James Ellroy - American tabloid

HR: It’s the hereafter, Leon. And you’re right. And I called you to schmooze because you’ve always got your nose in other people’s troubles, and I figured you could dish some gossip on some of the boys with worse trouble than me and cheer me up.

LB: I’ll try, Hesh. And Carlos says hi, by the way.

HR: Let’s start with him. What kind of trouble has that crazy dago hump gotten himself into now?

LB: I gotta say nothing recent. And I also gotta say the deportation thing is hanging over his head and making him crazy.

HR: Thank God he’s got that lawyer.

LB: Yeah, Littell. The guy’s working for Jimmy Hoffa, too. Uncle Carlos says he hates the Kennedys so much that he’d probably work for free.

HR: I heard he’s a red tape kind of guy. He just delays and delays and delays.

LB: You’re absolutely right. Uncle Carlos said his INS case probably won’t go to trial until late next year. Littell’s got these Justice Department lawyers tucking exhausted.

HR: Carlos is optimistic, then?

LB: Absolutely. So’s Jimmy, from what I’ve heard. The trouble with Jimmy’s troubles is that he’s got eighty-six-fucking-thousand grand juries chasing him. My feeling is that sooner or later, somebody gets a conviction. I don’t care how good a lawyer this Littell guy is.

HR: This makes me happy. Jimmy Hoffa’s a guy with troubles approximating my own. Can you imagine going to Leavenworth and getting shtupped in the ass by some shvartze?

LB: That is not a pleasant prospect.

HR: Neither is cancer, you goyisher shitheel.

LB: We’re pulling for you, Hesh. You’re in our prayers.

HR: Fuck your prayers. And give me some gossip. You know that’s why I called.

LB: Well.

HR: Well, what? Leon, you owe me money You know I’m gonna die before I collect. Give an old dying man the comfort of some satisfying gossip.

LB: Well, I heard rumors.

HR: Such as?

LB: Such as that lawyer Littell’s working for Howard Hughes. Hughes is supposed to want to buy all these Las Vegas hotels, and I heard-off the record, Hesh, really-that Sam G’s dying to work some kind of an angle on the deal.

HR: Which Littell don’t know about?

LB: That is correct.

HR: I love this fucking life of ours. It is never tucking boring.

LB: You are absolutely correct. Think of the tidbits you pick up in this loop of ours.

HR: I don’t want to die, Leon. All this shit is too good to give up.

Non-applicable conversation follows.

Chicago, 11/19/62. BL4-8869 ( Celano’s Tailor Shop ) to AX8-9600 (home of John Rosselli ) (THP File #902.5, Chicago Office). Speaking: John Rosselli, Sam “Mo,” “Momo,” “Mooney” Giancana (File #480.2). Conversation two minutes in progress.

JR: Sinatra’s worthless.

SG: He’s less than worthless.

JR: The Kennedys won’t even take his phone calls.

SG: Nobody hates those Irish cocksuckers more than I do.

JR: Unless it’s Carlos and his lawyer. It’s like Carlos knows that sooner or later he’ll get deported again. It’s like he sees himself back in El Salvador picking cactus thorns out of his ass.

SG: Carlos has his problems, I’ve got mine. Bobby’s racket squad guys are crawling up my ass like the regular Feds never did. I would like to take a ball peen hammer and cave Bobby’s tucking head in.

JR: And his brother’s.

SG: Especially his brother’s. That man is nothing but a traitor masquerading as a hero. He’s nothing but a Commie-appeaser in wolf’s clothing.

JR: He made Khruschev back down, Mo. I gotta give him that. Khruschev moved those goddamn missiles.

SG: That is horseshit. That is appeasement with a sugar coating. A CIA guy I know told me Kennedy cut a side deal with Khruschev. Okay, he moved the missiles. But my CIA guy told me Kennedy had to promise not to invade Cuba ever fucking again. Think of that, Johnny. Think of our casinos and wave bye-bye for fucking ever.

