Justification For Killing

by Larry Edward Hunt

  Approaching the overpass Captain Scarburg stole one last backward look at the clock on top the Texas School Book Depository, and one final photo.

  The time was 12:34.

  Four minutes ago the Captain had been fighting with the assassin on top of that very building - four minutes! He could not fathom it in his mind - it seemed more like four days. Surely, he thought, it must have been much, much longer! Four minutes! This cannot be right??

  For the next thirty minutes or so Clem drove northward back toward Celina. Neither man spoke. The Captain was the first, “Clem, now that my heart has resumed beating again I have a couple of questions.”

  “Yeah, John I know’d you do and I’m sure sorrie.”

  “Sorry? Sorry? Clem what on earth do you have to be sorry about. Everything worked out just as we planned.”

  “No, it were my fault that you had to spent the hole gall-durn night in the jailhouse. You see John you gimme your watch to go sell. I know’d it were gold and even with that broke face it sure was worth a lot of money, anyways, I ain’t got no permit, so I couldn’t sell it here in Dallas.”

  “Wait... hold on Clem. What permit do you need to sell a watch in a pawnshop?”

  “You know John. One of them picture cards that you use to drive with.”

  “Drivers license? A drivers license, is that the ‘permit’ you’re talking about Clem?”

  “Yeah, drivers license, that’s the permit I don’t got. Never had one John, I sure am sorrie.”

  “Okay Clem now backup, what did you do since you did not have a drivers license?”

  “I drove back to Celina and seen Penelope and told her what had happened. She give me the bail money from some money we had saved up.” Reaching into his pocket, he handed Captain Scarburg back his broken Rolex. “That’s what done took me so long John. Course once I got home I had to feed the livestock and such and by then it was gettin’ dark. John, I barely could find my way home in the daylight. There shore warnt no way I could of got back to your jailhouse in the dark. I sure am sorrie John.”

  “By-ned Clem - I believe I have heard it all now.”

  “So your ill at me, huh John?”

  “Ill? Ill? Oh... mad... heck no Clem I believe that’s about as much as any person has even done for me. With your effort, Clem you changed the future - if I had the power I would give you a medal.”

  “Shucks John, yer gonna make my eyes water up. Well I’m glad we had our talk John, cause my turning off road is comin’ up and I wanted to clear the air afore you left.”

  “Clem, it is clear - I don’t believe I have ever had a more loyal friend than you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  RETURN TO THE PONDEROSA

  Turning once again into the driveway of the Ponderosa Captain Scarburg requested Clem stop the car for a moment. When the car had stopped the Captain held the Iphone out the window and snapped a beautiful picture of Clem and Penelope’s Ponderosa. “Okay Clem, drive on up to the house.” Walking in the front door, Clem yelled, “Penelope... Penelope... I got’em back, jest like I said I would. I brought John back with me.”

  As usual Penelope was in the kitchen. Coming into the living room, “Lands sake John, when Clem left this mornin’ he told me he was goin’ to brang you home. When I heard you wuz in jail for robbin’ ole man Simpson, well swanny that ole grouch ain’t worth a plug nickel, but he likes money. So this mornin’ bright and early I sent Clem over to his place and paid him fer your clothes you ‘borrowed’. Like I said, he liked the money more’en them clothes. Clem got him to call the police and drop them charges agin you.”

  “Well I’ll be - you two never cease to amaze me.”

  “Clem, Penelope you both have been really decent to me. But you will never know how much better your future lives will be for the action we three took today. History will never know your names, but you can rest assured I will never forget you. But I have until 12:30 tomorrow, Saturday, and my Pegasus machine and I will return home to the year 2012. I must be inside, or she will leave without me. And,” Captain Scarburg said laughing, “you’ll be stuck with me from now on. Clem I’m going to need your help.”

  “Anythang I can do to help John, you know that.”

