"Was. Major Eisenhower related to President Eisenhower?" Henry broke in. "I mean-was he related to the man who..." (he was about to say 'turned into') "became President Eisenhower?"

"Major Eisenhower was the man who became President Eisenhower," Walter explained, to Henry's amazement.

"So," Walter Bowman continued, "General MacArthur, and Major Patton, who would become the very famous General Patton and lead troops in World War Two, and Major Eisenhower, who would become General Eisenhower and then President Eisenhower, these three officers led the army across the river, pursuing the veterans they had driven away from the area around the Capitol building. They followed the veterans into their camp outside of the city. There were twenty thousand ex-soldiers camped there, and about six hundred wives and children were there with them."

"What did the soldiers do?" Henry asked. Walter Bowman looked his ten-year-old son in the eye.

"They fired their guns, and then they set fire to every piece of wood or cardboard there and burned the entire camp to the ground." Henry was speechless. Walter dropped his gaze and went on. "Not everyone got out alive. No one ever knew for sure how many were killed, though. Many of the veterans had separated from their families, and had nobody to ask about them."

Henry found his voice, and asked "Did your uncle die?" Walter ran his hand along the edge of the workbench and looked off towards the scroll saw in the corner of the shop before he answered.

"Not right away. Uncle Cam was burned pretty badly in the fire. He tried to make it back here to Missouri, but he had been one of the men marching near the Capitol building, and he'd gotten his wrist-or maybe it was his arm, I'm not sure which-broken by one of the horse soldiers before the Army crossed the river and burned the veterans out of their camp.

"The break was a bad one, and there was no one to tend to it, or to dress his burns properly either, and I'm not even sure it would have done any good. Burns make it easy for infection to set in, and that's what happened to my uncle. A doctor in a VA hospital in Pennsylvania amputated Uncle Cam's entire left arm, but it was too late. Dad-Grandpa Mike-took a train to Reading, and Uncle Cam held out until he got there. Dad talked to him, and then Uncle Cam died.

"Dad brought the body home and we buried him. The last time I ever saw him alive was that day in May when he hooked up with some fellows from Arizona and headed for Washington." He shook his head and forced a smile.

"That was a terrible thing, Henry, but we all knew it was a terrible thing, and the President admitted it was a terrible thing, and admitted it was his fault, and in six months, the President was voted out of office and the country had a new President," his father explained. Who proceeded to seize even more power for the Federal Government, strip citizens of their civil rights, and do it with the peoples' own money he added silently. Then Walter Bowman banished that course of thought from his mind and went on.

"Our Constitution and the Bill of Rights-the rules our government has to obey- were written by some very wise gentlemen who had just finished going through something very much like what Mr. Mann went through twenty years ago. Those men wrote the Constitution and the Bill of Rights to see to it that what happened to them and what happened to Mr. Mann doesn't ever happen again in this country.

"They spelled out all the things that free men have merely by being alive: the freedom to read and say what they believe, to worship in whatever way they wish, and to be free from having the police come take their property and throw them in jail without following due process of law. The men who founded our country also reminded the government, in the second article in the Bill of Rights, that free men have the right to own and carry the very same kind of weapons carried by soldiers in a modern army of the period. That put teeth in all the other promises-it guaranteed those rights by making sure all the people could fight back. That was something Mr. Mann and his family couldn't do.

"The system of government those men laid out in 1789 has worked very well for a long time-better and longer than just about any other system in any country on earth. Yes, it broke down for my uncle, and I'll never forget that.

"But what happened to my uncle wasn't the first or the last time the government ignored the rights of our citizens. You and I have talked before about how bigoted people can decide a certain group is inferior and should be treated differently, and that can be just as wrong as what the army did to my uncle. But that's finally changing. Our President has said in plain terms he intends to make discrimination illegal, and I think he means it.

"But if everything does go to hell in a handbasket here, the police start searching people's houses, seizing their property, holding citizens without bond, or trying to burn them alive -and particularly if the government starts trying to keep honest people from having guns to defend their freedoms, then Mr. Mann is dead right: the country is going to need young men with your skills to stand up to the storm troopers that want to crush them, just like it needed them almost two hundred years ago." Walter Bowman saw the worried look on his son's face, and went on.

"I think things are getting better in this country, Henry, not worse. By the time you're in high school, I truly believe it will be a lot different. Segregated movie theaters and restaurants, and shaking down Negroes for weapons? Those things will be just embarrassing memories that most people would like to forget." This is turning into rather more than I had intended he thought to himself, and decided to change the subject.

