The Caught

by Jon Jacks

  *

  Chapter 33

   

  This guy Holden, the guy in the book; perhaps he’s not such a phoney after all.

  Maybe, as he says, the world is full of phoneys.

  Maybe that’s why he ends up in hospital; they think he’s crazy, cos he knows everyone else are the real phoneys. And they ain’t gonna admit it, natch.

  He’s walking around, walking around with his little brother, Allie. His dead little brother Allie.

  He was innocent, little Allie. The Catcher should’ve saved him.

  Like the Catcher should’ve saved Marilyn.

  She was an innocent too.

  An innocent in a nasty world. Only she didn’t realise it; that’s how innocent she was.

  She was so innocent, she just didn’t realise how nasty the world could be.

  She was too trusting. Too trusting in a President who makes out he’s one of the good guys.

  Just like Allie walks around with Holden, would I like that if Marilyn was walking around with me?

  How would she look?

  Would she be naked, the way she died?

   

   

  *

   

   

  February fifteenth.

  Little June Lee Oswald, Marina and Lee’s baby daughter, is one year old.

  There’s a small birthday celebration, with Hawaiian Pineapple, Pattie Cake Cookies, Barricini Chocolate and Old London Snacks.

  We’re all eating like kids, apart from June, who has to stick to milk and mushed-up food.

  Lee offers me a choice of beers, Blitz Weinhard or Gunther, so I take a bottle just to show I’m an adult.

  I realise I’ve been playing too long with one of June’s presents, a monkey that climbs up a stick when you pull on a string.

  What can I say? – it’s addictive, it honestly is.

  Lee and Marina swap presents too, giving each other kisses, speaking as sweetly as they can to each other in guttural Russian.

  Lee gets Vaseline Hair Tonic, says thanks, I think, in Russian.

  Marina gets Revlon Sunbath Sun Tan Lotion and Lanvin Arpege Perfume. Says something like, ‘It’s just what I wanted, how did you know, it’s wonderful’. Whatever it is she says, it goes on for a while and Lee gets a lot of kisses for his trouble.

  I’m grinning stupidly, cursing myself for not getting presents for anyone. Not even for little June.

  I feel even worse when Marina, smiling hugely, hands me a present.

  ‘Go on – open it!’ she giggles as I sit there embarrassed and dumbfounded.

  I pull away the paper. Vitalis Hair Cream.

  Ok, so it might seem an odd present, the way I just used to let my hair take whichever style it wanted.

  But recently, see, I don’t know why but I’ve just been taking a bit more time over my appearance. Using a bit of Lee’s hair cream, that sort of thing.

  Wondering if I needed a shave.

  Marina picks up June, swings her in her arms as she sings a song in Russian to her. Lee joins in, but it’s more of a forced grunt than a melody.

  ‘June is an Aquarian, Jack,’ Marina says to me. ‘Sop-histicat, glamour, mystery, charm! What you Jack?’

  ‘Yeah, her and every other twelfth person, Marina,’ Lee says sourly before I can answer.

  Marian retaliates harshly in Russian. Lee retaliates in even harder Russian.

  I pick up the monkey stick again.

  Weeee! – just look at that boy climb!

   

   

  *

   

   

  Come March, a time when the Four Seasons are telling us to Walk Like A Man and the Chiffons are saying He’s So Fine, Lee buys himself a gun.

  Not just any old gun either. You know, the Diana you can use to knock a few birds out of the trees. If you’re so inclined.

  No, it’s a 6.5 mm calibre Carcano. A surplus Italian military rifle. (‘Never been used,’ ha ha ha.) Delivered via mail order.

  He saw the ad in the February issue of American Rifleman. Those wonderful folks at Klein's Sporting Goods in Chicago sell these things like they’re selling bean sprouts.

  He filled in the coupon, calling himself Alek James Hidell. Maybe he included some of the identification documents under that name he’s been forging at work.

  A few days’ later, Lee picks up his new toy at the Dallas mailbox he’s rented.

  Hey, is buying a surplus Atlas missile so easy?

