A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [98]
Deep down and not revealing it to a soul, King had prayed that Quinn would win the governorship. AMERIGUN and himself could prove their mettle by “victory at Denver.”
* * *
In the meantime, Quinn burned the midnight oil to try to craft some way to blunt the AMERIGUN assault.
Mayor Cholate simply did not want a rumble involving his police. Peace at any price. He conveniently booked a seminar in Tokyo during the gun group’s stay in Denver.
With limited knowledge, limited forces at his disposal, and limited legal options, Quinn was simply outgunned. The helplessness of his situation crashed down on him when AMERIGUN mailed flyers announcing the exhibition of a new weapon, The Colorado Blizzard, at the convention.
An Australian invention, the Blizzard, touted as the first great weapon of the new century, was a souped-up double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun that was fed cartridges through a machine-gun belt. Fifty times faster than the semi-automatic “street sweeper,” it could fire thousands of pellets a minute.
And, no law was broken to put it on exhibition!
Duncan unsnapped a Coors and flung himself onto the big couch.
A dying sun in the foothills and a rising night rubbed past each other, and one could nearly hear the cracking baseball bats from Coors Field.
“Dad, I was hoping,” Duncan said, “we’d take in a ball game.”
“Sorry. I gave our box away tonight. How about tomorrow?”
“Sure. Mom and Rae coming?”
“If we hold a gun to their heads. Speaking of guns, I hear you’re starting a terrorist cell at school.”
“Oh, shit,” Duncan moaned, “who ratted?”
“God save the whistle-blowers,” Quinn said, “ski masks, lead pipes, a regular commando unit. You may be the answer to AMERIGUN’s prayers.”
Duncan was out of his seat. “Dad, haven’t we taken enough shit?”
“It comes with the territory. No one forced me to run for governor.”
“I’m glad this is on the table,” Duncan said. “I’m pissed at hearing how you fornicate with animals, and I’m pissed at hearing that Rae is a junkie and my mother is a lesbian prostitute.”
Bang, the fridge door slammed. Pfizz went another Coors top.
“Before you drown in your righteous indignation, Duncan, let me present you with a little scene. Opening shot, all newscasts: tear gas flying over the capitol lawn as Colorado state National Guard troops fire rubber bullets into an innocent crowd protesting the governor’s son Duncan’s hooded mob. Close-up, the governor’s son. Wreckage and fire around him considerable. Pan to shot of a bleeding King Porter. We cut away to Washington, where enraged senators are screaming for O’Connell’s ass. Denver loses a hundred million dollars in convention bookings, and the state has the mark of Cain on it for a generation. Thanks a lot, Duncan, nifty.”
“You knew who these people were! Why the hell did you have to run for governor?”
“At this moment I’d be hard pressed to give you an answer.”
Mal had been roused from his room by their yelling. He entered and snatched up the flyer on the Blizzard. “Because he wants to do something about their efforts to legalize this weapon. Maybe he did it because somebody has to stand up against evil.”
“Pardon me all to hell,” Duncan said sarcastically.
“All of us wonder,” Mal went on, “what are we doing here? This is your father, your family, and your state, Duncan. We don’t need your pouting. Either stand with us or go back to Fort Collins and play with your Rocky Mountain oysters. Your daddy is the poster boy for AMERIGUN, only he is outlined like a target. Ten points if you hit him between the eyes.”
“It’s like judging the beauty contests, Duncan. Somebody has to do the dirty work,” Quinn said.
Duncan laughed and cried at the same time, his cheeks reddening with shame. “I’m pretty naïve, aren’t I?”
“Yep,” his grandfather agreed.
“Anything I can do, Dad?”
“Yep. I need help. I need it badly.”
Chapter 26
“Governor’s office,” Marsha sang.
“Hello, Marsha, this is Dawn Mock. Is the governor in for me?”
“I’ll put you right through, Dr. Mock.