"Hey, I've been thinking about that target rig you want to have built, the one you were telling Mr. Mann about this morning. I hadn't realized how good you'd become with a rifle. You deserve good equipment, so I'll make you a deal: You save up the money for the receiver-a Remington, you said?-and I'll take care of the barrel and the scope. If you need any help making the stock, I'll pitch in there, too. Sound fair?"

"Does it ever!"

"Good. You finish cleaning your guns, then get upstairs to your bathroom and clean yourself. If we've got time before supper, I'll play a game of acey-deucey with you."

"I'll be done in a few minutes, Dad. Thanks," Henry said with a big smile as he hugged his father. Then he looked up. His face had a puzzled expression. "Dad?"

"What, Son?"

"I understand why the government didn't want to pay the money to the men in 1932, because they had to pay for so many other things that year, and they couldn't spend money if they didn't have it. But, when your Uncle Cam lost his farm, were there any people who had money? I mean, pretty much of it? People that were almost rich?"

"Oh, sure, there were still rich people in the country. But my uncle wouldn't have asked them for charity, Henry. He was a very proud man, and he felt very strongly that since the government had promised him his war bonus, it was the government that should help him when he had nothing. One of the senators tried to get the Congress to agree to pay the veterans a smaller amount of money right away instead of the full amount thirteen years later, but Congress said no."

"But the government probably didn't have that money either," Henry said. "You said even the banks were going out of business. The government didn't have even part of the three billion dollars saved up like they would in 1945-it was too early."

Walter smiled kindly at his son. "I guess my uncle still didn't want to go begging."

"No," Henry persisted, "I mean, if there were rich people around, why couldn't one of them pay your uncle some money, and then the government could give the rich man your uncle's bonus in 1945? If Uncle Cam was going to get five hundred dollars in 1945, and he needed money in 1932, why wouldn't a rich man give him...three hundred dollars, and get five hundred later? Uncle Cam would have done that instead of going to Washington and living outside for two months and having soldiers try to burn him up, wouldn't he?"

Good question Walter thought immediately. "Well...I guess there wasn't any way to transfer the bonus rights..." That's a pretty lame answer Walter said to himself.

"Why not? Couldn't the government give the veterans pieces of paper that said (here he lowered his voice) 'This is Mister Bowman's bo-"

"Lieutenant."

"What?" Henry asked. His father was smiling at him.

"He was a Lieutenant in the Army, not a 'Mister'."

"Oh." He pressed on. "Couldn't they have printed up a piece of paper that said "This is Lieutenant Bowman's bonus of five hundred dollars but we will pay it to anyone who turns in this piece of paper in 1945'? Then he could have sold it, and so could the other soldiers, and they could have had some money, and the government wouldn't have had to try to kill them to make them leave."

"That's a good question, Henry, and I don't know the answer." Except that a free-market answer was much too sensible for the stupid cocksuckers he added silently, then immediately felt ashamed. Walter Bowman rarely swore, even mentally. "They just didn't do it, that's all. Go on, dinner's going to be ready soon." Walter Bowman left the shop and climbed the basement stairs to the kitchen. Jesus! Ten years old, he's worrying a bout having to kill people, and I cheer him up by telling him how our government tried to burn his great-uncle alive Walter thought Good thing he's too young for this mess in Southeast Asia. That's where the trouble is now, not here in the United States.

Walter Bowman had a great knowledge of history, but he was ignorant of the existence of the obscure National Firearms Act of 1934. He also had no idea of the next piece of national legislation concerning firearms that would be written into law. It would be passed in five years, during a time of great upheaval in the country. Walter Bowman would never know of it, however. During the time of the initial discussion of the proposed legislative measure, doctors would discover that Walter Bowman had renal cancer.

By the time Lyndon Johnson signed the Gun Control Act of 1968 into law, Walter Bowman would have been dead for almost a year.

May 27, 1963 When Ames MacKinnon III walked into Raymond Johnson's office at Lambert, Burns, he did not immediately notice the items Raymond had placed strategically in various parts of the room. He was chastising himself for almost losing his last temper at their last meeting. He was determined not to let it happen again.

"Ray, good to see you. Listen, I don't have a lot of time, but I want you to know that Allied is prepared to take care of your man." Raymond noted that Pedro Gutierrez was no longer 'The Mexican'.

"They want to make sure that his daughter is set up with long-term care, and that his wife gets top-flight medical treatment. To that end, they've authorized me to make a very generous cash offer. Contingent, of course, upon the usual terms of confidentiality."

"Just how 'generous' is this cash offer?"

