{"product_id":"the-cold-six-thousand-isbn-9780375727405","title":"The Cold Six Thousand","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe internationally acclaimed author of the L.A. Quartet and The Underworld USA Trilogy, James Ellroy, presents another literary noir masterpiece of historical paranoia\u003c\/b\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn this savagely audacious novel, James Ellroy\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eplants a pipe bomb under the America in the 1960s, lights the fuse, and watches the shrapnel fly. On November 22, 1963 three men converge in Dallas. Their job: to clean up the JFK hit’s loose ends and inconvenient witnesses. They are Wayne Tedrow, Jr., a Las Vegas cop with family ties to the lunatic right; Ward J. Littell, a defrocked FBI man turned underworld mouthpiece; and Pete Bondurant, a dope-runner and hit-man who serves as the mob’s emissary to the anti-Castro underground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt goes bad from there. For the next five years these night-riders run a whirlwind of plots and counter-plots: Howard Hughes’s takeover of Vegas, J. Edgar Hoover’s war against the civil rights movement, the heroin trade in Vietnam, and the murders of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy. Wilder than \u003ci\u003eL. A. Confidential, \u003c\/i\u003emore devastating than \u003ci\u003eAmerican Tabloid, \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Cold Six Thousand \u003c\/b\u003eestablishes Ellroy as one of our most fearless novelists.“Ellroy rips into American culture like a chainsaw in an abbatoir. . . . Pick it up if you dare; put it down if you can.” –\u003ci\u003eTime\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A wild ride. . . . An American political underbelly teeming with conspiracy and crime. . . . So hard-boiled you could chip a tooth on it.” \u003ci\u003e–The New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A ripping read....the book is pure testosterone.” \u003ci\u003e–The Plain Dealer \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A great and terrible book about a great and terrible time in America.” –\u003ci\u003eThe Village Voice\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames Ellroy was born in Los Angeles in 1948. He is the author of the L.A. Quartet:\u003ci\u003e The Black Dahlia, The Big Nowhere, L.A. Confidential,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eWhite Jazz, \u003c\/i\u003eand the Underworld U.S.A. Trilogy: \u003ci\u003eAmerican Tabloid, The Cold Six Thousand, \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eBlood’s A Rover.\u003c\/i\u003e These seven novels have won numerous honors and were international best sellers. He is also the author of two collections, \u003ci\u003eCrime Wave\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eDestination: Morgue!\u003c\/i\u003e and two memoirs \u003ci\u003eMy Dark Places\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Hilliker Curse\u003c\/i\u003e.  Ellroy currently lives in Denver, Colorado.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewww.jamesellroy.net\u003c\/p\u003eChapter 1\u003cbr\u003ePart I\u003cbr\u003eEXTRADITION\u003cbr\u003eNovember 22-25, 1963\u003cbr\u003e1\u003cbr\u003eWayne Tedrow Jr.\u003cbr\u003e(Dallas, 11\/22\/63)\u003cbr\u003eThey sent him to Dallas to kill a nigger pimp named Wendell Durfee. He wasn't sure he could do it.\u003cbr\u003eThe Casino Operators Council flew him. They supplied first-class fare. They tapped their slush fund. They greased him. They fed him six cold.\u003cbr\u003eNobody said it:\u003cbr\u003eKill that coon. Do it good. Take our hit fee.\u003cbr\u003eThe flight ran smooth. A stew served drinks. She saw his gun. She played up. She asked dumb questions.\u003cbr\u003eHe said he worked Vegas PD. He ran the intel squad. He built files and logged information.\u003cbr\u003eShe loved it. She swooned.\u003cbr\u003e\"Hon, what you doin' in Dallas?\"\u003cbr\u003eHe told her.\u003cbr\u003eA Negro shivved a twenty-one dealer. The dealer lost an eye. The Negro booked to Big D. She loved it. She brought him highballs. He omitted details.\u003cbr\u003eThe dealer provoked the attack. The council issued the contract-death for ADW Two.\u003cbr\u003eThe preflight pep talk. Lieutenant Buddy Fritsch:\u003cbr\u003e\"I don't have to tell you what we expect, son. And I don't have to add that your father expects it, too.