  “Let me take a minute and try to explain my predicament. You see, I was supposed to leave the year 2012 and land on the roof top of the School Book building in Dallas just a few seconds before the sniper fired his first shot at the President of the United States. After I had knocked him out, or whatever, I was to crawl back into my time machine. I only had five minutes then it would disappear. It would appear again in twelve hours, but only for another five minutes. Twelve hours later, on the dot, the bag of bolts leaves 1963 and returns to 2012. It is automatically programmed to remain for only twenty-four hours and then it was to return. That is, unless it was programmed to remain longer. In my case, I was to arrive at 12:30 on Friday and I was supposed to leave at 12:30 Saturday.

  “Dadburn John why’d y’all fix it that away?”

  “Because we build it according to the instruction book we used.”

  “Why didn’t y’all git them fellers who wrote the book to change it?”

  “Clem, the next clear night go out into the yard and gaze up into the sky, what will you see?”

  “Stars... John, I’ll see millions of beautiful, sparkling, stars.”

  “Right you are Clem. Pick out one, anyone of them, that’s where we would have to go to ask ‘the fellers that wrote the book’. But back to our discussion, at exactly half past twelve noon tomorrow my time machine is adios, gone, out of here. If I am not inside, too bad, it’s so long sucker she’ll leave anyway.”

  “What would keep you from bein’ in it John?”

  “To begin with, I landed in the wrong place. I missed Dallas by forty miles. Next, the machine must be almost perfectly level for takeoff; one end of my flying machine is hung up on a stump. Finally, to make matters worse someone back in 2012 tried to sabotage my mission by inputting the wrong place to land and the wrong date.”

  Captain Scarburg explained he was surprised he was not fighting alongside King Arthur in some remote part of England at that very minute.

  He believed if the correct data had been programmed his time machine would have landed in the right place and at the correct time, but the worst part: he could not change the data in the computer to return home. If someone messed with the information when he came here, they sure as heck messed it up for his return. Even if he could get Pegasus to ‘blast off’, there was no way of knowing where he would land, or in what century. Explaining this to Clem and Penelope he told them even though someone was trying to kill him he considered himself a lucky man.

  “Lucky! John how can you say that? You may never get back to your home, and you call this lucky?”

  “Yes... I got to meet you two!!”

  “We don’t know what to say... except John, tonight we will be at your time-flyin’ machine at exactly the time the door opens, and you can git inside. I’ll take my wrecker truck - it’s got a wench on back that we can move your machine with, how’s that?”

  “Sounds good, uh... uh... speaking of good, Penelope, I got a whiff of something that smells delicious - you wouldn’t have anything going on in the kitchen would you?”

  Laughing, “You rascal you know’d I got supper almost ready. I reckoned you boys would be hungry if you got back. Come on let’s eat.”

  “What do you mean “if?” Never a doubt, right Clem?”

  Clem rolled his eyes and laughed. “Yeah right, John!”

  Sitting down at the dining room table, Penelope emerged from the kitchen carrying a large, black pot of steaming hot food. Sitting the pot in the center of the table the Captain’s nose got the whiff of the most tantalizing aroma he had smelled in a long time.

  “No! Don’t tell me my nose is lying, Penelope... not... not... rutabaga turnips and pork chops?”

  “Yeah, thought you might want a good meal afore you go.”

/>   After Clem had said the blessing for the meal, Captain Scarburg grabbed his plate and began shoveling a massive portion of turnips and meat onto his plate. Penelope passed him a piece of cornbread and without another word, he began devouring the savory southern dish.

  “My, oh my, Penelope... you outdid yourself - this is mighty good eating. What’s your secret?”

  “My secret? Oh, if I have one it would be a spoon or two of sugar I add to the turnips as they are cooking – gives’em a sweeter taste - what you think?”

  “I think? What do I think? I think they are ‘musty’.”

  “Musty? Why I never!” Penelope said, taking aback.

  “I ‘musty’ need another helping, if you don’t mind.” The Captain said laughing as he passed his empty plate to Penelope. Penelope was serving the Captain another heaping plate of turnips and pork chops when he noticed a handsome, cross-stitched sampler beautifully framed hanging on the dining room wall. The stitched lettering handsomely read: “Home Sweet Home” and along the bottom was the name and date: “Minnie Coker Three December In the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and One”. “Penelope I believe that is one of the most beautiful stitched samplers I have ever seen.”

