Seventh Enemy (19 page)

“I know,” I said. “That’s what bothers me.”

Ten minutes later we picked up Route 117, a country road that wound past meadows and newly planted cornfields and apple orchards. The apple trees had already dropped their blossoms and were bursting with shiny pale green leaves. I turned and looked out the back widow. There was no blue Ford Escort in sight.

“I tried to reach Senator Swift,” said Alex.

“Senator Swift, huh?”

“I wanted an interview.” She glanced sideways at me. “He’s next on the list, you know.”

“Um,” I said.

“I got the brush off.”

“Figures.”

“Yeah, I guess. Still, if he gets assassinated, I’ll really be upset.”

“Hell, so will I.”

“I mean,” she said, “what a story.”

And a few minutes later she said, “I wonder why he wouldn’t see me?”

“Who?”

“Chip Swift. I’ve interviewed him plenty of times. Politicians usually fall all over themselves for reporters. Publicity is their nourishment.”

“He’s probably just busy.”

“Maybe.” She was silent for a moment. “Still, I wonder…”

I didn’t ask her what she wondered. I had the uncomfortable feeling that she knew I had met with the senator at the Commonwealth Club, and somehow she had managed to make me feel guilty that I wouldn’t tell her all about it.

Women can do that.

S
AFE HEADQUARTERS OCCUPIED THE
first floor of a converted Victorian house on Route 110 in Clinton, not far from the Wachusett Reservoir. The upper two floors appeared to be apartments.

We pulled into the dirt parking area and got out. As we did a blue Escort cruised past. I couldn’t see the driver’s face.

“Did you see that?” I said to Alex.

“That car?”

I nodded.

“You think it’s the same one?”

“I don’t know. If it is…”

She squeezed my arm. “Brady,” she said.

I shrugged. “Paranoia. Forget it.”

We climbed onto the porch. A sign over the doorbell instructed us to
RING AND COME IN
. So we did.

We walked into the first room off the narrow hallway. It was dominated by a long conference table which was piled with magazines and newspapers and file folders. Two men in T-shirts and jeans were standing by the window drinking Cokes from cans and talking. They stopped their conversation when they saw us. Both of them looked familiar. One of them was tall and gaunt, with close-cropped black hair and gray stubby teeth. The other one was twentyish, with an earring and a blond ponytail and a red face. I couldn’t recall his name, though I knew I’d heard it. I had met both of them in the Dunkin’ Donuts on Tremont Street.

The younger one hesitated for just an instant, then smiled at us. “How ya doin’?”

Alex and I smiled back. “Just fine,” I said.

“Kin I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. McNiff,” said Alex. “I’m Alexandria Shaw from the
Globe.
I have an appointment.”

“Hang on a sec. I’ll get him for you.”

He disappeared into an inner room. The other guy brushed past us and went out toward the front door without saying anything.

Alex nudged me with her elbow. “Those two guys…”

“Right. Dunkin’ Donuts.”

“Do you think they recognized you?” she said.

“Sure.”

“But—”

At that moment Gene McNiff came into the room. His short-sleeved shirt hung untucked over his stomach. If he was surprised to see me with Alex, he didn’t show it. “Miz Shaw, welcome,” he said, holding out his hand to Alex. She took it. Then he looked at me. “And Mr. Coyne. Hello.”

“Hello,” I said. We shook hands, too.

“Let’s go into my office where we can talk.” said McNiff. “Want a Coke or something?”

Alex and I both declined. We followed him through the doorway into a cluttered office. Several metal file cabinets and bookcases stood against the wall. There was a big oak desk with two telephones and several messy stacks of papers. A table held a computer and printer, a copier, and a fax machine. Four unmatched chairs sat randomly on the floor.

The guy with the ponytail was there, too. “Dougie,” said McNiff to him, “did you meet Miz Shaw and Mr. Coyne?” To us he said, “This is Douglas, my oldest son. He does a lot of work for SAFE. Sort of my right-hand man.”

Dougie nodded to us and gave me a lopsided smile. “I guess we already met, actually. No hard feelings, huh?”

“No problem,” I said.

“Well,” said McNiff, “we’ve got some things to discuss, so…”

Dougie hesitated for a moment, then left the room.

McNiff gestured at the empty chairs. “Sit, please.”

Alex and I sat.

