It was i who killed Kennedy (íà àíãëèéñêîì)

                                                            Perhaps the deaths of Marylin Monroe and John Kennedy indeed share the same mystery, but we are unlikely to learn the truth.

                                                                                                                                                                                                   Citizen

I was really lucky that Sunday: I had a great bargain with three rare badges at the flea market and was heading to my Ford. I parked it on a side street in hope it would be easier to get from there. But it proved just the opposite: cars parked here and there made it difficult to navigate and to my dismay I found I would be able to get out of the crowd not until people started leaving.

In disappointment I turned to the lake hoping to find a free space on many benches and wait in peace, as the sun was shining bright and there was no wind. Luckily there were not many people at the lake and I found one of the free benches near it and sprawled there.

Almost at the same time a man came to the bench and sat near me. I thought he was following me.

He looked like a bum: with grey, long, untidy and unkempt hair, chapped and gored lips, bruised face, toil-hardened hands with large stripes of dirt under his nails. He reeked of a long-time unwashed body.

"Collecting badges, are you?” he suddenly addressed me with the stench of alcohol, bad teeth and tobacco.

"I do come here when I have free time”, answered I thinking of where to relocate to.

"No, I’ve been watching you for a long while: you choose smart things, you’re after rare badges”.

"What does smart has to do with it?” thought I and got up.

"You wait, don’t hurry going away, I have a story to tell you… And will show you a badge. The one and only in the world. And the bloodiest”, he began muttering. "It has a lot of blood on it”, he tapped my knee significantly.

I felt ill at ease. I thought it was time to get away. Be he has again forestalled my thoughts:

"You can wait for ten minutes, can’t you. And I will then… give you that badge, I don’t need money. Just listen to me”.

"Ok, but, please, be quick, I still have much to do…”

"Do you know anything about the death of Marylin Monroe?”

"She got poisoned or overdosed, or something…”

"She was killed. John Kennedy’s  brother Robert strangled her with a pillow, and then they said it was an overdose. That’s for sure – I’ve been told by those who know. And all because of the badge”, he started tapping himself and feeling in his pockets. Finally he reached his inner, clasped pocket, unclasped it and took out a badge with his shaking hands. It was a black and white, tarnished badge with an erotic scene. You could distinguish faces of John Kennedy and Marylin Monroe.

Seeing my surprise, he chuckled and put the badge back into his pocket.

"Jack keeps his word, don’t forget this. The badge is yours, but first hear me out. You’re a decent man. I’ve been watching you for a long while. Every Sunday here. Buying souvenirs, magnets. You weren’t here the time before last though”.

"Yes”, I agreed.

"That’s a long story. I lived in Los Angeles, in Brenwood, just started to work. The company was called Five Xs. Once a lovely damsel came to us. We recognized her immediately – it was Marylin Monroe. She ordered five thousand badges,  like the one here”, he tapped his pocket. "I showed her around the company, she was merry, laughed all the time, but before leaving looked at me sadly and said: "I might be killed”. I felt very bad. Then, unnoticed by my boss, I kept one of the badges. And three days after that I saw a newspaper and couldn’t believe my eyes: they said she got poisoned. And the whole batch of badges disappeared. You see, I was head over heels in love with her. And took her death too hard. I simply lost my mind. I decided to avenge her death, to punish her killer. I could think of nothing else. Moreover, since people around me said it was no overdose at all, and that the Kennedy brothers got rid of her, so she didn’t spoil the election campaign of the older one. Later my uncle Richard, who worked at the White House in the informational department, told me that in a month, within that campaign, the President would visit Dallas, and that my uncle would be accompanying him (of which he was very proud). A day or two before that, I saw an advertisement that a man from Dallas was selling cheaply his Mannlicher-Carcano carbine and revolver. Lee Harvey Oswald, that was his name. He didn’t ask for much, probably he was in need of money. I thought it wasn’t just a coincidence, and my decision was just. I called that Oswald and we made a deal”.

"In a couple of hours I sent him his payment and told him I would come later to take the guns. I began the preparations. I joined a hunters club to practice my shooting with that carbine model. Every day of that month I spent in the club. I trained so hard, I could shoot a fly. And I always kept the badge with me. It warmed my heart… In the morning of the President’s arrival I was driving to Dallas and thinking how to find out his route around the city. When I drove into Dallas, I was astonished – people were on the streets, waiting for him, and clearly outlined the President’s route.

"I was appointing a meeting with Oswald over the phone, when there happened the second coincidence – the President would drive right near the book depository, where Oswald worked. I asked him to show me how to reload the carbine, as if it was the first time I had the gun in my hands. I needed him to leave his fingerprints on the gun. He showed me everything all right, and the revolver as well, and even put them into covers. I had gloves with me, but I didn’t show them to him. So, I went upstairs to the attic, just above the depository. I settled everything, had a nice lunch of sandwiches and a can of beer. Then people started to get lively – they waved banners and shouted. Soon the procession appeared. Without any effort I killed the president with three shots. I dropped the carbine, got down, and went to the Main Street with revolver in my pocket. I had no belt, so my trousers were slipping down. I thought to get rid of the revolver, when a policeman saw me. He was coming straight at me, so I stopped, waited for him to get closer, and sent five bullets right in his belly. I dropped the revolver, caught a train and rushed home.

At first I was afraid. I thought they would find me. Then I even felt hurt – they hung everything on Oswald. I still don’t understand why they thought he would fire from the school book depository attic. There were so many attics along the way. And then, why would he leave a carbine with his fingerprints? And the most interesting – they took him in the cinema, just when I shot that policeman”.

The bum smiled and scratched his unkept beard. Then he asked me: "And what would you do with this badge? You won’t keep it, like me. You would exhibit it in your album, or sell at the auction – you would get a fare share. And the journalists would start digging Marylin’s grave again. And for me Marylin Monroe is a saint”.

The man took handcuffs from his coat pocket and put them on.

"Had you taken the left road to the lake, we would be sitting with you over there”, he pointed to the other shore of the lake, clanging his handcuffs. Then he asked "Do you know how deep the lake is here?” And himself gave the answer "Six to ten feet at that shore. And over one hundred and eighty here”. He sighed and added "Another coincidence. The last one”.

Then eyeing me wildly, he muttered something, shook his head, as if trying to get free from pain, rushed from his seat and waving his handcuffed arms, hurried to the lake and plunged into the water.

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Unfinished badges (íà àíãëèéñêîì)