\"\u003cbr\u003eThe stew played geisha girl. The stew fluffed her beehive.\u003cbr\u003e\"What's your name?\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Wayne Tedrow.\"\u003cbr\u003eShe whooped. \"You just have to be Junior!\"\u003cbr\u003eHe looked through her. He doodled. He yawned.\u003cbr\u003eShe fawned. She just loooooved his daddy. He flew with her oodles. She knew he was a Mormon wheel. She'd looove to know more.\u003cbr\u003eWayne laid out Wayne Senior.\u003cbr\u003eHe ran a kitchen-help union. He rigged low pay. He had coin. He had pull. He pushed right-wing tracts. He hobnobbed with fat cats. He knew J. Edgar Hoover.\u003cbr\u003eThe pilot hit the intercom. Dallas-on time.\u003cbr\u003eThe stew fluffed her hair. \"I'll bet you're staying at the Adolphus.\"\u003cbr\u003eWayne cinched his seat belt. \"What makes you say that?\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Well, your daddy told me he always stays there.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm staying there. Nobody consulted me, but that's where they've got me booked.\"\u003cbr\u003eThe stew hunkered down. Her skirt slid. Her garter belt gapped.\u003cbr\u003e\"Your daddy told me they've got a nice little restaurant right there in the hotel, and, well . . .\"\u003cbr\u003eThe plane hit rough air. Wayne caught it low. He broke a sweat. He shut his eyes. He saw Wendell Durfee.\u003cbr\u003eThe stew touched him. Wayne opened his eyes.\u003cbr\u003eHe saw her hickeys. He saw her bad teeth. He smelled her shampoo.\u003cbr\u003e\"You were looking a little scared there, Wayne Junior.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Junior\" tore it.\u003cbr\u003e\"Leave me alone. I'm not what you want, and I don't cheat on my wife.\"\u003cbr\u003e1:50 p.m.\u003cbr\u003eThey touched down. Wayne got off first. Wayne stamped blood back into his legs.\u003cbr\u003eHe walked to the terminal. Schoolgirls blocked the gate. One girl cried. One girl fucked with prayer beads.\u003cbr\u003eHe stepped around them. He followed baggage signs. People walked past him. They looked sucker-punched.\u003cbr\u003eRed eyes. Boo-hoo. Women with Kleenex.\u003cbr\u003eWayne stopped at baggage claim. Kids whizzed by. They shot cap pistols. They laughed.\u003cbr\u003eA man walked up-Joe Redneck-tall and fat. He wore a Stetson. He wore big boots. He wore a mother-of-pearl .45.\u003cbr\u003e\"If you're Sergeant Tedrow, I'm Officer Maynard D. Moore of the Dallas Police Department.\"\u003cbr\u003eThey shook hands. Moore chewed tobacco. Moore wore cheap cologne. A woman walked by-boo-hoo-hoo-one big red nose.\u003cbr\u003eWayne said, \"What's wrong?\"\u003cbr\u003eMoore smiled. \"Some kook shot the President.\"\u003cbr\u003eMost shops closed early. State flags flew low. Some folks flew rebel flags upright.\u003cbr\u003eMoore drove Wayne in. Moore had a plan: Run by the hotel\/get you set in\/find us that jigaboo.\u003cbr\u003eJohn F. Kennedy-dead.\u003cbr\u003eHis wife's crush. His stepmom's fixation. JFK got Janice wet. Janice told Wayne Senior. Janice paid. Janice limped. Janice showed off the welts on her thighs.\u003cbr\u003eDead was dead. He couldn't grab it. He fumbled the rebounds.\u003cbr\u003eMoore chewed Red Man. Moore shot juice out his window. Gunshots overlapped. Joyous shit in the boonies.\u003cbr\u003eMoore said, \"Some people ain't so sad.\"\u003cbr\u003eWayne shrugged. They passed a billboard-JFK and the UN.\u003cbr\u003e\"You sure ain't sayin' much. I got to say that so far, you ain't the most lively extradition partner I ever had.\"\u003cbr\u003eA gun went off. Close. Wayne grabbed his holster.\u003cbr\u003e\"Whoo! You got a case of the yips, boy!\"\u003cbr\u003eWayne futzed with his necktie. \"I just want to get this over with.\"\u003cbr\u003eMoore ran a red light. \"In good time. I don't doubt that Mr. Durfee'll be sayin' hi to our fallen hero before too long.\"\u003cbr\u003eWayne rolled up his window. Wayne trapped in Moore's cologne.\u003cbr\u003eMoore said, \"I been to Lost Wages quite a few times. In fact, I owe a big marker at the Dunes this very moment.\"\u003cbr\u003eWayne shrugged. They passed a bus bench. A colored girl sobbed.\u003cbr\u003e\"I heard of your daddy, too. I heard he's quite the boy in Nevada.\"\u003cbr\u003eA truck ran a red. The driver waved a beer and revolver.