Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy

by L. D. C. Fitzgerald

  Mrs. Paine held back any comments on Oswald’s delusions of grandeur. “He chose the boarding house because it’s closer to the job. So what if he calls himself a silly name? At least he’s employed. Making an effort for you and Junie and Rachel.”

  “Yes, but he’s living a life of secrets.” Marina stood up and paced back and forth. “What if he’s lying to me? I don’t know how he spends his time outside of work. He only visits us on weekends.”

  “Why don’t you talk to him?”

  “No. He would only wrap his story around himself like a shield.” The young mother started wringing her hands.

  “I’m sure everything is fine.”

  “I have to know the truth.” Marina looked at her with sudden purpose. “There’s only one choice. I’m going to follow him.”

  “No! You can’t.” Mrs. Paine imagined sirens wailing, warning her this was a bad idea.

  “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going.” The color had drained from Marina’s face. “If I get ready now, I can trail him when he leaves work.”

  Mrs. Paine leapt up to stop her. “Please sit down and think about this.” She suspected Lee had been violent in the past, and she didn’t want Marina to stoke the fire.

  “I have. He’s my husband. The father of my little girls. You’ll watch them for me, won’t you?”

  “No!”

  “Fine, then I’ll take them with me.”

  “That’s crazy. I didn’t mean I wouldn’t baby-sit; I meant you shouldn’t go. What if he catches you? You think he’s cross with you now, picture how infuriated he will be if you spy on him.” Ruth desperately trawled about for a ploy to halt this insanity. “What about this? What if I follow him instead of you?”

  Marina slowly turned and gazed down at the carpet. “Lee would be equally mad if he saw you.”

  “I’ll simply make an excuse for being downtown. Besides, I won’t let him see me.” Mrs. Paine forced a smile, praying she would agree. “And, I’ll wear a disguise. He won’t suspect a thing.”

  “Wait. I have an idea.” Marina dashed into the bedroom and returned. “You can wear a babushka.” She held up the Russian equivalent of a headscarf.

  Mrs. Paine nodded.

  “Ruth, would you really do this for me?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  4:30 PM – CST

  In an unprecedented gesture, Quin had permitted Sam to drive the Chevy Impala as they taxied Sera to work. Although eager to try out the powerful V8 engine, Sam regretted accepting the favor.

  “Are you insane? That pothole is the size of Detroit.” Quin swerved both arms in body English as he stomped on an imaginary brake. “Do you know what kind of damage that can cause?”

  “Shut up and let me drive.”

  “That’d be easy if you’d treat the vehicle with some respect.” Quin gripped the dashboard as if he were riding a roller coaster instead of motoring through downtown Dallas.

  “What difference does it make? When we’re done with the mission, what are you going to do? Drive it onto the ship and take it back with us?”

  Quin hesitated. Now that was a depressing thought. “Well, no. But it would be a crime to injure such a beautiful machine.”

  “It is gorgeous, Quin.” Sam thumped the steering wheel. “Nonetheless, it’s just a car.”

  From the backseat, Sera rolled her eyes at the boys’ inane bickering. Didn’t they realize what a Herculean task they had ahead of them? Not only were they battling the lethal KGB, but also the historical flow of time itself. Nobody had ever confronted a more formidable adversary. “Do you think there was any merit to Frank’s hypothesis?”

  “Whaddaya mean?” Quin whipped around, momentarily forgetting to badger Sam. “Like time travel ain’t possible?”

  “Obviously not. We’re here, aren’t we? I meant what if history is inevitable? What if we can’t effect any change even though we jumped back fifty years?”

  “Already have. Bought cars. Rented a house. We’ve gone over this.”

  Sera sighed. “You don’t get it. What if our presence in 1963 is already part of the timeline? What if our actions result in the very same outcome as before? What if we’re sublimely impotent?”

  “Not me, sister.” Quin jabbed his thumb at his chest. “Now don’t go and get all negative.”

  “I might as well be talking to a rodeo clown. Sam, what’s your opinion?”