"Five hundred thousand dollars. I must caution you, though," Ames added quickly, "that this offer is as large as it is because Allied wants to put this unfortunate incident behind them and get on with their business. In light of that, the offer is good only until noon tomorrow."

Raymond nodded. "I can see how Allied Chemical would want to put this-as you call it- 'unfortunate incident' behind them, so that they can get on with selling their company to Becker AG." He turned and faced towards the large window that overlooked Manhattan. "Tell me, Ames, have you any idea how much each member of the board of directors is going to be putting in his checking account as a result of this Becker deal? It's all cash, remember. No stock swap."

"I don't know how many shares each board member holds, so no, I don't," he lied.

"Ellison's low man on the totem pole with a little over eighteen thousand shares. With options, Hatcher's got almost a quarter million. The others all fall between those figures. When Becker cuts their check for forty-nine dollars per share, there are going to be some very happy former directors of Allied Chemical. If Becker cuts the check." MacKinnon said nothing, waiting for Raymond to continue.

"Your half million dollar offer is chump change, and not only because it's tiny in relation to what's at stake here. After legal fees, my client would have less than three hundred fifty thousand dollars. At a four percent after-tax yield, that's about thirteen thousand dollars a year to provide medicine, rehabilitation, and nursing care for a blind, brain-damaged girl who had her fourth birthday last week, and a sick woman of thirty-two.

"I'm not sure that thirteen thousand dollars would cover the kind of annual costs we're talking about for 1963 alone. Mrs. Gutierrez could easily survive to see her fiftieth birthday. Given that the daughter's heart and respiratory system seem to be in good order, it is entirely possible that she could live well into the next century. In sixty years, I think a thirteen thousand dollar stipend for full-time care will look like an absolute pittance." Raymond picked up one of the two cans that were sitting on his credenza and examined it. The can he held in his hand was brand new. The one remaining on the credenza was much older, slightly dented, and its label was faded and peeling off in spots. The labels on both cans were sky blue.

"Mr. Hatcher's twelve million dollar nest egg, on the other hand, will have grown into something truly impressive, barring massive ineptitude on the part of his heirs."

"Just what are you saying?"

Raymond set the can down on top of a photo on his desk and faced the other lawyer.

"What I'm saying is that your offer is neither generous, nor fair, nor acceptable. Given what Allied Chemical knowingly did to a pregnant employee, five hundred thousand dollars is an absolute insult. Allied is obviously trying to get out of their obligation. I've been doing a little figuring, and five hundred thousand dollars is less than what the company earns in two days."

Suddenly the intercom crackled. "Mr. Johnson, I'm sorry, but it's a Mr. Morris from the New York Times. He's sitting here and he says he won't leave until he gets a statement on the Allied case." Raymond pressed the button and spoke immediately. "Tell him I can see him at four o'clock. He can wait there all day if he wants, but if he wants a statement before four, tell him it's 'no comment'." "He says that's fine, Mr. Johnson. He'll be back at four."

Ames MacKinnon HI looked decidedly upset. "You can't be talking to the papers on this! We're trying to work with you! If this goes in front of a jury, you know full well you might get nothing at all." Saying the words calmed him, and MacKinnon regained his composure. It was not for long, however.

"Ames, I can do anything I want, just like you can come in here and offer my client pin money for a daughter with brain damage and no eyes. I've been doing my research, and every layer I peel off this onion makes it smell worse to me." He handed the man the quart can that sat on his desk. "Recognize that?"

MacKinnon looked at the label. He saw that he was holding a can of weed-killing powder. HERBAMAX, it was called. As he looked at the fine print on the label, he realized it was manufactured in Germany by Becker AG. "Becker's import for the U.S. market," he said, making a statement of fact.

Instinctively MacKinnon's eyes went to the second, older can that remained on Raymond's credenza, and he stepped over to inspect it. When he picked it up, he could tell by its weight that it was empty. The label was faded, but appeared to have once been the same shade of blue as the new can of weed killer. All printing on the old can was in German, but the layout was very similar. The part of the label where the manufacturer's name would be was torn off, but part of the address remained. It was the same town as the one printed on the new can. Up at the top was the product's name: ZYKLON-B.

"Old can of home-market weed killer?" MacKinnon asked. Raymond reflected upon the question.

"They might have considered it that, I suppose." He handed the lawyer the photo on his desk. It was a blurred picture of a room filled with a tangle of nude bodies, hundreds of them, intertwined together in the rictus of death. "Seemed to work well enough." MacKinnon set the can down immediately and stared at Raymond. The younger man cut him off before he could speak.

