Read The Cold Six Thousand Online
Authors: James Ellroy
The Cold Six Thousand (10 page)
The wind tore a scrub pile. Durfee’s sled got exposed. It’s a ’51 Merc. It’s sand-scraped. It’s sunk to the hubs.
Wayne said, “Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to know you.”
Durfee said, “I might need me a tow truck.”
Wayne heard gravel crunch—back in the lot. Durfee futzed with his hair net. Durfee heard shit.
“Willis said you had money.”
Gravel crunch—
tire
crunch—Durfee missed the sounds dead.
“I’ll get it. You wait here.”
“Shit. I ain’t goin’ nowhere without it. You fuckin’ Santa Claus, you know that?”
Wayne holstered his piece. Wayne circled back to the lot. Wayne saw Moore’s 409.
It’s upside his car. It’s idling hard. It’s throbbing on hi-end shocks. There’s Moore. He’s at the wheel. He’s chomping Red Man.
Wayne stopped. His dick fluttered. Piss leaked out.
He saw something.
A speck—up the freeway—some kind of mirage or a car.
He anchored his legs. He walked up jerky. He leaned on Moore’s car.
Moore rolled down his window. “Hey, boy. What’s new and noteworthy?”
Wayne leaned in close. Wayne braced on the roof.
“He isn’t here. That guy gave me a bad lead.”
Moore spat tobacco juice. Moore hit Wayne’s shoes.
“Why’d you tell me four o’clock, when you’re here before three?”
Wayne shrugged. How should I know? I’m bored with you.
Moore pulled a knife. Moore picked his teeth. Moore sheared pork chop fat. He sprayed juice haphazard. He doused Wayne’s shirt.
“He’s out back. I reconnoitered a half hour ago. Now, you get your ass back there and kill him.”
Wayne saw reruns—in slooooow motion.
“You know Jack Ruby.”
Moore picked his teeth. Moore tapped the blade on the dash.
“So what? Everyone knows Jack.”
Wayne leaned in the window. “What about Bowers? He saw Kennedy get—”
Moore swung the knife. Moore snagged Wayne’s shirt. Moore grabbed Wayne’s necktie. They hit heads. Moore swung the knife. His hand hit the door ledge.
Wayne pulled his head back. Wayne pulled his piece. Wayne shot Moore in the head.
Recoil—
It knocked him back. He hit
his
car. He braced and aimed tight. He shot Moore in the head/Moore in the neck/Moore with no face and no chin.
He ripped the seats. He tore up the dash. He blew the windows out. It was loud. It echoed loud. It outblew wind gusts.
Wayne froze. The 409 bounced—reverb off hi-end shocks.
Durfee ran out. Durfee lost his legs. Durfee slid and fell flat. Wayne froze. There’s that speck up I-35—it’s a car oh fuck.
The car drove up. The car pulled in. The car stopped by Moore’s sled. Sand blew. Scrub balls bounced. Gravel scattered.
The speck-car idled. Pete got out. Pete put his hands up.
Wayne aimed at him. Wayne pulled the trigger. The pin clicked—you’re empty—you’re fucked.
Durfee watched. Durfee tried to run. Durfee stood up and fell flat. Pete walked up to Wayne. Wayne dropped his gun and pulled Durfee’s gun. Wayne popped in the clip.
His hand slipped. The gun fell. Pete picked it up.
He said, “Kill him.”
Wayne looked at Durfee. Pete said, “Kill him.”
Wayne looked at Durfee. Durfee looked at Wayne. Wayne looked at Pete. Pete gave him the gun. Wayne dropped the safety.
Durfee stood up. His legs went. He fell on his ass.
Pete leaned on Moore’s car. Pete reached inside. Pete flipped off the key. Wayne leaned in his car. Wayne grabbed the six thousand. Wayne coughed up gravel grit.
Pete said, “Kill him.”
Wayne walked up to Durfee. Durfee sobbed. Durfee watched Wayne’s hands. He saw a gun. He saw a cash bag. He saw two hands full.
