American tabloid

JEH: You’re saying the Committee will hand the ball to municipal grand juries once their mandate expires?

KB: Yes. I think it will take years for the Brothers to reap real political benefit from Mr. H. And I think a backlash might set in and hurt Big Brother. Democratic candidates can’t afford to be viewed as antiunion.

JEH: Your assessments seem quite astute.

KB: Thank you, Sir.

JEH: Did Big Brother bring my name up?

KB: Yes. He knows about your extensive files on politicians and movie stars you deem subversive, and he’s afraid you have a file on him. I told him your file on his family ran to a thousand pages.

JEH: Good. You would have lost credibility had you been less candid. What else did you and Big Brother discuss?

KB: Chiefly women. Big Brother mentioned a trip to Los Angeles on December 9th. I gave him the phone number of a promiscuous woman named Darleen Shoftel and urged him to call her.

JEH: Do you think he has called her?

KB: No, Sir. But I think he will.

JEH: Describe your duties for the Committee thus far.

KB: I’ve been looking for a subpoenaed witness named Anton Gretzler here in Florida. Little Brother wanted me to serve him a backup summons. There’s an aspect of this we should discuss, since Gretzler’s disappearance may tie in to a friend of yours.

JEH: Continue.

KB: Gretzler was Mr. H.’s partner in the alleged Sun Valley land fraud. He-

JEH: You said “was.” You’re assuming Gretzler is dead?

KB: I’m certain he’s dead.

JEH: Continue.

KB: He disappeared on the afternoon of November 26th. He told his secretary he was going to meet a “sales prospect” at Sun Valley and never returned. The Lake Weir Police found his car in a swamp marsh nearby, but they haven’t been able to locate a body. They canvassed for witnesses and turned up a man who was driving by Sun Valley on the Interstate at the same time the “sales prospect” was to meet Gretzler. The man said he saw a man parked on the Sun Valley access road. He said the man averted his face when he drove by, so it’s doubtful he could identify him. He did describe him, however. Six foot four or five, “huge,” two hundred and forty pounds. Dark hair, thirty-five to forty. I’m thinking it-

JEH: Your old friend Peter Bondurant. He’s singularly outsized., and he’s on that list of Mr. H.’s known associates that I gave you.

KB: Yes, Sir. I checked airline and car rental records in Los Angeles and Miami and turned up a Hughes Aircraft charge that I’m certain Bondurant made. I know he was in Florida on November 26th, and I’m circumstantially certain that Mr. H. hired him to kill Gretzler. I know that you and Howard Hughes are friends, so I thought I’d inform you of this before I told Little Brother.

JEH: Do not inform Little Brother under any circumstances. The status of your investigation should remain thus: Gretzler is missing, perhaps dead. There are no leads and no suspects. Pete Bondurant is invaluable to Howard Hughes, who is a valuable friend of the Bureau. Mr. Hughes recently purchased a scandal magazine to help disseminate political information favorable to the Bureau, and I do not want his feathers ruffled. Do you understand?

KB: Yes, Sir.

JEH: I want you to fly to Los Angeles on a Bureau charge and tweak Pete Bondurant with your suspicions. Get a favor from him, and cloak your friendly overtures with the knowledge that you can hurt him. And when your Committee duties permit, go back to Florida and clean up potential loose ends on the Gretzler front.

KB: I’ll wrap up here and fly to L.A. late tomorrow.

JEH: Good. And while you’re In Los Angeles, I want you to bug and wire Miss Darleen Shoftel’s home. If Big Brother contacts her, I want to know.

KB: She won’t voluntarily assent, so I’ll have to rig her apartment sub rosa. Can I bring In Ward Littell? He’s a great wire man.

JEH: Yes, bring him in. This reminds me that Littell has been coveting a Top Hoodlum Squad spot for some time. Do you think he’d like a transfer as a reward for this job?

KB: He’d love it.

JEH: Good, but let me be the one to inform him. Goodbye, Mr. Boyd. I commend you for work well done.

KB: Thank you, Sir. Goodbye.

4

Howard Hughes cranked his bed up a notch. “I can’t tell you how lackluster the last two issues have been. Hush-Hush is a weekly now, which increases the need for interesting gossip incrementally. We need a new dirt digger. We’ve got you for story verification, Dick Steisel for legal vetting and So! Maltzman to write the pieces, but we’re only as good as our scandals, and our scandals have been chaste and ridiculously dull.”

Pete slouched in a chair and thumbed last week’s issue. On the cover: “Migrant Workers Carry VD Plague!” A co-feature: “Hollywood Ranch Market-Homo Heaven!”

“I’ll keep at it. We’re looking for a guy with unique fucking qualifications, and that takes time.”

Hughes said, “You do it. And tell Sol Maltzman that I want a piece entitled ‘Negroes: Overbreeding Creates TB Epidemic’ on next week’s cover.”

“That sounds pretty far-fetched.”

“Facts can be bent to conform to any thesis.”

“I’ll tell him, Boss.”

“Good. And while you’re out…”

“Will I get you some more dope and disposable hypos? Yes, sir!”

Hughes flinched and turned the TV on. “Sheriff John’s Lunch Brigade” hit the bedroom-squealing tots and cartoon mice the size of Lassie.

Pete strolled out to the parking lot. Lounging upside his car like he owned it: Special Agent Kemper Fucking Boyd.

Six years older and still too handsome to live. That dark gray suit had to run four hundred clams easy.

“What is this?”

Boyd folded his arms over his chest. “This is a friendly errand for Mr. Hoover. He’s concerned about your extracurricular work for Jimmy Hoffa.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve got an ‘in’ on the McClellan Committee. They’ve got some pay phones near Hoffa’s house in Virginia rigged to register slug calls. That cheap fuck Hoffa makes his business calls from public booths and uses slugs.”

“Keep going. Your slug call pitch is bullshit, but let’s see where you’re taking it.”

Boyd winked-brass-balled motherfucker.

“One, Hoffa called you twice late last month. Two, you bought a round-trip L.A.-to-Miami ticket under an assumed name and charged it to Hughes Aircraft. Three, you rented a car at a Teamster-owned rent-a-car outlet and were maybe seen waiting for a man named Anton Gretzler. I think Gretzler’s dead, and I think Hoffa hired you to clip him.”

They’d never find a corpse: he tossed Gretzler in a swamp and watched gators eat him.

“So arrest me.”

“No. Mr. Hoover doesn’t like Bobby Ke

“So?”

“So let’s do something nice for Mr. Hoover.”

“Give me a hint. I’m just dying to roll over.”

Boyd smiled. “The head writer at Hush-Hush is a Commie. I know Mr. Hughes appreciates cheap help, but I still think you should fire him immediately.”

Pete said, “I’ll do that. And you tell Mr. Hoover that I’m a patriotic guy who knows how friendship works.”

Boyd waltzed off-no nod, no wink, suspect dismissed. He walked two car rows over and bagged a blue Ford with a Hertz bumper sticker.

The car pulled out. Boyd fucking waved.

Pete ran to the hotel phone bank and called information. An operator shot him the main Hertz number.

He dialed it. A woman answered: “Good morning, Hertz Rent-a-Car.”

“Good morning. This is Officer Peterson, LAPD. I need a current customer listing on one of your cars.”