"Ames, don't waste your time lecturing me about what I can or can't say in court. That's not what you should be worried about right now. I think the Times has got a whiff of this. They didn't get it from me, but there are some Jewish secretaries in this office. I can't think of any other particular reason for one of their reporters to try to camp out in our reception area." Raymond could see that his words had visibly shaken the other man.

"You have until four o'clock to come back with a cashier's check in the appropriate amount. If I do not have it by then, Mr. Morris gets his story, Becker gets to look for buying opportunities elsewhere, people who want to buy Allied stock get to purchase it for about twelve dollars less per share, and we get the pleasure of trying to find twelve jurors who haven't read about the U.S. company who tried to sell out to the German chemical factory that made the compound Hitler used to execute over six million people.

"If, on the other hand, I find you on the other side of that door when I open it at four o'clock, and you are holding in your hand a check for the proper amount, then my client gets to take care of his family, Mr. Morris gets to look for other stories, my firm gets to pat me on the back for a job well done, and you get the undying gratitude of the Allied board and all the other shareholders, whom you will have collectively saved over fifty million dollars in market value by averting the tragedy of having their stock return to its prebuyout level of two months ago."

Ames MacKinnon III finally found his voice. "And what is the 'correct amount'?" He had a dismal feeling Raymond was going to laugh at him and demand ten million dollars.

"Until four o'clock, Allied gets a thirty percent discount. Seven million dollars. After four, we're back up to a full ten or let a jury decide. No counteroffers."

"I shall relay the message." MacKinnon left without another word.

Two minutes later the receptionist came in, looking very anxious. "Was I all right, Mr. Johnson? Did I buzz you at the right time, and everything?"

"You did fine, Maggie. Just fine. You can go on back to your desk."

Raymond picked up the empty can from his credenza and looked at it. Two days before it had been full of clear lacquer, sitting on the shelf of a hardware store. He stared at the faded label and recalled the odd look the printer had given him until he had explained that a stage manager cannot afford to lose his job just because some fool unwittingly throws away one of the props for the second act of the production.

Now we wait for four o'clock Raymond thought as he sat down and let his heart rate slowly return to normal.

In the sixteen hours since Ames MacKinnon III had grimly delivered the largest check he had ever held in his hand, word of the huge settlement had spread like a brush fire through the New York legal community. Raymond Johnson did his best to keep a straight face as he sat down at the conference table for the morning meeting. Every person the office had been staring at him from the moment he had come in to work that morning. Jacob Burns called the meeting to order.

"It appears that our newest associate has shown his mettle in an area heretofore untapped by this firm." He smiled broadly at the group. "Our bottom line is certainly looking better than it ever has, and for that we have Raymond to thank." Ray Johnson kept a neutral expression on his face, but inwardly his stomach was churning. He glanced around the table, and saw that everyone was smiling at him. Everyone except Arthur Lambert, who had a thoughtful expression on his face, and appeared about to speak.

"That's not quite right, Jake," Lambert said to his partner. "Lambert, Burns' bottom line looks exactly the same as it did two days ago. That was Raymond's case, not the firm's."

"What?"

"You heard me, and there'll be no argument. Raymond came to me before he took the case, to get my approval. I gave that approval, and when he asked what the sharing arrangement with the firm would be, I told him it was his case, provided he did not short us any hours. He said he would give up vacation days if necessary. Raymond kept his end of the bargain, and the firm is going to keep theirs."

"But he didn't tell you that the case was going to be worth over two million dollars to us!"

"No, and if he had, I would have laughed at him and given him the same terms. Raymond could not have known himself, at that time. I will resign as senior partner of this firm before I will renege on a verbal contract." Arthur Lambert could see that this did not please the other man, but there was no reply.

"Don't look so mad, Jake," Lambert continued with a grin. "You've still got more money than the new kid." This brought some genuine laughter from the others around the table. "Besides, aren't you always talking about how our reputation is our biggest asset?" Lambert raised his eyebrows. "Think of what it's doing for our reputation, Jake. To have a first-year associate of ours nick the company that rejected us as counsel for seven million dollars."

"The settlement was confidential-" Raymond started to say. Both senior partners fixed him with looks that told him it was the first stupid statement he had uttered in their presence. Jake Burns spoke, and a smile was starting at the corners of his mouth.

"It'll never make the papers, but you can be damn sure the real players in this town already knew the exact figure before you went to bed last night, Ray. Speaking of confidentiality, it's going to grate on you every time someone talks about the largest award that you have to keep your mouth shut. Which you're going to have to do. No Guinness Book of World Records listing for you on this one, Ray."

"I'll be sobbing all the way to the bank," he said.