I was told by the police that the state of Maryland would prefer that my family be hacked to death by a madman than that I carry a gun to protect them. I was told that if I carried a gun I would be the one arrested, not whoever was chasing us. And I was told that if I was smart, I should do it anyway, since I was rich enough to be able to hire lawyers to get out of jail.
So, is this about my brother? Yes, because I don't want any of my fellow citizens to have to go through what I did 13 years ago. I want them to know that if they are confronted with a criminal, it won't be them that has to face the music, but the criminal. And I want them to know that I stand with them and will fight this battle for them! There is a reason for the Second Amendment, and it is time the politicians in Annapolis understand that!"
And there we had it. I had worked on that 'impromptu' response for several days with Marty and Boies and a fellow from ARI, and it was full of buzzwords that were guaranteed to play well in the media. 'Madman' – 'Psychotic' – 'Butcher' – 'Hack' – all these words were to evoke a horrific image of what could happen to the viewer. 'Honorable service' – 'Protect' – 'Battle' – all of these words were chosen to showcase me in the best light, and highlight my service to the country, and to the voters. We agonized over our choice of words as much as any speechwriter working on the State of the Union address.
We called it quits at that. They kept shouting the same questions over and over again, but I just smiled and waved and got back into the limo. Once we were rolling down the road, David Boies looked at me and asked, "Do you really plan to wear that thing everywhere?"
I snorted a laugh. "God forbid! I have a security detail to handle that sort of thing now. If the bad guys get close enough to me that I need a gun, I should be able to pick one up from one of these guys." On hearing that, the driver snorted, and the security guy in the passenger seat turned around and rolled his eyes at me. "No, I think I am going to take this home and stuff it in my desk, where I normally keep it."
Boies shrugged and we talked over the probable events for the near future. By filing suit in Federal court and serving papers already, we had kept the matter out of the Maryland courts, and probably cut at least a year off the time this would languish. We could expect a resolution by the end of 1997 or sometime in 1998. We drove back to my office in Washington. I made an early day of it and flew home mid-afternoon. I wanted to watch this on the news tonight.
What I hadn't expected was Charlie to brace me when I got home. WBAL hadn't waited to run the episode on the 6:00 News, but ran it earlier, at 5:00. "Dad! I saw you on the news when I got home! Are you really carrying a gun?! Cool! Can I see it?!" He was really excited.
I wasn't. Whatever this was, it sure wasn't cool! "Settle down, son. Let me say hello to your mother first."
Marilyn came in from the kitchen. "How was your day? I saw you on television, too." She had a look on her face that seemed to combine pleasure that I was home, and displeasure about my being on television.
"Okay, I guess."
Marilyn gave me a nice and simple kiss, and then leaned in and whispered in my ear. "You need to have a talk with your son."
I just nodded back at her. I hung up my outer coat, and then crooked a finger at Charlie. "Follow me."
Charlie had a look of concern on his face at that, as in 'What did I do?' I led the way into my office and after he came in, I pointed him to the couch, and closed the door behind us.
"Charlie, I think we need to have a little talk. You think this is cool?"
"Yeah! Carrying a gun around..."
"Charlie, this is many things, but cool is not one of them." I took off my jacket and tossed it on an armchair, leaving me wearing the shoulder holster with my Colt in it. I pulled the gun from the holster, removed the magazine, worked the action to make sure there wasn't a round chambered, and handed him the weapon. "Here, take this."
For somebody so interested in it, when faced with the reality, he reached out and took it rather gingerly. He gripped it so lightly he almost dropped it on the floor, and had to fumble around for a good grip. He looked at me nervously. I reached out and took it back from him. "Didn't think it would be so heavy, did you?" I sat down at my desk.
"Uh, no."
"It's heavy in more than one way. Charlie, this is a gun. It's not a toy. Its sole purpose is to kill people. I hope I never have to carry this thing again. I sure don't plan to wear it around every day. It's one thing to take it down to the range in Parkton and shoot off a few magazines to stay in practice, but I never, ever want to have to use it again for real." I turned in my seat and unlocked my desk. The Colt and the holster went in the bottom drawer. I relocked the desk and put the keys in my pocket again.
He looked at me for a moment and then said, "Dad, what was it..."
" ... like? What was it like?" Charlie nodded. "What was it like killing my brother?" He nodded a second time. I sighed at that. "Jesus, Charlie, it's not something you talk about, you know? I mean, killing your uncle? That's who he was, you know?" He just sat there and looked at me, not saying anything, but waiting for me to continue.
I couldn't look at him. I looked over at the far wall, not really seeing the bookshelves, but seeing the kitchen that day back in 1983, and even further back, to a night in 1981. I turned back to my son. "Killing a man changes things, Charlie. It's not like on TV or the movies. There's a cost to it. Every day I think about it. Every day that I go into the kitchen I am reminded of where I had to shoot a man and leave his body on the floor for the police to remove." Charlie's eyes opened at that. I don't think he ever linked the facts of my killing my crazy brother with the reality that it occurred in the same room he ate his breakfast cereal in.
"There's more to it than that, Charlie. I had to do it, make no mistake. He really was crazy and he really was trying to kill you and your mother, but when I killed him, I also killed the rest of my family. My sister, your godmother, your Aunt Suzie – she basically ran away from home. She changed her name and moved half way across the country to get away from our parents and me. I had aunts and uncles and cousins, Charlie. I haven't talked to any of them since then, not even my own godmother. My parents, the grandparents you've never met, call me a monster. My family is gone, Charlie. There's a cost you pay when you kill someone." I tapped the desk where I had put my pistol. "It's not a toy, and it's never cool."
My son sat there for a minute, and then said, "Sorry, Dad."
I simply smiled and waved it off. "Don't worry. No harm, no foul." I nodded towards the door.
Charlie stood up and went to the door. I sat there for a moment longer, and then I heard him say, "You all right, Dad?"
I snorted a touch and turned to face him. "It's okay. Anytime I wonder about that day, I just look at you and your mother and your sisters, and I get better." I stood up and motioned for him to leave, and then followed him into the kitchen.
Marilyn was in the kitchen taking a loaf of bread out of the oven. It smelled wonderful. She and the twins had made a Crock-Pot full of spaghetti sauce, and a pot of water was boiling on the stove. I grabbed a bottle of Chianti out of the rack. "Is everything all right?", she asked.