Justification For Killing (19 page)

“
Who is this man John? The
man who kills the President and the policeman?”

“
Clem,
Penelope this man is not the person who will bring danger to you
both - history in the 21st century will state the man who
assassinated President John F. Kennedy from the roof of the Texas
School Book Depository on Friday the 22nd of November goes by the
name of –
Lee Harvey
Oswald
.

“
Well heck John we don’t
know no Lee Harvey Oswall person.”

“
His name is Oswald, with
a ‘D’ not Oswall with an ‘L’ but it’s not him that will affect your
lives. Your trouble will come from the man who shoots Lee Harvey
Oswald. Remember I said someone will kill Oswald Sunday morning in
the basement of the Dallas Police Headquarters. You do, for a fact,
know the man doing the shooting...”

“
Who, who John? Who is
that man we know?”

“
That person is... is...
‘Sparky’... your uncle – Jack Ruby”

“
No John... you must be
jesting. Sparky ain’t never hurt nobody. He ain’t got the
nerve.”

“
You may be right about
nerves, but this coming Sunday, November the 24th, the world will
watch the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald by your Uncle Jack Ruby on
live, nationwide TV. He’ll have the nerve for this one escapade. I
am expected to be long gone. In fact, if all goes well Sunday I
will be back home watching the Tennessee Titans play the Seattle
Seahawks... right... don’t ask Clem... I don’t believe I have the
breath to explain NFL expansion teams to you. But just remember,
this coming Sunday, just four days from now on November 24th,
millions will see your Uncle Jack Ruby shoot and kill Lee Harvey
Oswald. By the way if you want to make yourself some easy money,
next weekend on Saturday November 30th Alabama will play Auburn in
the Iron Bowl at Legion Field in Birmingham. Auburn will win the
game 10 to 8.”

Clem said directing his
request to his sister, “Penelope write down the names of that there
ball game and the score on a slip of paper and put it in your
valuables box there on the mantle of the farplace.”

“
Clem, if you ever want to
bet on a sure thing put all your money on this game, but remember
stay glued to your television this Sunday and you can see your
Uncle Jack shoot Oswald for yourselves.

“
Now this is information
you have to know. If there is any doubt in your mind about your
Uncle, stay out of this Clem. But if you decide to help me just
remember what I said: if there ever were a secret you two must keep
this one must be on the top of your list. The government will turn
over every rock looking for anyone and everyone having anything to
do with the Kennedy assassination and Lee Harvey Oswald and his
killer your Uncle Sparky. You know it’s not every day a president
gets killed. The good thing is you will only have to avoid talking
to the police for about twelve hours after I leave. Never mind,
I’ll explain it to you later.”

“
John, I’m in - this is
the most excitin’ thang to ever happen to me. I wouldn’t miss it
for nothin’. What’s our game plan?”

“
First, Clem do you have
another vehicle besides your truck. I know your truck is great, but
it’s very loud without its muffler. That might cause us to draw too
much attention.”

“
Yeah, John, me and
Penelope have a Sunday-go-to-meetin’ car. It’s a grey Nash Rambler
station wagon parked out yonder in the shed next to the chicken
coop.”

“
Great Clem, perfect.
Okay, here’s my plan, and since I landed forty miles from my
rooftop I have to improvise this as I go along. To begin, I want to
drive to Dallas to your Uncle Jack Ruby’s place. I’d like to meet
him, and since he’s your Uncle I believe it will be easy to
accomplish. I understand the Carousel Club has some rooms Uncle
Jack uses for ‘special guests’ I bet you can talk him into letting
us have the use of one of them tomorrow night.

“
Around 12:15 p.m. Friday
morning I want you and I to drive your Nash Rambler from Uncle
Jack’s Club over to Main Street, turn right onto Houston and go
north past the Texas School Book Depository Building.

“
Oh, by the way, Clem do
you have an overcoat?”

“
Sure do John, got me a
purty tan one hangin’ right there in that there closet,” Clem said,
pointing to the hallway coat closet with his index
finger.

