American tabloid

Kemper thrashed. A man stepped on his face and held him still.

A man said, “Sands was spotted burglarizing the suite earlier in the day. The NYPD located a listening-post setup a few doors down. It was print-wiped and cleaned out, and obviously rented under a phony name, but the people ru

A man said, “You ran the shakedown.”

A man said, “We’ve got your Cubans and that French guy Guйry. They won’t talk, but they’re going down on weapons charges anyway.”

A man said, “Enough.”

The Man: Attorney General Robert F. Ke

A man pulled him into a chair. A man uncuffed him and recuffed him to the post at the foot of the bed. The room was packed with Bobby’s pet Feds-six or seven men in cheap summer suits.

The men walked out and shut the door behind them. Bobby sat on the edge of the bed.

“Goddamn you, Kemper. Goddamn you for what you tried to do to my brother.”

Kemper coughed. His vision shimmied. He saw two beds and two Bobbys.

“I didn’t do anything. I tried to break up the operation.”

“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that your outburst at Laura’s apartment was anything but an admission of your guilt.”

Kemper flinched. The cuffs gouged his wrists and drew blood.

“Believe what you like, you chaste little piece of dogshit. And tell your brother that nobody ever loved him more and got back less.”

Bobby moved closer. “Your daughter Claire informed on you. She told me that you’ve been a CIA contract agent for over three years. She said the Agency specifically instructed you to disseminate anti-Castro propaganda to my brother. She said that Le

Kemper made fists. Dislocated bones splintered. Bobby got up inside spitting distance.

“I’m going to sever every Mafia-CIA tie. I’m going to prohibit organized crime participation in the Cuban project I’m going to expel you from the Justice Department and the CIA, I’m going to have you disbarred as a lawyer, and I’m going to prosecute you and your Franco-Cuban friends on weapons possession and narcotics possession charges.”

Kemper wet his lips and spoke with a mouthful of spittle.

“If you fuck with my men or try to prosecute me, I’ll go public. I’ll spill everything I know about your filthy family. I’ll smear the Ke

Bobby slapped him.

Kemper spat in his face.

DOCUMENT INSERT: 6/14/62. Verbatim FBI telephone call transcript: “TAPED AT THE DIRECTOR’S REQUEST”/”DIRECTOR’S EYES ONLY.” Speaking: Director J. Edgar Hoover, Ward J. Littell.

WJL: Good morning, Sir.

JEH: Good morning. And you needn’t ask me if I’ve heard, because I daresay I know more of the story than you do.

WJL: Yes, Sir.

JEH: I hope Kemper has money saved. Disbarment can prove cost]y, and I doubt that a man of his tastes could live comfortably on an FBI pension.

WJL: I’m certain that Little Brother won’t file criminal charges on him.

JEH: Of course he won’t.

WJL: Kemper took the fall.

JEH: I will not comment on the attendant irony.

WJL: Yes, Sir.

JEH: Have you spoken to him?

WJL: No, Sir.

JEH: I’d be curious to know what he’s doing. The notion of Kemper C. Boyd without police agency sanction is quite startling.

WJL: I think Mr. Marcello will find him work.

JEH: Oh? As a Mafia back scratcher?

WJL: As a Cuban provocateur, Sir. Mr. Marcello has remained committed to the Cause.

JEH: Then he’s a fool. Fidel Castro is here to stay. My sources tell me that the Dark King will most likely seek to normalize relations with him.

WJL: The Dark King is an appeaser, Sir.

JEH: Don’t try to butter me, up. You may have undergone an apostasy regarding the brothers, but your political beliefs are still suspect.

WJL: Be that as it may, Sir, I’m still not giving up. I’m going to think of something else. I haven’t given up on the King.

JEH: Bully for you. But please be advised that I do not wish to be informed of your plans.

WJL: Yes, Sir.

JEH: Has Miss Jahelka resumed her normal life?

WJL: She’s going to, Sir. At the moment she’s on a Mexican vacation with a French-Canadian friend of ours.

JEH: I hope they don’t procreate. They would produce morally deficient offspring.

WJL: Yes, Sir.

JEH: Good day, Mr. Littell.

WJL: Good day, Sir.

DOCUMENT INSERTS: Consecutively dated FBI wiretap outtakes. Marked: “TOP SECRET! CONFIDENTIAL/DIRECTOR’S EYES ONLY” and “NO DISCLOSURE TO OUTSIDE JUSTICE DEPARTMENT PERSONNEL.”

Chicago, 6/10/62. BL4-8869 (Celano’s Tailor Shop) to AX8-9600 (home of John Rosselli) (THP File #902.6, Chicago Office). Speaking: John Rosse]ii, Sam “Mo,” “Momo,” “Mooney” Giancana (File #480.2). Conversation nine minutes in progress.

SG: So fucking Bobby found out on his own.

JR: Which frankly, did not surprise me.

SG: We were helping him out, Joh

JR: We were good to them, Mo. We were nice. And they kept fucking us and fucking us and fucking us.

SG: Some sort of fucking shakedown pre-pre-pre-what’s that word that means set up?

JR: Precipitated, Mo. That’s the word you want.

SG: Right. Some cocksucking shakedown precipitated Bobby finding out. The word is Jimmy and Frenchman Pete were in on it. Somebody got careless, and Jewboy Le

JR: You can’t fault Jimmy and Pete for trying to fuck the Ke

SG: No, you can’t.

JR: And it turned out Le

SG: Who would have believed it?

JR: He was Jewish, Mo. The Jewish race has a higher percentage of homos than regular white people.

SG: That’s true. Heshie Ryskind’s no queer, though. He’s had like sixty thousand blow jobs.

JR: Heshie’s sick, Mo. He’s real sick.

SG: I wish the Ke

JR: Sinatra sold us a bill of goods. He said he had influence with the brothers.

SG: He’s useless. The Haircut kicked his guinea ass off the White House guest list. Asking Frank to plead our case with the brothers is useless.

Non-applicable conversation follows.

Cleveland, 8/4/62. BR1-8771 (Sal’s River Lounge) to BR4-0811 (Bartolo’s Ristorante pay phone). Speaking: John Michael D’Allesio (TEP File #180.4, Cleveland Office), Daniel “Donkey Dan” Versace (File #206.9, Chicago Office). Conversation sixteen minutes in progress.

DV: Rumors are just rumors. You got to consider the source and take It from there.

JMD: Da

DV: You know I do. You know I love a good rumor as much as the next guy, and I don’t particularly care if it’s true or not.

JMD: Da

JMD: The rumor is J. Edgar Hoover and Bobby Ke

DV: That’s your rumor?

JMD: There’s more.

DV: I hope so. The Hoover-Bobby feud is stale bread.

JMD: The rumor is Bobby’s racket squad guys are turning snitches. The rumor is Bobby won’t let Hoover near his fucking prospects. Furthermore, I heard the fucking McClellan Committee’s gearing up to go into session again. They’re getting ready to fucking keester the Outfit again. Bobby’s working on turning this major informant. When the committee sessions start, this guy’s supposed to come on as the starring fucking attraction.