Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy

by L. D. C. Fitzgerald

  “I just heard that cocktail waitress quoting Lenin.” Viktor stole a glance at the bar. “She mouthed off at something Oswald was pontificating about.”

  “So what?” Dmitriy interrupted. “No one listens to that dope. Besides, we’re parched over here.”

  Viktor ignored him and addressed Kon. “Forgive me, comrade sir, but why would an ordinary barmaid be familiar with the words of our historic politician?”

  Kon cocked his head to the side. “Which one?”

  “The new girl. You know, what’s her name, with the dark hair and sexy legs. The dame you keep . . .” Viktor hesitated as his superior glared. “What do you think? Could she be an American spy?”

  “Don’t be absurd, Vik,” Dmitriy again weighed in. “You watch too many movies.”

  Kon observed the waitress as she served a couple of patrons near the runways. “I think it’s time I learn more about Miss Sera and her friends.”

  11:40 PM – CST

  Less than an hour later, Kon rolled his black 1959 DeSoto to a stop on South Denver Street on the block between East Ninth and East Tenth. He pulled out his technologically advanced binoculars and examined a two-story blue and white house. The pair of men from the burlesque—the swaggering stud and the dashing dandy—had driven Sera to this residence in a turquoise Chevy Impala.

  Kon settled in for a tedious night of surveillance.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1963

  10:00 AM – CST

  Bick cruised the pink and black Ford along West Fifth Street in Irving, Texas. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing, barging in on a stranger on a Saturday morning?”

  “We have to talk to her.” Dee kept her nose pressed against the passenger window while she scanned for number 2515. “Besides”—she turned to the trio sitting in the back—“we successfully recruited J.D., didn’t we? He didn’t know us either.”

  In the rearview mirror, Bick saw Officer Tippit lean his forehead into his palm, while Iggy and Jay looked on, alarmed. Evidently, the policeman needed more coaxing.

  “Stop the car! We’re here.” Dee beamed as Bick squealed the brakes. “Remember, we’re visiting a housewife who’s separated from her husband. She’s a single mom with a couple of toddlers. Lynn is four and Christopher is two. Be diplomatic and don’t frighten her.”

  “Yes, yes, we’ve gone over all that.” Jay sighed.

  Dee hopped out and strode across the lawn past a sprawling live oak that dwarfed the tiny white ranch house behind it. “Come on!” She continued to the front door, which was sandwiched between a protruding garage on the left and a picture window checker-boarded with square panes on the right.

  Iggy hurried to catch up. “Dee, you seem a bit overexcited. Why don’t you let J.D. and me do the talking?” They couldn’t afford to blow this encounter like they almost had with J.D.

  Dee scowled as she rang the bell.

  An attractive thirty-year-old woman with a dark, wavy pageboy cut opened the door. She observed the uniformed lawman with an inquisitive expression. “Yes?”

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Officer J.D. Tippit from the Dallas Police Department. Are you Mrs. Ruth Hyde Paine?”

  “Yes, I’m Mrs. Paine. How can I help you, Officer Tippit?”

  “Well, ma’am”—he removed his cap and held it in both hands—“we’re awfully sorry to trouble you, but we have information about a possible crime. We would like to request your assistance.”

  “Certainly. Won’t you please come in? I’ll have to ask you to keep your voices down. The children are taking a nap.”

  As they entered the cozy living room, J.D. introduced the team as the informants who had brought the matter to his attention.

  Mrs. Paine invited her guests to make themselves comfortable while she went to the kitchen to brew coffee.

  “I’m still not happy about being here,” J.D. whispered. “We have no concrete evidence she’s in any danger. I feel like a fraud manipulating my position of authority.”

  Convincing Mrs. Paine was the linchpin in Dee’s plan. She refused to allow it to fall through. “She is in danger. What if they kill her? You don’t want her death on your conscience, do you?”

  J.D. cast his eyes downward.

  They heard bubbling and hissing from the percolator as the smell of fresh coffee permeated the air.

  Their hostess returned and served steaming mugs. She sat down and regarded the group with unfettered curiosity. “Now, what is it you came to see me about, Officer Tippit?”