  Deep in thought, he didn’t respond immediately. He had spent the entire morning searching for his modern-day weapon while the others were out. And he’d been resoundingly unsuccessful. One of his teammates must be carrying it. “I’d wager we’ve given ourselves a serious handicap. Here we are, squaring off against the best-trained killing machines on the planet, and all I have is a rusty revolver in the glove box. We’re not even on equal footing with the bad guys.”

  “I’ve got my handy-dandy World War II surplus Remington right here in my ankle holster. Good enough for me.” Quin slapped his pant leg. “Sam, buddy, you want to turn in here to get to behind the Carousel. Sera, babe, you sure you’re allowed in the back entrance?”

  “I told you—all of Ruby’s waitresses have keys in case we have to lock up.” Sera gathered up the shoulder tote holding her uniform. She’d begun traveling to and from her job in street clothes to lessen her bondage in the ridiculous outfit.

  Sam maneuvered the car into the narrow alleyway. “As I was saying, we should have brought 2013 weapons and technology to give ourselves an advantage. If we fail, we only have ourselves to blame.”

  “It was a common-sense rule. It would have been too dangerous to bring that stuff.” Sera reiterated Iggy’s party line. “What if it fell into the wrong hands?”

  Sam made a final effort to probe them for information about his gun. “Rules are made to be broken. I wish somebody had broken this one and had the foresight to do what was necessary.”

  Sera snorted. “No one would have jeopardized our mission like that. You’d have to be an idiot.”

  4:50 PM – CST

  Feeling foolish, Mrs. Paine waited near the reflecting pool in Dealey Plaza across the street from the warehouse where Lee Harvey Oswald worked. The seven-story brick building was a regional textbook storage and redistribution center. Double windows with rounded tops were spaced a few feet apart on every floor, excluding the sixth and seventh. Separated by a small ledge, the seventh story had narrow pairs of rectangular windows. The sixth had semi-circle windows across the entire side, except for the panes at the far left and right, which were square. With the facade sporting so many windows, she hoped nobody inside noticed her loitering on the street, particularly her boarder’s husband.

  She checked the Hertz sign and clock on top of the Texas School Book Depository. Five o’clock. Where was he?

  Finally, the unmistakable rodent scurried out the front door and strode down concrete steps bordered by two columns on each side. He headed left on Elm Street, and Mrs. Paine tailed him for a half mile due east. Oswald made a right onto South Field and traversed another couple of blocks. Keeping about fifty yards distance between them, she almost lost sight of her quarry as he crossed Commerce and continued east on the opposite sidewalk. Wondering how her life had become a paperback spy novel, she saw him enter a building halfway down the block. With her sunglasses, headscarf, and overcoat, she’d gone unnoticed.

  Reducing her pace as she approached her destination, Mrs. Paine observed two women and three men lingering near the entrance. Why did these people seem familiar? Perhaps she knew them as acquaintances—friends of friends. As she drew closer, their faces sharpened into distinct features, and the epiphany struck her like a bullet slamming into her heart. These were the same five lunatics who had visited her home the other day: J.D., Iggy, Bick, Dee, and Jay. Although the police officer wasn’t in uniform, there could be no mistake.

  She perspired with foreboding and debated turning back. What did they want from her? No, it was a public area with considerable foot traffic. They wouldn’t
be able to snatch her bodily from the street.

  Her brief moment of fear morphed into outrage. Mrs. Paine marched over to the quintet. She stood between them and the doorway Oswald had entered, and yanked off her sunglasses. “What are you people doing here? I demand to know why you are following me!”

  No one answered, or even acknowledged her presence. All of them averted their gaze by staring at the pavement. Jay shuffled his feet and adjusted his glasses before seeming to look past Mrs. Paine to the building behind her.

  Something peculiar was happening. Mrs. Paine slowly spun around to track Jay’s line of sight. And then she saw it. Big black letters on a brightly lit white sign above the door. Carousel Burlesque.

  She staggered backward, reeling in shock.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  MONDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1963

  5:10 PM – CST

  As Mrs. Paine stumbled on the sidewalk, J.D. and Bick steadied her so she wouldn’t collapse. Ashen, she gratefully accepted their help.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” J.D. tried to check her pulse, but she brushed him away.