JR: Kennedy’s supposed to talk to some Bay of Pigs survivors at the Orange Bowl in December. Think of the lies he’ll tell them.

SG: Some Cuban patriot should pop him. Some Cuban patriot who don’t mind dying.

JR: I heard Kemper Boyd’s training some guys like that to pop Castro.

SG: Kemper Boyd’s a faggot. He’s got his eyes on the wrong target. Castro’s just some taco eater with a good line of bullshit. Kennedy’s worse for business than he ever was.

Non-applicable conversation follows.

DOCUMENT INSERT : 11/20/62. Des Moines Register subhead:

DOCUMENT INSERT : 12/17/62. Cleveland Plain Dealer headline:

DOCUMENT INSERT : 1/12/63. Los Angeles Times subhead:

HOFFA UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR TEST FLEET JURY TAMPERING

DOCUMENT INSERT : 8/10/63. Dallas Morning News headline and subhead:

TEAMSTER BOSS HIT WITH JURY TAMPERING CHARGES

DOCUMENT INSERT : 6/25/63. Chicago Sun-Times headline and subhead:

TEAMSTER BOSS ARRAIGNED IN CHICAGO ON SEPARATE FRAUD CHARGES

DOCUMENT INSERT : 7/29/63. FBI wiretap outtake. Marked: TOP SECRET/CONFIDENTIAL/ DIRECTOR’S EYES ONLY and NO DISCLOSURE TO OUTSIDE JUSTICE DEPARTMENT PERSONNEL .

Chicago, 7/28/63. BL4-8869 ( Celano’s Tailor Shop ) to AX8-9600 (home of John Rosselli ) (THP File #902.5, Chicago Office). Speaking: John Rosselli, Sam “Mo,” “Momo,” “Mooney” Giancana (File #480.2). Conversation seventeen minutes in progress.

SG: I am woefully fucking tired of this.

JR: Sammy, I hear you.

SG: The FBI’s got me under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Bobby went over Hoover’s head to order it. I’m out on the fucking golf course and I see fucking G-men skulking in the rough and on the fairways, and for all I know, they got the fucking sand traps bugged.

JR: I hear you, Mo.

SG: I’m woefully tired of this. So’s Jimmy and so’s Carlos. So’s every made guy I talk to.

JR: Jimmy’s going down. I can see the writing on the wall. I also heard Bobby turned a major snitch. I don’t know details, but-

SG: I do. His name’s Joe Valachi. He was a button man for Vito Genovese. He was in Atlanta, something like ten to life for narcotics.

JR: I think I met him once.

SG: Everybody in the Life’s met everybody else at least once.

JR: That’s true.

SG: As I was saying before you interrupted me, Valachi was in Atlanta. He blew his cork and killed another prisoner, because he thought Vito sent him down to clip him. He was wrong, but Vito did put out a contract on him, because the guy he clipped was a good friend of Vito’s.

JR: This Valachi is one prime stupe.

SG: He’s a scared stupe, too. He begged to go into Federal custody, and Bobby beat Hoover to him. They cut a deal. Valachi gets lifetime protection for ratting the Outfit en fucking masse. The word is Bobby’s going to put him in front of the newly fucking revived McClellan Committee, like in September or something.

JR: Oh, fuck. Mo, this is bad.

SG: It’s worse than bad. It’s probably the worst fucking thing that’s ever happened to the Outfit. Valachi’s been a made guy for forty years. Do you know what he knows?

JR: Oh, fuck.

SG: Quit saying, oh fuck, you stupid cocksucker.

Non-applicable conversation follows.

DOCUMENT INSERT : 9/10/83. Personal note: Ward J. Littell to Howard Hughes.

Dear Mr. Hughes,

Please consider this an official business request, and one tendered only as a last resort. I hope that my five months in your employ have convinced you that I would never make an out-of-channels request unless I deemed it absolutely vital to your interests.