\u003cbr\u003e\"Lots of people know my father. They all tell me they know him, and it gets old pretty quick.\"\u003cbr\u003eMoore smiled. \"Hey, I think I detect a pulse there.\"\u003cbr\u003eMotorcade confetti. A window sign: Big D loves Jack \u0026amp; Jackie.\u003cbr\u003e\"I heard about you, too. I heard you got leanings your daddy don't much care for.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"For instance?\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Let's try nigger lover. Let's try you chauffeur Sonny Liston around when he comes to Vegas, 'cause the PD's afraid he'll get himself in trouble with liquor and white women, and you like him, but you don't like the nice Italian folks who keep your little town clean.\"\u003cbr\u003eThe car hit a pothole. Wayne hit the dash.\u003cbr\u003eMoore stared at Wayne. Wayne stared back. They held the stare. Moore ran a red. Wayne blinked first.\u003cbr\u003eMoore winked. \"We're gonna have big fun this weekend.\"\u003cbr\u003eThe lobby was swank. The carpets ran thick. Men snagged their boot heels.\u003cbr\u003ePeople pointed outside-look look look-the motorcade passed the hotel. JFK drove by. JFK waved. JFK bought it close by.\u003cbr\u003ePeople talked. Strangers braced strangers. The men wore western suits. The women dressed faux-Jackie.\u003cbr\u003eCheck-ins swamped the desk. Moore ad-libbed. Moore walked Wayne to the bar.\u003cbr\u003eSRO-big barside numbers.\u003cbr\u003eA TV sat on a table. A barman goosed the sound. Moore shoved up to a phone booth. Wayne scoped the TV out.\u003cbr\u003eFolks jabbered. The men wore hats. Everyone wore boots and high heels. Wayne stood on his toes. Wayne popped over hat brims.\u003cbr\u003eThe picture jumped and settled in. Sound static and confusion. Cops. A thin punk. Words: \"Oswald\"\/\"weapon\"\/\"Red sympath-\"\u003cbr\u003eA guy waved a rifle. Newsmen pressed in. A camera panned. There's the punk. He's showing fear and contusions.\u003cbr\u003eThe noise was bad. The smoke was thick. Wayne lost his legs.\u003cbr\u003eA man raised a toast. \"Oughta give Oswald a-\"\u003cbr\u003eWayne stood down. A woman jostled him-wet cheeks and runny mascara.\u003cbr\u003eWayne walked to the phone booth. Moore had the door cracked.\u003cbr\u003eHe said, \"Guy, listen now.\"\u003cbr\u003eHe said, \"Wet-nursing some kid on some bullshit extradition-\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Bullshit\" tore it.\u003cbr\u003eWayne jabbed Moore. Moore swung around. His pant legs hiked up.\u003cbr\u003eFuck-knives in his boot tops. Brass knucks in one sock.\u003cbr\u003eWayne said, \"Wendell Durfee, remember?\"\u003cbr\u003eMoore stood up. Moore got magnetized. Wayne tracked his eyes.\u003cbr\u003eHe caught the TV. He caught a caption. He caught a still shot: \"Slain Officer J. D. Tippit.\"\u003cbr\u003eMoore stared. Moore trembled. Moore shook.\u003cbr\u003eWayne said, \"Wendell Durf-\"\u003cbr\u003eMoore shoved him. Moore ran outside.\u003cbr\u003e- - -\u003cbr\u003eThe council booked him a biggg suite. A bellboy supplied history. JFK loved the suite. JFK fucked women there. Ava Gardner blew him on the terrace.\u003cbr\u003eTwo sitting rooms. Two bedrooms. Three TVs. Slush funds. Six cold. Kill that nigger, boy.\u003cbr\u003eWayne toured the suite. History lives. JFK loved Dallas quail.\u003cbr\u003eHe turned the TVs on. He tuned in three channels. He caught the show three ways. He walked between sets. He nailed the story.\u003cbr\u003eThe punk was Lee Harvey Oswald. The punk shot JFK and Tippit. Tippit worked Dallas PD. DPD was tight-knit. Moore probably knew him.\u003cbr\u003eOswald was pro-Red. Oswald loved Fidel. Oswald worked at a schoolbook plant. Oswald clipped the Prez on his lunch break.\u003cbr\u003eDPD had him. Their HQ teemed. Cops. Reporters. Camera hogs all.\u003cbr\u003eWayne flopped on a couch. Wayne shut his eyes. Wayne saw Wendell Durfee. Wayne opened his eyes. Wayne saw Lee Oswald.\u003cbr\u003eHe killed the sound. He pulled his wallet pix.\u003cbr\u003eThere's his mother-back in Peru, Indiana.\u003cbr\u003eShe left Wayne Senior. Late '47. Wayne Senior hit her. He broke bones sometimes.\u003cbr\u003eShe asked Wayne who he loved most. He said, \"My dad.\" She slapped him. She cried. She apologized.\u003cbr\u003eThe slap tore it. He went with Wayne Senior.