"Seriously," he told them, "I'm grateful that you're here. Too many gunshot accidents can be easily prevented, too many involve young children. Look at cars—air bags, seat belts, and changes in design have all saved lives. So will this.
"To me, it seems so simple—by putting safety locks on all your guns, you're preventing needless tragedy. But I know you're bucking the SSA."
Bresler nodded. "We're willing to stand with you, Mr. President, and see where it goes."
"I appreciate that." Kerry leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him, looking intently from one face to the other. "Let me tell you where I hope it goes. Supposedly, our current laws prevent felons, wife-beaters, drug abusers, those convicted of violent misdemeanors, and the adjudicated mentally ill from buying handguns. That only makes sense— instead of locking them up after they've already killed someone, we run background checks to prevent the most dangerous among us from buying guns.
"But the SSA and its friends in Congress confined the background checks to federally licensed dealers, exempting anyone who claims to be a so-called private seller." Pausing, Kerry focused on George Callister. "As one example, that means that someone convicted of a violent crime can go to a gun show, and buy enough semiautomatic handguns to arm the whole Al Qaeda network. Which makes no sense."
"Maybe to you, Mr. President," Callister responded soberly. " 'But what if your private seller's a bona fide hobbyist,' the SSA would say. 'Why should he wait three days for a background check to sell a handgun to a law-abiding citizen?' "
"Because law-abiding citizens," Kerry rejoined, "don't need gun shows to buy weapons. They can pass a background check and buy from licensed dealers.
"Look, George, we all know the realities. Gun shows shaft lawabiding dealers and put your guns in the hands of criminals who wind up killing someone. So you end up with terrible PR and a raft of lawsuits from people who think you should be held responsible for who gets guns that can fire ten rounds in seconds."
"But we're not responsible." Callister's voice was grim. "Let's be blunt. The man who shot you got a used Lexington gun on the street. We didn't know the seller, we didn't know the shooter. What would you have had us do?"
Kerry's gaze and voice were level. "I didn't sue you, did I? But here's what you can do: refuse to let your dealers sell your guns at gun shows unless the promoter runs background checks on every gun sold. The promoter will have no choice but to agree.
"We have to get this done. Or by next month, or the month after, we'll have that many more deaths on our hands. I doubt there's anyone in this room who wants them on their conscience." Pausing, Kerry focused on George Callister. "I appreciate that the SSA is a problem. But I will be, as well. I'd like to think it matters which one of us is right."
Callister wore a skeptical frown: "right" is one thing, his expression said, power another, and no executive of a gun company can overlook the difference. Quietly, Kerry finished, "If all of you stick together, you can liberate your industry from your 'protectors' at the SSA. Saving lives will be a bonus."
There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Martin Bresler intervened. "One step at a time, Mr. President. We can't take too much excitement."
At this, Kerry smiled, standing. "Ready for the Rose Garden?" he asked. "I'll stick my head out first, and see who's shooting."
* * *
When Kerry returned to the Oval Office it was close to eleven-thirty, eight-thirty in San Francisco. By now, Kerry calculated, Marie would be in school, John Bowden on his way to work. It took a minute to track down the D.A. for San Francisco, one more to conference in the chief of his domestic violence unit.
"Mr. President," Jack Halloran began. "To what do we owe this honor?"
The D.A., Kerry thought, sounded dazed by more than hearing from him. A onetime student radical of dubious stability, Jack Halloran liked to drink too much. To Kerry, this threatened whatever clarity Halloran retained: it was Kerry's private theory that Halloran had rewired his brain with hallucinogens sometime in the 1960s, well before his bewildering reincarnation as a Democratic pol. At the very least, his judgment was impaired—Kerry only hoped that his deputy, a woman named Marcia Harding, was as capable as she needed to be.
"It's my future sister-in-law," Kerry said without preface, and tersely described Joan's call. "She's in trouble," he concluded. "And her daughter has seen far too much."
"Will Joan fill out a complaint?" Marcia Harding asked.
"Yes," Kerry said, and hoped that it was so. "Once she does, can you get a kick-out order before Bowden gets home tonight?"
"Sure." To his relief, Harding sounded unruffled. "After notice and a hearing, we'll go for an emergency protective order, finding that he's a threat to the safety of his wife and child, and barring him from stalking, harassing, threatening, or using force. We'll also ask for an order keeping him away from Marie."
"Can you get him into a program for batterers?"
"There's a backlog, Mr. President. But pretty soon."
"What about guns? This guy's a stick of dynamite."
"The cops will search the house, his car, anywhere he might keep a weapon. And the judge will order him to turn in any guns."
"That's all fine," Kerry told her, "but worry about Bowden buying another."
"We'll do our damnedest, sir. Once the judge issues the order, the cops enter it into our computer system. California law's much stronger than federal law—anytime anyone transfers a gun, like at a gun show, they have to run a background check. Bowden will come out denied."
"Then please, do me a favor, Marcia. Enter the order yourself." Standing, Kerry began to pace. "I used to do this work. Too often the guy at the computer is some bitter old cop with a bad arm, stuck with a menial task because he's disqualified for street duty." In a softer tone, Kerry added, "I'm sorry if I sound anxious. But this is Lara's niece and sister, and I know what can go wrong."
"Don't worry, Mr. President." It was Jack Halloran, anxious to regain center stage. "I will personally enter this order."
Please, Kerry thought, don't. "If Marcia says she will," the President responded mildly, "that's probably best. Everyone knows you, Jack—if you do this yourself, it could hit the papers.
"That's the final favor I'm asking: please try to keep this out of the media. That could only inflame Bowden, and it would be humiliating for Joan. She shouldn't have to suffer because her sister's marrying the President."
There was a momentary silence. "I can't issue a guarantee," Harding answered. "But I've got no reason to tell anyone who Joan's sister is, or mention that you called me. Battering is battering."