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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Detective · #2294373
An attempt at Historical Fiction
Detective John Klinger didn't like working in the colored district. In fact, if it were up to him, Washington wouldn't have a colored district. As a veteran of the Civil War, he had been all for abolition, but what nobody had thought of at the time, was that if you freed slaves from the plantations in the South, they would eventually have to go someplace else like the North, and they brought such strange ideas with them.

"Is there a store called Winston's around here?" he asked a young Negro boy on the street.

"Just up on that corner."

Klinger walked up to the corner and saw the store which seemed plain enough at first, but when he looked in the windows, he saw some strange things. Masks, skulls (real?), and small dolls. Strange, Klinger thought. He had been expecting a gunsmith. But he took a deep breath and stepped into the shop.

"Hello? Anybody here?"

"Well, hello there," said a friendly voice. A very dark man emerged from the back of the store. He flashed Klinger a very white smile. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Mr. Winston?"

"I certainly am."

"Do you sell guns?"

"I sell many things, but I ain't a muniftions man, if that's what you mean."

"Do you recall a customer named Charles Guiteau?"

"Ah", Winston smiled. "I do recall that. He was in here about a week ago. He told me some tales and I may have told him some tales."

Klinger frowned. "He told you tales?"

"Oh yes! He was quite the talker. He said that he was blessed by the Apostle Paul and he was the doing God's works. Further, he claimed that he had been campaigning for President Garfield and that the president owed him an appointment to the Consulship of France." Winston laughed. "Apparently, he was all set to pack his bags and move to Paris. That must have been a disappointment."

Klinger had already heard most of this. He knew that Guiteau had made all of two campaign speeches for Garfield and nobody had been particularly impressed by either of them. He cleared his throat. "You said you told him tales, too?"

"Ah yes! I told him some tales about Africa and the Elephant spirits."

"Elephant Spirits?"

"Yes. At first, he didn't want to hear about it. He told me that he was good Christian who couldn't worship no god but the one above. But I pointed out to him that the Elephant spirit might just be the God above by another name."

"I see. And what did you tell him about these elephant spirits?"

"Well, I told him about ivory. You know where ivory comes from, don't you?"

"The tusks of innocent elephants."

"Right. And most of the time it's harmless, but back in Africa, there are men called witch doctors who can put a certain juju on a piece of ivory and then it captures some of the elephant spirit. Useful for doing the Lord's work."

Klinger recoiled. "The Lord's work? Or the work of the other guy?"

"That's a good question," said Winston flashing another white grin. "Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference."

"So let's get to the point here. Did you sell Guiteau a gun?"

"Indeed I did! I sold him a gun with an ivory handle. In fact, when he didn't have my asking price, I offered him a bargain."

"Christ!" said Klinger. "Do you realize what you may have done?"

Rather then wait for a response, he rushed out of the store and back to the nearest police station.

"Klinger," said the desk sergeant, "have you heard about the president?"

Klinger hadn't, but he could guess. "Is he-?"

"Shot. They took him to a hospital, but he's not expected to live."

"Was it that Guiteau guy?"

"Afraid so, but he's in custody."

"What about the gun he used?"

The sergeant shrugged. "I imagine it's been seized as evidence."

"Can you check that?"

The sergeant got up and made a call to the telephone switchboard. When he came back, he had an odd expression on his face. "Strange. Apparently, it was a gun with an ivory handle, but nobody knows where it is. It's just disappeared."

Note: This is a work of fiction. It is loosely based on historical events, but it is not even close to being accurate.

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