  Lee lets me handle the gun.

  ‘Feel its balance, kid.’

  He lets me pretend to be knocking the windows out of the houses on the opposite side of the street, ‘long as you make sure no one can see you.’

  Outside, in the yard, he gets me to take photos of him posing with the gun.

  Drives me outta town too, lets me take practise shots.

  Wow, you feel like you can do anything with this baby in your hands. No one can tell you sh– when you can pop ’em off before they even get close enough to see the anger in your eyes.

  The small rocks we’ve set up in a row fall over like soldiers stepping up out of the trenches.

  ‘Wee, just look at those boys go!’

  Lee’s as excited as a little kid as the rocks shatter and fly off high into the air.

   

   

  *

   

   

  When she finds out, Marina is well pissed.

  Lee says he’s pissed too. The Ruskies are withdrawing their troops from Cuba.

  And General Walker is a fascist, a leader of a fascist organisation.

  ‘A sh–, the only difference being that sh– originally had some goodness in it!’

  He’s even more pissed April first, his supervisor at Jaggars-Chiles-Stovall telling him he’s no longer wanted there.

  He’s been seen reading his book Crocodile in the cafeteria, dumb ass.

  On top of that, he’s been so rude it’s almost broken out into fights.

  Oh yeah, ‘inefficiency, lack of precision, and inattention’ also had something to do with it.

  A few days later, Lee takes me by General Walker’s house.

   

   

  *

  Chapter 34

   

  We move along walls like we’re in a war movie. Only here you’re constantly having to make sure no one’s around to see you acting so suspiciously.

  Lee’s brought his gun from the car.

  I’m hoping he ain’t as pissed with General Walker today like he normally is.

   

   

  *

   

   

  Through one of the windows we can see General Walker.

  He’s sitting at a desk in his dining room. We’re less than a hundred feet away

  Lee doesn’t say anything.

  He just brings his gun up to his shoulder, levels it.

  He squints through the sights at the general.

  Sh–!

  I’m wondering if I should seem to accidentally knock Lee’s gun.

  I’m still wondering this as he pulls back on the trigger.

  The gun cracks, so loud it feels like my ear has exploded. It leaps in Lee’s hand like it’s suddenly alive.

  The window frame splinters.

  Just beyond it, the general leaps in his seat. Screams in agony, topples to the floor.

  Oh my God, oh my God! The idiot’s gone and fffing shot him!

  Gone and killed a US General!

   

   

  *

   

   

  Lee smiles grimly, lowers the gun.

  He drags me after him as he slinks away. He has to drag me; I can hardly move, feel like I’m in a dream where nothing makes sense.

  Hope I’m in a dream.

  I can’t take my eyes off the window.

  Then, inside, I see movement. The general, groggily
rising to his feet once more. An arm held to his head.

  Blood pouring from his head down his arm.

  A zombie come back to life, even though he has a shattered skull. He stumbles, supports himself against a chair.

  I stumble as Lee angrily drags me after him.

  ‘We have to get outta here!’ he hisses.

   

   

  *

  Chapter 35

   

  Turns out, we find out later, the general’s lucky.

  The bullet was knocked off course when it struck the window frame. The general just gets bullet fragments in his forearm.

  It’s reported as an assassination attempt in newspapers nationwide.

  The Dallas police have no suspects.

  Marina knows a couple of suspects, knows who did it.

  Soon as we get home, Lee tells her.

  Not that she wouldn’t have guessed.

   

   

  *

   

   

  Lee continues taking me outta town to practise firing the gun.

  Marina frowns an awful lot, but she don’t complain much.

  He tells her I just watch.

  ‘He’s not even allowed to touch the goddamn gun,’ he lies.

   

   

  *

   

   

  On TV, there are two new programmes set around hospitals. General Hospital and Doctors.

  Mom would’ve loved them.

  Marina loves them too, though I find it hard to believe she can follow everything that’s going on.

  She’s watching one of them one day – don’t ask me which one – and, with a puzzled frown, she gets up from her seat and comes over to me.