“
Good, if you will allow,
I want to borrow it, and I will get out of the car at the back of
the School Book building. You continue to drive north on Houston,
circle back around to Main Street and park around the corner from
Dealy Plaza. Make sure you park on the right side of Main heading
west. Once the parade passes you fall in a few cars behind the last
motorcycle escorts and follow them into Dealy Plaza. I will make my
way to the roof of the Book building using the rear fire escape and
conceal myself behind one of the large air-conditioning
units.

“
At exactly 12:30, I will
jump the shooter on the roof and distract him long enough so Lee
Harvey Oswald on the sixth floor, of the same building, can make
his rifle shot strike the President. I’ll have to play it by ear
from there. If I can get down the fire escape safely, I will meet
you in front of the Grassy Knoll on the west end of the School
Building. Just drive by slowly and I will jump into your car. We
will then head back out of Dallas and return to the Ponderosa. I
believe if all goes well there will be so much excitement in and
around Dealy Plaza they will never pay any attention to us. Does
this sound like a good plan?”

“
Well John - that’s a plan
all right. Is it good? I shore don’t know, I guess we’ll jest find
out tomarrer and the next day. What if the assasser man kills
you?”

“
Nah, I wouldn’t show up
in 2012 if that happened. Of course, I could be shot and injured -
it’s just a mystery I really don’t know what’s going to transpire,
but I know I must not fail. I am only going to get one chance -
I’ve got to make it good. One thing is for sure - it is possible I
can succeed, and it is also very possible my attempt will fail.
Even in the 21st century I only know of one outcome - the one of
failure and the President lives. This is the whole point - you and
I are trying to change the outcome, so the future will be a much
better place than the one I just left.”

“
John, I don’t understand
all about them other Universe thangs, but if you git kilt couldn’t
that Universe continue on and still be the road you showed me and
Penelope on that black picture tellephone?”

“
Dad-burn Clem, why did you have to throw reason into my
argument? Now I
am
really worried.”

The time was 10:38:30 p.m.
Wednesday, November 20, 1963.

Chapter
Fourteen

UNCLE JACK RUBY

The next morning, Thursday
the 21st of November, the sky was overcast and blustery. The two
men walked to the shed behind the Ponderosa and backed the Nash
Rambler station wagon out of its parking place.

The Captain took another
photo.

Pulling the car keys from
his pocket Clem asked, “John,” he said jingling the key ring, “you
want’ta drive?”

“
Love to Clem, but this
time shift has messed with my eyesight, remember I’m color blind.
Couldn’t tell which color was red or green on a stoplight. Sorry
but I guess you’ll have to do the honors Clem.”

They had plenty of time
today - their only mission was to get to Uncle Jack’s club in
downtown Dallas and they had all day to get there. Traveling down
the road from Clem’s place to the main highway John looked over at
Clem, “Nervous?”

“
Naw,” replied Clem
sheepishly. “Well, maybe a bit.”

The time was 9:35 a.m.
Thursday, November 21, 1963.

The Ponderosa was situated
a few miles northwest of Celina, Texas. Celina was forty-two miles
as the crow flies, north of Dallas. Down the muddy road, they
churned until they reached Texas Highway 289. Turning right, they
headed south. Driving south on Highway 289, they intersected with
US 380. Highway 380 would lead them to the Dallas Parkway,
according to Clem; the Parkway would carry them into downtown
Dallas. He was right. They arrived in Dallas less than two hours
after beginning their trip. One more turn and they would be on
Commerce Street.

The time was 11:15 a.m.,
Thursday, November 21, 1963.

“
Clem keep your eyes
peeled, the address of the Carousel Club is 1312 ½. That should be
on our right.”

“
I wished I’d remember
where Uncle Jack’s club is John, but it’s been a long time since I
come down here.”

“
That’s okay Clem, we’ll
find it in a minute or two.”

Less than a
five-minute drive down Commerce they found Jack Ruby’s place. The
Carousel was a dump with no on street parking, but a parking deck
entrance was next to the club, “Turn in here,” the Captain said,
pointing with his finger. Surveying the front of the Carousel as
they turned off the street into the garage Captain Scarburg’s only
thought was,
honky-tonk... a dive, and the
actual Club is on the second floor!
The
ground floor was occupied by a greasy spoon, hole-in-the-wall BBQ
cafe. A huge sign over their front glass announced for all to see:
“Burlesque, Girls, Girls”.

