Open Writing

Reality 1187

Dennis Crafter, Arnold Katzmeyer, and his wife, Julia, entered their alternate universe with no more dignity than their comrades had—a moment of disorientation, and then they were dumped in a back alley of what looked like a large American city.

After they had picked themselves up and dusted off their clothes, they took stock of their situation. From their vantage point (they were in a small alley off a side street, that connected to a major thoroughfare, connecting to the city center) they could see the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Well,” Arnold said, “we seem to be in San Francisco, and from the looks of the cars that have passed, it’s sometime in the 1960s, or thereabouts.”

Holding his arm, Julia, said, “What should we do? Where should we go?”

Arnold shook his head. “I don’t know, but we always have the option of going back the way we came.”

Dennis came back from checking out the end of the alley some 30 meters away. “Don’t be too keen to do that, Arnie. Remember what we left back there. That underground room will be crawling with those aliens for a while.”

Arnold nodded. “True; I’d forgotten. Well, I suppose we ought to find somewhere we can lay up while we decide what we’re going to do. Any suggestions?”

“We’d better find a cheap hotel or something like that,” Dennis said.

“But how will we pay for it?” Julia asked. “We don’t have any of this world’s money.”

“Well,” he said, “we’ll just have to get some then, won’t we?”

“Dennis, I hope you don’t mean for us to…well, steal it, or anything like that,” Arnold protested.

Dennis shrugged. “Sorry, folks. I don’t like it either, but we don’t have time to earn it. I mean, we can hardly get jobs, can we?” They were quiet for a moment, then Dennis said, “You can leave that side of things to me. I promise not to hurt anyone.”

“But Dennis,” Julia objected, “you can’t just go steal someone’s hard-earned cash. You have no way of knowing what it might do to them. Financially, I mean,” she finished, with a glance at Arnold for support.

“Quite right, my dear,” said Arnold. “Dennis, you can’t go robbing some poor innocent in the street.”
Dennis laughed. “Don’t worry, I was thinking more along the lines of a gas station or convenience store. They’re insured against that kind of thing.”

Arnold and Julia still looked uncomfortable, and Dennis said, “Well, let’s see what develops. Either way, I think we’d better move.”

With Dennis leading and Arnold bringing up the rear, they left the alley and walked along the street to a wide thoroughfare with heavy traffic but few pedestrians. Billboards beside the street proclaimed a pending election, and the three travelers stopped when they read one of them.

VOTE KENNEDY
MEND OUR HEARTS
HEAL OUR NATION

They stood looking at the poster and its photograph of John Kennedy, and wondered briefly at the odd wording. Then Arnold said, “Well, with JFK running, at least we know when we are, and where; but I don’t recall that campaign slogan, nor can I think to what it alludes. But this must be 1960, the election he won against Richard Nixon.”

He and Julia stood looking at the poster, until Dennis’ voice brought them out of their reverie. “I don’t think so, Arnold. Look at this.” They walked over to where Dennis was looking at another poster.

“Nixon?” said Arnold. “Yes, he ran against Kennedy, and lost by only a hundred thousand votes or so. Then Jack was killed in Dallas in ‘63. Oddly though, his younger brother, Bobby, also ran against Nixon, and Bobby was shot in Los Angeles in 1968. So what’s the…?”

He trailed off, then whispered, “Oh my God. Surely not.”

“What, Arnold? What is it?” Julia asked.

Arnold continued looking from one poster to the other, then he turned. “We’re going to have to check it out, and I guess it doesn’t make any difference to our situation, but I think I know what’s happened in this universe.”

Dennis and Julia looked at him, and he went on. “I think things might not necessarily have gone the way they did in our universe. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that it was Bobby who was elected president in 1960, and that it was he who died in Dallas. Now Jack is running, and that means…”

“He’s going to be shot on…when was it, Arnold?” asked Dennis.

Arnold, without taking his eyes off the posters, said, “June 5th, 1968. Well, the actual shooting occurred just after midnight, so it would be June 6th. A Palestinian-born, Sirhan Sirhan, shot him as he was leaving the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles after winning the California primary nomination for the Democrats.” He looked at them. “We’d better find out what day it is.”

