American Tabloid

by James Ellroy

  Pete cupped the mouthpiece. “What is it? I told you not to call unless it’s important.”

  “What it is is the crazy Fed. He called me yesterday, and I’ve been stalling him.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He offered me four Gs to fly up to Lake Geneva Goddamn Wisconsin and case the layout of Jules Schiffrin’s house up there. It seems to me this is part of that farkakte Pension Fund—”

  “Tell him you’ll do it. Set up a meet someplace quiet forty-eight hours from now and call me back.”

  Ruby gulped and stammered. Pete hung up and popped his knuckles ten across.

  The goddamn phone rang again—

  Pete snagged it. “Jack, what are you doing?”

  A man said, “This ain’t Jack. This is a certain Mr. Giancana looking for a certain Mr. Hoffa, who a little birdie told me is there with you.”

  Pete waved the phone. “It’s for you, Jimmy. It’s Mo.”

  Hoffa belched. “Hit that loudspeaker doohickey on that post there. Sam and me got nothing to hide from you guys.”

  Pete tapped the switch. Hoffa yelled straight at the mike stand: “Yeah, Sam.”

  The speaker kicked in loud:

  “Your West Virginia guys fucked up my boy Lenny Sands, Jimmy. Don’t let anything like that happen again or I’d be inclined to make you apologize in front of an audience. My advice to you is to leave politics the fuck alone and concentrate on staying out of jail.”

  Giancana slammed his phone down. The sound made the whole dock shimmy. Heshie, Johnny and Santo shared this green-at-the-gills look.

  Hoffa blew verbal. Birds shot up out of trees and covered the sky.

  46

  (Lake Geneva, 5/14/60)

  The road bisected two fenced-off pastures. Clouds covered the moon—visibility was close to nil.

  Littell pulled over and stuffed his money in a grocery bag. It was 10:06—Ruby was late.

  Littell turned off his headlights. Clouds skittered by. The moon lit up a huge shape walking toward the car.

  The windshield exploded. The dashboard fell on his lap. A steel bar cracked the steering wheel and ripped the gearshift out.

  Hands jerked him across the hood. Glass ripped through his cheeks and lodged in his mouth.

  Hands dumped him in a ditch.

  Hands picked him up and pinioned him against a barbed-wire fence.

  He was dangling. Steel barbs pierced his clothes and held him upright.

  The monster ripped his holster off. The monster hit him and hit him and hit him.

  The fence shook. Twisty metal gouged his backside down to the bone. He coughed up blood and chunks of glass and a big piece of a Chevy hood ornament.

  He smelled gasoline. His car exploded. A heat blast singed his hair.

  The fence collapsed. He looked up and saw clouds ignite.

  DOCUMENT INSERT: 5/19/60. FBI Memorandum: Milwaukee Special Agent-in-Charge John Campion to Director J. Edgar Hoover.

  Sir:

  Our investigation into the near-fatal assault on SA Ward Littell is proceeding but making scant headway, primarily due to SA Littell’s poor attitude and lack of cooperation.

  Agents from both the Milwaukee and Chicago Offices canvassed Lake Geneva for eyewitnesses to the assault and for witnesses to Littell’s general presence in the area and were unable to locate any. Chicago SAC Leahy informed me that Littell was under loose surveillance for matters pertaining to internal Bureau security and that on two recent occasions (May 10th and May 14th) the agents mobile-tailing Littell lost him on roadways leading north to the Wisconsin border. The nature of Littell’s business in the Lake Geneva area is thus far unknown.

  Per investigatory specifics:

  1)—The assault occurred on a rural access road four miles southeast of Lake Geneva. 2)—Brush marks in the dirt near the remains of Littell’s car indicate that the assailant obliterated all traces of his tire tracks, rendering forensic casting impossible. 3)—Littell’s car was burned with a highly-flammable nitrous gas compound of the type used in the manufacture of military explosives. Such compounds burn themselves out very quickly and are used because they minimize the risk of decimating the area surrounding the target. The assailant obviously has military experience and/or access to military ordnance. 4)—Forensic analysis revealed the presence of charred U.S. currency laced with paper bag fragments. The aggregate weight of the fragments indicates that Littell was carrying a large amount of money in a grocery sack. 5)—Farmers rescued Littell, who was pinned to a downed section of barbed-wire fence. He was taken to Overlander Hospital near Lake Geneva and treated for a massive series of posterior cuts and lacerations, broken ribs, contusions, a broken nose, broken collarbone, internal hemorrhaging and facial gouges caused by contact with windshield glass. Littell checked out against medical advice fourteen hours later and engaged a taxi cab to drive him to Chicago. Chicago Office agents assigned to loose-tail Littell saw him entering his apartment building. He collapsed in the entry hall, and the agents interceded on their own authority and drove him to Saint Catherine’s Hospital. 6)—Littell remains at the hospital. He is listed in “good condition” and will most likely be released within a week. A supervising physician told agents that the scarring on his face and backside will be permanent and that he should slowly recover from his other injuries. 7)—Agents have repeatedly queried Littell on three topics.: his presence in Lake Geneva, the presence of the burned money and enemies who might want to hurt him. Littell stated that he was in Lake Geneva scouting retirement property and denied the presence of the money. He said that he had no enemies and considered the assault a case of mistaken identity. When asked about CPUSA members who might be seeking vengeance on him for his Bureau Red Squad work, Littell replied, “Are you kidding? Those Commies are all nice guys.” 8)—Agents have surmised that Littell has made at least two trips to Lake Geneva. His name has not appeared on any hotel or motel ledgers, so we are assuming he either registered under assumed names or stayed with friends or acquaintances. Littell’s response—that he took catnaps in his car—was not convincing.

  The investigation continues. I respectfully await orders.

  John Campion

  Special Agent-in-Charge, Milwaukee Office

  DOCUMENT INSERT: 6/3/60. FBI Memorandum: Chicago SAC Charles Leahy to Director J. Edgar Hoover.

  Sir,

  Per SA Ward J. Littell, please be informed.

  SA Littell is now back on light duty and has been assigned to review Federal deportation briefs in conjunction with the U.S. Attorney’s Office, work which utilizes the writ-analysis expertise he developed in law school. He refuses to discuss the assault with other agents, and as SAC Campion may have told you, we have yet to find witnesses to his Lake Geneva visits. Helen Agee told agents that Littell has not discussed the assault with her. I personally questioned SA Court Meade, Littell’s only friend in the Chicago Office, and have the following to report.

  A)—Meade states that in late 1958 and early 1959, following his expulsion from the Top Hoodlum Program, Littell “loitered” near the THP listening post and expressed interest in the squad’s work. That interest dissipated, Meade stated, and he further surmised that it is extremely unlikely that Littell engaged in anti-Mob actions on his own. Meade scoffed at the notion that the Chicago Mob was responsible for the assault or that left-wingers surveilled by Littell were seeking vengeance for his Red Squad efforts. Meade thinks that Littell’s “marked bent” for young women, as evinced by his continuing affair with Helen Agee, was the motive for the assault. Meade colorfully stated, “Go back up to Wisconsin and look for some idealistically-inclined girl with nasty brothers who didn’t take kindly to sis consorting with a forty-seven-year-old boozehound, G-man or no G-man.” I find this theory plausible.

  B)—Littell’s Bureau arrest record going back to 1950 was checked with an eye toward uncovering recently paroled felons perhaps inclined toward vengeance. A list of twelve men was compiled, and all twelve were alibi-cleared
. I recalled Littell’s 1952 arrest of one Pierre “Pete” Bondurant, and how the man taunted Littell during detainment procedures. Agents checked Bondurant’s whereabouts during the assault time frame and confirmed that he was in Florida.

  The pro-Communist profile of Littell continues to develop. Littell remains a confirmed friend of long-term subversive Mal Chamales and phone tap logs now pinpoint a total of nine Littell/ Chamales telephone conversations, all of which contain lengthy expressions of Littell’s sympathy for left-wing causes and expressions of his disdain for FBI “witch hunting.” On May 10 I called Littell and ordered him to implement immediate lockstep surveillance on Mal Chamales. Five minutes later Littell called Chamales and warned him. Chamales addressed a Socialist Labor Party meeting that afternoon. Littell and a trusted Bureau informant attended, unknown to each other. The informant presented me with a verbatim transcript of Chamales’ seditious, virulently anti-Bureau, anti-Hoover remarks. Littell’s May 10th report on the meeting called these remarks non-inflammatory. The report was filled with numerous other outright lies and distortions of a treasonous nature.

