he wanted to see the debate between Nixon and Kennedy. He wondered how much of the catechism JFK himself believed in? Now that would be a fucking handbook worth reading, he told himself. How to be President and Press the Button and Still be a Good Catholic.
In the event it wasn't a debate at all, just the two candidates fielding questions from the news reporters in the Washington studio, and commenting on each other's answers with the polite detachment of two attorneys arguing a point of law. Nixon sounded aggressive and still looked less appealing than the cooler and more handsome Kennedy. Both men seemed overly preoccupied with the subject of American prestige abroad, but neither man seemed the obvious superior of the other. As the standing vice-president, Nixon looked and sounded more experienced. But Kennedy had personality and charm and that counted for a lot in the television age, especially in black and white. It looked like a straight choice between Playmate of the Month and the Vargas girl: one was too true to be good, and the other too good to be true.
JFK was answering a question about some remote Nationalist Chinese islands no one had ever heard of when Tom's doorbell rang. It was Frank Sorges and he looked worried. Tom could guess what about.
Frank,' he said. What are you doing here?'
Can I come in? I'd rather not talk out here.'
Sure.'
They went into the lounge. Tom walked over to the bar and waved at the sofa. Drink?'
Yeah. Why not? That's a pretty impressive bar you've got, Tom. You wouldn't have any Kahlua there by any chance?'
Coming up.' Tom opened a bottle. I've had this since last Christmas. I didn't know anyone drank it. Ice?'
No, just as it comes.' Sorges shrugged. I just like the taste of coffee, I guess. Got the taste for it when I was in Mexico last year.'
Tom poured himself a Bourbon and sat down opposite him, but left the TV on.
Nice place.'
Tom shrugged. It's okay, I guess.'
Are you alone?'
Tom nodded. I was just watching the debate.'
So I see.'
Is there something on your mind, Frank?'
As a matter of fact I was wondering if you had remembered where it was that you and HA1/4ber Lanz might have met before?'
Don't you trust him?'
I don't trust anyone.'
And that's why you drove here?'
Sorges nodded, almost amused at the idea of it himself.
I don't remember where we met. But then I haven't lost much sleep trying. How the fuck should I know? Ask him. Next time save yourself a journey and call.'
Sorges sipped some of the Kahlua and stared at the TV.
What does Lanz say?' asked Tom.
Not much. He's dead.'
I see.' Tom lit a Chesterfield and laughed.
Did I say something funny?'
Not yet. But I've a feeling you will. What the hell happened?'
Someone strangled him in a fucking movie theatre.'
I'm choked. And you think it was me, right?'
Maybe. Why not? It's what you do, isn't it?'
Tom guffawed loudly. There you go,' he said. I knew you were going to make me laugh. You're Irwin fucking Corey, you know that, Frank? I'd laugh a lot louder only I'm afraid you might get the idea that I don't regret poor HA1/4ber's unfortunate demise, and suspect me all the more.'
Do you? Regret it?'
Makes no difference to me if he's lying next to Gerardo Machado in Woodlawn Park cemetery, or whooping it up with Anita Ekberg in Palm Beach. He's just some guy who only vaguely registered the first time I met him.'
The way I figure it, Tom, it takes someone with a lot of cool nerve to kill a guy in broad daylight. But, like I say, it's what you do. From what I hear, do pretty well.'
I thought you said it happened in a movie theatre.'
In a public place, then. Either way, someone who knew what they were about. Someone who's used to killing other people.'
Don't ever be a detective, Frank. Evidence is supposed to look a little more substantial than a lousy hill of beans.'
Maybe. Maybe I just wanted to look you in the eye when I told you the bad news.'
Then get closer so you can make doubly sure.'
But Sorges looked away, almost embarrassed.
Frank, you've got more maybe baby than Buddy Holly. Maybe you think you can see into my soul, is that it?'
Maybe,' grinned Sorges. Why not?'
You're wasting your time, Frank. There's no such thing. Soul's Ray Charles or it's nothing at all.' He picked up one of the little pamphlets on the Catholic catechism and tossed it into Sorges's lap. I think you're the one who should read up on how to be a priest, not me.'
Sorges looked at the cover and nodded. There's not much I wouldn't read for two hundred and fifty thousand bucks.'
If that's all there was to it, then you'd be in a job, I guess.'
Maybe. But if it was up to me we'd poison the bastard. O'Connell told me he heard CIA chemists have developed all kinds of new shit. Mind control drugs. Poisons. They've got this stuff called Blackleaf Forty. Sprayed on some tobacco leaves, rolled into a Montecristo cigar and then smoked by Castro. Dead within the minute. Simple as that.'
Poison, huh? You see, that's what I mean. You really have missed your vocation, Frank. Catholic priests always did like poison.' Tom lit another cigarette. How do you know O'Connell, anyway?'
I don't really. He's Rosselli's contact. Rosselli's in the middle of everything. Him and Maheu. But Johnny's okay, you know? He loves America almost as much as he hates fucking communists. Momo says, you give Johnny a flag and he'll follow you around the yard.'
They were both silent for a long while, watching the TV. Finally, Sorges said, with contempt, after listening to one of Kennedy's smoother answers, Listen to him. Mister fucking clean. If people could only hear what I've heard. Him and Marilyn. Like a pair of fucking rabbits. Man, they should broadcast that and see what the man's polls are like in the morning. Mark my words, we're about to have a sex maniac loose in the White House.'
Is that so?' And then: Freshen your glass?'
Sure.'
Tom refilled their glasses and came back to the sofa.
You gotta hand it to Kennedy though,' he said. If you're gonna risk your presidency to fuck some broad, she might as well be the best-looking broad in the world.'
She doesn't pull my chain,' grimaced Sorges. Novak. Russell. Now you're talking.'
Marilyn's got everything I want.'
Take my word for it, man. You hear the tape, you wouldn't be so impressed with her. She doesn't even come when he fucks her.'
Hardly her fault, I'd have thought.'
Uppers, downers, you name it, she takes it. The woman is falling to pieces. Ask Momo.'
I'd sure like to pick those pieces up. She's got something. I dunno. Star quality. Vulnerability. Charisma.'
Well, Merry Charisma, my star-struck friend. You must believe in Santy Claus.' Sorges toasted Tom with his coffee liqueur. Charisma, my ass. Jack Kennedy fucks her like she's just some dumb broad he picked up in Burdine's. You ask me, it's the only way you can fuck a broad like that. Like she's nobody. Pay any attention to who you think
