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Carlos said _you're_ going to sell Hughes Las Vegas-and _we're_ going to fuck him. _You_ know the books. _You_ cracked the code. _You_ have money plans. _That_ money. Plus the _Hughes_ money. Equals _our_ money-juiced by _your_ long-range strategy.
He returned the books. He kept the dupes. His theft was near-open goods. Carlos knew. Carlos told Sam G. Sam told Joh
Santo knew. Moe Dalitz knew. No one told Jimmy. Jimmy was crazy. Jimmy was shortsighted. Jimmy would kill him.
Littell skimmed newscasts. Littell got crossband blips: LBJ/Kool Menthol/Dr. King and Bobby.
He met Bobby-three days pre-Dallas-he mis-ID'd himself. He said I'm just a lawyer. He said I have a tape. Bobby gave him ten minutes of time.
He played his tape. A hood indicted Joe Ke
For: Pension Fund fraud/collusion/long-term racketeering.
Bobby called his father's bank. The manager confirmed details. Bobby brushed tears back. Bobby raged and grieved. It felt all good then. It felt all hateful now.
The news signed off. A deejay signed on. Mr. Tunes-comin' at ya.
The phone rang.
Littell ran. Littell slid on hailstones. Littell grabbed the receiver.
Pete said, "Junior won't play. The fucking kid stalemated me."
"I'll talk to Sam. We'll make a different app-"
"I'll clip Zangetty and Killiam. That's it. I won't clip the women."
The booth was hot. The windows fogged. The storm produced steam.
"I agree. We'll have to finesse Carlos."
Pete laughed. "Don't shit me. You know it's more than that."
"What are you saying?"
Pete said, "I know about Arden."
_DOCUMENT INSERT_: 12/19/63. Verbatim telephone call transcript. Marked: "Recorded at Mr. Hughes' request. Copies to: Permanent File/Fiscal '63 File/Security File." Speaking: Howard R. Hughes, Ward J. Littell.
HH: Is that you, Ward?
WJL: It's me.
HH: I had a premonition last night. Do you want to hear about it?
WJL: Certainly.
HH: I know that tone. Mollify the boss so he'll get back to business.
(WJL laughs.)
HH: Here's my premonition. You're going to tell me that it will take years to divest my TWA stock, so I should mind my p's and q's and put the whole thing out of mind.
WJL: Your premonition was accurate.
HH: That's all you have to say? You're letting me off that easy?
WJL: I could describe the legal processes involved in divesting half a billion dollars' worth of stock and tell you how much you've impeded the progress by dodging various subpoenas.
HH: You're feeling your oats today. I'm not up to sparring with you.
WJL: I'm not sparring, Mr. Hughes. I'm observing.
HH: And your latest estimate is?
WJL: We're two years away from a judgment. The appeals process will extend for at least nine to fourteen months. You should discuss the details with your other attorneys and move things along by pre-submitting your depositions.
HH: You're my favorite attorney.
WJL: Thank you.
HH: Only Mormons and FBI men have clean blood.
WJL: I'm not much of an expert on blood, Sir.
HH: I am. You know the law, and I know aerodynamics, blood and germs.
WJL: We're expert in our separate fields, Sir.
HH: I know business strategy as well. I have the assets to purchase Las Vegas now, but I prefer to wait and make the purchase with my stock windfall.
WJL: That's a prudent strategy Sir. But I should point out a few things.
HH: Point, then. I'm listening.
WJL: One, you are not going to purchase the city of Las Vegas or Clark County, Nevada. Two, you are going to attempt to purchase numerous hotel-casinos, the acquisition of which violates numerous state and federal antitrust statutes. Three, you ca
HH: Jesus, that was some speech. You're a long-winded guy.
WJL: Yes, Sir.
HH: You didn't mention your Mafia pals.
WJL: Sir?
HH: I talked to Mr. Hoover. He said you've got those guys in your pocket. What's that guy's name in New Orleans?
WJL: Carlos Marcello?
HH: Marcello, right. Mr. Hoover said he eats out of your hand. He said, "When the time's right, Littell will jew those dagos down and get you your hotels at rock-bottom prices."
WJL: I'll certainly try.
HH: You'll do better than that.
WJL: I'll try, Sir.
HH: We've got to devise a germ policy.
WJL: Sir?
HH: At my hotels. No germs, no Negroes. Negroes are wellknown germ conduits. They'll infect my slot machines.
WJL: I'll look into it, Sir.
HH: My solution is mass sedation. I've been reading chemistry books. Certain narcotic substances possess germ-killing characteristics. We could sedate the Negroes, lower their white-blood count and keep them out of my hotels.
WJL: Mass sedation would require certain sanctions that we might not get.
HH: You're not convinced. I can tell by your voice.
WJL: I'll give it some thought.
HH: Think about this. Lee Oswald was a germ conduit and a deadly-disease transmitter. He didn't need a rifle. He could have breathed on Ke
WJL: It's an interesting theory, Sir.
HH: Only Mormons and FBI men have clean blood.
WJL: You've got quite a few Mormons in Nevada. There's a man named Wayne Tedrow Senior that I may approach on your behalf.
HH: I've got some good Mormons here. They set me up with Fred Otash.
WJL: I've heard of him.
HH: He's the "Private Eye to the Stars." He's been ru
WJL: Again, Sir. Dodging subpoenas only prolongs the whole process.
HH: Ward, you're a goddamn killjoy.
(WJL laughs.)
HH: Freddy's Lebanese. Those people have high white-cell counts. I like him, but he's no Pete.
WJL: Pete's working with me in Las Vegas.
HH: Good. Frenchmen have low white-cell counts. I read it in the _National Geographic_.
WJL: He'll be pleased to hear it.
HH: Good. Tell him I said hello, and tell him to procure me some medicine. He'll know what I mean. Tell him my Mormons have been bringing me inferior goods.
WJL: I'll tell him.
HH: Let me make one thing clear before I hang up.
WJL: Sir?
HH: I want to buy Las Vegas.
WJL: You've made yourself clear.
HH: The desert air kills germs.
WJL: Yes, Sir.