  ‘Whatch you read Jack?’

  I close the book, hand it to her.

  I forget she can’t read American too well.

  ‘Catcher in the Rye; it’s called Catcher in the Rye.’

  I’m reading it again. I’m not sure why.

  ‘What it about?’

  She’s flicking through it, as people do. As if, somehow, the book’s gonna magically reveal its purpose.

  I grimace, I squirm. I don’t know.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I admit.

  ‘Not sure? You not read yet?’

  I grin sickly.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve read it. A few times. But I ain’t too sure what it’s about.’

  Marina looks bemused.

  ‘Well, okay,’ I say, ‘I know it sounds crazy, but I think it’s about this guy who don’t want children to grow up. He thinks all adults are corrupt, see? See, he goes into school, starts wiping all these curse words and things off the walls.’

  Marina glances over to where June is peacefully sleeping. She’s wrapped up incredibly tightly in a number of blankets. Like it’s a cocoon.

  ‘That a wonder thing to do, you think yes Jack? Protect the innocent of children. They all so innocent of the world, children. Then they grow up, what do they become? What we make them?’

  ‘Well, yeah, Marina; suppose that’s what this guy, this guy Holden, thinks, right? And, you know, I know this sounds crazy, but, well, like him, see, well – I’m starting to see myself as someone who has to rescue them. Like there’s only me who knows the dangers they face. The guy in the book, see, he sees all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye. Thousands of ’em. All these little kids, right, and nobody's around – nobody big, I mean. There’s just me, and it’s up to me to save them. Only I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff, and all these kids are so happy playing they don’t know it’s there. Only I do. So they're all running, all these kids, and they ain’t looking where they're going. So I have to catch them, Marina. Before they all start going over the cliff. Is that crazy, Marina? To think like that?’

  ‘I not think so. I think it wonder filled – don’t you Jack?’

  She’s flicking through the book again, like the words will leap up and help her understand what the book’s trying to say.

  She stops flicking through the pages as she comes to the front of the book. She sees the poem written there.

  ‘What this say?’

  She hands the opened book back to me.

  ‘It’s a poem,’ I say, reading it out to her.

  Her eyes light up as I read.

  ‘I know this song!’ she exclaims excitedly.

  I chuckle.

  ‘No, it’s a poem Marina – it ain’t a song.’

  ‘No, no – it song! Scotch song!’

  She jumps to her feet, starts singing the words to a jaunty little song that reminds me of a sea shanty.

  ‘Gin a body meet a body

  Comin’ thro’ the rye…’

  She can’t seem to help but move her feet and hands as she sings. Now and again, she kicks out, placing her hands on her hips.

  ‘Gin a body kiss a body

  Need a body cry?’

  She waves a hand out at me, smiling, obviously wanting me to get up and join her.

  She frowns when I grimace and slump farther back into my chair.

  ‘Ilka lassie has her laddie

  Nane, they say, hae I…’

  She suddenly leaps over to me, grabs my hand, pulls me up to join her.

  Now she smiles again, and I smile too, even making an attempt to join in her rough and ready dancing.

  I gruffly sing along, using what I can remember of the words.

  ‘Yet a' the lads they smile at me

  When Comin’ thro’ the rye.’

  I think that’s it, but she starts again, singing and dancing with even more gusto.

  Like she’s really getting into this. Like it reminds her of the Russian folk dancing from home.

  ‘Gin a body meet a body

  Comin’ thro’ the rye…’

  Before I can help myself, I’m joining in.

  It’s a simple beat, with even simpler dance moves. As catchy as the chorus of a song you’d hear on the radio.

  Only it’s harder, sadder. Like an argument, a complaint.

  Now we’re holding hands and dancing round and round.

  We find it harder and harder to sing as we begin to laugh at how strange and silly we must look.

  We’re also getting breathless.

  ‘Why do you let him beat you?’ I cry over the singing. ‘Why do you let Lee hit you like that? Why don’t you leave him?’

  She stops singing, stops dancing. Lets go of my hands.

  She frowns, turns.