  “Yes. I think so. It’s just . . . it’s that place. The one you told me about.”

  “Correct. Like we said.” Dee folded her arms. “The Carousel Club.”

  Iggy looked at her in consternation and slashed her fingers to the side. “Hush!”

  Dee glowered, but kept mum.

  Mrs. Paine held a hand to her brow. “It came true. I can’t believe it came true.”

  “Well, ma’am, it would be nice if we were wrong this time.” Bick gave a wry frown.

  “There’s no way you could have possibly known. I didn’t even know I was coming to Dallas until about an hour ago.” Mrs. Paine stared at the five strangers in awe. “Dear Lord in heaven. I suppose you really are from the future.”

  “Well, not me.” J.D. grinned. “I’m simply your average working man. But I reckon these folks are telling the truth after all.”

  Dee’s heart blossomed with affection. Now that granddad had finally accepted them, maybe he would have faith in her. And the plan was back on track. She relented. “Thank goodness you didn’t go inside.”

  “Yes,” Jay chimed in. “We’re darn lucky you stopped to yell, er, I mean talk to us.”

  Iggy eyed Mrs. Paine from top to bottom, taking in her scarf, glasses, and coat. “We might not have recognized you if you hadn’t stopped.”

  “I was hoping nobody would. That’s why I’m wearing this babushka.” Mrs. Paine patted her hair covering.

  “Why do you need a disguise? Who were you hiding from?” Bick glanced at the pedestrians on Commerce Street. “From us?”

  “Oh, no. Of course not. I didn’t believe a single word of what you said. I was following my boarder’s husband.”

  Jay jerked his thumb toward the entrance. “You mean that, uh, gentleman?” He noticed her regard him with disdain. “Okay, that rabid ferret who went in ahead of you?”

  “That’s him all right.”

  Mrs. Paine explained the afternoon’s drama with Marina.

  The team stood mute, contemplating the improbable sequence of events that had brought them to this precise location at this exact moment.

  J.D., however, couldn’t remain silent. “Why isn’t the man home with his family? A father of two infant daughters shouldn’t be out fraternizing with strippers. Doesn’t he understand where his priorities lie?”

  Before Mrs. Paine could answer, Iggy held up a palm to halt her. “Let’s not worry about him right now. What’s important is that we keep you safe.”

  J.D. shook himself and spelled out orders with quiet authority. “Iggy is correct. I need to go inside. Dee and Jay, take Mrs. Paine to her car and escort her back to Irving. Bick and Iggy, stay here by the Ford, just in case.” He gestured to the pink and black vehicle parked nearby. “You said they’re more likely to exit out the back, but Sam’s got that covered in the Chevy.”

  The police officer’s sense of urgency was infectious. The four members of Team Orbis prepared to follow his instructions.

  Mrs. Paine, however, remained immobile. “That’s it? You’re sending me home?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The best way to protect you is to ensure the Russians never lay eyes on you.”

  “We’ll stay with you the whole time.” Dee slung her arm around Mrs. Paine’s shoulder and gently steered her away.

  J.D. turned and bolted into the Carousel.

  5:15 PM – CST

  In the back meeting room of the burlesque, KGB cell leader Kon discussed mission plans and escape strategies with his comrades.

  Viktor sat with rigid attention, committing all details to memory.

  Dmitriy languidly rolled an unlit cigarette between his thumb and fingers, in obvious protest of Kon’s latest rule: no smoking while on official business. A seasoned operative, Dmitriy relied heavily on instinct, and his mind wandered from the briefing.

  Kon ignored the subtle insubordination; it mattered little to him whether Dmitriy lived or died. In the end, each man would determine his own fate. As he proceeded, someone jiggled the locked doorknob from the outside.

  Kon looked purposefully at Viktor and nodded.

  When Viktor opened the door, Lee Harvey Oswald nearly fell into the room. He chattered in Russian, attempting to say, “How can I assist in the ongoing struggle against capitalism?” But the garbled sentence structure and mispronunciations morphed his words into a nonsensical string sounding more like, “How can I assist the capitalist agenda?”

