Justification For Killing

by Larry Edward Hunt

  The two crews parted and headed their own separate ways.

  Arriving at the parking garage next to Ruby’s club Lonnie Joe and Rocky removed their bugging devices from their equipment bag and slipped the small devices into their jacket pockets. Up the long staircase, both of them trudged until they, as Captain Scarburg had done earlier, stood gazing into the semidarkness of a Texas ‘honky-tonk’. The Wurlitzer over in the corner wailed out Ernest Tubb’s ‘I’m Walkin’ the Floor Over You’. The room, as usual, was dark. The blue glow from the neon Lone Star beer sign over the bar provided enough light to see, but the two could tell there was not many customers sitting either at the bar or the tables. The hour of the day might have had something do with lack of patrons - it was 10:38 a.m.

  Lonnie Joe and Rocky slipped quickly across the dance floor and saddled up to a couple of stools at the bar. The barkeep sporting a white t-shirt with both sleeves rolled up, a cigarette stuck over one ear, and a toothpick protruded from the side of his mouth slowly polished a shot glass with a towel. Without looking up, he matter-of-factly asked, “What’ll be your pleasure gents?”

  “How ‘bout a couple of burgers and a couple of Bud Lites, Leroy”, Lonnie Joe ordered as he searched for the back room.

  “What? You tryin’ to be funny mister? Bud Lights? Ain’t never heard of it. We got Schlitz, Lone Star and Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap, that’s all we got. Take it or leave it.”

  “Yeah... right,” forgetting, for the moment, they were in 1963 and Budweiser Lites would not be introduced until 1982 responded, “Sorry, give us the Schlitz.”

  “How’d you know my name?”

  “Oh, we’ve been in a couple of times, I guess you didn’t notice us,” said Rocky.

  “Must not’ve,” said Leroy, “but I never forget a face.” As he continued polishing the shot glass he was holding he looked over its top and sized up Lonnie Joe and Leroy, “That’s funny, I don’t seem to remember you two.”

  Trying to change the direction in which the conversation was heading Rocky replied, “Well, it was night and not much light in here, I can see why. Say, Leroy, me and my business partner need to talk over some private business,” Rocky said giving Leroy a wink, and at the same time sliding him a five spot across the bar, “care if we use the back room to eat?”

  “Nah, that’s okay,” he said, quickly slipping the Abe Lincoln into his pocket, “the boss won’t be here for another hour or so, and there ain’t nobody back there now no how.”

  Once the waitress had delivered the burgers and drinks to the back room they waited for her to exit through the swinging doors. Lonnie Joe hurriedly unscrewed the light bulb over the table. Rocky already had the replacement bulb in his hand. Within seconds, Rocky had it screwed in and working. Now for the picture hanger, “I’ll keep Leroy busy LJ,” said Rocky, “you replace the hanger with the miniature camera.”

  Pushing through the swinging doors, Rocky walked up to the bar, “Leroy, you got any hot Tabasco sauce... I like my burgers hot enough to scorch my guzzle.”

  Leroy removed a bottle of the Louisiana Hot Tabasco Sauce from the other end of the bar and slid it down the slick bar top. “Thanks,” Rocky said, reaching out and grabbing the bottle as it slid by, “this’ll hit the spot.” With sauce bottle in hand, he returned to the back room. Passing the swinging doors, he could see LJ was back sitting at the table eating his burger. “Everything okay?” Rocky asked.

  “Fine, sit down and eat your hamburger. They’re not bad. We are ‘locked and loaded’, ready for the show.”

  “Great... you say the ‘burgers are good? You know, I am hungry, so I don’t mind if I do.” Taking a bite from his burger Rocky remarked, “Hmmm, never ate a fifty year old hamburger.”

  1026 NORTH BECKLEY AVENUE

  Turning south on Houston Street, Bud and Lou, traveled the two miles to North Beckley Avenue in a matter of minutes. “Bud, I see the sign for North Beckley, turn left right up here.” Swinging from Houston onto their designated street, “The boarding house should be right up here on our left. The address is 1026. I see it Bud, it’s right there... the white frame house.”

  Bud indicated he saw the house, drove a few hundred feet past it down the street, made a U-turn and parked at the curb in front of the rooming house.

