Lee directed him to Houston Street, where they parked in front of the Old Court House, facing south, their backs to the Book Depository, which was a block and a half away. Ferrie wiped spit from the corners of his mouth. He seemed out of breath. Lee sat calmly looking out the window.
"It's been waiting to happen, Leon."
"I have to be at work at eight."
"That building's been sitting there waiting for Kennedy and Oswald to converge on it."
"Just o"* of curiosity. How did you find out where I live? The Feebees don't know. They know where I work."
"They know where you work. That's how we know. We followed you from work last night. We're more interested in you than they are. Listen. I sat in the car outside your rooming house half the night. I was afraid to come see you. Now that it's going to happen, I'm scared half to death. I've got fear running through my system. Look at what we're doing. The chaos? The fucking anguish we'll cause? We'll give everybody cancer. I sat in the car. I was afraid to face you. I thought, What are we doing to poor Leon? I thought, Poor Leon's seen that item in the paper. Harwood to Main. Main to Houston. Houston to Elm. Like a scary nursery rhyme. He's going to kneel in that window and do it. And I'm one of the ones. I'm the agitator. I'm the fool that's responsible." Lee took a stick of gum out of his pocket and broke it in half. He offered a piece to Ferrie, who slapped it out of his hand. "Where's the rifle?"
"In a garage in a suburb, where Marina's staying." "They drive you to Galveston when it's done. I meet you there. This way we're one city removed from the scene. There's a plane all set in Galveston. We fly to Yucatan. A place called Mdrida. They drive you across the peninsula. They put you on a boat to Havana. They want you in Havana. It suits their purposes just as it suits yours. The boat's all set. They'll give you a name and documents." Ferrie looked at him sadly. "Or there's more to it. Something we don't know about. Like they kill us both in Yucatan." Lee gave a little laugh, expelling air from his nose. Then he turned to look at the clock attached to the Hertz sign on the roof of the Book Depository. He got out of the car and walked down the street.
Just after lunch hour he went past Roy Truly's office on the first floor. Mr. Truly, the man who'd hired him, was talking to one of the textbook salesmen. Lee saw the salesman hand Mr. Truly a rifle. Two or three other men stood in the doorway commenting. Lee walked over. There were two rifles the salesman said he'd just bought. He had a.22 for his son for Christmas. And a deer rifle that Mr. Truly was inspecting. The fellows commented from the doorway. Lee watched the salesman box up the. 22 and then he walked over to the elevator and hit six. He wasn't surprised to see rifles in the building. How could he be surprised? It was all about him. Everything that happened was him.
Thursday. T. J. Mackey stood in front of the County Records Building. He crossed the street to the triangle lawn between Main and Elm. He looked toward the railroad tracks above the triple underpass. Then he jogged across Elm and Stood on the sloped lawn in front of the colonnade. He walked up toward the stockade fence that set off the parking lot. He stood facing Elm. He walked back toward the sign for Stemmons Freeway. Cars, everywhere, dashing. He looked at the sky and wiped his mouth.
Later he sat in a dark Ford on the downtown fringe, unwrapping a sandwich. This was an area of old packing houses with train tracks partly paved over and sides of buildings showing brick and mortar exposed by the demolition of adjacent structures. Every usable space was set aside for parking-alleyways, dusty lots, old loading zones. There was a clinging midday silence, a remoteness that Mackey found odd, a block and a half from the crowds and traffic.
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 facade. 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."