It was assistant producer Kevin who took credit for persuading Senator Tom Harrison to come on the show. A few days after the Laureltown shooting Harrison had sponsored a bill banning assault weapons and had been appearing all over the map ever since, pushing it. But his office had turned down Renata several times, and even suggested that he stop asking. But then Sam ran into Harrison at a charity event with Rachel in the city. It was no coincidence. Sam never attended such things and Rachel was more than content with that. However, when he heard from Kevin that Harrison was going to be there, Sam insisted on coming along. Rachel tried to dissuade him; she knew that he was capable of changing the tone and the dialogue of any occasion, even one whose purpose was to raise money for medical research. He was adamant; he put on a tuxedo and drank scotch for an hour in his den while he waited for her to get ready.
At the event, Sam wasted no time in tracking down Harrison. The senator was standing with his wife, Martha, and both were talking to a TV actor and a columnist from the Post. Harrison, a glass of wine in his hand, stood ramrod straight, like the Marine he’d once been. He retained the crew cut from his military days. His wife was short and heavyset, with a helmet of blonde hair. She looked older than her husband, although she wasn’t.
“Senator,” Sam called out as he approached. He’d left Rachel when they’d arrived, grabbed a drink at the bar and gone looking for Harrison.
They’d never met before. Harrison’s eyes flicked over Sam and then he accepted the extended hand, smiling but just slightly. Introductions were made but Sam paid scant attention to the actor or the columnist. Or Martha either, for that matter. He had the focus of a bird dog; he was there for one reason only and it wasn’t to drink warm wine and schmooze with people he didn’t care about.
“I’ve followed your career for years,” Sam said. “I feel like I know who you are. So I have trouble believing it when I hear that you’re afraid to come on my show. Guy like you.”
Harrison nodded, as if to say—so this is how it’s going to be. “A guy like me,” he repeated slowly. “A guy like me is afraid of a lot of things. Your show would not be on that list.”
“Then somebody should tell your office that,” Sam said.
“I appreciate the advice.”
“So you’re saying you’ll come on,” Sam persisted.
“Isn’t this a conversation for business hours?” Martha Harrison asked lightly. “We’re here to support a cause.”
“I can’t get a reply during business hours,” Sam said.
“A smart man knows when to take a hint,” she told him.
Sam held up his hands. “You’re right.” He turned to Harrison. “I apologize, Senator. I wasn’t aware that the wife was making these decisions for you. Duly noted.”
Harrison was pissed now. He stepped close to Sam. “Are you saying that you and I are going to have a two-way conversation about gun control? Because if that’s the case, tell me what day you want me there.”
Renata had allowed Kevin to set it up and Harrison was now in the studio, sitting across from Sam, wearing a navy-blue suit with a white shirt and red tie. Sam had in recent weeks taken to wearing khakis and a blue cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up. The pose of a working man, even though he’d never done a day’s physical labor in his life. Displayed on the bookshelf behind him was the 1885 single-action Colt revolver that he had placed there immediately after Laureltown, telling the audience that the gun had belonged to his great-grandfather, who had served under Teddy Roosevelt. None of it was true; needing a prop, Sam had bought the weapon from an online auction house a few days after the shooting. Actually, he’d had Kevin buy it, to obscure the chain of ownership.
Harrison’s appearance was a small coup for the show. They’d had trouble of late booking anybody from the Democrat side of the aisle. Kevin boasted to the network brass that he had scored the booking, not mentioning that said credit rested solely on the fact that he’d shown Sam a tiny item in the Post, which said that Harrison would be at the charity event.
Harrison had shown up with an aide and a jovial manner. He’d even brought a jar of honey from his home state of New Hampshire, which he’d presented to Sam before they’d gone into the studio.
“A little history, Senator,” Sam said to begin. “Correct me if any of this rings false. You grew up on a farm outside of Concord. Started shooting guns when you were twelve years old. Hunted and fished growing up. Joined the Marines and did two tours in Vietnam, where we must assume that weapons were a part of your daily existence. You came home and have now represented the great state of New Hampshire for twenty-eight years. Never have you shown any interest in gun control.” Sam paused for effect. “And now—all of a sudden—you, a decorated marine, have decided that you want to scuttle the Second Amendment. You, a war hero, are going to turn in your guns and are asking every citizen in this country to do the same.”
“This is where I start to correct you,” Harrison said. “First off, nobody has ever referred to me as a war hero. That is patently untrue. Secondly, I have never and will never advocate any scuttling of our Second Amendment rights. I defy you or your staff to find a single piece of evidence backing that claim. And I’m not turning my guns over to anybody, or asking anybody else to. I shot an eight-point buck last week with a 30.30 Winchester that’s been in my family for decades.”
“Then tell me what this bill of yours proposes to do,” Sam said.
“You haven’t read it?” Harrison asked. “I find that interesting, given that you’ve been badmouthing it on a nightly basis. You should have asked—I’d have sent you over a copy.”
“Why don’t you just tell me about it?”