  Walking up the sidewalk towards the dwelling, they could see Lee Harvey Oswald’s rooming house was an old white, wood sided, 1940’s style house with a large front porch. Ascending the concrete steps, and across the porch, Lou clenched his fist, opened the screen door, and rapped his knuckles on the front door.

  There was no answer. “Try again,” said Bud.

  After the second knock, the door opened slightly. A large, grey-haired woman wearing a white apron asked, “Yes, may I help you?”

  Bud, talking through the screen door inquired whether she might have a couple of rooms for rent. He explained that his name was Bud Scarburg, and Lou was his brother. The woman said she was the housekeeper, Mrs. Earlene Rodgers, but she would need to call the owner to see if any rooms were available.

  On her return, the brothers were told only one room was for rent but Mrs. Johnson the owner, said they could rent it since they were brothers; however, she would have to charge them full price for one, and half price for the other.

  “How much would the price be?”

  “Now let’s see... it’s twelve dollars per week for one of you and then half for the other that would be four dollars - now eight plus four that would be —”

  “Twelve dollars,” replied Lou without waiting for her to answer.

  “That is correct. Twelve dollars and you get refrigerator and living room privileges. But there’ll be no drinking tolerated. Mrs. Johnson will toss your belongings on the porch if she thinks you have been drinking in her house.”

  The brothers nodded their heads in agreement, and Mrs. Rodgers opened the door.

  As the three walked down the hallway to their room, Bud discretely fishing for information on Lee Harvey Oswald asked, “What about your other roomers? Me and my brother like peace and quiet. We don’t like rowdy neighbors. You don’t have nobody that gets disorderly do you?”

  Mrs. Rodgers shook her head adamantly, “No siree, Mrs. Johnson don’t allow nothing like that.” She further explained only one other boarder was on this floor, and his room was down the hall, but she assured them that he was an exceptionally quiet person. Mrs. Rodgers went on to tell them the other roomer worked at the School Book building downtown. “Seems like a nice fellow, keeps to hisself.”

  “What’s his name...? Just in case we happen to run into him.”

  “You know, I really don’t know, he’s only been here about a month. He checked in the middle of last month and signed in as “O. H. Lee.” Now I don’t know what the “O” or “H” stands for like I said he keeps to hisself. I just call him Mr. Lee.”

  After opening the door and showing them their room, Mrs. Rodgers returned to her housekeeping duties. Lou surveyed the bleak surroundings as Bud walked over and sat down on the iron framed, twin bed. The mattress was so thin you could read a newspaper through it. The only furnishings in the room were the nightstand beside the bed, which supported a single, sixty-watt shade lamp, and a four-drawer dresser positioned against the far wall. The room, Bud guessed, was about twelve feet wide by sixteen feet long. “Well there is one good thing Lou —”

  Before he could finish Lou retorted as he surveyed the bleak room, “There’s something good? Please tell, let me in on it Bud.”

  “The good thing is we’re only going to be here one night, but regardless, we still have to have a plan. Here’s how I see it Lou. You go back down to the living room and engage Mrs. Rodgers in conversation while I slip into Mr. “O. H. Lee’s” room and check it out. I’m sure Mrs. Rodgers does not keep the rooms locked. Huh, O. H. Lee? Now O. H. Lee has to be Lee Harvey Oswald written backwards. I always thought, he wasn’t too bright, but now I know he wasn’t too innovative either. O. H. Lee, give me a break.” />
  “What will I talk about Bud? I don’t know anything to talk to a person about in 1963. Heck, I wasn’t even born in 1963.”

  “I don’t know Lou,” thinking for a second Bud answered, “I know...talk about the weather... sports... no, forget sports... I know talk about the President coming tomorrow. Surely she knows about his visit... throw in that we work for the Dallas Street Department, and our jobs will be to block off the parade route. That will get her attention. Just keep her occupied while I search his room.”

  Down the hall, Lou ventured, looking for Mrs. Rodgers. Bud following closely behind hesitated at the door of Mr. O. H. Lee’s room. Turning the corner from the hall into the living room Lou found Mrs. Rodgers dusting a bookshelf, and began engaging her with his banter about the President coming to town. Bud could hear the faint conversation between the two of them. He could not understand what they were saying, but, needless to say, he only wanted Lou to keep her busy. The topic of the conversation was not important.

