A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [144]
“Warren’s a player,” Greer said. “And he knows I’ll be back.”
“You two have got to behave yourselves,” Mal said. “I mean, really behave yourselves. If we can put Greer in charge of the nuts and bolts, she knows every political person in the country. She knows all the hired guns. She has access to money overnight.”
“I’d have your national committee in place in five days,” Greer said, “and in a week I’ll have a strategy on the table.”
“The voters will take a long second look at me. Better stay in Colorado, cowboy. Every time they’ve heard of Quinn O’Connell, it’s been the result of a fight. Urbakkan…AMERIGUN…and now the Six Shooter Canyon Massacre,” Quinn espoused.
“Slight difference,” Greer said. “The people may have the political will to follow a moral imperative.”
“I’ll call Rita,” Quinn said. “It has to be dead right for her.”
“You don’t have to call her,” Greer said. “I talked it over with her before I got my air ticket to Waterloo. Rita said, ‘Thank God you’re going to him. At least you’ll give him a fighting chance.’”
Maldonado answered the phone. Senators Ebendick and Harmon were in the hotel and wanted a few minutes. “Phew!” Mal said, “some real big hitters just blew into town.”
“Who?” Greer asked.
“Ebendick and Harmon.”
“That is a statement,” Greer said.
“I’m going down and enroll them,” Mal said. He wanted to say more about hoping he could trust Greer and Quinn. Once they had melted cannons with their heat. How can an odd moment of stress or passion or joy not hurl them into one another’s arms? But Rita believed. What game was God playing putting a decent man like Quinn into the shredder as he slouches toward Jerusalem?
Governor Quinn Patrick O’Connell walked to the rostrum in a crammed ballroom at the Millard Fillmore Hotel. A blast of TV lights blared while still photographers ate up film.
“Hi,” Quinn said when it quieted. “I’m Quinn O’Connell, governor of Colorado. Any national recognition I may have is pretty much based on my penchant for gun control. There is a long list of serious issues on the American agenda, and if my candidacy continues on, I will issue my position within days.”
Greer laid her head on Mal’s shoulder and she cried a little.
“But we’re here today because much of America’s bright hope lies silent in the box end of Six Shooter Canyon. It could have been avoided by the political will of the people, and it will happen again without the political will of the people to change it.
“I stand before you, not as a saint running for sainthood or as a sinner dodging hell. I intend to live my private life privately, and I intend to bring back a great measure of dignity and authority that has been missing from the presidency for almost a decade.”
Quinn became silent, and the room suddenly fell under his spell. He opened a small book on the rostrum.
“‘Article…’” he read, “‘…A well-regulated Militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.’”
A murmur of disbelief buzzed about the room.
“When the Second Amendment of the Bill of Rights came into being, our new nation had no standing army to contend with hostile neighbors, England, France, Canada, Spain. We also were fighting many Indian nations, and part of the population was still loyal to the king. Therefore! Each colony, each new state set up their own militia. These militias were not very good.
“Now look at this Second Amendment. It has nothing to do with the rights of the citizens to own guns, but the formation of well-regulated militias.”
Quinn was parched, but he feared his hand would tremble if he held a water glass. To hell! He took a swig, steady as a rock.
“If anything in the entire American panorama has been distorted and convoluted, it is the Second Amendment. The militias failed. After the Civil War many state units were converted into a national guard. A well-regulated national guard, as required by the Constitution, with their weapons under government control.
“For far too long, men of questionable intent have hidden behind