

They cut through it. A current hit. They pulled left. They scraped sand. They capsized. They rolled.

They dragged the raft up to high sand. They scoped out the hut. Twelve-by-twelve/four men in it/forty yards up.

Beside it: The barracks/one doorway/one floor.

They shared binoculars. They honed the lens. They nailed snapshots. One open door. Two bed-rows. 2:00 a.m./thirty men/bunks and bug nets.

Flash hand-talked. Flash said hut first. We go with silencer pops.

They checked their Berettas. They unwrapped the Zip. They bugcrawled three abreast. Laurent lugged the Zip.

Wayne wheezed. Wayne ate sand. Wayne jittered. They got close-six yards out-Wayne saw whole faces.

The Militia guys sat. The Militia guys smoked. Wayne saw four carbines stacked.

Flash lip-synced numbers-shoot prone on three.

One-they aimed prone. Two-they triggered up. They fired on three-synced silencer plops.

They hit strong. They hit main mass. They hit heads and chests. They double-tapped. They aimed up. They shot fast. They hit groins. They hit backs. They hit necks.

Two fucks fell. Two chairs toppled. Two fucks scree-screeched. Two mouths gapped. Two mouths flapped soundless-wave-noise suppressed.

Flash rolled up. Flash got close. Flash shot main mass. The bodies jerked. The bodies sponged lead.

Flash signaled. The barracks-NOW.

Laurent lit the Zippo. The cherry top flared. They crawled up. They got close. There's the target. There's the door.

Laurent stood up. Laurent braced the doorway. Laurent Zippo-ized. He strafed the beds. He strafed the bug nets. He strafed _putos Red_.

Commies burned. Commies screamed. Commies rolled out of fartsacks. Commies tangled up bug nets and ran.

Laurent burned bed sheets. Laurent burned walls. Laurent burned men in skivvies and pajamas. Commies ran. Commies fell. Commies crashed windows out.

The barracks burned. Commies ran-Reds on fire.

They ran out the back door. They ran to the beach. They fell in the sand. They ran and hit water.

Waves doused them. Waves deflamed them. Waves sucked them in. Waves boiled. The barracks burned. Ammo ignited.

Laurent chased fireballs. Laurent strafed wet sand. Laurent cooked salt water.

Flash walked to the hut. Flash dragged two dead men out. Flash dumped them and pissed on their heads.

Wayne walked up. Wayne got stage fright. Do it. Show them. Show _Pete_.

He pulled his knife. He picked a scalp. He dug the blade in.

o o o

Bakersfield-travel-fucked. Dusty streets/dusty skies/dusty air. The San Joaquin Valley-wall-to-wall dust-farm dirt and glare.

He was travel-fucked. He jumped Cuba to Snipe Key. He jumped Snipe Key to Bon Secour. He jumped Bon Secour to New Orleans. He took three flights west. He got bad sleep. He went off Dexedrine.

He called Saigon. Mesplиde patched him to Pete. He praised the run. He praised the guns. He ragged Bob's number-dips.

Pete was pissed. Pete ragged Bob. _Stamp_ the numbers-_scare_ the Beard-flaunt U.S. Code.

Wayne called Barb. It was tense. Tense off that fight. Barb had news. Barb had a pending gig-adjunct-USO.

We're doing Saigon. We're doing Da Nang. Please lure Pete to the show. He said sure. He said I'll be back. He said I'll be travel-fucked.

Wayne cruised Bakersfield. Wayne read his maps. He flew in. He glommed a rental car. He cruised straight back out.

Mextown ran east. The truck farms ran east. You had beer bars! trailers/motels. You had dust. You had dust bugs. You had Mex cribs galore.

He hit the bars. He sipped beer. He coaxed information. Barmen talked. Barmen travelogued.

Wetback whores? _Shit_. Wetbacks _are_ whores.

They jump borders. They steal jobs. They work cheap. They overbreed. They live to fuck. They whelp like chihuahuas. They pick crops. They get paid-they fuck _real_ whores then. Wetback pimps pimp wetback whores-the payday proliFUCKation.

They swarm motels. They production-fuck. They proliFUCKate. Check the Sun-Glo. Check the Vista-check the whole scene. Payday's tomorrow-the wets proFUCKate-you'll dig the scene.

Wayne dropped the name "Wendell Durfee." Wayne dredged up some shrugs.

Who's that? Some jigaboo?

That's right-he's colored. He's quite loud and tall.

Sheeeit-

Wetbacks hate jigs. Crop men hate jigs. That jig better haul.

o o o

Payday:

Wayne cruised truck farms. Wayne loitered. Wayne watched.

Wets pick cabbage. Wets yank weeds. Wets fill garbage drums. Sirens blow. The wets yell. The wets drop hoes and run.

They hit pay trucks. They line up. They shag cash and run-families/_hombres_/_muchachos_.

Some clique up. Some walk off. Some liiiiinger. _Hombres todos_-men with shit-eater grins.

Trucks pull up. _Hombres_ greet _hombres_. _Hombres_ dispense: Jar brew/ rubbers/French ticklers/T-Bird/white port/nude Polaroids. Beaver pix of Mexi-whores-let's proFUCKate.

Wayne walked over. _Hombres_ cringed. Wayne vibed _Migra_ fuzz. Wayne mollified. Wayne spoke pidgin-Mex. Wayne coaxed info.

Dig:

The truck men pimped. They signed johns up early-supply meets demand. Go to the Sun-Glo and Vista. See the Fuckathon.

Wets scoped the beaver pix. Wets signed up. Wayne flashed Wendell Durfee pix and got nada. Shit-we ain't seen him/we don't know him/we hate _negritos_.

