A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [106]
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Chapter 28
The governor and his family snuggled into a booth at Daddy Bruce, the renowned purveyor of spare ribs, long deceased. They chomped.
“What’s the matter with those people?” Rae asked.
“You can’t paint a single picture and call it universal. If there are common denominators, it would be poverty in youth, perhaps corporal punishment, dust and cactus life, or places of raw exploitation. They grow up to be losers and band with other losers in losers’ bars and losers’ trailer courts. Together, they flesh out who caused their birth-to-death misery. Few people have the guts to really look into themselves, so they go for the cliché villains. The government is the big, bad demon in their lives. They dream of being warriors, they play at being warriors. Their rationale is warped logic, but logical to them nonetheless. They stay as persecuted outcasts, a role they fit into, and therefore everyone is out to get them. So, enter the weapon, the equalizer, and shout out about fantasy rights they do not have…pass the sauce. The rest of the entire male world, from kings to commoners, have always been and always will be enchanted by the power of the gun. Sooner or later we lose our civility.”
“I’m glad we’re out of that hall,” Rita said shakily.
“So am I,” Quinn said.
“Are you going to be able to do anything, Dad?”
“Possibly,” he answered with a wink.
“Don’t do anything crazy,” Rae said.
“Tell him that,” Rita pressed.
Quinn waved a pair of gooey hands. Rae cleaned them off with wipes and napkins. Duncan pointed at his father’s chin, and she dabbed it.
Rita took her husband’s hand and pressed it against her cheek. “You son of a bitch,” she whispered, “please be careful.”
“Most of these gun people in town are just after a good time,” Duncan said.
“It’s the other ones I’m worried about,” Rita added.
Reynaldo Maldonado came in and pulled up a chair at the end of their table. He had eaten. He had seen his son-in-law’s welcome on TV. Gutsy.
Quinn checked his watch. “Take Rita and the kids back to the condo. I’ll commandeer the Wagoneer.”
“Can we know where you’re going?” Rita asked.
“I’ll be in Dawn Mock’s office at the CBI. I have no idea how long the meeting will last.”
“Honey, please, no heroics,” Rita pleaded.
“You were there tonight. We’ve got to put a stop to this shit, or we’re going to start losing our country.”
They sat staring at the empty paper plates and empty paper cups as he left.
Quinn entered Dr. Dawn Mock’s office. Colonel Yancey Hawke, head of the state troopers, came to his feet and shook the governor’s hand.
“Hell, Governor,” Reb Butterworth, the Colorado National Guard commander said, “you could have won the governorship of Louisiana tonight.”
“Where is the mother lode now, Dawn?” Quinn asked.
She brightened the screen and fed in a road map of Minnesota and made a face. “Nothing. Let’s run in an Iowa map.” She punched in coordinates and hummed, “I—ooo—way…here we go.”
A fuzz ball on the monitor pulsated: peep…peep…peep.
“You’ll pardon the expression,” Dawn said, “they’re really truckin’. They’ve bypassed Des Moines and are heading west on eighty for the Nebraska state line.”
“Their speed tells me that there are two or more drivers, rotating,” Yancey observed.
Dawn Mock punched a number of keys. “At present speed they will hit the Nebraska-Colorado state line by morning. Colorado…Colorado…here we go. The interstate changes to Route Seventy-six. Four hours will get them into Denver, plus a food break.”
“They’ve timed this out to reach Denver by late afternoon,” Yancey concluded. “At dark they’ll go into the prearranged site.”
“Dr. Chin?” Dawn asked her CBI Internet buster.
“We are listening to a hundred of the most active gun websites,” Harry Chin said, checking his notes. “Nothing regarding a destination has shown up. However, there appears to be spirited activity for the purchase of VEC–44’s at the convention.”
“How many?” Reb asked.
“In the low hundreds,” Chin answered.
“Which says,” Dawn Mock said, “they’re