  Standing motionless in the hall for a moment, Bud stole a glance to his left and then to his right toward the living room. He had to make sure Mrs. Rodgers wasn’t looking his way. I sure hope we have this figured right, he thought, when I crack open this door there could be someone named Oscar Henry Lee lying right smack in the middle of the bed with a .45 pistol in his hand. Texans seem to be proud of their firearms and are prone to use them, especially on someone breaking into their room!!”

  He grasped the brass doorknob and turned it slightly, he was right, the door was not locked. He pushed it open just a couple of inches to see if anyone inside objected. No one did. He opened the door wide enough to slip inside. The room was furnished almost exactly as his room with the exception this room was smaller. The same type twin, iron bed frame, nightstand, lamp and dresser occupied Mr. O. H. Lee’s room. The dresser, Lou thought, pulling out one drawer then the next... Darn, nothing but clothes... what about under the mattress? Darn again... there’s nothing here. Wait, he heard something – voices! Bud and Mrs. Rodger’s conversation were getting closer! They are coming down the hall. Quickly he moved to the door and pressed his ear against the wood in order to hear a little better. Yes, the voices were moving closer toward the door he was cowering behind... what was he going to do? What if Mrs. Rogers opens the door to Mr. Lee’s room? A plan! A plan, he thought. I’m caught – I only had a Plan A, and this is it. Bud and Mrs. Rodgers were approaching, she would turn the handle any second now... he watched his side of the doorknob intently for any hint of movement. Sweat was beginning to form on his brow. What!! What was he hearing – the sounds of the footsteps are... are... decreasing, they are walking by. She is not coming into the room. Lou had asked about the refrigerator, and Mrs. Rodgers was showing him the kitchen. Bud silently opened Mr. “O. H. Lee’s” door and quickly slipped, unnoticed back down the hallway to his own room.

  Returning from his impromptu talk with Mrs. Rodgers, and the visit to the kitchen, Bud opened the door to his and Lou’s room, “Lou, you should have talked with her. All I did was stutter and stammer. I bet she thought I was a complete idiot. I couldn’t even keep her busy long enough for you to search the room.”

  “Well,” Lou said grinning, “she got the idiot part right, but forget about it. I did have time to search Oswald’s room. Bud there was no gun. The room is nothing but a matchbox; there is nowhere to hide anything. Two mosquitoes would bump into each other in there. He had a few clothes in the dresser and an extra pair of shoes under the bed, that was it - nothing else.”

  “Wait a minute Bud, everything we have read said Oswald returned to his rooming house after shooting President Kennedy to get his jacket and his pistol. Isn’t this right?”

  “That is half right – he may have gotten his jacket, but he never got a gun. There is not a gun in his room.”

  “Okay, Bud what is our plan for tomorrow?”

  “I believe it has been well established Lee Harvey Oswald fired from the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository. Grandpa proved he heard the shot. We need to go into Dallas in the morning, park off Dealy Plaza and stand close to the entrance of the School Book building and follow Oswald when he comes out. We especially want to see what he does once he gets back here to his room in this rooming house.”

  “How can we do it Bud?”

  “We know from all accounts Oswald left the School Book building walking. After a couple of blocks, he got on a bus. It went a few blocks and got stuck in the Presidential parade traffic. Oswald got off the bus, and hailed a taxi that let him off a block or two from this rooming house. With all that’s going on we should be quite able to return to our car, drive the couple of miles or so and be here before Lee Harvey Oswald gets back. Then we can follow him and see if he meets anyone.”

  “Good idea Lou, but let me throw this at you. What if we don’t come back here to the rooming house, but goes instead to the vicinity of 10th Street and Patton Avenue. That is where Oswald was reported to have killed J. D. Tippit, the Dallas police officer. It is only about three quarters of a mile from here.”

  “Good Bud, a fine idea, a lot better than mine. We will pick a spot around 10th and Patton and watch what happens. We did bring our camera with the telephoto lens didn’t we?”

  “You betcha, Lou, I’ll get us some fine photos. You just get us close to the action.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “CAPTAIN IT IS YOU, ISN’T IT?”