  “Please, call me J.D.” He pulled at his chin nervously. “This isn’t an official police investigation yet, so I’ll let Iggy take the lead.”

  “We have a few questions.” Iggy gazed around the room, trying to decide where to begin. The décor made her feel like she was trespassing on the set of a sixties sitcom—perhaps Rob and Laura Petrie’s New Rochelle sitting room from the Dick Van Dyke show. Hung on the opposite wall was a ticking clock with a small face and large wooden spikes radiating out from its center. A late-fifties matching couch and love seat complemented the wood-paneled TV console. Old-fashioned rabbit-ear antennas testified to the only method of obtaining a broadcast of the popular comedy. She envisioned Mr. Van Dyke as Rob Petrie tripping over Mrs. Paine’s ottoman just as he did during the opening theme song. Iggy chided herself to marshal her thoughts. “First of all, do you speak Russian?”

  “Fluently.” Of all the possible queries, Mrs. Paine never imagined one about her proficiency in a foreign tongue.

  “Forgive me, ma’am, but isn’t that a bit unusual in this day and age? With the Cold War in progress?” Bick shifted in the overstuffed armchair. How extraordinary to be in the company of a person who had died half a century ago, from his perspective.

  “That’s exactly why it’s so important. How can we improve East-West relations unless we speak the same language? I studied Russian for several years. I also participate in the Young Friends’ Soviet pen-pal program at the Meeting House.”

  “Friends’ Meeting House?” Jay scooted forward with interest, perching on the edge of the ottoman.

  “The general public seems to want to call us Quakers.”

  “Nixon was a Quaker, wasn’t he?” Jay blurted out.

  “He still is, young man,” Mrs. Paine sharply corrected. “I also taught Russian at Saint Mark’s school last summer, but I only had one pupil. An aspiring actor. Now, I have a question for you. What do my language skills have to do with anything?”

  Iggy admired this spirited activist who was not afraid to speak her mind. “We have reason to believe there is a Soviet connection to an impending homicide.” She was careful not to mention the KGB.

  Mrs. Paine gasped. “Oh my goodness. Who? Is it someone I know?”

  Iggy took in the woman’s perfectly coiffed hair, slim pencil skirt, button-down sweater, and strand of pearls—outdated by post-millennium standards, but the height of fashion in 1963. How could she inform a well-mannered, yet feisty mother of two that her life was at stake? “We’ll get to that. Tell me, how often do you go to downtown Dallas?”

  Mrs. Paine considered her warily. “Hardly ever. Living in the suburbs, I don’t have the need.”

  “Do you have plans to visit the city within the next week?”

  “No, of course not.” She shook her head emphatically.

  The time travelers looked at each other in astonishment. Could it be true? Or was she lying?

  “Are you sure?” J.D. addressed Mrs. Paine and then turned to Dee in consternation, doubts resurfacing.

  “Absolutely certain.” Their interviewee set down her mug and folded her arms. “I’ve been forthright with you, and I would appreciate it if you would return the favor. What’s all this nonsense about downtown Dallas? And Russian? Who do you think is going to be murdered?”

  Dee had sat on her hands until now in an effort to keep from railroading the conversation. Enough was enough. She took a deep breath, but paused when Iggy ga
ve a slight shake of her head. Screw it. Dee exhaled. “You.”

  Iggy, Jay, Bick, and J.D. remained mute with shock, while Mrs. Paine’s laughter rang out. “Don’t be ridiculous. What on earth makes you think someone would want to kill me? I don’t have any enemies.”

  Dee forged ahead, ignoring the victim’s cavalier attitude. “We have all the facts; we know what will happen. You’re going to be kidnapped in Dallas and killed by a riverbed. That’s where we come in. We can help you and prevent it from happening.”

  “Help me?” Mrs. Paine’s face flushed. “How dare you make up such a depraved lie with my children sleeping in the next room? Do you think you’re being funny? Is this some sort of twisted joke to you?”

  “Not at all, ma’am, we’re dead serious.” Bick flinched at his poor choice of words. “If you’ll let us explain . . .”

  “I’ve heard enough. This interview is over.”

  “No, wait! We have a logical . . . I mean a rational . . . well we have a reason, although it may be hard to fathom. What I mean is, we, uh, we’re . . .” Jay’s voice trailed off “. . . from the future.”