Wayne dropped the bag. Durfee grabbed it. Durfee stood up. Durfee got legs and ran.
Wayne leaned on his knees. Wayne puked his lunch up. Wayne tasted hamburger and sand.
Durfee ran.
He tripped through sand drifts. He got his Merc. He gunned it. He bumped drifts. He plowed them. He made the lot. He made I-35 south.
Pete walked over. Wayne wiped his face. Wayne smeared Maynard Moore’s blood.
Pete said, “You picked a good place for it. You picked a good weekend, too.”
Wayne leaned on his knees. Wayne dropped the gun. Pete grabbed it up.
“There’s an oil dump two miles down. You can ditch the car there.”
Wayne straightened up. Pete steadied him. Pete said, “Maybe I’ll see you in Vegas.”
(Dallas, 11/25/63)
J
ack’s wake blared—epidemic boo-hoo—it cut through the bridal suite walls.
Barb said, “I’m getting the picture. The fix is in.”
Pete packed his suitcase. “Some people got Christmas early. They know how things work, and they know what’s best for the country.”
Barb folded her gowns. “There’s a catch. For us, I mean.”
Pete tuned her out. He’d just talked to Guy. Guy just talked to Carlos. Carlos loved the Ruby Show. Carlos wanted to clip Maynard Moore.
Guy told Pete that. Pete ad-libbed. Pete said Moore vanished—ka-poof!
Guy spritzed on Moore’s Vegas gig. Guy ragged Wayne Junior. Junior knew shit—small fucking world—Wayne Senior greased the hit fund.
Barb said, “The
catch
. Don’t tell me there isn’t one. And don’t tell me those tickets to Vegas aren’t part of it.”
Pete stashed his piece. “Are you saying that two tickets was being optimistic?”
“No. You know I’ll never leave you.”
Pete smiled. “There’s some fuck-ups I wouldn’t have made, if I’d known you better.”
Barb smiled. “The catch?
Vegas
? And don’t make eyes at me when we have to run for a plane.”
Pete shut his suitcase. “The Outfit has plans for Mr. Hughes. Ward’s putting some things together.”
“It’s about staying useful, then.”
“Yeah. Stay useful, stay healthy. If I can get them to bend a certain rule, I’d call it a lock.”
Barb said, “What rule?”
“Come on, you know what I do.”
Barb shook her head. “You’re versatile. You run shakedowns and you sell guns and dope. You killed the President of the United States once, but I’d have to call that a one-time opportunity.”
Pete laughed. Pete made his sides hurt. Pete leaked some wiiiiild tears. Barb tossed a towel up. Pete wiped his eyes and de-teared.
“You can’t move heroin there. It’s a set policy, but it’s probably the best way I can make the Boys some real money. They might go for it, if I only sell to the spooks in West Vegas. Mr. Hughes hates jigs. He thinks they should all be doped up, like he is. The Boys might decide to humor him.”
Barb got This Look. Pete knew the gestalt.
I
fucked JFK.
You
killed him.
My
craaazy life.
She said, “Useful.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Barb grabbed her Twist gowns. Barb dropped them out the window. Pete looked out. A kid looked up. The blue gown hit a ledge.
Barb waved. The kid waved back.
“The Twist is dead, but I’ll bet you could get me some lounge gigs.”
“We’ll be useful.”
“I’m still scared.”
Pete said, “That’s the catch.”
December 1963–October 1964DOCUMENT INSERT
:12/1/63. Internally circulated FBI intelligence report. Marked: “Classified Confidential 2-A: Restricted Agent Access”/“Pertinent Facts & Observations on Major Las Vegas Hotel-Casino Ownerships & Related Topics.” Note: Officially logged at Southern Nevada Office, 2/8/63.
