Dr. Frank Einstein (17 page)

                                                       Chapter Twenty Five

  
  “Hot towel, Mr. Einstein?”

  
    "Champagne, Mr. Einstein?"

   
   "Please choose from the grommet menu for all three meals”

     
  “Anything you need just ring.”  The female attendant seemed to gush and be in awe of me, simply because I was flying first class. Each passenger had their own compartment.  It had an entertainment center and a big leather chair that converted into a full bed.

        Over the Pacific the turbulence jolted the plane.  The plane fell a terrifying thousand feet in a split second. Everything rattled, everyone screamed. A coach passenger hit her head against the overhead compartment.  The flight attendants rushed to her. They gave her first aid.

   
    I took an over the counter sleep ease.  I dozed off watching a movie.  Then I would wake up realizing I was an assassin.  I felt queasy.  I did not want to be myself anymore.

    
   The plane landed in Honolulu to be refueled its tanks.  I looked out my window on the tarmac.   Police cars, with lights flashing, screeched to a halt. Ten police officers appeared; some boarded the plane.  

   
    This was it!  It was over. Sweat gushed down my face.  I tried to contain my panting.  I heard my heart pound.  I needed to get up.  I restrained myself.  Fight or Flight.   Six years from now; a needle in my arm! All alone in a cell.  No CD's. No DVD.  No Internet twenty four / seven.  Why did I destroy my life?

      
“Ladies and Gentlemen, "announced a flight attendant to the cabins "please remain in your seat and remain calm.  Please allow law enforcement to do their job.”

    
   I stared the stairs that led to the main cabin.  But all I saw was dead air.   Excruciating time passed but no one came up. No one would be allowed up unless they had the proper ticket.  The rich always get away with murder.

   
    I returned to look at the window.  The Federal Bureau of Investigation I led a man away shackled to the police car.    All the police returned to their cars.  They all sped in the humid Hawaiian night.

   
    Yep, the rich always get away with murder.

  
     Seven hours later I was face to face with a Philippines Immigration officer behind a glass partition.  A line of people stood behind me.  “Am I on a watch list yet?” I thought.

 
      The officer scammed the bar code of my passport.

 
       “Thank you, sir.” said the officer when he had completed routine with me.

 
      “Guess not.”  I mused as i entered the Philippines.

          I had been to Manila a couple times before.  I was not going to use a taxi.  I hated Filipino taxis!  Half the time they refused to use the meter.  Instead of the meter they demanded an exorbitant fixed rate. So I took a bus.  I would go to Cabao.  Near the Arena that had the thrilla in Manila.  It was evening so the traffic had subsided but was still intense.  I took an hour to go fifteen   kilometers.  I paid eight dollars for twelve hours at Sogo Hotel.

   My room was a crakerbox with no window.  It was one of those hotels.  But I felt more anonymous. 

     I turned on CNN on the small TV which was on one of those metal arms.  It went on about the assassination of Washington.    They had not figured it out that I did it. It was also there that I was stunned to see the broadcast of the president nominating Fitzsimons.  I never heard of him before but I felt very uncomfortable with the fact he was a Republican.  Truman had appointed the Southern Democrats Fred Vinson who turned out to be conservative.  Eisenhower had appointed Warren and Nixon appointed Blackrum.  They were both Republicans who turned the stomach of their fellow Republicans with their liberal agenda.  Maybe Fitzsimons will turn out to be liberal justice.  But somehow I did not think that made sense.

                                                     Chapter Twenty six

     
The door exploded open with smoke canisters streaming across the house.  A line of SWAT Federal Bureau of Investigation with full body Armor and M sixteen rammed through the modest house at a pleasant working class neighborhood in the suburbs of Baltimore.

       “Get down! Down!  On the fucking ground!” screamed the SWAT leader to the family eating dinner around the dining table.  The fa
mily choked on the tear gas.  Tears streamed down their rosy checks as they buried their heads in their sleeves except the father who kept his head up high.

      "I've got little kids, asshole!” complained the father in his chair. The children bawled with fear.

      “I will not say it again! Everyone hit the floor!”

      The father, mother, son, and daughter scrambled the floor. SWAT handcuffed the adults but not the children.

      “Samuel Jenkins Palmer we have an arrest warrant for the assassination of Justice Washington!” stated the agent in the suit with the glock. 

       “You're crazy!” strenuously objected Palmer.  He hacked and coughed and hacked as he was led out of his house.

       “You have the right to be silent.”  Mirandized the agent as he followed Palmer.

       Palmer found himself being interrogating by the United States Justice Department with his lawyer in a whitewash room at the J. Edgar Hoover Building.  They sat across a table from two agents, Kendra and Jennings, both of whom were European Americans.  Palmer shackled head to toe. His eyes still blood shot from tear gas at his arrest.

       “My client will make a statement and then
he's gonna to shut up forever!” stated his lawyer.  He sat up in his chair pretending he was not a cheap general practiced attorney who never had defended a client in a criminal court.