  Sir, I believe it is now time to confront Littell on both his lack of cooperation in the assault matter and more pertinently on his recent seditious actions. Will you please respond? I think this demands immediate action.

  Respectfully,

  Charles Leahy

  DOCUMENT INSERT: 6/11/60. FBI Memorandum: Director J. Edgar Hoover to Chicago SAC Charles Leahy.

  Mr. Leahy,

  Per Ward Littell: do nothing yet. Put Littell back on CPUSA surveillance duties, relax the surveillance on him and keep me informed of the assault investigation.

  JEH

  DOCUMENT INSERT: 7/9/60. Official FBI Telephone Call Transcript: “Recorded at the Director’s Request”/“Classified Confidential 1-A: Director’s Eyes Only.” Speakinhg: Director Hoover, Special Agent Kemper Boyd.

  KB: Good afternoon, Sir.

  JEH: Kemper, I’m peeved at you. You’ve been avoiding me for some time.

  KB: I wouldn’t put it that way, Sir.

  JEH: Of course you wouldn’t. You’d put it in a way calculated to minimize my rancor. The question is, would you have contacted me if I hadn’t contacted you?

  KB: Yes, Sir. I would have.

  JEH: Before or after the coronation of King Jack the First?

  KB: I wouldn’t call the coronation a sure thing, Sir.

  JEH: Does he have a delegate majority?

  KB: Almost. I think he’ll be nominated on the first ballot.

  JEH: And you think he’ll win.

  KB: Yes, I’m reasonably certain.

  JEH: I can’t dispute that. Big Brother and America have all the earmarks of a fatuous love affair.

  KB: He is going to retain you, Sir.

  JEH: Of course he is. Every President since Calvin Coolidge has, and you should temper your distancing process with the knowledge that Prince Jack will be in office for a maximum of eight years, while I shall remain in office until the Millennium.

  KB: I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.

  JEH: I would advise you to. You should also be advised that my interest in Big Brother extends beyond the confines of wishing to keep my job. Unlike you, I have altruistic concerns, such as the internal security of our nation. Unlike you, my primary concern is not self-preservation and monetary advancement. Unlike you, I do not credit the ability to dissemble as my single greatest skill.

  KB: Yes, Sir.

  JEH: Allow me to interpret your reluctance to contact me. Were you afraid I would ask you to introduce. Big Brother to Bureau-friendly women?

  KB: Yes and no, Sir.

  JEH: Meaning?

  KB: Meaning Little Brother doesn’t entirely trust me. Meaning the primary campaign schedule was hectic and only left me time to procure local call girls. Meaning I might have been able to house Big Brother in hotel rooms with standing Bureau bugs, but Little Brother has been around law enforcement for years, and he just might know that co-opt bugs like that exist.

  JEH: I always reach a certain point with you.

  KB: Meaning?

  JEH: Meaning I don’t know whether or not you’re lying, and to one degree or another I don’t care.

  KB: Thank you, Sir.

  JEH: You’re welcome. It was an appalling compliment, but a sincere one. Now, are you going to Los Angeles for the convention?

  KB: I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll be staying at the downtown Statler.

  JEH: You’ll be contacted. King Jack will not want for female friendship should he find himself bored between accolades.

  KB: Electronically-adorned friends?

  JEH: No, just good listeners. We’ll talk about some co-opt work during the fall campaign, if Little Brother trusts you with travel plans.

  KB: Yes, Sir.

  JEH: Who assaulted Ward Littell?

  KB: I’m not sure, Sir.

  JEH: Have you spoken to Littell?

  KB: Helen Agee called and told me about the beating. I called Ward at the hospital, but he refused to tell me who did it.

  JEH: Pete Bondurant comes to mind. He’s involved in your Cuban escapades, isn’t he?

  KB: Yes, he is.

  JEH: Yes, he is, and?

  KB: And we talk as Agency business dictates.

  JEH: The Chicago Office was satisfied with Bondurant’s alibi. The alibi-giver was a reputed Heroin trafficker with numerous rape convictions inside Cuba, but as Al Capone once said, an alibi is an alibi.