The major Las Vegas hotel-casinos are situated in two locales: The downtown (Fremont Street/“Glitter Gulch”) area and “The Strip” (Las Vegas Blvd, the city’s main north-south artery). The downtown establishments are older, less gaudy & cater to local residents & less affluent tourists who come to gamble, enjoy low-quality entertainment & engage the services of prostitutes. Junket groups (Elks, Kiwanis, Rotary, Shriners, VFW, CYO) are frequent downtown hotel-casino visitors. The downtown establishments are largely owned by “Pioneer” consortiums (e.g., native Nevadans & general non-organized crime groups). Some of the owners have been forced to sell small (5%–8%) interests to organized-crime groups in exchange for continued “Preferential Treatment” (e.g., on-site “protection,” a “service” to insure the absence of labor trouble & untoward on-site incidents). Organized-crime associates frequently serve as casino “Pit Bosses” & thus as enforcers and on-site informants for their organized-crime patrons.
The downtown area is jurisdictionally covered by the Las Vegas Police Department (LVPD). The LVPD’s jurisdiction adjoins that of the Clark County Sheriff’s Department (CCSD). Both agencies work within the other’s jurisdiction by mutual consent. The Sheriff’s Dept patrols the “Strip” area south of the Sahara Hotel. Like the LVPD, it provides investigatory services for its specific jurisdiction, with an operational mandate inside LVPD, or “City” jurisdiction. The LVPD is similarly allowed to conduct investigations inside Sheriff’s Dept, or “County” jurisdiction. It should be noted that both agencies are widely influenced and corrupted by factions of organized crime. This corruption is of the type most identified with “Company Towns” (e.g., casino revenue forms the financial base of Las Vegas & thus influences the political base & law-enforcement policy). Numerous officers within both agencies benefit from organized-crime bestowed “Gratuities” (free hotel stays, free casino gambling chips, the services of prostitutes, “police discounts” at various businesses owned by organized-crime associates) & outright bribery.
The LVPD and Sheriff’s Dept enforce organized-crime policies with the implicit consent of the Clark County political hierarchy & by extension the consent of the Nevada State Legislature. (E.g., Negroes are strongly discouraged from entering certain “Strip” hotel-casinos and on-site casino personnel are allowed to see to their expulsion. E.g., crimes against organized-crime-connected casino employees are frequently avenged by LVPD officers, acting on orders from the Casino Operators Council, an organized-crime front group. E.g., LVPD officers and Sheriff’s deputies are often used to track down casino card cheats, “discourage” them & run them out of town.)
The best-known hotel-casinos are situated on the “Strip.” Many of them have been infiltrated by organized crime, with percentage “Points” divvied up among the overlords of organized-crime cartels. (E.g., the Chicago Crime Cartel controls the Stardust Hotel-Casino & boss
Sam “Mo,” “Momo,” “Mooney” Giancana
has an 8% personal interest. Chicago hoodlum
John Rosselli
(the Chicago Cartel’s Las Vegas overseer) has a 3% interest & Chicago Mob enforcer
Dominic Michael Montalvo
aka “Butch Montrose” has a 1% interest.) (See Addendum File #B-2 for complete list of crime-cartel ownerships & percentage-point estimates.)
Smaller percentage points are traded between organized crime factions as part of an ongoing effort to insure that all factions have a stake in the expanding Las Vegas casino economy. The profit base is thus shared & faction-to-faction rivalry is averted. Thus, organized crime presents a unified face in Las Vegas. The man responsible for developing & maintaining this policy is
Morris Barney “Moe” Dalitz
(b. 1899), a former Cleveland mobster & organized crime’s “Goodwill Ambassador” & Las Vegas “Fix-It Man.”
Dalitz
owns points in the Desert Inn Hotel Casino and is rumored to have points in several others.
Dalitz
is known as “Mr. Las Vegas,” because of his numerous philanthropic endeavors & his convincing non-gangster image.
Dalitz
founded the Casino Operators Council, dictates their enforcement policies & is largely responsible for the “Clean Town” policy that organized-crime factions believe will help promote tourism & thus increase hotel-casino revenue.
