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Presidential Assassinations – Episode 102

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 11/10/2011

President Johnson Jackson wants to kill himself. Hitman Vincente Cruz is the wrong man for the job.

Episode 102 – A Nightmare On Elm Street, Too

(On a foggy morning in D.C., Vincente Cruz is in a paddle boat in Constitution Gardens Pond with a high-powered rifle as President Johnson Jackson gives a speech in front of the Vietnam War Memorial. His scope frames the President’s head as he tries to steady himself against the bobbing waves…)

Cruz:  Okay. Assassinating the President from a boat wasn’t my best idea.

Child:  Mommy, look!

(A small child and his mother step into the line of fire and Vincente quickly lowers his weapon. The mother pushes her son behind her…)

Mother:  What are you doing out there?

Cruz:  What? Nothing! I’m in a paddle boat.

Mother:  Is that a gun?

Cruz:  (starts paddling in the other direction)  I’m duck hunting. There a law against that?

Mother:  Yes, there is. I’m calling the police.

Cruz:  Please don’t. I’ll lose my hunting license!

(The boat hits a rock and the assassin and his gun fall backwards into the water…)

Cruz:  Great! You scared all the ducks away!

~~~

(At the Vietnam Memorial, President Jackson is stalling…)

Jackson:  …and the forefathers and bla bla war.

(The crowd groans and Johnson mutters to himself…)

Jackson:  C’mon. Take the shot, already. I’m bombin’ out here.

Crowd Member:  You suck!

Jackson:  You suck!

~~~

(Vincente climbs up out of the opposite end of the pond, soaked. He runs through the trees just as the speech has ended and the crowd has dispersed. President Jackson ducks behind the memorial and dials the hitman…)

Jackson:  What the hell was that out there? Why am I–why is the President still alive?

Cruz:  I was made.

Jackson:  By Secret Service?

Cruz:  By…a four-year-old.

Jackson:  Is this your first assassination?

Cruz:  Of the President, yeah.

Jackson:  Pathetic.

Cruz:  C’mon, gimme another chance. Let’s just call this a dry run.

Jackson:  I dunno.

Cruz:  Were you at the speech? Let’s meet up and talk. I’m currently hiding in some bushes. Bring dry pants.

Jackson:  No. No meetings. If we do this again, I’m going to have to lower the reward. You’re not worth ten million. Let’s say five.

Cruz:  Well, that sucks.

Jackson:  The President will be on the outdoor patio of a coffee shop on Elm Street in an hour.

Cruz:  Gotcha. I won’t let you down this time. Gotta go change my pants first, though.

~~~

(An hour later, Vincente is knocking on the door of an apartment building across the street from the coffee shop. An old lady finally answers…)

Agnes:  Yes, dear?

Cruz:  Hi, ma’am. My car broke down outside. I was just wondering if I could use your phone.

Agnes:  Of course, hon. Come in.

(Vincente grabs the phone and glances outside at the motorcade parked in front of the cafe. The President is drinking an espresso with his wife, looking around frantically; surrounded by Secret Service…)

Agnes:  (hands Vincente a tea)  What have you got in that big box, hon?

Cruz:  Flowers. Would you mind giving me the room? Kind of a private call.

Agnes:  Flowers, eh? You got a special lady-friend?

Cruz:  Yeah, a girlfriend. Sorry, the call?

Agnes:  Well, she’s a lucky lady with a handsome boy like you.

Cruz:  (sighs, turns aside)  I’m gonna have to knock this old lady out, aren’t I?

Agnes:  (glances at the wall clock)  Oh, dear! My stories are on. I’ll be in the next room. You take your time, hon.

(Agnes turns the volume way up and Vincente quickly assembles his dried rifle and attaches the silencer…)

~~~

(President Jackson sees the glint of the rifle scope from the second-story apartment window and grabs the First Lady’s hand…)

Jackson:  I love you, Belle.

Belle:  (beaming)  Aw. I love you too, Johnson.

Waiter:  (suddenly appearing in front of the table)  Will there be anything else, Mr. President?

Jackson:  (head shoots up)  No! Check, pleas–oh, he’s dead.

(The Secret Service swarms around the downed waiter and hustles President Jackson back into the limo and down the street. He slumps his shoulders and sinks into the leather…)

Jackson:  (mutters)  Aw, I’m never gonna get assassinated.

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