\u003cbr\u003eHe called his mother-May '54-he called en route to the Army. She said, \"Don't fight in silly wars.\" She said, \"Don't hate like Wayne Senior.\"\u003cbr\u003eHe cut her off. Binding\/permanent\/4-ever.\u003cbr\u003eThere's his stepmom:\u003cbr\u003eWayne Senior ditched Wayne's mom. Wayne Senior wooed Janice. Wayne Senior brought Wayne along. Wayne was thirteen. Wayne was horny. Wayne dug on Janice.\u003cbr\u003eJanice Lukens Tedrow made rooms tilt. She played indolent wife. She played scratch golf. She played A-club tennis.\u003cbr\u003eWayne Senior feared her spark. She watched Wayne grow up. She torched reciprocal. She left her doors open. She invited looks. Wayne Senior knew it. Wayne Senior didn't care.\u003cbr\u003eThere's his wife:\u003cbr\u003eLynette Sproul Tedrow. Perched in his lap. Grad night at Brigham Young.\u003cbr\u003eHe's shell-shocked. He got his chem degree-BYU\/'59-summa cum laude. He craved action. He joined Vegas PD. Fuck summa cum laude.\u003cbr\u003eHe met Lynette in Little Rock. Fall '57. Central High desegregates. Rednecks. Colored kids. The Eighty-Second Airborne.\u003cbr\u003eSome white boys prowl. Some white boys snatch a colored boy's sandwich. Lynette hands him hers. The white boys attack. Corporal Wayne Tedrow Jr. counters.\u003cbr\u003eHe beats them down. He spears one fuck. The fuck screams, \"Mommy!\"\u003cbr\u003eLynette hits on Wayne. She's seventeen. He's twenty-three. He's got some college.\u003cbr\u003eThey fucked on a golf course. Sprinklers doused them. He told Janice all.\u003cbr\u003eShe said, \"You and Lynette peaked early. And you probably liked the fight as much as the sex.\"\u003cbr\u003eJanice knew him. Janice had the home-court advantage.\u003cbr\u003eWayne looked out a window. TV crews roamed. News vans double-parked. He walked through the suite. He turned off the TVs. Three Oswalds vanished.\u003cbr\u003eHe pulled his file. All carbons: LVPD\/Dallas County Sheriff's.\u003cbr\u003eDurfee, Wendell (NMI). Male Negro\/DOB 6-6-27\/Clark County, Nevada. 6¢4?\/155.\u003cbr\u003ePander beefs-3\/44 up. \"Well-known dice-game habitue.\" No busts outside Vegas and Dallas.\u003cbr\u003e\"Known to drive Cadillacs.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Known to wear flamboyant attire.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Known to have fathered 13 children out of wedlock.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Known to pander Negro women, white women, male homosexuals \u0026amp; Mexican transvestites.\"\u003cbr\u003eTwenty-two pimp busts. Fourteen convictions. Nine child-support liens. Five bail jumps.\u003cbr\u003eCop notes: Wendell's smart\/Wendell's dumb\/Wendell cut that cat at Binion's.\u003cbr\u003eThe cat was mobbed up. The cat shanked Wendell first. The council set policy. The LVPD enforced it.\u003cbr\u003e\"Known Dallas County Associates\":\u003cbr\u003eMarvin Duquesne Settle\/male Negro\/Texas State custody.\u003cbr\u003eFenton \"Duke\" Price\/male Negro\/Texas State custody.\u003cbr\u003eAlfonzo John Jefferson\/male Negro\/4219 Wilmington Road, Dallas 8, Tex. \"Gambling partner of Wendell Durfee.\"\u003cbr\u003eCounty Probation: (Stat. 92.04 Tex. St. Code) 9\/14\/60-9\/14\/65. Employed: Dr Pepper Bottling Plant. Note: \"Subject to make fine payments for term of probation, i.e.: every 3rd Friday (Dr Pepper payday) County Prob Off.\"\u003cbr\u003eDonnell George Lundy\/male Negro\/Texas State custody.\u003cbr\u003eManuel \"Bobo\" Herrara\/male Mexican\/Texas State custody.\u003cbr\u003eThe phone rang. Wayne grabbed it.\u003cbr\u003e\"Yeah?\"\u003cbr\u003e\"It's me, son. Your new best buddy.\"\u003cbr\u003eWayne grabbed his holster. \"Where are you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Right now I'm noplace worth bein'. But you meet me at eight o'clock.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Where?\"\u003cbr\u003e\"The Carousel Club. You be there, and we'll find us that burrhead.\"\u003cbr\u003eWayne hung up. Wayne got butterflies.\u003cbr\u003eWendell, I don't want to kill you.","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300932079845,"sku":"NP9780375727405","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375727405.jpg?v=1767738726","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-cold-six-thousand-isbn-9780375727405","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}