  “Well thank ya John, that was did by my Granny Coker when she was jest a young girl.”

  “Well, Penelope, you can be proud of your Grandmother, she accomplished a work of art with her needlepoint. And it’s nice you have kept it to remember her by.”

  As they continued eating Clem looked at John, “John, do you know whar you left yer machine?”

  “Actually Clem no... no I do not know exactly... I figure I can get within the vicinity. I’d been walking a couple of miles before you picked me up.”

  “Okay John, I’ve been coon huntin’ back in them thar woods and fields fer years tell me what you seed when you got out of yer flying thang.”

  “Alright, well there was a huge stand of hardwoods and pines towards the west; some old, outdated, rusty oil pumps off in the distance to the north and oh yeah, an old shed-looking building; a highway a couple of miles toward the south, and there was a pond. Well really there were two ponds. Looked as if a beaver dam had been built between them. That is about it. Hold on just a second,” the Captain said pulling his Iphone out, “I’ve got a couple pictures of the area.” Clem took the Iphone from him, and looked at the pictures of the cow pasture the Captain had taken when he first landed.

  “I know exactly whar you wuz at... Double Pond Lake, been coon huntin’ all around thar. Your right, beavers built that second pond. Larry Brock the man that owns that thar piece of dirt lives in Dallas, just keeps a small herd of cows on hit, somethin’ like maybe three or four thousand head. He won’t be around to bother us none. If you’d know’d it John, he had a ole ‘53 green, flat-bed, Ford truck that he leaves in that thar shed building. The keys are in it. He uses it when he comes up to check out his spread. Hits jest a small ranch believe hes only got 4,500 hundred acres. He’s what we around here call a ‘gentleman rancher’. You could’ve borried the truck, he wouldn’t have never minded. Back off behind all that hay is an ol’ army Jeep. It runs too, don’t need no key fer it. Jest fire’er up. You could’ve used either one of them.”

  “Now I find out! Oh well... oh yeah, cows, you’re right Clem, there were a lot of cows also. I don’t know what kind of cows they were. They were just cows, gentle cows, with big, ole moon-eyed white faces.”

  “John, fer like of a better name we just call’em whiteface cows.” That brought a chuckle to all sitting around the table. “You no Penelope if I was’ta cut off the main road and take that road over Saddlehorn Gulch, it’d only be a couple of miles over thar to that Double Pond Lake, what’d you think?”

  “I figure your right Clem. It can’t be more’n five miles.”

  Moving from the dining room to the fireplace room Clem went around behind and plugged the TV cord into the wall. “Sorry,” said Clem, “the turn-on switch is broke. I jest have to plug it in to get it to come on.”

  The TV announcer was talking about Dallas, and the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. They all sat staring at the screen as if it were an event they were just now hearing about but knowing full well it was their interference, which caused the Presidents ultimate demise. Captain Scarburg was the first to speak, “You know, this is weird. I watched this same television news program while I was a junior at the University of Alabama. I remember it distinctly. All my buddies were sitting in the rec room frozen to the TV. Watch right here Walter Cronkite will come on with an interview with Abraham Zapruder.”

  No sooner had Captain Scarburg uttered the words Conkrite appeared with Mr. Zapruder. “Well I’ll be,” said Clem. “How old was you John?”

  “Let’s see... I was born in 1943, and this is in 1963, so I guess I was about twenty years old.”

  “What! What you sayin’ John I was born in 1938 and Penelope in 1940! John you must be fifty or sixty years old! I’m not tryin’ to make fun, but you’re a lot older than us. We should be older than you! What’s up?”

  “Clem and Penelope, in 1963 you are older than a person born in 1943, but remember I am from the year 2012. In fact, I am sixty-nine years old! You forget I come from the 21st century.”