* * * *

They found a bench in Golden Gate Park and sat on it while they scanned the newspaper they had bought. The small amount of money they carried had been accepted by the news vendor without hesitation, and they retired to the park to peruse the San Francisco Chronicle.

The paper proclaimed the date to be June 5th, 1968. When Arnold saw this, he sighed and said, “Thank God, we’re not too late.”

Dennis glanced at Julia, then reached over and lowered the paper in Arnold’s hands. “Arnold, you’re not seriously thinking we can do something about this, are you? And even if you are, this is San Francisco. Robert Kennedy was shot in Los Angeles, remember?” Arnold looked up from the paper, and Dennis turned on the bench to include Julia in his comments. “Look, I’ll concede that history doesn’t necessarily have to follow the same path as it did in our universe, but you have to admit it might. For all we know, this Sirhan guy might be just an ordinary joe, a respected member of the community with seven kids and a mortgage and…well he could be anybody here, and we don’t have a right to assume things just because they went a certain way in our reality.”

Arnold looked at him blankly for a moment, then turned the paper so that the others could see the headline:

KENNEDY TO ACCEPT PRIMARY NOMINATION

“As in our world, the acceptance speech is going to take place at the Ambassador Hotel. Difference is, it’s here in San Francisco.” Arnold let that sink in, then said, “Dennis, what if the rest of this does go the way we remember? What if we have a chance to save a great man for the people of this America?

“In our world, John Kennedy was killed in Dallas in ’63. To us, that has already happened; nothing we do, I believe, could change that, because I don’t believe you can change the past if you’re already in the past. But in one respect, this is not the past, because it hasn’t happened yet. And because we are from outside this universe, that makes us an unknown quantity; I can’t believe we’ve arrived on the very day totally by chance. Don’t you see? It’s like having a free pass to the future.”

“But Arnold,” said Julia, “things here already haven’t gone the way they went in our world. Here, it was Robert Kennedy who was President first, and who was assassinated in Dallas. Now, John Kennedy is running. Who knows what else is different, or is going to be?”

Dennis nodded. “She’s right, Arnold. Anything might happen.”

Arnold looked at him, then at his wife. “But what if I’m right? Could either of you live with not having done anything if John Kennedy is shot in the kitchen of that hotel tonight?” He stared down at the newspaper for a few moments. “Look, I know we shouldn’t even be here, that our presence here is totally accidental, but shouldn’t we take whatever chances we’re given? Don’t we have some kind of obligation to at least try to do something about this, to help that poor family that lost so much?

“In our world, I believe most Americans at the time felt a sense of helplessness when JFK was shot, like they should have been able to do something to prevent it. What that might have been, I don’t know, but from what I’ve heard and read, it was a common feeling among those who were alive when it happened. Now we have a chance to redress that wrong; how can we not take it, or at least try?”

They all sat staring at the ground, with the sun warm on their backs and a light breeze sending puffs of white cloud scudding across the blue sky in the direction of Oakland across the Bay.

“You know,” Dennis said, “just a few miles from here, in Candlestick Park, at the end of August two years ago, the Beatles played their last ever live concert. I want to see that show more than anything in the world, or in any world. But I know I probably won’t. Even in a universe where we live a thousand years, there’s not enough time to do everything. And that’s what this is about, really. Doing the things that matter, not just to us, but to others as well; even, maybe, to everyone.”

“Arnold, you never cease to amaze me. You come up with the most incredible things sometimes, and the thing is, in this instance, I think you’re right,” Dennis said.

“You do?” Arnold said.

Dennis nodded. “Yeah. Y’see, in our world, a lot of people, including me, think John Kennedy’s assassination was some kind of conspiracy involving people high up in the government and the military, and that Kennedy was a dead man from the moment he landed in Dallas. Now, we have a chance to put that right. Oh,” he said, forestalling Julia’s objection, “I know it’s not the same Kennedy; I know this isn’t Dallas, that he’s not ours, but this universe’s version; but surely it must count for something.”

