Seventh Enemy (6 page)

“Mad?”

“Having to handle everything yourself this morning? Not having the exquisite pleasure of my company?”

“Hey, it’s your office, you’re the lawyer.” She sat up and arched her back. “I’m just the secretary. You pay me a salary. I make my money whether you’re here or not. What do I care that Mrs. Mudgett is looking for a new attorney to handle her divorce, that Mr. Carstairs of the ABA called long distance the way you told him to, or—”

“Oh, shit,” I said. “I forgot about Carstairs.”

“—or Mr. McDevitt canceled your lunch plans. What do I care? I did my job.”

“I had to meet with Wally Kinnick. I told you that. He was testifying at the State House.”

“What’s the case?”

“There’s this bill on assault weapons, and—”

“What’s our case, I mean?”

I shrugged. “There’s no case. He just wanted his lawyer there.”

“Moral support, huh?”

“Well, legal support, too, you might say.”

Julie sniffed. “Well,” she said, “you better get back to Carstairs, and you better try to soothe Mrs. Mudgett’s savage breast. She wants legal support, too, you know. And I know you’ll call Mr. McDevitt.”

I snapped her a salute and went into my office, where I lit a cigarette and called Phil Carstairs. He wanted me to give a speech in Houston. I declined. Charlie McDevitt was at lunch, so I flirted with Shirley, his grandmotherly secretary, for a few minutes. Then I called Mrs. Mudgett, managed to appease her, and rescheduled.

I persuaded Julie to hang out the Gone Fishin’ sign and sweet-talked her out of the office. We headed for Marie’s in Kenmore Square. It was lunchtime already. We had both put in a hard morning.

I stayed at the office until nearly seven that evening, in an abortive effort to convince myself that I was a responsible and hard-driving attorney. I stopped for a burger and beer at Skeeter’s on the way home, watched a little of the Monday night baseball game with my coffee, and it was after nine when I got back to my apartment.

The red light on my answering machine was winking at me. I pressed the replay button as I wrenched off my necktie. The machine whirred, clicked, and then Wally’s voice said, “Hey, Brady. It’s Wally, up here in Fenwick. Give me a call.” He left his number.

I went into the bedroom and shucked off my office clothes. I pulled on my apartment sweat pants and T-shirt, lay down on my bed, and dialed Wally’s number. It rang three times, and then his answering-machine voice said, “Sony I guess I’m not here. Leave your number and I’ll get back to you.”

I waited for the beep, then said, “It’s Brady, returning your call. I’m home. I hope everything’s—”

There was a click, and then a woman’s cautious voice said, “Hello? Brady?”

“Yes, hi.”

“Hang on for a sec. Let me turn off the machine. There. Sorry. Walter’s been letting the machine take his calls.”

“Anything wrong?”

“I’ll let him tell you,” she said. “But listen. Walter says you’re going to come out and do some fishing with us.”

“I’d like to, if the invitation still stands.”

“Oh, absolutely. We’d both love it. I’m looking forward to meeting you. The fishing’s been lovely. Listen, I’ll put him on.”

A moment later Wally said, “Nice little caddis hatch this afternoon, Coyne. We had a couple hours of glorious dry-fly fishing. You missed it.”

“I don’t need that from you,” I said. “What’s this about not answering your phone?”

I heard him blow out a big breath. “Those boys don’t waste any time.”

“Who? SAFE?”

“You got it. Kinnick’s betrayed the cause, and they’re threatening to boycott our sponsors. The producers are getting jumpy. My damn phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

“So what’re you going to do?”

“Do? Shit. I’m going to let my machine answer the phone while I go fishing, that’s what. You expect me to retract?”

“No,” I said. “I certainly wouldn’t expect that. But what’s going to happen?”

“Oh, it’ll die down. I’m not worried. Pain in the ass. that’s all.”

“Is that why you called?”

“Nah. I don’t need a lawyer for this. I just called to tell you about the fishing. You are coming, aren’t you?”

“If you still want me to.”

“We both do.”

“Thursday, then.”

I beat Julie to the office on Tuesday morning, and when she walked in at precisely nine o’clock, as she always did, the coffee was ready. I poured a mugful for her and took it to her desk. She reached into her big shoulder bag and pulled out a newspaper. “Did you see this?” she said, waving it at me.

“Nope.”

