The windows were open and a warm spring breeze whistled through, flapping the light curtains. Shadows danced across the sparseness of the single bedroom apartment.
He sat on the floor, holding the Remington rifle in his arms, hugging it to his chest.
Galt was there, too, keeping watch out the bathroom window. He was always with him, it seemed. He’d been with him since Mexico, maybe even since Germany. He couldn’t remember clearly anymore.
It had been Galt’s idea to do this. To leave California, head east and kill the King.
He sneezed, pain flaring up his nose.
The nose job had been Galt’s idea, too. Said it would make it so people wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Most people didn’t even recognize him in the first place, but, as with everything, Galt insisted.
He wondered if Galt had said something to the surgeon while he was under, because their noses looked awfully similar now. That was the sort of thing Galt would do to him, too. And he hated him for it.
At the window, Galt hisses.
Wearily, James Earl Ray stands up, rifle in hand, and moves to the window.
Time to kill the King, Galt whispers.
James Earl Ray assassinated Martin Luther King, Jr on April 4th, 1968. Ray had been stalking him since mid-March, when he’d left California after getting a nose job. He was using his alias, Eric Starvo Galt, while he traveled. The alias was something he’d started using in Mexico, when he’d attempted to become a porn director. Until his death, Ray maintained that he was part of a larger conspiracy to kill MLK. And maybe he was. After all, a conspiracy just requires two people. Ray and Galt were two people, that just happened to share one body.
Memphis had a pretty bad storm last night, and due to the power outage I was unable to publish this story. I’ll post another one today to make up for it. Sorry for the delay, but act of God and all that.