In Sharpe Focus
Copyright© 2023 by corsair
Chapter 32: April 12, 1963
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 32: April 12, 1963 - Who shot JR Ewing? I mean who shot JFK? One was a fictional Dallas, and the other has much fiction attached. Agent "Jackie" has been voluntold to investigate a coup in progress and begins with an investigation into a dead actress, a trip down a rabbit hole.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Coercion Mind Control Reluctant Slavery BiSexual TransGender Fiction Crime Fan Fiction Historical Military Mystery Restart War Science Fiction Alternate History Body Swap Paranormal Magic Incest Rough Sadistic Gang Bang Swinging Interracial Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Petting Voyeurism Water Sports Body Modification Small Breasts ENF Nudism Prostitution Transformation Violence
“Edwin Walker,” I muttered. 24th Infantry Division commander until he resigned under a cloud in 1961. “Violated the Hatch Act but was permitted to resign. I had a part in the investigation--he was suspected of being a closet Nazi.”
“Was he?” Billie asked.
“No more than the rest of the Army,” I replied. “That’s not much of an endorsement. I was keeping track of the old Nazis--real Nazis--and General Walker had only professional associations with them. You want Nazis, go to Huntsville, Alabama--or Bell Aircraft.”
“Two nights ago, someone shot at Walker,” Major Blake said. “I want you to look the place over.”
“Look it over again?” Billie asked. “We were there earlier this year.”
“What do you expect me to find that Dallas police didn’t?” I asked. “More to the point, what do you expect me to do about it?”
“Just look the place over!”
“Yes, sir. I’ll need credentials. General Walker was committed to the booby hatch on orders of the President instead of being put on trial. Now someone took a shot at him. I’m on edge because people tried to kill me. I expect Edwin Walker to keep his pistol in his pocket from now on. He will call the police when he catches me.”
“Not after you and I introduce you,” Major Blake said. “In your past, you investigated crime scenes. I’ve got a kit in the trunk.”
“I need a rifle scope, too,” I said. “The shooter may have used open sights, but a four-power telescopic sight would be useful to re-enact the attack.”
The five of us took to the road in two cars. I drove for Major Blake--we were alone in a US Army sedan--something by Ford. Driving in a navy-blue Chevy Bellaire more or less independently were Gem, Mae and Billie. Major Blake listened to the radio, mostly AM, as we travelled through broadcast footprints from Mobile to Dallas. As soon as one signal faded, Major Blake fiddled with the frequency knob and picked up another. We stopped for gas and coffee twice during our ten-hour journey, arriving at General Walker’s place at 1600 hours Dallas time. The man at the back door wasn’t Walker.
“Jackie?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m from the White House. Walker is gone until ten. I’ll help you any way you want.”
When I asked the White House representative for his name, Major Blake informed me that I didn’t need to know that and to quit wasting time. I began by looking at where the bullet landed, the wall it punched through, and the nick in the window frame. Then I traced the trajectories and guessed where the shooter would have been, using the rifle scope. I recorded this with verbal notes and by using the advanced In Sharpe Focus miniature camera. Mr. X sat at General Walker’s desk when I went outside and peered up at the dummy in the window. I searched the ground, the picket fence, wandered over to a church parking lot, and a boy came out to aske me what I was doing.
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