She opened it onto her desk. “Take a look.”

A small headline at the bottom left of the front page read,
ASSAULT WEAPON BILL HEARD BY SENATE SUBCOMMITTEE.

A box in the middle of the text read, “News Analysis, p. 6.”

I skimmed the front-page article. It summarized the intent of the bill and highlighted the testimony of some of the witnesses. It continued on page six. I opened the paper to that page. There was a photograph of the animal rights protestors. Their signs were clearly legible, and in their Bambi and Smokey and Bugs Bunny costumes they looked silly. The State House loomed in the background. The caption read, “Animal Rights Groups Picket Senate Appearance of Walt Kinnick.”

Another photograph, this one smaller, showed Walt shaking hands with Wilson Bailey, the poor guy from Harlow whose wife and child had been killed in the library. I was standing there behind Wally’s shoulder. The caption read, “Walt Kinnick Congratulated by Admirer After Assault-Weapon Testimony.”

An article entitled “Assault Weapons Explosive Issue—News Analysis” began on that page. Its author was Alexandria Shaw, the reporter who had witnessed the confrontation in Dunkin’ Donuts.

Emotions ran high as the Senate Subcommittee on Public Safety heard testimony on S-162, a bill which will, if passed, severely restrict the ownership and distribution of certain paramilitary guns labeled “assault weapons” in the Commonwealth.

Assault weapons are defined in the bill as all semiautomatic rifles and shotguns with large magazines (a semiautomatic weapon fires a shot as fast as the trigger can be pulled). The Uzi and the AK-47 are among the twelve weapons specifically designated for control in the bill.

Representatives of the Police Chiefs Association of Massachusetts testified in favor of the legislation, citing the danger to policemen from criminals armed with the semiautomatic weapons.

Second Amendment For Ever (SAFE), a branch of the National Rifle Association (NRA) and staunch opponents of all forms of gun control, presented testimony citing the Second Amendment (the right to bear arms) and argued that stiffer penalties, not gun control, are the appropriate remedy for assault-weapon-related crimes.

Perhaps most controversial of all was the testimony of Walt Kinnick, the popular host of the ESPN television series “Walt Kinnick’s Outdoors.” Kinnick has been an outspoken advocate of outdoor sports, including hunting. Kinnick testified in favor of the regulation of assault weapons, surprising both the subcommittee and the observers in the hearing room, who were predominantly members of SAFE.

It is believed that Kinnick’s appearance before the subcommittee was arranged by SAFE. It is certain that the nature of his testimony took the pro-gun organization by surprise.

Gene McNiff, president and executive director of SAFE, refused to comment on Kinnick’s testimony.

“It surprised me, I admit it,” said Senator Marlon Swift (R-Marshfield), the chairman of the subcommittee. “Coming from someone like Walt Kinnick, it’s really something to think about.”

Angry words were exchanged between Kinnick and McNiff outside the State House. Later, Kinnick and his attorney, Brady L. Coyne of Boston, were accosted by SAFE members in the Dunkin’ Donuts on Tremont Street. Neither Kinnick nor Coyne would comment on the incident.

It is clear that the Massachusetts gun lobby, which has generally had its way with the legislature in recent years, was dealt a severe blow this morning by Walt Kinnick’s unexpected testimony. The Subcommittee on Public Safety is expected to report on S-162 by the end of the month.

I looked up at Julie. She was grinning. “You’re famous,” she said. “Nice picture, too.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

“Check the editorial,” she said.

I leafed through the paper and found the page. The lead editorial was titled, “Time to Get Tough on Guns.” It read:

The Second Amendment For Ever supporters have had their way too long. Stubborn, single-minded, hopelessly out of touch with prevailing opinion, SAFE has opposed any and all efforts to regulate the ownership and distribution of guns, including paramilitary assault weapons, in the six New England states.

Backed by powerful allies and a well-stocked war chest, SAFE has intimidated advocates of even the most modest efforts to control gun-related crime. Legislators have bowed and scraped before the SAFE bombast. Time after time we have seen gun-control legislation die in subcommittee, shot down by the high-caliber SAFE arsenal.

Yesterday, the courageous testimony of Walt Kinnick punctured the SAFE bubble, and it will never be the same again. The nation’s most famous hunter, and himself a gun owner, Kinnick issued an appeal that rings true to all who would listen.