  Mrs. Paine stood. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  10:25 AM – CST

  Kon knelt on the second-story porch of 429 East Tenth Street and jimmied the window open. He climbed in to begin his methodical search of the premises.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1963

  10:30 AM – CST

  As Mrs. Paine was trying to hustle them out of the house, J.D. persuaded her to give them another chance. Once again seated in her living room, he continued his heartfelt plea and assured her that he didn’t purport to be from the future. He categorically agreed with her conclusion that the time-travel story was a hoax. However, he admitted the eccentric crew knew facts about him no one else could. The officer opened her mind to the possibility that they might have an invaluable source of knowledge. If her safety were in jeopardy, wouldn’t it behoove her to listen? At least for the sake of her children.

  Iggy’s thoughts wandered while J.D. persisted. She surveyed the room and spied an overflowing toy chest in the corner. Funny she hadn’t noticed it previously. Despair rippled through her as she remembered her own son Andreas at a younger age. When she had departed 2013, he was fourteen years old and already absorbing the propaganda spewed forth by the military academy the government forced him to attend. Why should he be penalized because of her actions? What she wouldn’t give to turn back the clock and nurture him through his formative years. With a start, Iggy realized nobody was speaking in the present. Apparently, Mrs. Paine had reluctantly acquiesced to hear their fantastic tale.

  Iggy willed herself out of her reverie. “Well, as Dee so tactfully pointed out, in our timeline someone succeeds in murdering you. We’re here to stop that from happening.”

  Mrs. Paine rolled her eyes at the mention of timeline. “Who? Why?”

  Iggy continued, “I understand you have a boarder living at home, another young mother, but her husband resides elsewhere.”

  Mrs. Paine nodded as she sat stiffly on the couch.

  “J.D.”—Iggy motioned toward him—“initially arrested your boarder’s husband for the crime. Since he rents a room in the Oak Cliff patrol district, it was under their jurisdiction.”

  “That’s absurd.” Mrs. Paine raised her palms. “He may be a simpleton, but he would have no reason to harm me.”

  “The police thought he had motive. But Dee is better equipped to explain.”

  Dee rested her forearms on her knees. “Here’s the scoop. During a protracted interrogation, the accused barely spoke. However, questioning of his acquaintances revealed that he blamed you for his separation from his wife. He complained you were driving a wedge between them.”

  Bewildered, Mrs. Paine protested, “That’s not at all true.”

  “It’s what the detectives uncovered. As a result, the prime suspect became Lee Harvey Oswald.” Dee shrugged. “Oswald was eventually exonerated because the bullet in evidence came from the same gun used later in another heinous shooting. The investigation of the subsequent homicide led to the startling discovery that you overheard something in Russian at a club in Dallas. It was presumed that what you heard included incriminating information about the impending murder. That was the impetus for the assassins to”—Dee lowered her voice—“silence you.”

  “I don’t think so.” Mrs. Paine felt relieved. “There is no explanation for why I would visit a club in Dallas. Unless you are implying it was a Soviet Friends’ Meeting House?”

  The team exchanged awkward glances.

  “No.” Bick sipped at his empty coffee cup and examined the residue in the bottom. “No one knows why you were at this particular establishment.”

  “Then what was it?” As the seconds ticked by, Mrs. Paine glared at each of them in turn. “It’s a simple question. What kind of a club was it exactly?”

  “Well, um, you see, that’s really a delicate issue, as it were. It’s called the Carousel. And it’s a, uh, venue with a variety of performers.” Jay bowed his head and shielded his eyes with one hand. “I suppose the proper term for it would be . . . a burlesque.”

  Shaking with mortification and rage, Mrs. Paine steadied herself off the couch. “Get out of my home.” She leveled her entire arm toward the door. “This instant.”

  10:40 AM – CST

  Kon felt his fingers close around a cold metal object hidden inside the pocket of a suitcase. He pulled out a shiny high-tech weapon and cradled it. What were they doing with this? Deep in thought, he snapped back to reality when he heard the sounds of car doors slamming on the side of the house. Keeping a tight grip on the gun, he gingerly replaced the luggage in the closet. He heard Sera and her two cohorts through the open window, complaining about how they were relegated to buying groceries while the others furthered the mission. They continued with whining about being deemed the least diplomatic of the group. How unprofessional.