Wayne split. Wayne braced more truck pimps. Wayne got more nada. He regrouped. He read his maps. He crossed the tracks and cruised Darktown. _De facto_ segregation-wets north/coloreds south.

He yawned. He fought sleep-fuckification. He slept too long last night. He slept fourteen hours. He logged some bad dreams.

Barb rags him-don't pop pills-he rags Barb back. Don't you do it-you'll age bad-I love you.

Bongo co-starred. Bongo convulsed. Bongo snitched Wendell Durfee. Wendell's in Cuba. He's got the cold six thousand. He's got a Castro beard.

Wayne cruised Darktown. Wayne hit pool halls. Wayne hit lounge spots. He vibed cop. He vibed grief. He wore his gun out.

Cops saw him. Cops waved. Cops vibed brother cop. He braced coloreds. He flashed his Wendell pix. He got huh?s. He got indignation.

You dig Watts? It could happen _here_. It could happen NOW.

He worked through it. He worked all day. He wore Darktown out. Nobody knew Wicked Wendell. Nobody knew jackshit.

Dusk hit. He drove to the Sun-Glo. He caught the Fuckathon.

Ten rooms/ten whores/ten parking-lot lines. Wets twenty-deep and pimps with stopwatches-you fuck off _my_ clock.

Snack stands-all jerry-rigged/all run by _mamacitas_. They served beans. They served _cerveza_. They served _carnitas_.

It was hot. Fried pork spattered. Jalopy pipes popped.

Doors opened. Doors shut. Wayne got snapshots: Nude girls and wideleg poses. Soiled sheets trashed up.

The lines moved fast-six minutes per fuck. Cops stood around. Pimps greased them-a dollar a fuck.

The cops ate _carnitas_. The cops worked the line. The cops sold bootjack penicillin. Wayne stood in line. Wayne drew stares. Wayne showed _his_ snapshots.

_Que? No se. Negrito muy feo_.

Wayne braced a mama-san. Wayne waved fifty bucks. He pidgin-talked. He told her-beer on the house.

She smiled. She shagged Lucky Lagers. She served the wets. She served the pimps. She served the cops.

She praised Wayne-_gringo muy bueno_.

Wayne got applause. Wets pumped his hands. Pimps waved sombreros. He re-showed his pix. They went around. They toured all the fuckistos. The pix circuited. The pix got pawed. The pix came back.

A cop nudged Wayne. "I ran that smoke out of town three months ago. He was trying to pimp white girls, which didn't sit right with me."

Wayne goose bumped. The cop tapped his teeth.

"I heard he was tight with a smoke named King Arthur. I think he owns a queer bar in Fresno."

o o o

The Playpen Lounge was a storefront. The Playpen Lounge sat off skid row.

Wayne drove to Fresno. Wayne polled street creeps. Wayne found it. The creeps spieled lore-the Pen's a pus-pit-all fear the King!

He's this mean swish. He's Haiti-bred. He's pure calypso. He sports a crown. He's a he-she. He's a hermaphrodite.

Wayne walked in. The decor clashed-Camelot meets Liberace.

Velvet walls. Purple drapes. Nail-studded armor. A bar and wall booths-pink Naugahyde.

A jukebox cranked. Mel Tormй crooned. The natives stirred. Wayne drew looks. Wayne drew ooh-la-las.

Colored trade-queens and jockers.

There's the King. He's got a booth. He's got his crown. He's got the pedigree: Knife scars/mashed ears/pipe-wound regalia.

Wayne walked over. Wayne sat down. King Arthur sipped a frappй.

"You're too haughty to be Fresno PD, and you're too butch to be anything but a cop."

The jukebox vibrated. Wayne reached back. Wayne grabbed and yanked the cord.

"My money. Your information."

The King tapped his crown. It was kid-pageant issue-rhinestones on tin.

"I just consulted my thinking cap. It said, 'Policemen demand, they don't pay.'"

The King lisped. The King trilled. The King sashayed. Two fags swished by. One tittered. One waved.

Wayne said, "I _was_ a cop."

"Oh, pshaw, you silly savage. You didn't have to say that."

Wayne pulled out his money. Wayne fanned his money. Wayne flashed a table lamp down.

"Wendell Durfee. I heard you know him."

The King tapped his crown. "I'm getting a vision… yes… there it is… you're that Vegas cop who lost his poor wife to Wendell."

The jukebox popped. Kay Starr popped on. Wayne reached back and popped the cord. A fag grabbed his hand. A fag scratched his palm. A fag giggled lewd.

Wayne pulled his arm back. The fags giggled. The fags withdrew. They swished off. They vamped Wayne. They blew kisses.

Wayne wiped his hand. The King laughed. The King went oh, pshaw.

"I had a brief encounter with Wendell, several months ago. I bought a string of girls from him."

"And?"

"And the Bakersfield fuzz discouraged me from procuring in their jurisdiction."

"And?"

"And Wendell was looking for a _nom de pimp_ with irresistible panache. I suggested the name Cassius Cool, which he adopted."

Wayne tapped the money. "Keep going. I know there's more."

The King tapped his crown. "I'm getting a vision… yes… you killed three unarmed Negro men in Las Vegas… and… yes… Wendell made your wife climax before he killed her."

Wayne pulled his piece. Wayne raised it. Wayne cocked it. Wayne heard echoes. Wayne heard hammers click.

He looked around. He checked the bar. He saw fags. He saw guns. He saw suicide.

He holstered up. The King grabbed his money.

"Wendell enticed some crackers into a rigged dice game and was firmly advised to leave Bakersfield. I heard he lit out for L.A."

Wayne looked around. Wayne saw fags with guns. Wayne saw mean faces.

The King laughed. "Grow up, child. You can't kill _all_ the niggers."