  Dmitriy guffawed at the American buffoon, laughing so hard he turned bright red and started to wheeze from the exertion.

  Spurred on by the outburst, Viktor allowed himself to chuckle, but kept his reaction in check.

  Not comprehending the joke, Oswald raised his chin to defend himself, but Kon intervened in English. “You have been given orders never to speak our language. By doing so, you demonstrate your disrespect for our homeland. Furthermore, you have been commanded not to approach us unless specifically requested. Leave us at once.”

  “Sir, I only want to axe what I can do to help.” Oswald stood his ground in defiance.

  “Viktor, please escort Mr. Oswald back to where he belongs.” Kon observed dispassionately as Vik grabbed the flailing intruder under the arms and threw him into the hallway. “Now, let’s continue.”

  5:20 PM – CST

  After J.D. Tippit had bounded up the stairs and paid his two-dollar admission to the Carousel, he surveyed the interior. He found Quin seated at a table in the center, with Sera hovering over him in her skimpy uniform. Joining them, he updated them on Mrs. Paine’s arrival and her intention to track her boarder’s husband.

  “I saw the guy she was tailing. He’s a white male, slender, weighing about 165 pounds, about five-foot-ten, and in his early thirties. And although I wouldn’t testify to it, in my professional assessment he would be categorized as a loser.” J.D. smiled and scanned the smoky venue, but could not locate the subject.

  Brassy stripper music wailed from the speakers as favorites, Marilyn Moone and Little Lynn, performed Middle Eastern style with scarves flowing. Spotlights shone on the two as they seductively removed the sheer swaths of material one by one, mimicking the Dance of the Seven Veils.

  Mystified, J.D. spoke over the din. “It’s Monday afternoon, for Pete’s sake. Why is this place jam-packed?”

  “Ladies’ night.” Quin waved his hand in abdication of logic.

  “That’s right. On Mondays, Ruby advertises free admission to women to entice more men to show up.” Sera noticed both companions laboring to understand. “The guys come to ogle the dancers, but hold out hope of meeting female patrons as well. More liberal-minded girls. You see?” Still no reaction. Sigh. “They want to hook up with sluts.”

  Recognition lit both men’s faces.

  “So that’s why he calls it Lucky Tom-Cat Night.” Quin smacked his forehead. “At least we finally get to watch naked chicks.” He kept his tone
casual, although he felt himself sweating with trepidation over the upcoming task.

  Ever vigilant, J.D. abruptly pointed. “There he is. The errant husband. He must have gone to the men’s room.”

  “That moron?” Sera snapped her gum, getting carried away in her covert role. “He’s been here before. Kind of a stalker to the dancers.”

  “I’m sure of it. That’s Lee Harvey Oswald.”

  5:25 PM – CST

  Idly chatting in the Ford parked on Commerce Street, Iggy and Bick were flabbergasted to see Mrs. Paine tripping back towards them in her high heels, with Jay and Dee in swift pursuit. They simultaneously jumped out of the car to intercept.

  “What the heck is going on here?” Bick caught up just in time to blockade the front door to the club. “Why aren’t you taking her home?”

  Jay leaned against the doorframe, panting. “Obviously we tried to stop her. She won’t listen to us.”

  Mrs. Paine placed her hands firmly on her hips. “Step aside. I’m going in.”

  “No!” Dee scrunched her face in horror. “Don’t you realize they’re going to kill you?”

  “You told me”—Mrs. Paine wagged a finger at Dee—“that I’m meant to hear something related to a murder. If I can do something to prevent a homicide, I must.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t permit that.” Bick spread his arms wide as a barrier. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I may be a proponent of peace, but that doesn’t mean I won’t confront evil when I am called upon to do so. I have to live with my own conscience.” With surprising strength, Mrs. Paine shoved Bick aside, opened the door, and darted in.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  MONDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1963

  5:26 PM – CST

  Sera was explaining the unidentified third KGB man to Quin and J.D. “I heard them talking. His name is definitely Kon. Probably with a K for Konstantin, but maybe a C, I don’t know.”

  “Imagine being saddled with a name like that.” Quin scratched his head. “Betcha he got razzed plenty as a boy.”