“So,” said McNiff after he had settled himself behind his desk, “how is he?” He was looking at me.

“Who?”

“Walt. How’s he coming along?”

“He’s okay,” I said. “It was touch and go for a while.”

“Damn shame. Accidents like this shouldn’t happen. It only takes one or two irresponsible people to make all gun owners look bad. You know,” he said, cocking an eye at Alex, “SAFE has been lobbying for better safety training programs for years. I take every hunting accident personally.”

She smiled and nodded. “Mr. McNiff—”

“Gene,” he said. “Call me Gene.”

“Sure.” She cleared her throat. “Mind if I tape this?”

He waved his hand. “Not at all.”

She took her little portable tape recorder out of her briefcase, tested it, then put it onto McNiff’s desk between them. Then she flipped open her notebook. “Okay,” she said. “Now, can we—?”

“Miz Shaw,” said McNiff quickly, “I’d like to tell you some things you might not know. Would that be all right?”

“Sure. Fine.”

“I’ll give you some of our pamphlets, and I hope you’ll read them. I mean, I know why you’re here.” He glanced at me and smiled. “I’m not sure why
you’re
here, Mr. Coyne.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand and looked back al Alex. “Anyway. I know your reputation. You’re a fair reporter. That’s why I welcomed this chance to talk to you. See. SAFE has this unfortunate image, and it stems from our unrelenting battle on behalf of the Second Amendment. But we do a lot more than just fight against the unconstitutional abridgement of the right to bear arms. We teach young people gun safety. We hold special classes all over New England for women who want to learn how to defend themselves. These programs are very popular. Miss Shaw. Women are feeling that they’ve been the victims of violent crime for too long. They’re upset—as we are—about the lack of protection they get from the police and the courts. So they are learning how to defend themselves.” He paused and leaned toward us. “And that is precisely what the Second Amendment is all about. It’s what SAFE is all about.”

McNiff paused, then leaned back and folded his hands on his desk. I had the impression that he had given this speech more than once.

He smiled at Alex. “I hope I’m not boring you.”

“Not at all, Mr. McNiff. Please continue.”

He shrugged. “We lobby not just for the right to own firearms, but also for tougher penalties for gun-related crimes. See, we know that if the right to own guns is curtailed, then law-abiding citizens will do what the law requires. But criminals don’t obey laws. The politicians can disarm the good citizens. But they can’t disarm criminals.” McNiff shrugged. “End of lecture.” He picked up a handful of pamphlets and gave them to Alex, “I hope you’ll read them, Miz Shaw. It will help you to understand.”

She took them and put them into her briefcase. “Mr. McNiff,” she said, “four days after dramatically testifying in favor of gun control, Walt Kinnick was shot. You were seen publicly threatening him. Your newsletter named him the number-one enemy of your organization. It came out two days before the shooting. I’m sure it’s obvious to you how that looks.”

McNiff nodded. “I’d have to be an imbecile not to see how it looks. It looks like an attempted assassination. But I guarantee that no member of SAFE shot Walt Kinnick.” he hesitated. “
I
certainly didn’t.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Listen,” he said. “I publish a newsletter every two weeks. A regular feature is our enemies’ list. There’s
always
a number-one enemy. Before Walt Kinnick, none of our enemies had ever been shot at. Not one. Ever. And believe me, we’ve had some pretty big enemies.” He leaned forward on his desk and stared hard at Alex. “Look. Our members come from all walks of life. We’ve got policemen, salesmen, mechanics, schoolteachers, housewives. Lawyers and newspaper reporters, too. You name it. Some of them are highly educated. Some are dropouts. Some are smart, and some, probably, aren’t so smart. But they all share our belief in the Second Amendment. And they all know that assassinating our enemies with guns is the worst possible thing for our cause. It’s absolutely unthinkable that any SAFE member would do this.”

Alex was scribbling in her notebook. She looked up at McNiff. “But you do advocate harassing your enemies with boycotts and so forth. You do publish their phone numbers and addresses.” Alex glanced at me, then said, “Walt Kinnick received some threatening phone calls the day before the shooting. The callers mentioned SAFE.”

“Sure,” said McNiff. Anybody would. Good way to deflect suspicion, huh?” He shrugged. “We advocate legal, nonviolent activities that help us make our point and demonstrate our influence. Sure we do. All organizations do those kinds of things to promote their cause. We also try to get our friends elected and our enemies defeated. We play by the rules. We believe in the Constitution. Sometimes our members make phone calls. Nothing illegal about that. Maybe some of them are angry. But we don’t go around shooting people who disagree with us.”

