James Ellroy - The cold six thousand

Wayne said goodbye then. His mother said God bless.

Wayne thought it through. Wayne called Janice. Wayne set up their date.

(Long Beach, 6/3/68)

Bobby! Bobby! Bobby!

The crowd chanted it. The crowd went nuts. Speak Bobby speak!

Bobby climbed a flatbed truck. Bobby grabbed a microphone. Bobby rolled up his sleeves.

The Southglen Mall. Three thousand fans-Speak Bobby Speak! Parking-lot frenzy. Kids on daddies' shoulders. Sound speakers on stilts.

The fans loved Bobby. The fans fucked up their vocal cords. The fans fucking shrieked. Watch Bobby smile! Watch Bobby toss his hair! Hear Bobby speak!

Pete watched. Likewise Fred O.

They watched Bobby. They watched his bodyguards. They watched the cop crew. The numbers were low. Bobby loved contact. Bobby shined on security.

Fred watched cops move. Fred watched cops scan. Fred watched cops flank. Fred nailed details. Fred memorized.

Fred met Sirhan. They "met" at the track. They "met" six weeks back. Fred staged a play for Sirhan. Fred beat up a Jew.

He was a big man. He had a big beak. He wore a big beanie. He was a _very_ big Jew.

Fred kicked his ass. Sirhan watched. Sirhan dug the show. Fred dished rapport-I'm Bill Habib-I'm Arab too.

Courtship/subornment/recruitment/sheep dip.

Fred palled with Sirhan. Fred bought him booze. Fred ragged the Jews. They met every day. They worked up a mojo. They ragged Bobby K. They met semi-private. Fred stayed skinny. Fred stayed camouflaged.

Fred tweaked Sirhan. Fred studied Sirhan. Fred learned:

How far to push him. How much booze to pour him. How much hate to stoke. How to get him talking. How to get him fuming: Kill RFK!

How to get him blackout drunk. How to get him fucked-up blotto. How to push him to memory loss. How to get him stalking rallies. How to get him talking death. How to get him talking fate. How to get him target shooting out in the hills-blasting at mock-Bobby K.'s.

Fred gauged Sirhan. Fred said:

He's drinking hard. He's drinking every night. He's drinking with and without me. He's hitting rallies. He's rally-hopping countywide. He always packs his piece. I've tailed him. I've seen it. I _know_.

He hates Bobby. His logic's warped. It's misdirected and rationalized. He hates the Jews. He hates Israel. He hates Zionist Bobby. He hates Bobby because Bobby's a fucking _Kennedy_.

He's primed now. He's ready now. He's psycho. He's blackout-prone. He's booze-atrophied.

Fred picked the spot. Fred told Sirhan. Fred made Sirhan drink. Sirhan _picked_ the spot. Sirhan picked it two bottles later. Sirhan usurped the idea. Sirhan thinks it's _his_ idea. It's his booze epiphany.

Tomorrow night. The Ambassador Hotel. Bobby's victory gala. Bobby to shout victory

Bobby will be fried. Bobby will be torched and zorched-cumulatively. The kitchen's the way out. It's short and fast-serendipity. Sirhan's there. Sirhan's primed-tenaciously.

Fred knew the kitchen. Fred checked it out. Fred pumped rent-a-cops. Said cops pledged this:

Tight spaces/armed guards/tight security. That meant potential combustion/potential confusion. That meant potential insanity.

Fred's suggested drama/Fred's _predicted_ lunacy:

Men draw their guns. Men shoot Sirhan. Shots bounce and hit Bobby K. Fred said he _will_ shoot. Fred knew the nut turf. Fred-"Raul" ran James Earl Ray

Pete looked around. The crowd yelled. The crowd went nuts. The crowd out-yelled Bobby.

The speakers backfired. Reverb blew wide. Bobby spoke bassofalsetto. Pete heard platitudes. Pete heard "end the war." Pete heard "King's legacy."

Barb dug Bobby. Barb dug his antiwar shit. He hadn't called her. She hadn't called him. She never wrote. No contact since Sparta. No contact post-boat trip. No contact post-coronary.