This “Policy” is informally enforced & has the implicit approval of the Las Vegas political machine & the LVPD & Sheriff’s Dept. One goal is to enforce ad hoc segregation in the “Strip” hotel-casinos (e.g., admit Negro celebrities or perceived “High Class” Negroes & refuse admittance to all others) & to isolate Negro housing
in the slum area of West Las Vegas. (Restrictive real-estate covenants are widely observed by Las Vegas–based realtors.) A key “Policy” dictate is the “No Narcotics” rule. This rule applies specifically to heroin. The selling of heroin is forbidden & is punishable by death. The rule is enforced to limit the number of narcotics addicts, specifically those who might support their addiction by means of robbery, burglary, “flim-flam” or other criminal activities that would sully the reputation of Las Vegas & thus discourage tourism. Numerous heroin pushers have been the victims of unsolved homicides & numerous others have disappeared & are presumed to have been killed per the aforementioned policy (see Addendum File #B-3 for partial list). The last homicide occurred on 4/12/60 & there appears to be no heroin traffic in Las Vegas as of this date. It is fair to conclude that the aforementioned deaths have served as a deterrent.
Dalitz
is a close associate of Teamster President
James Riddle Hoffa
(b. 1914) & has secured large loans from the Teamsters’ Central States Pension Fund that have covered the cost of hotel-casino improvements. The Fund (estimated assets 1.6 billion dollars) is a “Watering Hole” that organized-crime factions borrow from routinely. Dubious organized-crime-connected “Businessmen” also borrow from the Fund at usurious interest rates that often result in the forfeiture of their businesses. It is rumored that a second set of Pension Fund financial books exists (one that is hidden from government subpoena & thus official audit). These books allegedly list a more accurate accounting of Pension Fund assets & detail the illegal & quasi-legal loans & repayment schedules.
Many of the “Strip” hotel-casinos routinely hide a large portion of their assets. (See the attached IRS-filed table-by-table profit accountings for all craps, roulette, blackjack, poker, loball, keno, fan-tan & baccarat tables, broken down by hotel.) These reported accountings are generally considered to be only 70–80% accurate. (It is very difficult to detect sustained underestimation of taxable income in large cash-base businesses.) Underestimated table profits are estimated to amount to untaxed revenue of over $105,000,000 per year (’62 fiscal estimate). This practice is called the “Skim.”
Cash receipts are taken directly from casino counting rooms and dispersed to couriers who messenger the money to prearranged spots. Large-denomination bills are substituted for slot-machine coins & daily accountings are fraudulently tallied inside the counting rooms proper. Casino “Skim” is virtually impossible
to detect. Most hotel-casino employees subsist on low wages & untaxed cash gratuities & would never report irregularities. This endemic corruption extends to the labor unions who supply the major hotel-casinos with workers.
The Dealers and Croupiers Local #117 is a Chicago Crime Cartel front. Its members are paid a low hourly wage & are given play chips & (presumably stolen) merchandise as bonuses. All chapters of this union are rigidly segregated. The Lounge Entertainers Local #41 is a Detroit Crime Cartel front. Its members are well-paid, but pay weekly kickbacks to crew stewards. This union is nominally integrated. Negro lounge entertainers are “discouraged” from patronizing the hotel-casinos they work in & from fraternizing with white patrons. The four building & building-supply locals who service the “Strip” hotels are Cleveland Crime Cartel fronts & work exclusively with organized-crime-connected contracting firms. The all-female Chambermaids Local #16 is a Florida Crime Cartel front. Many of its members have been suborned into prostitution. The work crews for the above mentioned locals are run by “Ramrods” who report to the Casino Operators Council.
The Kitchen Workers Union (Las Vegas–based only. There are no other chapters) is not organized-crime-connected & is allowed to operate as a sop to the Las Vegas “Pioneer” contingent & the largely Mormon Nevada political machine. The union is run by
Wayne Tedrow Sr.