  Kon secured the weapon in the belt of his jeans and slipped out the back door.

  3:00 PM – CST

  Dee sat in their first-floor living room, watching the afternoon sunlight slant through the side windows, illuminating the dust motes swirling onto the dingy furniture. Surrounded by the team and her grandfather, she had lost the thread of the debate. Their colossal failure with Mrs. Paine hadn’t rattled her; after all, time travel was a farfetched tale to swallow. No, it was J.D.’s skepticism that hurt. She needed him to trust her and believe in her as he would in the future. Without the familial bond, she felt adrift like an orphan, even though her granddad sat five feet away. Maybe he needed time to get to know her. Dee sighed and halfheartedly turned her attention back to the conversation.

  “Look, we’re through squabbling, ‘kay? I volunteered.” Quin jabbed his thumb at his chest. “I’m taking the lady’s place at the Carousel, and that’s the end of it. All you gotta do is keep her out.”

  “Stopping Mrs. Paine is the easy part. Once she sees us, well, she has to accept our prophecy, right?” Jay leaned forward on his elbows and pressed two fingers into each temple. “But you’re talking about a suicide mission, Quin. If you play Mrs. Paine’s part, the Soviets will kill you instead of her.”

  “You don’t get it, do you, boy.” Sam blindsided the others with his harsh tone. “We have no other choice. Someone needs to replace Paine, and Quin is our man. He will get close to the commies and overhear their Russian conversation. As soon as Quin is kidnapped by the KGB, Bick and I will rescue him and Tippit will arrest the perpetrators. Done.”

  J.D. furrowed his brow. “If Mrs. Paine shows up, and if there are homicidal Soviets lying in ambush, then I have another problem. I can’t allow you civilians to put yourselves in harm’s way.”

  “Civilians? Hogwash.” Bick was scandalized by the thought of being called an amateur. “I’m former Navy and Secret Service. Quin and Sam were in the Air Force. We were in greater peril when we fought the Ru
skies in the war.”

  “No offense.” J.D. held up one hand in deference to their service in an alleged upcoming war.

  “This is insane.” Sera jumped up from her seat and began pacing, forgetting she’d already changed into her revealing cocktail waitress outfit. “What if they kill Quin before we have a chance to react?”

  “Listen, babe, it’s my ass on the line. I can take care of myself.” Quin took in a glimpse of her behind. “No need to twist your panties in a knot.”

  “Fine.” Sera whirled around to face Quin. “Have it your way. This time we won’t save your worthless hide like I did back in California. When they shoot you, instead of getting them on kidnapping, J.D. will arrest them for murder.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1963

  8:00 AM – CST

  As soon as she woke up, Dee hopped out of bed in her pajamas and bounded downstairs to the front porch. Yes! The weighty Sunday edition of the Dallas Morning News had arrived. In addition to keeping tabs on Kennedy, she wanted to monitor the consistency of the timeline versus their own history.

  Dee joined the crew in the kitchen, where Bick’s signature western omelets were sizzling on the stove. The pungent aroma of onions and peppers quelled the hunger in her oversensitive stomach as she spread the newspaper on the cheap Formica table. JFK’s upcoming visit dominated the headlines. “Get this. The president of the Chamber of Commerce claims Dallas has a reputation for being the friendliest town in America. He says the citizens will, quote, ‘greet the president of the United States with the warmth and pride that keep the Dallas spirit famous the world over,’ end quote.”

  “Friendliest?” Cranky from a grueling shift at the Carousel last night, Sera snatched the front page. “Who does he think he’s kidding? Does he expect the bad guys to care?”

  “Standard PR. He’s aiming for a positive spin.” Dee nudged the paper back and resumed skimming. “‘The Dallas City Council is imploring citizens not to demonstrate or create disturbances. In fact, Mayor Earle Cabell is calling on the city to redeem itself during Kennedy’s visit. He asserts’”—she interjected an editorial comment—“wow, I can’t even believe this line: ‘Dallas has shed its reputation of the 1920’s as the Southwest Hate Capital of Dixie.’”