A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [118]
Quinn pressed forward with a gun-ownership bill, the sane bill for sane citizens that encompassed provisions that would have been defeated a few weeks earlier. It was to be a model for other states.
The polls in and out of Colorado showed high approval ratings on the governor’s action.
Polls showed 78.6 percent for, 21.4 percent against.
J. Malcolm Dunlay, a former attorney general, appeared on two dozen panels of experts in the following fortnight as part of the 156 TV panels to discuss the pros and cons of the sting.
The Civil Liberties fanned the fire by declaring that the gun dealers had been denied their civil rights.
Others accused O’Connell of usurping the federal charters of the FBI and the BATF.
More panel shows.
Quinn and his people withdrew as a ravenous media started searching through the capital’s trash cans and toilet stalls.
A count total was lost as to the number of Internet communications, but it appeared that they ran 78.9 percent in favor of the operation.
The public was smitten. Replays of High Noon abounded. Governor Quinn Patrick O’Connell was thrust into national prominence.
At the end of the month, the AMERIGUN bust and cowboy O’Connell dissolved and were replaced when a star of one of sitcom’s royal series chopped up his wife with a carving knife.
Homicide panels replaced weapons and legal panels, although J. Malcolm Dunlay slid from one to the other effortlessly.
Even though Governor O’Connell was out of the immediate spotlight, a buzz had started around him. Instead of taking the glory road, he seemed to withdraw, dazed and wondering.
Rita was finally able to tear him loose from Denver and lure him to Troublesome. They would stay at Mal’s, where they could enjoy more isolation than at the ranch.
The rain plopped hard on the skylight, perhaps the last rain before the snows. Rita’s knowing hands rubbed out his sore spots. At first he was not even up to making love.
Wind misted with rain and bombarded threateningly, then softened to a mellow tattoo of little raindrops. A moment for resurrection was at hand.
Rita and her father rocked on porch swings, watched the storm drift south, and smelled the freshness of after rain.
They stopped talking as Quinn, in floppy bathrobe, yawned his way out to them. He had crashed, for this particular nap, for four hours.
“Well, my wife and father-in-law seem to be in a conspiracy…what? And assassinate the cruel governor with daggers and gain the statehouse?”
“You are, my dear son-in-law, a victim of your own success. Anything not clear to you, Quinn?”
“Like what?”
“Like I saw you on your knees at the family chapel for the first time in the four decades I’ve known you,” Mal said.
“It was between me and God,” Quinn said. “Please tell me, Lord, who I am and what do you have in mind for me. Do I have veto powers? Be still my heart.”
“You know what’s going on,” Mal said. “Rita and I have fielded calls from every big hitter in the Democratic Party. They’ve a golden boy. Get used to it.”
“I love the people’s politics—” Quinn started.
“And are the most beloved governor in Colorado history,” Rita said.
“I was thinking maybe an embassy. Maybe Australia or New Zealand. No cabinet posts, just a non-trouble-making embassy.”
“Well,” said Mal, “why not try to open a consul general in St. Bart’s and lie on the beach and look at tits all day?”
“And I’d get to look at peckers,” Rita said.
“Out with it, Quinn,” Mal pressed.
“First the Urbakkan raid,” Quinn mumbled, “now this AMERIGUN bust. All the sudden adoration is bound to fade, and they will say, Quinn’s a man of violence. Who needs him? The good life depends on peace and prosperity. Moral imperatives like the defeat of slavery come at too high a price. So long as we remain fat and free, we will avoid the lingering festering issues. At any rate, I am not going to be the one to gather up the people on a moral issue. It makes for a dull person.”
“You’re anything but dull,” Rita said.
“And what about you and Duncan and Rae? Are you ready for a million maggots at your door every