He looked from one to the other. “I just want to be able to say, when I stand in front of whoever and I’m judged, that I did what I could to restore a little of the balance of the universe, or universes. If I’m not being very coherent, it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise. I suppose it’s all about making a difference. We have a chance to do that; I think we should take it.”

Arnold and Julia thought this over for a minute or two, then Julia said, “Dennis, have you thought this through? Have either of you really thought about just what we might have to do in order to prevent Kennedy being killed?”

The men were quiet. “One thing you seem to have overlooked: how do we know that this assassination attempt will follow the way Robert Kennedy was killed in our world? The only sure way to prevent the assassination might be for us to find this Sirhan character and…and kill him before he does the deed. Are either of you prepared to do that? Are you so certain about what is going to happen that you can justify what would be, in any other circumstances, cold blooded murder?”

The two men looked at her, then at each other, and Dennis took his 15mm Glock/Colt automatic from behind his back and racked the slide, sending a round into the breech.

“Locked and loaded, Julia. Let’s go save a Kennedy.”

Julia looked worriedly at her husband, but Arnold’s face was inscrutable as he turned and began to walk up the street. The sun was lowering in the sky to their left, and sparse traffic passed them, but they saw hardly anyone walking. Slowly but with decisive purpose, they made their way steadily towards the city center and the Ambassador hotel.

By the time they reached the part of the city known as Haight-Ashbury, they’d had enough of walking, having covered almost 8 miles from the park. Arnold and Julia waited out of sight while Dennis entered a small convenience store. The sun was down, and the store’s owner was getting ready to close up. A few minutes later, Dennis ran from the store.

“Okay, come on, quick!” he said, leading them away from the store. “That guy’s going to call the cops, and we’d best not be here when they arrive.”

They walked quickly up the street, and Dennis put up his hand at an approaching cab. The vehicle swung into the curb and the three climbed in. Arnold said, “Ambassador Hotel,” and the driver pulled the car out into the sparse traffic.

Traffic was light, so it took less than 10 minutes to get to the Ambassador. Dennis asked the cab driver to let them off a few hundred yards from the hotel’s entrance, and the three travelers found themselves on the sidewalk. There was a bar below street level, and they decided they’d be better off there than out in the open, so they went down the stone steps and entered the dingy, smoke-filled dive.

Arnold and Julia found a booth, and Dennis went to the bar and got three beers, which he carried back to the booth. As they sampled their drinks, Dennis pulled a face and remarked on the beer’s resemblance to panther piss, and Arnold asked him when he drank panther piss.

Finally, Arnold looked at his wife, “Julie, I know you’re dead set against this; given any alternative, I would be, too. But there really is no other way.”

Dennis pushed his beer away. “He’s right, Julia. We might as well accept what we have to do. The alternative is to forget it and walk away. Can you do that, knowing that John Fitzgerald Kennedy will probably die as a result?”

Julia flashed him a glare. “Don’t you dare put this on me, Dennis Crafter,” she said, in a tightly controlled voice. “I’ve agreed to go along with this, but don’t you make any of this our fault. If we weren’t here, it would just happen the way it’s supposed to. And who’s to say we aren’t interfering in the natural course of things, that we’re not stopping something that was meant to be? Maybe we ought to think about that.”

Arnold reached across the booth and put his hand over hers. “Do you think I haven’t, darling? Of course I have; but, on balance, I can’t stand by and do nothing, I have to try. Can’t you see that?”
Julia nodded. “Of course I do, Arnie, that’s why I’m going along with it. But I don’t have to like it.”

“Then that’ll have to do, at least for now,” her husband replied.

They were quiet for a moment, then Julia said, “Do either of you know the circumstances of Robert Kennedy’s assassination in our world? How did it happen?”