Very simply, the time has come for hunters and gun owners to be reasonable. Kinnick told the subcommittee. We agree.

We don’t argue with the right of sportsmen to possess their shotguns and hunting rifles. But assault weapons have only one function: to kill people. They do not belong in the hands of private citizens. It’s time for SAFE to join the rest of us at the brink of the twenty-first century. SAFE must take to heart the testimony of its most respected spokesman, Walt Kinnick. Be reasonable, compromise, or cease to exist.

For someone who just wanted to get away and do some quiet trout fishing, Wally had made quite a splash. If Gene McNiff had been upset after the hearing, I wondered how he fell now.

I
SPENT MOST OF
Tuesday morning on the telephone, and Julie and I had chicken salad sandwiches at my desk for lunch. Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, while I was trying to outline the article I had promised Phil Carstairs out of my guilt for refusing to make a speech to the ABA in Houston, my intercom buzzed. I picked up the phone and said, “Yeah?

“Brady,” said Julie, “there’s a Miz Shaw here to see you.”

“Who?”

“She’s a reporter for the
Globe.
”

Julie wanted me to talk to her. Otherwise she wouldn’t have buzzed me. I generally do what Julie wants.

“I’m in right in the middle of something,” I told her. “Why don’t you give her an appointment?”

“She’s on deadline, Brady.”

I sighed. “Okay. Send her in.”

There was a discreet knock on my door, then it opened. Julie held it for Alexandria Shaw. I stood up behind my desk. “Come on in,” I said.

“Thanks for seeing me,” she said. She wore a pale green blouse and tailored black pants. Her wide-set blue-green eyes peered from behind the oversized round glasses that perched crookedly on the tip of her nose. She took the chair beside my desk without invitation. She poked her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose with her forefinger. “I know you’re busy. I’ll try to make it quick. Do you mind if I record it?”

Before I could answer she had removed a small tape recorder from her shoulder bag and plunked it onto the top of my desk. When she leaned forward to fiddle with it, her short auburn hair fell like wings around her checks. She switched on the recorder and said into it, “Tuesday, May nineteenth, four forty-five
P.M.
I’m talking with Brady Coyne, Walt Kinnick’s lawyer.” She snapped it off, rewound it, and played it back. It sounded fine. She dug into her bag again and came up with a notebook and a pen. “Okay,” she said, “a couple questions.”

I held up both hands. “Hey, slow down,” I said. “Do you want coffee or something?”

“I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I gotta get this story in by seven. Fill the space, you know? Survival of the vulgarest.” She grinned quickly. “So if you don’t mind, let’s get to it.”

I smiled. “I don’t really have anything to say.”

“About that incident at the Dunkin’ Donuts yesterday—”

“No comment,” I said quickly.

“Are you a member of SAFE?

“Me?”

She grinned. “I guess that answers my question.”

“Who cares, anyhow?”

“Hey,” she said. “I gotta fill the space, remember?”

“Well,” I said. “I am a member of the ABA and Trout Unlimited and the Sierra Club. But I don’t belong to SAFE. Or the NRA. Or lots of other worthy organizations.”

“You think they’re worthy?”

“Who. SAFE?” I shrugged. “I don’t know much about them.”

“Do you sympathize with them?”

“Excuse me,” I said, “but really. Who cares about me?”

“You’re Walt Kinnick’s lawyer.”

I shrugged.

“Right?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Are you defending him in any litigation?”

“Come on. No comment. You know better. Really.”

“Did you advise him on his testimony yesterday?”

I smiled. “You obviously don’t know Willy.”

“You’re his boyhood friend, right?”

She had done her homework. “Yes. We went to high school together.”

“And you and he were threatened yesterday at Dunkin’ Donuts.”

I shook my head. “No comment, okay?”

She jabbed her finger at her eyeglasses. “Mr. Coyne,” she said, “I don’t know what your opinion is of SAFE, but there’s a major story here and I want it.”

“I already told you I don’t know anything about SAFE.”

“Sure you do. They’re mobilizing against Walt Kinnick, did you know that?”

“What have you heard?”

“They’ve got the NRA working with them, and they’re trying to mount a boycott against the sponsors of his show. They’re investigating him. They’ve got lots of resources. Any skeletons, they’ll find them. If they can discredit him, they will. Seems obvious, if you’re his lawyer you’re going to be involved in this.”