The Elephant Hunter

[assassination in story]

The Elephant Hunter

Editors Note: Please keep in mind this story is completely fiction. The author is rather unconventional. Some of the characters may resemble real people (a few are real people); nonetheless, due to the writer’s pathological disregard for social discretion, please look beyond the questionable faux pas and simply enjoy the crime spree.

One more note – please do not try to perform any of the acts depicted in this story. Not only are many illegal, but someone could get hurt.

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Jarvis Patton scrolled through YouTube, looking for juicy stories about his favorite group to deride – the elephants. He never missed an opportunity to grab hot news from one of the major networks, splice some canned video, add delicious hyperbole and create a jeering commentary for his YouTube viewers.

Jarvis had more than 100 videos created since 2020 and 196,311 subscribers. He was generating approximately $220 a month from views. The extra money helped the struggling reporter since the weekly newspaper that he wrote for didn’t pay diddly. If he could lure a few unwitting rubes to one of his videos, he scored extra bucks.

Okay, sometimes his headlines were a touch misleading, a little sensational – what the heck – that’s yellow journalism. It works.

This was the weekend, however. As usual, news was slow. Maybe he could create something wild to get hits. But as he scrolled, most of the major news stories were more than 24-hours old – he’d already capitalized on these slim pickings. In boredom, he started watching some choice crime clips.

As he took a bite from the stale, store-bought oatmeal cookie, his eyes grew heavy. When he swallowed the last morsel, Jarvis’ eyelids flickered and his head bobbled. His mind teetered between slumber and wakefulness in the one-room apartment he shared with Lil’ Hon, his dog.

When his eyes opened again, Jarvis noticed the sun had faded and the room was murky, except for dancing lights flashing from his computer’s screensaver. Lil’ Hon was still sleeping in their bed. He stared at the screen for a few dazed seconds. The sleepy haze dissolved, and the date and time came into focus on his screen. Jarvis groaned with disgust. He had waisted two hours sleeping when he could have been producing a sensational, income-generating news story.

He impatiently clicked his mouse a few times and up popped an Internet connection. He scrutinized the unfamiliar site. What was this page? News stories scrolled from bottom to top, much like the final credits at the end of a film. One incredible story after another scrolled into view.

He didn’t recognize the website. It sure wasn’t YouTube. He read the address bar at the top of his window. It read – elephanthunter.org.

How could that be? No one knew about his inside joke that he had with himself regarding his “elephant hunting.”

When he further scrutinize the content, he wondered how he could he have missed all this luscious scoop.

His mind shifted into laser speed. He would copy and paste everything, pull from his collection of canned photos and videos, and then create an awesome YouTube video that would draw millions of viewers … he hoped.

He started pasting the stories and typing his own notes into a Word document to set up his narrative. This was the break he had been waiting for. He thanked the computer gods who had somehow sent him to this awesome website; yet, he had to work fast. He didn’t want anyone to beat him to this smoking hot newsflash.

As Jarvis worked, his commentary began to blossom. He had to add some speculative background – of course – that’s what makes stories tantalizing. It was all coming together. Somehow, Jarvis had stumbled upon the crime of the century and the truth behind the most hotly debated conspiration theory in history. He was going to be rich! MSNBC would probably offer him a lucrative million-dollar contract. He furiously typed and rehearsed his dialog …

One Elephant Down, Tuesday, 1000 EST

Senator Grant Lindley sat at a round glass table overlooking the picturesque hills of South Carolina. His housekeeper had brought him his favorite breakfast of ham and eggs, black coffee, toast and cranberry juice as he sat at the patio table. He picked up the latest edition of the Washington Post that was neatly folded next to his place setting. The main headline screamed the name Boswald Tramp … that’s as far as Lindley read.

“What has that idiot done now?” Lindley mumbled to himself. He gulped a swig from the coffee mug, braced himself and began to read about the ex-president’s latest escapade.