Arnold sipped his beer, then replied. “Well, basically, it went like this. Kennedy was giving a speech, having won the California primary for President. That meant that he was odds-on favorite to win the upcoming election that November. He was leaving the Ambassador through the kitchen to dodge the crowds, and was shot there, allegedly by Sirhan.”

“What do you mean, allegedly?” asked Julia. “Is there some doubt that the man did it? Or are you just being politically correct?”

Arnold looked at Dennis, who took up the narrative. “You bet there was doubt. See, the autopsy on Kennedy showed that he was hit three times from behind; twice in the body, neither of them fatal, and once behind the right ear, which was the fatal shot.”

He paused and sipped his beer, grimacing at the taste. “Problem was, Sirhan was standing in front of Kennedy; no way he could have fired the fatal shot. In fact, there was some conjecture as to whether he fired any shots at all. Some said his gun sounded like a starter’s pistol. There were all kinds of weird theories going round. He was this, he was that; they even said he might have been a “Manchurian candidate” assassin, trained by the CIA.”

Arnold frowned. “Manchurian candidate? What’s that?”

Dennis smiled. “Oh, that was a movie way back in the 20th century, about a guy who’s hypnotized to assassinate the president, then to forget he did it. Sirhan always said he had no memory of firing any shots, but accepted that he must have, since Kennedy was dead. But there were all kinds of cover-ups going on. The police destroyed thousands of photos of the assassination scene before the trial, as well as the door and ceiling panels from the kitchen, which apparently had bullet holes all over the place. Suspicion also fell on one of the security guards who was with Kennedy, that he might have been the shooter. But nothing was proved, and the case went the way JFK’s murder did; a lone, crazed gunman, acting alone, etc.

“Anyway, there were all kinds of anomalies in the case; but, in the end, Sirhan did life in prison for it.”

Arnold looked up from the table. “Why was he killed, Dennis?”

“Well, he was essentially dedicated to the same ends that his brother was. He was determined to get U.S. troops out of Vietnam, he was going to come down hard on organized crime, he spoke up for minorities such as immigrants and blacks. Most important, at least from his opponent’s point of view, he was determined to find out the truth behind his brother’s assassination.”

Julia shook her head. “So, they killed him for his dedication. That poor, unhappy family. What did they do to deserve such treatment?”

Dennis looked at her. “They rocked the boat, love,” he said. “Anyone who did that in those times was in danger from his own establishment. Remember, there were three such killings in the 1960’s, none of them adequately explained.”

Arnold nodded. “Yes, I remember. Martin Luther King was shot. Some say it was because he was attempting to organize the black people, which was seen as a threat against the establishment.” He shook his head. “What a troubled time that was.” He looked at the others. “Well, we seem to have an opportunity to right at least one of those wrongs, albeit in another universe. I don’t know how much that will affect the cosmos in general, but…”

“Karma is karma,” said Dennis. “What goes around, comes around.”

“Right,” said Arnold, and even Julia nodded reluctantly.

When they left the booth and returned to the street, they found the hotel’s front brightly lit, and cars arriving and departing regularly. After scouting out the immediate area, Dennis said, “Folks, we’re going to have to move. I don’t know how long it’s going to take us to get inside, and we also don’t know for sure what time the man was shot in this world.”

Arnold interrupted. “As I said, in our world, it was just after midnight.”

Dennis nodded. “Okay, if it’s the same here, then we’ve got a little time, but we can’t guarantee it will be the same time.”

“True,” Arnold said. “It might be another of the things that are different here.”

“In that case,” Dennis said, “we’d better start looking for a way in.” He looked at the imposing facade of the hotel, and the line of palm trees leading up the driveway to its entrance.

“This is way too open for my liking,” he said. “Maybe there’s a rear entrance where we can get in without being seen.”

Carefully, all senses alert, they moved swiftly across the wide expanse of lawn in front of the hotel and went around its western end. No vehicles were in sight, and they were able to reach a service entrance without being seen. While Julia and Arnold kept watch, Dennis went to work on a padlock on a small door next to one of the loading docks. After a few moments, he called softly to the others, and they slipped inside, closing the door behind them.