TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES

Jimmy Lawson was running late and as he pulled up to the grill he could see the other three men waiting for him impatiently through the large plate glass window facing the road. “Fuck ‘em,” he thought, “they can’t start this party without me.” Walking into the restaurant, Lloyd Jowers came shuffling from behind the counter to greet him, “Hey Jimmy, they been waiting for you,” he said, face red with excitement. He grabbed a chair to put Jimmy at the head of the booth and squeezed in next to the other three men waiting and looking at Jimmy expectantly.
“So, the big nigger’s finally going to get what’s coming to him.” John Barger spoke first, making Jimmy wince inwardly. This wasn’t anything personal to Jim, he didn’t have a racist bone in his body. This was about one thing and one thing only, the money to set him up for life. He looked around at the other four men at the table, then focused on Barger and Earl Clark.
“O.K., let’s get this straight. At six tonight the man’s going to be out on the balcony and the department’s going to be completely out of sight, correct?”
“That’s the plan, Jim,” Earl said, in his low, steady tone. His blue eyes seemed to look right through you when he spoke, making Jimmy slightly uncomfortable. “You got nothing to worry about, the nigger should be alone and all the boys know if they see you to give you a wide berth. They’re going to be busy nailing the fall guy anyway. Lloyd here’s going to give you a hand with the rifle - you just drop and roll, buddy.”
“All right. I’m going to get out of here and get ready then fellas.” Jim stood up from the booth and nodded at Lloyd. “I think you got something for me, right Lloyd?”
The gangly grill owner looked at him blankly, then pulled himself out of the booth quickly, “Shit. Yeah, sorry Jim, almost forgot all about it.”
“Well, you can believe I didn’t,” Jimmy laughed and followed him to the back of the restaurant. Lloyd motioned him to come around the counter, pulled the grocery bag full of money out of an old stove and placed it on the counter. Then he reached back underneath and pulled out the rifle furtively. Jim kneeled and inspected the weapon, checking the sight and balance. He nodded. “It’ll do.” He glanced at the bag. “The first payment, right?”
“That’s it Jim, twenty grand. Liberto says you get the rest on delivery.”
“Alright Lloyd, I’ll be back here at 5:45. Don’t go anywhere.” He saluted the boys as he walked back out of the restaurant and into the midday Memphis sun. Settling back into his car, he checked his watch and realized he’d have enough time for a nap before coming back. He threw the car in drive and headed home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After his nap and a light meal, Jimmy Lawson began to get dressed for his six o’clock appointment. He took his uniform out of the closet, and by 5:15 he was completely ready, only his white officers shirt tucked away to be put on later, after the job. Until then he wore only a grey t-shirt over his MPD slacks and shoes.
“Hey Officer Lawson, getting ready to go after the bad guys?” his next door neighbors son asked as he pulled the car out.
“You betcha’, Bill”, he grinned, and headed out to the south side of town.
This time when he reached the grill it was empty, just as it was supposed to be. The unlocked door belied the closed sign and pulled shades and, upon reaching the back, he was met by Lloyd who opened the back door for him. The back opened out into a small yard covered with brush and thick foliage. Without a word, Lloyd handed him the rifle and Jimmy made his way through the brush until he found the perfect spot. The balcony of the hotel was right across the street, maybe 200 feet, a perfect shot, yet he could instinctively tell that he was all but invisible to the few people straggling between him and room 306. He kneeled with the rifle for the second time that day, eye fixed to the scope, only this time was for real, and he could feel the sweat begin to pop from the pores of his face. He checked his watch. Go time. He wiped his face with the back of his arm and again gazed down the sight. The room opened and the man came out and stood on the balcony, speaking to someone below Jim’s field of vision. He realized he was holding his breath, so with his finger on the trigger, he blew air out of his lungs, sucked air in and squeezed.
Through the scope he watched the bullet slam into the mans lower face and jaw, knocking him back and down, where he lay motionless. From the sledgehammer impact on the mans head Jim had no doubt it was fatal.
He handed the rifle back to Lloyd who grabbed it and ran back inside the restaurant, locking the door behind him. Jimmy quickly pulled his uniform shirt over his head and made his way through the remaining brush, jumped from the yard to the street below and raced down Mulberry where the police car was waiting for him at the intersection.
“Wheeeooo! That was tight, Bubba,” Officer Barger exclaimed as they drove off fast. “But you did it, Boy! You got that nigger!” Barger laughed and poked him in the ribs. Jim just looked at him, expressionless. He felt sick. Barger drove him the block to his car where Jimmy got out. Sitting behind the wheel, he drove off as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
He drove around for a solid hour, numb to everything before he finally made his way home, turning his radio on to monitor the news stations.
“Civil rights leader Dr. Martin Luther King was shot and killed today on the balcony of the Lorraine Hotel in Memphis, Tennessee. Dr. King was in the Memphis area lending his support to the Memphis sanitation workers strike and was preparing for a march through the downtown area, scheduled for tomorrow, April 5th. Police are looking for the driver of a white, late model Ford Mustang with Alabama license plates in connection with the slaying…”
Jimmy Lawson took a deep breath. “What the hell have I done?” he asked himself. He had nothing against King, in fact, despite the claims of his coworkers and other government officials that he knew, that Dr. King was a communist and all-around troublemaker, Jimmy had an admiration for the man and his work. But now he was dead, shot down by his hands, and another man was going to take the blame. All for a few lousy bucks. He tried to tell himself it had to be this way, if it hadn’t have been him it would have been someone else, but it didn’t help much. As much as he would like to believe that the conspiracy would become unraveled in time, he knew that this pitiful patsy in the Mustang would take his blame until he was silenced. The government propaganda machine was too all powerful. Just the C.I.A. alone owned or operated some 2,500 media entities throughout the world. His agency handler had explained the impact of an “official” story told over and over again. Even if one is convinced by evidence against this official story, the human brain will eventually discard this evidence and go back to believing the lie they have been told repeatedly. This lie becomes part of their identity, thus perpetuating disinformation and deceit from one generation to the next, forever.
Two lives down and for what? Jimmy felt dirty, dehydrated, depressed. He pulled into his driveway, parked and broke down. It had been a long day.

Dedicated to William Pepper
DURANGO 2008