Libra - Don Delillo [174]
He watched Oswald approach uncertainly.
He was sure Oswald wanted to be the lone gunman. This is how it is with solitaries, with men who plan eternally toward some total moment. Easy enough to make him believe it. But he would also have to make sure Oswald didn’t fire until the limousine was moving away from him toward the triple underpass. T-Jay wanted a crossfire. If Oswald misses, his second shooter is in prime position; he has the car almost head-on. T-Jay did not trust Oswald to make the shot. This was the kid who missed General Walker at a hundred and twenty feet—a stationary man in a well-lighted room. And the Mannlicher is an old, crude and unreliable weapon. If he fires and misses while the car is still on Houston Street, coming at him, with no clear shot for the second gunman, then we all walk away with nothing. As a shooter, Oswald was redundant, strictly backup. His role was to provide artifacts of historical interest, a traceable weapon, all the cuttings and hoardings of his Cuban career.
T-Jay saw him spot the car, tilting his chin slightly. He walked over and got in, carrying a sandwich and a half-pint carton of milk.
“How’s the new baby?”
“Fine. Doing real well.”
“He’s going to be coming at you for one street length, swinging out of Main and coming at you down Houston,” T-Jay said. “You don’t take him then. This is not the time. It’s an easy shot, the easiest we could possibly expect, but they’ll be looking right at you. There’s a pilot car, there’s about fifteen cops on motorcycles, there’s a Secret Service car with eight men, four of them hanging off the running boards. They’re all clustered around the President’s limousine and they’re all looking your way. Once the shot is off, they’ll know exactly where it came from. That building will be flooded with police. I strongly recommend. I can’t be too emphatic. Wait. You wait for them to turn down Elm and head toward the underpass and the freeway. It’s not a hard shot. You aim at the mass, the center portion of his body or whatever part of his body is visible through the scope. Wait. You wait for him to veer away from you down Elm. Then you wait for him to clear the oak tree. He has to clear that tree. I estimate the first shot at less than two hundred feet. After that, depends on how fast the driver reacts. I figure the sound will ricochet toward the underpass. They won’t be certain of the source. You’re behind them now, which makes it harder for them to pick you out of the landscape. You gain extra seconds. Maybe ten extra seconds to get downstairs. It could make the difference. Wait. Be sure to wait. Don’t even show yourself in that window until the car reaches the oak tree. Then wait for it to clear the tree.”
The plan had one thing going for it that Win Everett’s levels and refinements could not have supplied. Luck. T-Jay watched Oswald peel the lettuce off the bread and eat it separately.
“Once you’re on the street, get out of the area fast. Jefferson Boulevard, not far from your rooming house. Go to West Jefferson, north side of the street, number 231. It’s a movie house with a Spanish-type façade. It’ll be open. They open the doors at twelve-forty-five. You go in, take a seat, watch the movie. We’ll have you in Galveston by nightfall and out of the country by dawn.”
Mackey crumpled the sandwich paper and threw it out the window. He took four cartridges out of his pocket. He jiggled them in his fist and let them drop into Oswald’s lunch bag.
“I don’t see any way you’ll need more than four rounds.”
“There won’t be time.”
“Trust your hands.”
“I’ve worked the bolt a thousand times.”
“What’s the baby’s name?”
“My wife named her Audrey, after Audrey Hepburn in War and Peace. Tolstoy. But her middle name is Rachel. We call her Rachel.”
“You’re going to love this operation,” T-Jay said.
He watched Oswald walk out of the alleyway onto Griffin Street and then head southwest, back to work.
The main thing is Kennedy dead.
The next thing is Oswald dead.