Suddenly a pop sounded from a distant wooded hill. A swishing crack near him startled the senator as he angrily read the story. He looked at his newspaper and saw that a quarter-sized tattered hole had appeared right below where he was reading.

“What the h…” Lindley started to bluster. His breath was suddenly hard to draw.

He looked down at his torso. A red stain of blood was growing from the middle of his chest. He wanted to cry for help, but he no strength. As the blood oozed from the wound, Lindley slumped down into his patio chair. The newspaper fell over his quivering mouth.

When his housekeeper looked out the window to check on him, she thought he had fallen asleep while reading the paper. “I’ll let him rest a bit,” she thought to herself.

An hour later, the housekeeper saw that Lindley was still sleeping; she decided to see if he needed anything before she left for the day. She first noticed blood dripping from the senator’s chair and a crimson puddle beneath his seat as she walked toward him. She called his name – no response. She raced toward Lindley and saw the senator’s lifeless eyes staring into the sky.

The Hunter’s Perspective

After carefully selecting a sweet spot, the hunter took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. Lindley lowered his paper and crumpled as the newspaper partially fell over his face. The shooter picked up the spent casing and stuck it into a snug hip pocket. The Bergara B-14 was placed into its special container. The shooter checked the grounds for any evidence and was gone.

Reporting Aspect

The television news stations, Internet and newspapers were electrified with the death of Senator Grant Lindley. Currently, investigators are still searching the crime scene. They haven’t concluded if Lindley’s death was a tragic hunting accident or a well-plotted assassination.

Here’s what is known. It appears that Lindley was having breakfast on his terrace and reading a newspaper at approximately 10:00 a.m., this morning. A bullet pierced the newspaper that Lindley was reading and then struck the senator in his chest. Part of his left lung and a tip of his heart were both hit. Lindley died within seconds.

The bullet was found lodged in the senator’s back, almost exiting the body, probably fired from a long-range hunting rifle. No casings have yet been found.

Although police recognize that Lindley’s shooting death could have been a hunting accident, assassination has not been ruled out [because the bullet hit Lindley perfectly in the chest – as if a target].

If you were hunting in Corinth, South Carolina, or have any information regarding this case, please contact the Corinth Police Department.

[Unknown to the public, the FBI and other law enforcement agencies believe Lindley’s death was an assassination; they are surreptitiously seeking an assassin.]

Late That Tuesday Night, 2335, CST

In the darkness of the bedroom, the hunter tiptoed to the bed and quietly slipped between the sheets.

“Where have you been?”

“I told you, I’m traveling around the country, visiting places on my bucket list.” The voice had a distinct Russian accent.

“Why can’t I come?”

“You know you’re not well enough. Please, let me sleep – I’m very tired. Good night.”

“Good night.”

The hunter knew the conversation would be forgotten by tomorrow.

Another Elephant Down, The Following Week, Saturday, 2255

Geoff Mattrise sipped a brandy as he watched the peaceful ripples in Garnier Bayou. His bayou-side home provided one of the most beautiful views in Fort Walton, Florida. As he walked around his inground pool, the congressman took another sip and pondered some of the legal troubles he had encountered. His family had more than enough wealth to sink the case against him, but he worried about losing his lucrative position in Congress. Afterall, he had always been looked upon as Florida’s darling – until he tangled with an underaged prostitute.

A pop sounded from the wooded area near to Mattrise’s home. The globed brandy glass in his hand shattered. The glass pricked his hands and face, and the congressman jumped from the shock of splintering glass. He unconsciously released the stem of the fractured glass and it crashed into the concrete surrounding the pool. Mattrise slowly descended downward toward the coping. He would have called his wife, but he suddenly lost all strength. He was on his knees as he looked at his torso. A hole in his shirt was oozing blood down his abdomen and pants. He fell backwards. By the time his head hit the concrete, he was dead. He was staring into the sky, sitting on folded legs when his wife found him the next day.