Ruby’s place must
undoubtedly be a real dump.

Thinking out loud Captain
Scarburg said, “Now I know why he’s got those extra ‘special guest’
rooms in his club!” It was time for another Iphone
photo.

Grabbing the front
door handle of the Carousel Captain Scarburg could feel the cold
handle on his fingers.
Cold, cold as the
ice water running through Jack Ruby’s veins,
he thought. Remembering back to the Visiondome’s alternate
future Anhur had shown him in his office, the Captain knew Jack
Ruby would murder Lee Harvey Oswald in cold blood in the basement
of the Dallas police station Sunday morning at 11:31 a.m. Before
releasing his grip on the doorknob, he glanced to his right and
noticed the round, blue, neon clock hanging in the BBQ’s window. A
chill ran up Grandpa’s spine - the clock’s time was the precise
minute when Ruby will murder Oswald Sunday
morning.

The time was 11:31
a.m.

Oswald had exactly
seventy-two hours to live! President Kennedy only had twenty-five
hours!

A long line of
wooden steps led from the front entrance up to the main lounge of
Mr. Ruby’s club. Ascending the stairs, the Captain thought,
it’s a
good thing we’re
not trying to sneak up on them.
Each step
they took was following by an array of squeaks and creaks emanating
from the century old worn smooth, wooden plank steps. Arriving at
the top, the two stepped into the dim light of the club’s lounge.
Music blared an obnoxiously loud, tearful, country tune from a
colorful lit, Wurlitzer over on the side of the room. Captain
Scarburg tried to get his eyes to focus in the dim light of the
room. If it had not been for the jukebox and the
‘Lone Star’
beer’s neon
sign above the bar mirror off to their right, the place would have
been totally absent of light. His eyes could not distinguish color
making the room appear darker than it actually was. He could see
two people sitting at the bar. Across the counter from those two
was the bartender. About six feet and no more than 150 pounds, two
days growth of scrubby beard and wearing a white, t-shirt with a
pack of cigarettes rolled up under the left sleeve. The bottom part
of, what appeared to be a Navy anchor tattoo was visible on the
upper part of his arm. The Captain could see this Navy veteran
preferred Camels. He was leaning on the bar reading, probably the
sports section of the Dallas morning newspaper. On the opposite end
of the bar, a blonde waitress sat flipping the pages of a fashion
magazine. Absorbing the look of the bartender the Captain
thought
, could have described him before I
opened the door to this place.

The two of them remained
at the entrance a moment or two longer allowing their eyes to
become accustomed to the darkness of the dreary interior of this
‘dive’ before entering.

The scent of the room
engulfed them.

It was the smell of ‘old.’
Grandpa couldn’t describe it, but he knew it when he smelled it.
Mixed in with the musty, old scent, was a main course smell of
cigar, cigarette, stale beer and cheap cologne. There were other
scents mingled in, but Grandpa thought it best not to dwell on
their identity. The interior did not disappoint - this place was
truly a dump.

Directly to their front
was a stage built about a foot above the floor, backed with a gold
glistening curtain and a small walkway protruding a few feet out
among the tables. Of course, the obligatory, stainless steel dance
pole was positioned in the middle.

“
John, over thar in that
corner, see them swangin’ doors? Uncle Jacks usually back
thar.”

Practically hidden in the
right rear corner was a pair of hinged swinging doors. They
reminded Captain Scarburg of the doors to an old western saloon.
Shiny brass push plates were attached to their fronts for the use
of the waitresses when entering. Walking to the doors the Captain
was able to see over the tops into the room. Behind those swinging
doors was a small room with one large round table surrounded by,
what Clem remembered as, red leather backed chairs. The Captain
could easily see the booth, table and chairs, and knew those were
cheap chrome and leatherette chairs. The only leather this place
had ever seen was a trouser belt holding up some cowboy’s Levis or
the boots he walked around in. The chairs were not important;
however, the men occupying those chairs had the look of importance;
actually ‘importance’ may not be the right word, ‘villainous’ would
be more like it.