  KB: Yes, Sir. And as you once said, anti-Communism breeds strange bedfellows.

  JEH: Goodbye, Kemper. I very much hope that our next communique is at your instigation.

  KB: Goodbye, Sir.

  47

  (Los Angeles, 7/13/60)

  The clerk handed him a gold-plated key. “We had a reservations glitch, sir. Your room was inadvertently given away, but we’re going to give you a suite at our regular room rate.”

  Check-ins pushed up to the desk. Kemper said, “Thanks. It’s a glitch I can live with.”

  The clerk shuffled papers. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Let me guess. If my room is being charged to the Kennedy campaign, why am I staying here instead of at the Biltmore with the rest of the staff?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s it exactly.”

  Kemper winked. “I’m a spy.”

  The clerk laughed. Some delegate types waved to get his attention.

  Kemper brushed past them and elevatored up to the twelfth floor. His suite: the double-doored, gold-sealed, all-antique Presidential.

  He walked through it. He savored the appointments and checked out the north-by-northeast view.

  Two bedrooms, three TVs and three phones. Complimentary champagne in a pewter ice bucket marked with the U.S. presidential seal.

  He deciphered the “glitch” instantly: J. Edgar Hoover at work.

  He wants to scare you. He’s saying, “I own you.” He’s satirizing your Kennedy fervor and love of hotel suites.

  He wants potential bug/tap intelligence.

  Kemper turned on the living-room TV. Convention commentary hit the screen.

  He turned on the other sets—and boosted the volume way up.

  He grid-searched the suite. He found condensor mikes inside five table lamps and fake panels behind the bathroom mirrors.

  He found two auxiliaries spackled into the living-room wainscoting. Tiny perforations served as sound ducts—nonprofessionals would never spot them. He checked out the telephones. All four were tapped.

  Kemper thought it through from Hoover’s perspective.

  We discussed standing bugs a few days ago. He knows I don’t want to set Jack up with “Bureau-friendly” women.

  He said he thinks Jack is inevitable. He may be dissembling. He may be seeking knowledge of adultery—to aid his good friend Dick Nixon.

  He knows you’ll see through the “reservations glitch.” He thinks you’ll make your confidential calls from pay phones. He thinks you’ll curtail
your in-suite talk or destroy the bug/taps out of pique.

  He knows Littell taught you bug/tap fundamentals. He doesn’t know Littell taught you some fine points.

  He knows you’ll uncover the main bugs. He thinks you won’t uncover the backups—the ones he plans to sucker-punch you with.

  Kemper turned off the TVs. Kemper faked a vivid temper tantrum— “Hoover, goddamn you!” and worse expletives.

  He ripped out the primary bug/taps.

  He grid-searched the suite again—even more diligently.

  He found secondary phone taps. He spotted microphone perforations on two mattress labels and three chair cushions.

  He went down to the lobby and rented room 808 under a pseudonym. He called John Stanton’s service and left his fake name and room number.

  Pete was in L.A., meeting with Howard Hughes. He called the watchdog house and left a message with the pool cleaner.

  He had free time now. Bobby didn’t need him until 5:00.

  He walked to a hardware store. He bought wire cutters, pliers, a Phillips-head screwdriver, three rolls of friction tape and two small magnets. He walked back to the Statler and worked.

  He rewired the buzzer housings. He recircuited the feeder wires. He muffled the bells with pillow stuffing. He scraped the rubber off the lead cables—incoming talk would register incoherently on all the backup-tapped phones.

  He laid the pieces out for easy reassembly. He called room service for Beefeater’s and smoked salmon.

  • • •

  Calls came in. His squelch system worked perfectly.

  He barely heard the callers. Line crackle would drown out all second-party talk—the taps would only pick up his voice.

  His LAPD liaison called. As planned: a motorcycle escort would accompany Senator Kennedy to the convention.

  Bobby called. Could he get some cabs to shuttle staffers back to the Biltmore?

  Kemper called a car service and implemented Bobby’s order. He had to strain to hear the dispatcher talk.

  Horns blasted down on Wilshire Boulevard. Kemper checked his watch and the living-room window.