The Hunter’s Perspective

In the darkness, it was hard to follow Mattrise’s figure as he slowly walked around his pool. Suddenly a target presented itself. A glass that the congressman was holding in front of his torso sparkled from a decorative pool light. Mattrise lifted the glass to his lips and then lowered it to his chest area again. Perfect. The hunter took calculated aim and pressed the trigger. Mattrise collapsed to the ground. The hunter tucked the Bergara into a large beach umbrella’s folds, grabbed the spent cartridge and walked slowly away. With any luck, the body wouldn’t be found until the next day – plenty of time to exit Florida and head back to Texas – unnoticed.

Reporting Aspect

In less than a week, another well-known Republican has been shot. Congressman Geoff Mattrise was found at his Fort Walton, Florida, home. The similarities between the deaths of Mattrise and Senator Grant Lindley are astonishing. Both were shot dead center in the middle of their chests by a high-powered rifle. The same type of bullet was found lodged in Mattrise’s body as in Lindley’s. The Fort Walton police are labeling this latest tragedy a murder.

Here are the facts so far. Mattrise was walking in his backyard that overlooks the Garnier Bayou. He was probably shot between 11:00 p.m. last night and 1:00 a.m. this morning. He was found by his wife at 8:15 a.m. There was a shattered brandy glass that also seems to have been hit by the bullet before it entered Mattrise’s chest cavity and struck a major heart artery. He was instantly killed.

If anyone has any information regarding this case, please contact the Fort Walton Police Department.

[The FBI and other law enforcement agencies are concerned that a serial assassin is targeting Republican leaders. They believe it’s probable he will strike again. Law enforcement has not shared these concerns with the public, but it has warned GOP leaders.]

The Next Day, Sunday Morning, 1100 CST

“You’re late.”

“I know. We’ll go to the flea market now. Okay?”

“Yes. Where were you?”

“Remember, I’m visiting places on my bucket list.”

“Okay. Did you have fun?”

“I accomplished some goals. Now, let’s go and get some pecans to make a pie.”

“Okay.”

Two Elephants With One Swipe, Three Weeks Later, Wednesday Afternoon, 1350 EST

Congresswomen Bimba Laurip and Gabby Tatter Margin chatted animatedly as they left the House Chamber. It had been a long boring session, and they were ready to leave and have a few drinks at the Off the Record Bar near Lafayette Square.

“Let’s hit the restroom before we leave,” Margin said. The two headed for the nearest ladies’ restroom near the Chamber.

When they entered, they noticed an elderly woman in a maid uniform. She stood near a selection of towels, tissues and other restroom supplies. She was bent slightly, wiping around one of the bathroom sinks; her gloved hands working deftly to polish the marble.

“They have powder room attendants now – nice touch,” Laurip said to Margin as though the woman wasn’t there. “Maybe I’ll stick around a few more years.” Both women cackled at Laurip’s joke as they entered separate side-by-side stalls.

“Ma’am, I don’t have any toilet paper,” Margin was the first to call out.

“Neither do I,” Laurip parroted. She whispered to Margin, “You’d think she’d keep these stalls stocked – lazy old woman.” Of course, the attendant clearly heard her.

“I am very sorry,” the woman said with a foreign accent. “Here, I will get you rolls. Just set them down when you are done. I will take care of it. I am so sorry.”

Both women impatiently grabbed the rolls when they saw the white spools bobbing beneath their doorways.

The elderly woman changed her gloves, quickly checked the other stalls and stocked them with the needed supplies. All the stalls were empty of toilet paper.

Other women came and went, but Margin and Laurip had become unusually quiet and did not reappear. After it seemed most of the building’s occupants had left, the attendant called to the congresswomen. No response.

“Is everything okay?” She called again. Hollow stillness echoed in the room as the D.C. traffic hummed outside.

The attendant plucked a small key from her pocket and unlocked the two stall doors one at a time.