Harrison leaned forward to take a drink of water. “It’s a pretty comprehensive piece of legislation so I’ll keep to the bare bones of things. First off, it calls for mandatory background checks for gun purchases. Over ninety per cent of Americans want this. Why can’t it get through the Senate? Secondly, it calls for a ban on assault weapons, except in the hands of the military or law enforcement, and it also calls for a ban on bump stocks and on ammunition clips of thirty rounds. I told you I shot a buck last week? I was in a group of five men, most of whom I’ve known all my life. None of us felt the need to carry thirty rounds in our rifles when stalking a deer. And neither should anybody else.”
“Here’s the problem, Senator,” Sam said. “It’s not the deer we’re worried about. We’re worried about the criminal element, both from within and without this country. I’m talking about the drug dealers and pimps and terrorists and psychopaths and rapists and bandits and thugs. Any of whom might be armed with assault weapons. Any of whom might be carrying thirty round clips. You fight fire with fire, Senator.”
“Which is why the military and the police should have those weapons.”
“So you do want to deny the average Joe his Second Amendment rights.”
“I do not. Have you ever read the amendment?”
“I can’t believe you would ask me that,” Sam scoffed. “I know my country. Have you watched this show? Have you read any of my books?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure of either,” Harrison said. “But I will tell you that the Second Amendment does not guarantee the right for your average Joe to bear arms. What it says—”
“You’re going to dredge up the militia thing,” Sam interrupted. “That’s just semantics, Senator. Our founding fathers intended this nation to be armed. And we will be armed. We’ve been backsliding for too long. And you should trust me when I tell you there are millions of Americans who agree with me. Millions. A smart politician would take note of those numbers.”
“This isn’t about numbers. It’s about common sense.”
“You’re tilting at windmills anyway,” Sam said dismissively. “Who are we trying to kid? Obama couldn’t get any traction on this so what makes you think it will happen now, with the Senate four-square against you, not to mention the guy in the Oval Office? Your party is trying to make political hay out of the tragedy in Laureltown. I get that. It’s the way it works over there. But seriously—this dog won’t hunt.”
“I’m not so sure about that. This is an important bill, and more than that, it’s an urgent issue.”
“You’ve never been interested in gun control.”
“Well, I am now,” Harrison told him. “But what about you, Sam? Let me pose a question here. Do you believe in gun control of any kind?”
“No.”
“You brought up Laureltown,” Harrison continued. “Where a man named Arthur William Hays killed twenty-two children and two schoolteachers. He used a Bushmaster .223 with a thirty-round clip and a semi-automatic handgun. Tell me—were you okay with Arthur William Hays having those weapons that day? In that schoolyard?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you believe in gun control.”
Sam was caught, a rare event. “I believe in a well-armed citizenry!” he snapped after a moment. “That’s what was required that day in Laureltown. One citizen with a gun. He would have stopped Hays cold. He’d have shot him down in the road like the mad cur that he was. But where was that citizen? He’s not welcome here anymore. He’s not welcome in this namby-pamby nation where people cower behind their doors at night and allow their children to be murdered in our playgrounds.”
“You need to lose that thread,” Harrison said. “The parents of those children are in no way responsible. You do them a great disservice.”
“They’re in every way responsible,” Sam replied. “They didn’t protect their kids. I have a daughter. If someone ever comes after her, he’d better cede his soul to Jesus because his ass is gonna belong to me.” With his thumb he indicated the revolver on the shelf behind him. “Me and my friend Sam Colt.”
“More guns is not the answer,” Harrison said. “Control is the answer.”
“You’re on the wrong side of history, Senator,” Sam told him. “When you outlaw guns, the only people with guns will be outlaws. We’re going to take a break.”
For a change, Sam didn’t leave the studio between segments. He waited until they were clear and smiled at Harrison. “Come on now. Off the record. The party’s got you out here tub thumping on this, don’t they?”
“No,” Harrison said. “This is about Laureltown, Sam. If nothing else, you and I agree on one thing. That man Hays should not have been in possession of a slingshot, let alone a firearm. We have to address that. When we’re back, I’d like to talk about background checks.”
Sam hesitated before glancing through the glass. “Kevin, how are we on time?”
Renata had been staying out of the way up until now and before she could say anything Kevin responded. He knew Sam’s look, and he knew what the question meant. “Tight. But I think we’ve got what we need. Good job, Senator.”
Harrison regarded Kevin darkly before turning to Sam. “There’s more to talk about here.”
“We’ll have you back.”
Harrison had been in the game long enough that he knew when he’d been snookered. He got to his feet. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
After the break Sam wrapped with a standard commentary. Gun control and creeping socialism. Not on Sam’s watch. All bets are off.
When Sam walked into the booth afterward, most of the crew was watching one of the monitors.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Harry Peakes died,” Renata said. “About an hour ago.”
“We’re surprised?” Sam asked. “He was a hundred years old.”
“Eighty-four.”
Sam shrugged. Renata’s phone rang and he stepped away. Sam walked over to stand behind the director.
“Run that bit when he told me I was in favor of gun control, when I hesitated before answering.”
The director found the footage.
“Right there,” Sam said. “Stop it. Right there, I’m back on my heels for just a second. We need to cut that. Stay with camera one on Harrison, let him finish and bang, I come right back with the line about armed citizens, or whatever I said. No hesitation. You can do that?”
“Not a problem, Sam.”
“Good man,” Sam said.
Renata approached, holding out her phone. “Bill Ford wants to talk to you.”