“Walt Kinnick was expected to testify against gun control. Instead, he testified for it. You have been quoted as calling him a traitor.”

McNiff nodded quickly. “Yes. He was. That’s why he’s our number-one enemy. But that doesn’t mean we want him to be shot.”

“But doesn’t that make him different from all your other enemies?”

“We’ve been betrayed before,” said McNiff with a shrug. “Politicians betray our cause all the time.”

“Don’t you think it was sort of inevitable that sooner or later some nut with a gun would try to serve the cause by shooting an enemy?” said Alex.

“I think,” said McNiff slowly, “that the least likely nut to do that would be a member of SAFE. Every one of our members knows that the irresponsible or criminal use of firearms is our worst enemy. Hey. it’s obvious someone shot Kinnick. Whether it was an accident or not, I don’t know. But I’ll tell you this. Maybe it was an attempted assassination. But it wasn’t any member of SAFE.”

“What are you doing about it?” she said.

“Doing?”

“How are you addressing what happened to Kinnick?”

McNiff spread his hands. “I’m not. There’s nothing to address.”

“But—”

“I assume the police are addressing it. I hope they catch whoever did it, and I hope they prosecute him and punish him. But it’s none of our business. SAFE has nothing to do with what happened to Walt Kinnick. We’re always upset when accidents and crimes with guns occur. But accidents or irresponsible behavior or criminal acts do not change our views about guns, any more than drunk-driving accidents change anybody’s mind about automobiles.”

Alex was frowning into her notebook. “There are other enemies on your list,” she said.

McNiff looked at me and smiled. “Yes. There are always ten enemies. Every two weeks, ten enemies. Most of them are perennials. Now and then we have some new ones.”

“Like Walt Kinnick,” she said.

He nodded. “And Brady Coyne.”

“Why is Mr. Coyne on your list?” she said.

“He obviously helped convince Kinnick to reverse his position on gun control. Kinnick came to town prepared to testify against that bill. After meeting with his lawyer, he testified for it.” He looked at me. “You must be a very convincing man. A convincing man who opposes the Second Amendment is an enemy of SAFE.”

“If you think I convinced Wally to change his mind, you don’t know him very well,” I said.

“Good lawyers make a living convincing people to change their minds,” said McNiff.

I shrugged. “I’m not that good.”

Alex glanced at me and gave me a little nod. She was inviting me to plead my case more fully. I realized that was why she had invited me to join her on this interview.

“I have no public position on gun control,” I said to McNiff.

“Only through Kinnick,” he said.

“I never even heard of SAFE before I picked up Wally at the airport that night.”

“I bet you had opinions on gun control, though,” said McNiff.

“I have opinions on lots of things. Now and then I even express them. That’s the First Amendment. Comes right before the Second.”

McNiff smiled.

“If it matters to you, I wouldn’t have considered myself your enemy.”

“Not me,” said McNiff. “SAFE.”

“Whatever. I generally see too many gray areas in complicated issues to make anybody a worthwhile enemy.”

“If you’re not for us,” he said, “you’ve gotta be against us.”

“No, I don’t.” I said. “I can just not give a shit one way or the other, like most people.”

He shrugged. “There’ll be another newsletter in a week or so. I’ll be making a new enemies’ list. Maybe you won’t make it this time.”

“I’m only an enemy,” I said, “of those who make me an enemy.”

“And a friend to those who have no friends,” said McNiff with a grin. “I remember Boston Blackie, too.”

“What about those others?” said Alex to McNiff.

“Which others?”

“On your list.”

“The others have been there before. Politicians. Our biggest enemies are politicians who don’t think for themselves, who take polls before they decide what they believe. Fortunately, we have lots of friends in government, too.”

“Those who vote your position,” said Alex. “People who do think for themselves,”

McNiff shrugged. “Politics is politics.”

She glanced at her notebook. “What about Wilson Bailey?”

“What about him?”

“He’s not a politician.”

“No. He’s been on our list before. He’s made a career out of testifying against us. It’s a tragic thing, what happened to his family. But his is a tired old argument. Unfortunately, it has a lot of emotional punch. So far he hasn’t hurt us.”