Both Congresswomen were still seated, eyes bulging upwards. The toilet paper was still dangling from their hands into the toilets. They were dead.

The attendant shut and re-locked the two doors. She grabbed a large briefcase from inside a supply cabinet. From the briefcase, she grabbed two of several pre-made “Out of Order” signs and taped them on the shut stall doors. She then removed from the case a dark wig, black pants and a black swing coat, which she quickly donned. She replaced her cheap scuffed sneakers with black polished flats and her latex gloves with black driving gloves. Her “maid” outfit was carefully placed in a heavy bag and then into the briefcase. She applied red lipstick and quickly glance around the restroom. The chic businesswoman calmly left the building.

The Hunter’s Perspective

The hunter heard voices. Get in character. The restroom door opened, and two trophy elephants entered. My lucky day – two in one swipe. Goodbye, girls.

Reporting Aspect

Two more high-profile Republicans were murdered inside the U.S. Capitol yesterday evening. Congresswomen Gabby Tatter Margin and Bimba Laurip were found dead inside a ladies’ restroom in the Capitol. It appears that the highly toxic VX nerve agent was generously applied to the toilet paper that the women used. The death count of Republicans has now risen to seven. Previous deaths include Senator Grant Lindley, Congressman Geoff Mattrise, Texas Senator Ratatal Crux, plus Supreme Court Justice Terrence Dombas and his wife, Winny (they were swimming when harpooned). Former President Boswald Tramp received an untraceable letter that said, “I’m coming for you next.” It was written in Russian. Tramp’s now in hiding [thank heavens]. Federal and local law agencies are working diligently to end these senseless killings.

If anyone has any information regarding any of the killings, please contact your local FBI field office.

[What the public doesn’t know is that the FBI has a lead from camera surveillance at the Capitol and is currently tracking a possible suspect.]

Friday Morning, 0950 CST

“Where have you been? I’ve been so worried.”

“I’ve been taking trips to visit my bucket list locations, remember?”

“You were gone a long time.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“We’re going to take a trip. You can come this time. We must move quickly.”

“Are we going now?”

“Yes, a taxi is waiting.”

The woman made sure the man was safely in the cab. She went back into their home, grabbed a few items and locked up. When she returned and joined the man, she said to the driver, “DFW Airport.”

When the FBI arrived at 03:15 p.m. at a rural home in Rockwall, Texas, the elderly couple was comfortably riding on an Emirates nonstop flight to Dubai. From Dubai, they would travel to Moscow.

“Why do you think this elderly couple is involved in the Republican shootings?” a local sheriff’s deputy asked one of the federal agents.

“We don’t think he is. We suspect the wife,” the agent responded.

“What?” the deputy asked incredulously.

“Mrs. Porter used to be Mrs. Oswald. She’s the widow of Lee Harvey Oswald.”

A Final Hunter’s Perspective

As the elephant hunter sat on the plane, she smiled thinking of the hero’s welcome she would receive in Moscow. She was one of many sleeper agents planted in the United States, but she was the one who waited longest for reactivation. More than 60 years she had waited. That is after her first hit, when she took out Kennedy. The hunter smirked in her plane seat. Her second husband slept peacefully next to her.

“What idiots the Americans are!” She thought to herself. “Lee didn’t kill Kennedy. Lee was a poor shot. I did it. I was the sharpshooter. Lee took the fall – as planned.” The Elephant Hunter closed her eyes and finally fell asleep with a contented smile.

Reporting Aspect

Not only did the killer assassinate the Republicans, but she is the person who assassinated John F. Kennedy in 1963. No one could make this stuff up, folks …

A wet nose poked at Jarvis’ fingers.

“Lil’ Hon – stop! I’m in the middle of a great story.” The dog kept prodding Jarvis’ dropped hand with her nose.

The cub reporter stretched and yawned. He patted the dog’s head and returned his eyes to the computer screen. It was back on YouTube.

Same boring weekend stories – nothing new to report.