  Getting up from the kitchen table Captain Scarburg looked at Clem and Penelope, “I know all I have just told you is strange. Well strange may not be strong enough a word. What about crazy, out of my mind, farfetched or science fiction, are any of these better? Anyway, trust me, what I have told you is ‘cross my heart and hope to die’ the truth.

  “Before I leave I want to thank both of you for the hospitality you have shown to me, not only on this trip, but on my first jump from 2012 to your 1963 time period too. I would especially like to tell you how much I appreciate you taking Forrest and Olive Marie into your home during this blizzard. I believe God has a special place reserved in Heaven for people such as you two. You are certainly the salt of this Earth.”

  “Captain, please don’t go back out into that there freezin’ weather. Stay the night with us, you can leave in the mornin’.”

  “Thanks Clem, but I don’t have time to wait. I have to be going regardless of the weather.”

  Walking past the closet door on his way to the front door Clem said, “Oh, sorry Captain, I plum neer forgot. Them younguns of you’rn took a couple of pieces of mine and Penelope’s clothes.”

  “What? Clothing? What are talking about Clem?”

  “I didn’t ‘member ‘till I seed this closet – them grandkids of you’rn took my black, Reverend Pickett’s Cadilack drivin’ suit and Penelope’s waitressin’ outfit too. What yer reckon they wanted them fer, Captain?”

  “I have a fairly good idea – Clem, Penelope I hope I get a chance to stop by before I leave and say goodbye, but you will have to forgive me now, I have a party to go too. Don’t worry about your clothes when I find the kids I’ll make sure they return your things.”

  The snow and blowing wind from the night before had begun to abate somewhat, but the temperature had to be close to zero. Penelope had supplied him with an extra sweater and coat belonging to Clem, a woolen scarf and an additional pair of pants. Actually, he thought, it’s cold, but I can make it... I have to... for Forrest and Olive Marie’s sake. By-ned, I’m sure glad I’ve got this Army Jeep. I don’t believe I could get through this snow without it.”

  The freezing trip from the Ponderosa to the outskirts of Dallas took the better part of four and one half hours. By the time, he reached the north side of Dallas and turned off Highway 279 it would be just a mile or so to 45 Ash Hill Lane. Ash Hill Lane was only thirty miles from Celina, Texas, usually a drive of less than an hour, but it was nearing midnight when Captain Scarburg pulled up and stopped at the entrance to Murdock’s long driveway leadi
ng to the large mansion.

  Fortunately, the snow had tapered off considerably as he neared Dallas. The snow in the driveway was only a couple of inches deep. The Captain could tell by the tracks it had been a couple of hours since any vehicles had traveled the roadway. The tire prints from previous cars were almost snow filled, and none appeared to have been made recently.

  Only three options were available: If Forrest and Olive Marie attended the party they were either still inside the house, or they had been found out, and possibly moved somewhere else, but they could have gotten the information they came for and left on their own. He could not afford to guess – he had to scope out the house first. If they were not there, he would have to draft his next move.

  It was after midnight, it was time to go. Leaving the Jeep parked across from the entrance to the drive he decided the only method to approach the house unnoticed must be by foot. The driveway was a few hundred yards long, but his feet were almost numb anyway so more snow and ice were not going to hurt much more. The giant two hundred year old live oak trees formed an almost perfect umbrella over the middle of the driveway, sheltering the drive from one side to the other. As the Captain viewed the driveway from the street end, the arched canopy of tree branches gave him the appearance of gazing into a snow-covered tunnel. Taking his time he began to slowly walk across the snow, trying to be as quiet as possible, but every step created a crunching noise seemingly as loud as a herd of horses running toward the house; however, his nerves had amplified the noise considerably above their actual decibel reading. The actual noise his feet made against the snow could not be heard more than a few feet away, hopefully, no one was aware he was coming.

  His utmost concern as he walked through the snow: a dog. He wondered if the Murdock’s had a watchdog. A dog would start barking at the smell of his mere presence, and worst still it might be a Doberman Pincher or Rottweiler with teeth like a crocodile. His mind raced, forget the dogs, they probably have a watchman and all kinds of security surveillance devices such as infrared detectors and hidden cameras. Then it hit him, nah, this is 1963, things such as surveillance devices this sophisticated were not in use back then, but a watchman – he could be a real possibility.