Hughson snorted. “Okay, smart guy,” he said. “Wait until you want somethin'.”
We reached the prison at 11.40. There were some other witnesses waiting outside the gates as we drove up. They all looked uneasy in the dim light, and moved a little way away as we came tumbling out of the cars. We stood there in a bunch, pretending we didn't know what we were there for, until the gates were opened at 11.45.
A couple of bulls inspected our cards and gave us a quick frisk. Since the Snyder execution the authorities were scared sick that another guy would smuggle in a camera. The boys knew it was pretty useless to try, and the cops knew they knew it, so the frisk was really just a matter of form. When they got through, we started through a maze of gates, each of which was locked behind Us before we could pass through the next.
We marched single file, and I guess we looked a fine bunch of professional mourners. We went past the big cell buildings, our footsteps resounding on the walk. It was dark and silent in the cells. The death house was over in the far corner of the immense prison yard.
We walked round the hearse, parked in front of the death house, and a number of us just took one quick look at that wagon and tucked in our tails.
The death house had two entrances. One led to a narrow passage between the death chamber and wall of the death house. The other led to the little cell where Vessi was—a few feet from the entrance.
There was no other building near the death house. It stood alone in a corner of the yard, where the convicts played their ball game. As we shuffled across the yard the dust got on to our shoes and we took it into the death house with us.
The guard stopped at the entrance. “Who's the guy for the last words?”
I stepped out of the file and jerked my thumb.
“Okay,” he said. “You wait here.”
The rest of the guys trooped down the passage and grouped themselves before the glass windows of the gas chamber. Hughson was the last one to take up a position. He said to me, as he passed: “Watch yourself, Bud.”
I was surprised that a grin didn't come easy. This business was getting me a little nervy.
The gas chamber was octagonal in shape and made of steel, with windows on all sides. The narrow passage where the other boys had gone was built to allow four feet of space between the wall of the death house and the chamber. There was a very high steel chimney from the chamber up through the death house, to carry off the fumes once the execution was over.
I had a little more space on my side. I looked into the chamber. It was about five feet wide, and empty except for a steel chair, equipped with straps, standing in the centre. The cyanide 'eggs' were suspended from the bottom of the chair. I didn't like the look of this spot. It gave me the heebies just to imagine myself sitting in there.
From where I stood, I could look through the window of the chamber and see the boys on the opposite side, looking through their window at me. They waved at me and I gave them the two-digit high sip. Those guys certainly looked a bunch of monkeys massed up behind the glass.
I had come to see Vessi, so I thought I might as well have a look at him. He was sitting in his cell, smoking a cigarette. He was naked but for a pair of underwear shorts.
I looked at the guard. “What's the idea—him like that?”
The guard glanced in at the cell. “We always strip 'em down as far as we can. The gas sticks to clothes and it makes it difficult for us to get 'em out.”
“There's goin' to be a mighty rush for tickets when they put a dame in there,” I said.
The guard made a grimace. I guess he wasn't feeling too good. “Yeah,” he said, “but they'll keep you bums outta here.”
Vessi was a big guy, with a sullen, heavy face. Considering what was coming to him, I thought he was taking it pretty well. There was a glassy look in his eyes, and he was looking glum, but he wasn't in a panic.
The chaplain, a short, fat, worried-looking guy, sat on a chair, his head lowered, intoning a prayer. Vessi looked at him every now and then and licked his lips. I could see he wished the chaplain would stop the intoning.
I felt a sudden shiver run through me, as if it had turned cold. But it hadn't. I was sweating. The warden came down the passage quickly. There was a greenish pallor on his face, and he didn't look at me.
He just said “Okay” to the guard.
They unlocked the door to the little cell. Vessi's skin tightened, and he looked beyond the guards at me. I didn't like meeting that guy's eye, but I thought maybe I'd better give him a little encouragement. I winked at him. It was a hell of a thing to do, but I just had to tell him I was feeling for him.
The guard tapped him on the shoulder, and he stood up. He was steadier on his feet than I was.
The chaplain droned on. I could guess how Vessi felt about it. I had to hold myself in. Those prayers didn't seem to be getting us anywhere.
Vessi came out of the cell. He was handcuffed, and he kept twisting his wrists, fidgeting with the bracelets.
The warden read the death-warrant in a sombre, get-it-over sort of voice. I could see a trickle of sweat running down behind his ear. When he was through he said: “Any last words?”
This was what I'd been waiting for. I moved forward so that I was close to Vessi. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the other guys pressed against the glass window, taking it all in, and watching me closely. Vessi looked right at me. “You got the wrong guy,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “I didn't do it.”
The guards closed round him, but Vessi suddenly stiffened. He continued to look at me. “Break it open, Mason,” he said in a low mumble. “Lu Spencer pulled it. You gotta get him—it was Lu— do you hear—?”
