reading room, he added, But it would help if I knew what it was about.'
Sure, sure,' said Goldman, zipping up his polar coat against the last cold day of 1960. Let's try Grand Central, shall we?' he suggested, and led the way down and across 42nd Street.
Inside the station they crossed the cavernous main concourse with its zodiac ceiling, and walked away from the three giant windows, towards the first coffee shop they saw. Goldman put a cigarette into his mouth and pointed to an empty table.
Take a seat. I'll get these,' he said.
A minute or two later he brought the coffees, the cigarette still unlit in the corner of his clumsy-looking mouth like a forgotten thermometer. Goldman placed a cup of coffee carefully in front of Nimmo and then, making a collapsing noise as if he had been on his feet for a long while, sat down opposite. He sipped his coffee gratefully.
You're a hard man to keep up with, Nimmo.'
What happened to sir?' asked Nimmo.
Goldman grinned. You're here now, aren't you? We can cut through all that bullshit and get down to business.'
I'm all for that happening,' Nimmo said patiently.
What it's about,' Goldman said, with tantalising cunctation, is a whole lot of things, as a matter of fact.' He was searching his many pockets for a light and, deciding that the best way of moving their conversation forwards would be if Goldman could actually begin smoking, Nimmo handed him his book of matches. Thanks a lot,' said Goldman, and, having puffed himself into action, he handed back the matchbook, adding, with eyes narrowed against the smoke, and perhaps the impression he had of Nimmo, Things must be going all right for you since you left the Bureau, I guess.' He nodded at the matchbook. Liborio. Friends in Riverside Drive. Staying at the Shelburne. New coat. Nice gloves. Yes sir, they must be going all right.'
You don't miss much, do you, Agent Goldman?' said Nimmo, carefully replacing the matchbook - the one on which he had written Tom Jefferson's address when breakfasting in Rosenblum's Deli - in his pocket.
Me?' Goldman grinned good-naturedly. Oh hell, I miss my fair share. In our business everyone misses something sometime, don't they? It's an occupational hazard.'
If you say so. Look, what's this all about?'
Johnny Rosselli is what. We've been trying to get a handle on that guy for a while now.'
What makes you think I can help you?'
You do know him, don't you?'
Nimmo sipped his coffee and found it surprisingly good. Sure I know him. It's hard to be in a position of any civic responsibility in Miami and not run across Johnny Rosselli from time to time.'
How about Rafael Gener? Macho Gener to his friends. Ever come across him?'
Never even heard of him.'
He's a Cuban friend of Rosselli's. Judy Campbell? How about her?'
Heard of her. But I've never met the lady.'
Doesn't matter. It's Rosselli we're really interested in. Did you know he plays golf with Joe Kennedy?'
You know more than me.'
It's always possible. What about women?'
What about them?'
What I mean is, do you think that Rosselli is a fag?'
Nimmo found himself grinning. A fag? No. The few times I've seen him socially, he always seems to have plenty of girls around. There was an actress I believe he was involved with. Ann Corcoran. And before that it's my information that he was married to another movie actress. June Lang.'
Yeah, but that was twenty years ago.' Goldman's nose wrinkled. Besides, it only lasted, what? A year and a half?'
Like I said, you know more than me. I'd like to help you, Agent Goldman, but to be quite frank with you, Johnny Rosselli's sexuality is a closed book to me.' Nimmo sipped some more coffee and smiled. For a moment back there, he had actually been concerned that the Bureau and its THP might be about to pose some awkward questions. But the idea that the feds were investigating Rosselli's sex life was almost hilarious.
Ever go to his apartment in LA?'
There you go again. I didn't even know he had an apartment in LA.'
Twelve fifty-nine Crescent Heights Avenue. Near the Strip.'
Nimmo shook his head.
Would it surprise you to learn that on some weekends, when he's in LA, Rosselli brings boys from a local Catholic orphanage to swim in his pool?'
Nimmo laughed out loud. Yes, as a matter of fact it would. I didn't know he was much of a Catholic.'
That's not what I meant.'
I know what you meant.'
Look Nimmo, Rosselli's a hoodlum, but he's a hard sonofabitch to nail, as a racketeer. So then, in the same way that we nailed Capone, not as a racketeer, but for income tax evasion, we're looking to nail Rosselli's ass for a fruit. I just thought you might be able to shed some light on whether you thought any of these women you've seen him with were beards. You know, girls along for the show, to make him seem more like a real man around his mob pals. Those guys dislike pansies even more than most. I mean, can you think of one of those wiseguys who's been a fucking faggot?'
Nope, can't say that I've ever thought about it much.'
The underworld is a man's world. It's a crooked world. But it sure isn't a queer one.'
Look,' grinned Nimmo. He's Italian. He dresses nice. He wears cologne. He's polite. For a racketeer he's even, you might say, polished. Good manners. I think he's even nice to his mother. Sends her money back in Boston. But none of those things makes you a pansy. I think Rosselli would talk to Bobby Kennedy before he would let you guys charge him with being a lousy pederast.'
Bobby Kennedy? Well, he's queer, too.'
Nimmo laughed out loud. It was as good a laugh as he had had since coming back to New York. Bobby Kennedy a queer. Goldman was funnier than Milton Berle and Jack Benny, and certainly more original.
You think this is funny?'
You're damn right I think it's funny,' said Nimmo. He sipped some more coffee, leaned back in his chair, and put a cigarette in his mouth. Bobby Kennedy, queer.'
It is kind of funny, isn't it?' grinned Goldman. I just made that up, actually.'
By now, Nimmo was thinking Goldman looked a fairly decent sort of guy. His face was as big as it was open, which made it the wrong kind of face to have if you were in the FBI. Hoover did not like grinners. Once, Nimmo had overheard the director telling Richard Hood, then head of the FBI's field office in Los Angeles, to fire an agent because he smiled too much. And now here was one of Hoover's men - Hoover, whose own sexuality was open to question -trying to find out if Johnny Rosselli was queer. It seemed just too funny for words.
Why don't you see if Hoover has any personal knowledge of Rosselli being a pansy?' Nimmo suggested playfully. Or maybe he'll have some expert ideas on how to catch Rosselli with his pants down. Maybe Hoover might even care to volunteer to put his own ass on the line. You know, like a honey-trap.'
Nimmo flicked a match with his thumbnail and watched it fire up like a tiny yellow flower. Everything was looking good to him since he had discovered Tom Jefferson's address, and where and when he was planning to try and kill Kennedy. Even the matches he was scraping into being.
Grinning hugely now, like a Red Indian witch doctor's mask Nimmo had once seen in the Museum of Natural History, Goldman said, Perhaps I will at that, the old faggot.'
That's the idea, Agent Goldman. Goldman. What's that, a Hebe name?'
Something wrong with that?'
Naw. Could be worse. You could be a goddamn faggot. Like Hoover.'
Next Passover, I'll try and remember that.'
Nimmo laughed. You do that.'
You seem like you're in a pretty good mood.'
It's New Year's Eve. Why not? I had the lousiest Christmas on record. But nineteen sixty-one is shaping up