(b. 1905), a conservative pamphleteer, real-estate investor & the owner of a bottom-rung or “Grind Joint” casino, the “Land o’ Gold.” The crew chiefs are all Mormons & the workers (mostly illegal Mexican aliens) are paid substandard wages & are given “bonuses” of dented cans of food & play chips for the Land o’ Gold. The workers live in slum hotels in a Mexican enclave on the West-North Las Vegas border. (Note:
Tedrow Sr.
is rumored to have hidden points in 14 North Las Vegas “Grind Joints” & 6 liquor store/slot machine arcades near Nellis Air Force Base. If true, these ownerships would constitute infractions of the Nevada Gaming Commission charter.)
The Nevada Gaming Commission oversees & regulates the granting of casino licenses and the hiring of casino personnel. The Commission is a “rubber-stamp” panel that does the bidding of the Gaming Control Board and the Clark County Liquor & Control Board. The same five men (the Clark County Sheriff & District Attorney & 3 appointed “Civilian” members) serve on both boards. Thus, the power to approve liquor and casino license applicants for the entire state rests solely in Las Vegas. None of the 5 board
members are overtly organized-crime-connected & it is difficult to assess the level of collusion the boards engage in, because a majority of the applications they review cloak hidden organized-crime backing that is difficult to detect. There are no dossiers available on members of the above organizations. The LVPD Intelligence Unit keeps detailed files on the Gaming Control & Liquor Board men, but has consistently refused to grant the FBI & U.S. Attorney’s Office access to them. (As previously stated, the LVPD is strongly organized-crime-influenced.) The LVPD Intelligence Unit operates city & countywide & is the sole such unit in Clark County. It is a 2-man operation. The commanding officer is Lieutenant Byron B. Fritsch (the adjutant of the LVPD Detective Bureau & strongly connected to the Casino Operators Council) & the only assigned officer is Sergeant Wayne Tedrow Jr. (Sgt. Tedrow is the son of the aforementioned Wayne Tedrow Sr. He is considered incorruptible by Las Vegas Police standards.)
Concluding note: Addendum Files #B-1, 2, 3, 4, 5 require duplicate authorization: Southern Nevada SAC & Deputy Director Tolson.
DOCUMENT INSERT
: 12/2/63. Verbatim FBI telephone call transcript. Marked: “Recorded at the Director’s Request”/“Classified Confidential 1-A: Director’s Eyes Only.” Speaking: Director Hoover, Ward J. Littell.
JEH: Good morning, Mr. Littell.
WJL: Good morning, Sir. And thank you for the carbons.
JEH: Las Vegas is a hellhole. It is unfit for sane habitation, which may explain its allure to Howard Hughes.
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: Let’s talk about Dallas.
WJL: The consensus feels secure, Sir. And the Oswald killing seems to be a popular denouement.
JEH: Mr. Ruby has gotten four thousand fan letters. He is quite popular with Jews.
WJL: I’ll concede him a certain panache, Sir.
JEH: Will you concede his ability to keep his mouth shut?
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: I agree with you on the consensus. And I want you to include your thoughts in a detailed report on the events of that hallowed weekend. I will attribute the report to Dallas agents and submit it directly to President Johnson.
WJL: I’ll begin work immediately, Sir.
JEH: The President will announce a commission to investigate King Jack’s death. I will hand-pick the field agents. Your report will provide the President with a snappy preview of their findings.
WJL: Has he formed an opinion, Sir?
JEH: He suspects Mr. Castro or unruly Cuban exiles. In his view, the killing stemmed from King Jack’s reckless blunders in the Caribbean.
WJL: It’s an informed perspective, Sir.
JEH: I’ll concede the point and concede that Lyndon Johnson is no dummy. He has a conveniently dead assassin and a citizenry avenged on national television. What more could he ask for?
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: And he’s appropriately fed up with the Cuban boondoggle. He’s going to drop it as a national-security issue and concentrate on the situation in Vietnam.
WJL: Yes, Sir.
JEH: Your tone did not escape me, Mr. Littell. I know that you disapprove of American colonialism and consider our God-given mandate to contain global communism as ill-conceived.