The crowd yelled. Pete looked around. Pete saw a pay phone. It was streetside. It was away from the noise. It was away from Bobby.

He pushed over. People stepped aside. People saw his cane. He made the booth. He caught his breath. He fed quarters in.

He got an operator. She patched the Cavern. He got the switchboard. He shagged his messages.

No message from Barb. One message from Wayne: Call me/Lake Tahoe/_urgent_/this number direct.

Pete dropped quarters. Pete got an operator. She patched Tahoe direct. Pete heard two rings. Pete heard Wayne:

"Hello?"

"It's me. Where the hell have-"

"Littell's on to the hit. Grab him and bring him here. And tell Barb go someplace safe."

(San Diego, 6/3/68)

Bobby soared.

He jabbed the air. He tossed his hair. He praised Dr. King. He co-opted him. He out-orated him. He made his praise sing.

It all worked. It all sang-the sunburn/the bray/the rolled sleeves.

The crowd soared. The crowd roared. The crowd cheered in sync. Two thousand people/crowd ropes up/parking-lot streams.

Littell watched. Littell willed Bobby: _Please look at me_.

See me. Don't fear me. I won't hurt you again. I'm a pilgrim. I fear _for_ you. My fear's justified.

Bobby stood on a flatbed. The tailgate shook and dipped. Aides stood below him. Aides steadied him.

_Look over. Look down. See me_.

His fear boiled over. It popped two weeks back. His fear stretched and peaked. He linked fear dots. He plumbed fear lines. He read fear hieroglyphs.

The news pic/the El Encanto/suite 301. The Sam line: "Box of goodies." The Carlos line: Pete's "small favor." Fear connections/hieroglyphs/puzzle chips.

It got bad. It ate him up. It ruined his sleep. He split Vegas. He flew to D.C. He called Paul Horvitz.

Paul hung up. He called Mr. Hoover. He called Dwight Holly. They hung up. He drove to the Bureau. Door guards ejected him.

He flew to Oregon. He approached campaign staffers. Staff guards restrained him. He saw his name on a list-all "Known Enemies."

He told the guards I _sense_ things. He said _please_ talk to me. They said no. They manhandled him. They ejected him.

Chips dovetailed. He sensed things. Mr. Hoover _knows_-just like he knew about Jack.

He flew to Santa Barbara. He got a hotel room. He staked out the El Encanto. He watched 301. He followed wires. He found the listening post.

Suite 208/fifty yards up/manned twenty-four hours per day.

He staked it out. He wore disguises. He worked six days and nights. He waited. The post stayed manned-all day/all night.

He went schizzy. He gave up sleep-six days/six nights. He lost weight. He saw goblins. Spots torqued his eyes.

It rained on day 7. One agent stayed on-post.

Luck:

Said agent goes off-post. Said agent visits suite 63. Said agent has a prostitute.

Littell hit 208. Littell picked the door lock. Littell locked himself in. Littell tossed the post.

He found a transcript log. He found a routing log. He found transcripts stacked. He skimmed back through mid-March. He saw:

March 15/16. Two three-way talks transcribed. Bobby plus Paul Horvitz. One man un-ID'd. Bobby's voluble. Bobby's effusive. Bobby talks anti-Mob.

He skimmed the routing log. He hit 3/20. He saw tape copies routed. The tapes for March 15/16. Said tapes routed to the Boys.

To Carlos. To Moe D. To John Rosselli. To Santo and Sam G.

That was this morning. That was twelve hours back.

He tracked Bobby's schedule. He drove south. He hit San Diego. He called the Bureau office. The ASAC hung up. He called SDPD. He told his story. A sergeant blew up.

The sergeant yelled at him. The sergeant said, "You're on a list." The sergeant hung up.

He drove to the rally. He got there early. He saw sound men set up. He braced them. He braced staffers. He got the bum's rush. He left. He came back. The crowd ate him up.

Littell watched Bobby. Littell waved his hands. _Look at me please_. Bobby soared. Bobby waved. Bobby loved up the crowd. Bobby spread contact thin.