“Momo, no!” Frank yelled. Momo said, “She came for him.” He shot her. “Christ!” Frank screamed as Marie’s body twirled and then corkscrewed to the floor. He wanted to lunge and take the gun away, but he was too scared, and then Momo took a step away from him, put the gun to his own head, and said, “I loved her, Frankie.” Frank looked at those sad hound eyes for a second; then Momo pulled the trigger. His blood spattered all over Kennedy’s smiling face. Funny thing, Frank thinks now, that’s what I remember more than anything—that blood on John Kennedy. Later, when Kennedy was killed, it didn’t
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