  “I know this is supposed to make sense, but for the sake of me, this is crazy. But John, young or old, I reckon you done what you come here to do?”

  “No Clem, WE did what I came here to accomplish. Today, I can assume, you both are extremely sad and upset by the scenes of President Kennedy’s death on your television. But believe me Clem and Penelope, you will never know how much better the world will be from this day forward. I want to thank you both; although, your deeds will go unnoticed and recognized, just always remember, I will not forget! I WILL be returning to an entirely different world than the one I left. I just hope and pray this new world will include my grandson Bud.”

  “We do to,” said Clem. “But, you’re right I’m sad watching this Kennedy stuff, but I’m glad knowin’ what we did was for the best.”

  “Oh, almost forgot – do not forget to watch your Uncle Sparky shoot Lee Harvey Oswald Sunday. You don’t want to miss that.”

  The hours passed swiftly. Grandpa explained the world of the 21st century. It was like trying to explain an airplane to cave men. The more he talked, the less they understood. They liked the idea that everyone would have a color TV. Clem was glad he finally would get off his eight party telephone line.

  They couldn’t believe the U.S. had sent a man to the moon. They argued with John about that for a long time. Clem finally said to Captain Scarburg, “John, you have told us a lot of thangs but you ain’t never goin’ to convince me y’all sent a man to the moon. This jez ain’t possible – I know I can see the ‘man in moon’ but he ain’t no real human bein’ – naw, I ain’t buying that a man actually set foot on that moon. Ever body knows it is made of green cheese Captain.”

  Grinning, “Okay, Clem, I’m not going to continue trying to convince you that Neil Armstrong landed on the moon in 1969, you will just have to live to see it yourself.”

  They were sad the Vietnam War was going to get worst, and many young men were going to die. “I thought by us fixin’ this Parallel Universe thang there wouldn’t be no more war!”

  “I wish that were true Clem, but the Vietnam War does continue but it does not spill over into the Viruchi War and the atomic warfare between the United States and Russia will not occur now. We did stop a lot of the killing, mayhem and destruction.”

  “What about the country John, what about the president? Is he a good’en?”

  “Well, Clem I really didn’t want to get into this subject - you have to realize it is 1963, and I come from 2012. Many things have happened. Most of them good.”

  “Like what John?”

  “Well there’s no use in beating around the bush - in 2008 the United States of America elected a... a...”

  ‘What John, y’all elected a WOMMAN!”


  “Well no, but one did run for vice president, but their ticket did not win.”

  “What happened? Did she get elected next time?”

  “Not quite Clem, we elected a black man! As the blacks themselves want to be called in 2012, an African-American.”

  “You mean a colored man? Y’all elected a colored man?”

  “Are you prejudiced Clem? Being a white man do you resent black people? Do you feel superior to them? Do you think of them as laborers, workers, field hands and such?”

  “You know John, I’ve never give it much thought. Thars Mr. Jefferson, he comes around ever now and then to shoe the hosses. And there’s ole Mason who comes in the fall and helps us pick the cotton. I don’t never think of them as black, or what’d you say, ‘Africans in America,’ theys just plain ole workers doing thar job right alongside me and Penelope.”

  “That’s admirable Clem, real admirable. I had a feeling you were the type of person that would not let a man be judged by the color of his skin but judged by the content of his character.”

  “That’s good, John, real good. Thems fine words to live by. I’ll try to ‘member them.”

  “Yes they are Clem, but I’m sorry, I copied those words from another man. In a few years, the African-Americans will have a black leader to come on the scene who will preach peace and non-violence – you will, in just a couple of years, know him as the Reverend Martin Luther King.”

  “Was he the one that becomes our President?”

  “No John the President will be a man by the name of Barrack Hussein Obama. Here’s the way the Presidential elections will go: You know President Kennedy was assassinated today, Lyndon Johnson will replace him and be president next, then in 1969 Richard Nixon will get elected, then it will be Gerald Ford, then Jimmy Carter, Ronald Regan, George Bush, Bill Clinton, George Bush and finally Barrack Obama.”