Justification For Killing

by Larry Hunt

  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 leading 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.

  Nearing the house, he paused behind one of the large oak trees and spent a second or two scanning the house. A few lights were visible in the lower floor windows, and a couple of windows on the second floor indicated, possibly, someone was up there too. He carefully surveyed the area around the house – he did not see a watchman or a guard. He could see the snow on the grass, being illuminated by the glow of the lights from the lower floor windows. He could see no fresh footprints in the new fallen snow. He did see some older prints that had been partially filled with windblown snow. Those footprints indicated the persons who had walked there earlier had gone around the left side of the house. Why would they be going around there?

  His decision was to inch his way around the left exterior keeping away from the windows, hugging close to the shrubbery to avoid detection. Hopefully, he could get around to the rear of the mansion without being discovered. He moved from his hiding place from behind the trunk of the tree. The Captain was about to take his first step toward his objective when a form suddenly appeared from behind a nearby tree blocking the sidewalk between himself and the house.

  Oh, by-ned, they do have a guard! At first all he could see was a head. What was on the head? Is that a cowboy hat? Yes, it is, he thought, but for a guard he is not exceptionally large. Considering his small size he surely must be armed. That’s okay, he thought reaching into the pocket of his coat for his own .45 caliber automatic pistol.

  Raising the pistol up into firing position, he waited for the shadowy figure to make his move before he fired. He knew the noise of the Colt automatic would arouse everyone in the house, but if it were his life or the ghostly figure next to the tree, this wasn’t going to be much of a choice. He pulled the hammer back into the cocked position – looking over the pistols sights he drew a bead dead center on the ‘watchman’s’ chest. Slowly placing his index finger on the trigger, the Captain knew it was now or never.

  “Captain, Captain Scarburg, is it you?” The phantom like apparition said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yes, I am Captain Scarburg. To whom am I addressing?”

  “I am Anhur Captain. It is me Anhur,” he said stepping out from the shadows of the trees into the dim light. The Captain stood stunned as he watched Anhur slowly approach closer.

  Firmly keeping his pistol ‘at ready’ Captain Scarburg hesitantly moved toward the petite figure advancing toward him. As the person neared, he could plainly see, it was indeed Anhur.

  “Anhur, my friend. Is it really you? What are you doing? Why are you here?” The Captain questioned in a quiet whisper. “By-ned, where in the blazes did you get my cowboy hat?”

  In a hushed voice, Anhur replied, “Ah, the hat... yes… later, but as always Captain Scarburg, I cannot keep my nose out of your family’s business. That is funny!”

  “Funny? Funny! Anhur how can helping me be funny?”

  “No, not that kind funny. Funny because I do not have what you Earthlings call ‘a nose’.

  “Right,” said Grandpa, “point taken. How are you going to help Anhur? I am trying to find Forrest and Olive Marie before something dreadful happens to t
hem.”

  “I am sorry to inform you Captain something dreadful has already happened to them.”

  “Tell me Anhur... they are not... not... dead, are they?”

  “No, but alive only for the moment. They are being held captive in this house. Their captors intend to eliminate them tomorrow after the ‘event’.”

  “Yes, I know about the ‘event’, give me a quick run-down on their situation.”

  Anhur moved in close to the Captain and explained how both Forrest and Olive Marie were being held in the basement. They were bound, blindfolded and gagged. One Secret Service agent was sitting just inside the basement entrance, and another was stationed at the top of the stairs leading into the main house. The only other person in the house was a woman by the name of Margaret White. All the others had departed immediately after the party. There had been a number of people at a guesthouse within twenty feet of the basement door, but it was now unoccupied.

  “Do you have a plan, Captain?”

  “No, not exactly Anhur, but I’m working on one.