       Palmer stated “Look, I did not kill Washington.  He was one of the good guys.  He voted for those decisions
that kept the government's hands off our guns.  Because of him I can participate in gun shows unimpeded.  He could always be counted on to uphold our right to bear arms.  He is a very conservative and I liked that You think I did this because I'm a white separatist.  I'm not against black people.  I'm against niggers.  There's a difference y'know, Black people are like Washington.  They work hard, married their own kind.  Know their place.  They don't cause trouble.  Niggers are gang bangers, never work living off welfare. Or they use affirmative action quotas to get unqualified niggers to steal jobs from whites who more qualified.  I believed in reverse discrimination! And so did Washington. 
Our socialist president is a nigger. I know he did not qualify for Harvard.  Now we can add Muslim terrorist to him being a nigger.

    “Now I know I did possess the gun that killed Justice Washington.  If I knew the assassin was gonna killed that great Justice Washi
ngton I would have killed him right there!  How did I know that pinko would exploit the right to bear arm?  I thought all of them believe in gun control.  I guess him going to a gun show is like them Muslim terrorists going to a nudie bar.  Maybe this guy was a Muslim terrorist.

    
I remember who I sold it to.  It was like only a week before the assassination.  He was weird like he was drunk or something.  But I don't think he was drunk.  He had a speech problem.  I thought, what was he doing buying a gun? But despite his handicap or somethin’ he knew what he was doing.  He had car keys in his hand.  He bought it for five grand.  He had five grand so I took him seriously.  He was about six feet kinda fat, maybe late forties, he had a bushy beard, but I guess that's gone.  He had sunglasses and a big hat.  That's typical dress for a gun show.   I was at the gun show outside Fairfax, Virginia when I sold it to him. That's all gotta say.” 

       “You have shown
a lot contempt for inter-racial marriages.  You visit anti-misogyny websites complaining about them” said the Federal Bureau of Investigation agent.

       "So?” Palmer leaned back to fained relax. He tried restrained a twitch of his check.  He glanced quickly; copiously to his atto
rney and militia comrade.  He thought, I can only trust a comrade in arm to defend me; a public defender could be a minority.

       “Washington's wife was white, “continued the agent,” He is the highest most visible African American government official who's
married to a white person, we think that's why you killed him.”

       “Oh.”

                     Chapter
Twenty Seven

     It cost five thousand dollars.  It stood somewhat large and sturdy.  I had DSL and cable installed.  My squatter house was made out of plywood; it had fifty one square meters stuck in between two shabby houses. They had millions of squatting houses in Manila and its surroundings.  I actually remembered this community from twenty years ago.  Nothing had changed here.  

     
There are thousands and thousands of houses piled on top of each of other.  A maze of houses that were festering in swirl of chaos.

  
    It seemed that every Filipina wanted to marry an American.  I had never found an American to be interested me.  But here I fit right in. Actually I had married my first wife here.  She really did have schizophrenia.  It was genetic, her brother had it. 

       I sought to be anonymous.  That meant stay away from women.

       I started to write.  That is all I could do.  Stay anonymous and write.  Write on Assisted Content, I did not like to go out.  The tricycle drivers would shout.  “Are you drunk,” I hated that.  “Hey Joe, you drunk!”   Stay inside.  I have never drunk alcohol in my life.

       Stay anonymous.

       I had a hotplate and refrigerator. I hired a neighbor to clean and shop for me.  I would go days without leaving my house.

       I faced my laptop in my makeshift living room. It decorated sparsely. The floor laid plank boards.  I formulated my thoughts out loud.

        A knock came upon the door.

        “Mr. Einstein what’s wrong? “Said a Filipino female voice,’ why are you yelling?”  

        I went to the door with a smile on my face.  I said to her, “I’m just thinking out loud”

        “Oh okay .so you’re sure you’re okay?”

        “Yes .fine. Thanks.

        I went back to my computer.  I blogged the following article:

                Bin Laden was not a Muslim

       The Qur'an teaches Muslims can only attack on the battlefield.

During his life, Muhammad gave various instructions to his forces and adopted practices toward the conduct of war. The most importan
t of these were summarized by Muhammad's companion and first Caliph, Abu Bakr, in the form of ten rules for the Muslim army:

      "O people! I charge you with ten rules; learn them well!

Do no betray or misappropriate any part of the booty; do not practice treachery or mutilation. Do not kill a young child, an old man, or a woman. Do not uproot or burn palms or cut down fruitful trees. Do not slaughter a sheep or a cow or a camel, except for food. You will meet people who have set themselves apart in hermitages; leave them to accomplish the purpose for which they have done this. You will come upon people who will bring you dishes with various kinds of foods. If you partake of them, pronounce God's name over what you eat. You will meet people who have shaved the crown of their heads, leaving a band of hair around it. Go in God’s name, and may God protect you from sword and pestilence.