  She angrily strides away.

   

   

  *

  Chapter 36

   

  It’s as if it never happened.

  The happy dance never happened. I never asked her to leave him.

  She isn’t angry with me anymore, and that’s the main thing.

   

   

  *

   

   

  Lee’s gone for a while anyway, off to New Orleans.

  Says he’s been there before. Needs to clear a few things up.

  Me and Marina, we head off to the movies. To see a movie that seems to have brought together every star going.

  Henry Fonda, John Wayne, Gregory Peck, James Stewart, Richard Widmark.

  The screen seems to curl right around us, the stars on screen towering over us like giants.

  How the West Was Won.

  Marina asks if that’s how it really happened. If that’s how the west became America.

  I shrug; how the heck should I know?

  If that’s what the movie says, I suppose it must be true. Why would they lie ’bout something like that?

  Then I see him, loitering on the corner of the street. Like he’s just a guy stopped to read his newspaper.

  He doesn’t make any other effort to hide what he’s up to, like I’d expect.

  Like I’ve seen in all the movies. Sidling over to us like he
don’t really know us. Whispering that we need to talk, but not looking our way.

  No, he just walks over, says, ‘Sorry I ain’t been dropping in too much kid. Thought it would be for the best in case I’m being followed.’

  I nervously glance around, suspecting everyone I can see.

  All the people filing out of the theatre. All the people on the streets, supposedly out shopping. Supposedly just driving past at this particular moment.

  Brad laughs.

  ‘I ain’t being followed today kid! Trust me!’

   

   

  *

   

   

  ‘Here’s the thing kid; we know your Marilyn was dead long before the police were called, right?’

  He’s given Marina ‘a few dollars to treat yourself’. He’s sent her on her way so he can talk to me.

  ‘Well, yeah, but ain’t we more or less figured that out already? She was murdered. It weren’t no suicide.’

  ‘We’d more or less figured something wasn’t entirely kosher kid. But we ain’t knowing for sure when she died. Figure that out, and maybe we’ll begin to get ourselves an idea who popped her. Or maybe why she was popped – then either one can begin to lead us to the other.’

  ‘So how we go ’bout figuring out when she died?’

  ‘Evidence kid, facts. Like when did she make her last phone call, things like that. Trouble is, most of the phone records seem to have gone and disappeared. So, too, has our star witness Eunice – she’s hightailed it to Europe. No one stopping her, no more questions asked.’

  ‘Bobby Kennedy? You think Bobby’s doing all this? Stopping all the phone records, like he’s done before?’

  ‘Might be kid, might not. I don’t go along with this squeaky-clean image the President likes to put across to an adoring public, that’s for sure. But that ain’t saying he’s set his brother cleaning up after him – other agencies have the power to do all this too, see kid? Far more than you’d imagine too. Even if Bobby’s got his hand in this, could be they just ain’t wanting nobody out there making certain connections. Covering up the affair when they know the press are going to be circling looking for sh–, like flies following a buffalo herd. It don’t mean they popped her.’

  ‘But somebody popped her, yeah?’

  ‘But that somebody don’t have to be the Kennedys, got that? Thing is, somebody was paying a great deal of interest in her kid. Enough interest to go about bugging her house.’

  ‘Bugging? What, you mean listening in? The house was wired, you mean?’

  Brad notices me grinning.

  Ok, so what’s the joke kid?’

  ‘Well, for once you’ve got it wrong. Can’t I have a joke at your expense?’

  ‘If you think it’s one huge joke having someone trying to pop you kid, you go ahead and laugh yourself silly.’

  Ok, sorry – so this is serious, yeah? Sorry. But Marilyn had the place wired herself – suppose she wanted to get something on Eunice and the doctors. I dunno. But she got hold of a guy called Tash, Tass, or something.’

  ‘Otash, kid, Fred Otash. Ex-LAPD vice detective. And more crooked than the crooks he chased, you ask me. Sure, it was a big joke when he heard she wanted him to do it; see, he’d already wired it for someone else. The phones tapped at the very least.’