'Think fast, okay.'
'Funny, real funny. My brother Donnie stopped by earlier. He's my youngest brother, you know. He wants to meet you.'
'Was he in the Klan?'
'What kind of question is that?'
'It's a simple yes or no question.'
'Yes. He was in the Klan.'
'Then I don't want to meet him.'
'He's not a bad guy.'
'I'll take your word for it.'
'He's my brother, Adam. I want you to meet my brother.'
'I have no desire to meet new Cayhalls, Sam, especially ones who wore robes and hoods.'
'Oh, really. Three weeks ago you wanted to know everything about the family. Just couldn't get enough of it.'
'I surrender, okay? I've heard enough.'
'Oh, there's lots more.'
'Enough, enough. Spare me.'
Sam grunted and smiled smugly to himself. Adam glanced at his legal pad, and said,'You'll be happy to know that the Kluckers outside have now been joined by some Nazis and Aryans and skinheads and other hate groups. They're all lined along the highway, waving posters at cars passing by. The posters, of course, demand the freedom of Sam Cayhall, their hero. It's a regular circus.'
'I saw it on television.'
'They're also marching in Jackson around the state capitol.'
'This is my fault?'
'No. It's your execution. You're a symbol now. About to become a martyr.'
'What am I supposed to do?'
'Nothing. Just go ahead and die, and they'll all be happy.'
'Aren't you an asshole today?'
'Sorry, Sam. The pressure's getting to me.'
'Throw in the towel. I have. I highly recommend it.'
'Forget it. I've got these clowns on the run, Sam. I have not yet begun to fight.'
'Yeah, you've filed three petitions, and a total of seven courts have turned you down. Zero for seven. I hate to see what'll happen when you really get cranked up.' Sam said this with a wicked smile, and the humor found its mark. Adam laughed at it, and both breathed a bit easier. 'I have this great idea for a lawsuit after you're gone,' he said, feigning excitement.
'After I'm gone?'
'Sure. We'll sue them for wrongful death. We'll name McAllister, Nugent, Roxburgh, the State of Mississippi. We'll bring in everybody.'
'It's never been done,' Sam said, stroking his beard, as if deep in thought.
'Yeah, I know. Thought of it all by myself. We might not win a dime, but think of the fun I'll have harassing those bastards for the next five years.'
'You have my permission to file it. Sue them!'
The smiles slowly disappeared and the humor was gone. Adam found something else on his checklist. 'Just a couple more items. Lucas Mann asked me to ask you about your witnesses. You're entitled to have two people in the witness room, in case this gets that far.'
'Donnie doesn't want to do it. I will not allow you to be there. I can't imagine anybody else who'd want to see it.'
'Fine. Speaking of them, I have at least thirty requests for interviews. Virtually every major paper and news magazine wants access.'
'No.'
'Fine. Remember that writer we discussed last time, Wendall Sherman? The one who wants to record your story on tape and - '
'Yeah. For fifty thousand bucks.'
'Now it's a hundred thousand. His publisher will put up the money. He wants to get everything on tape, watch the execution, do extensive research, then write a big book about it.
'No.'
'Fine.'
'I don't want to spend the next three days talking about my life. I don't want some stranger poking his nose around Ford County. And I don't particularly need a hundred thousand dollars at this point in my life.'
'Fine with me. You once mentioned the clothing you wanted to wear - '
'Donnie's taking care of it.'
'Okay. Moving right along. Barring a stay, you're allowed to have two people with you during your final hours. Typically, the prison has a form for you to sign designating these people.'
'It's always the lawyer and the minister, right?'
'That's correct.'
'Then it's you, and Ralph Griffin, I guess.'
Adam filled the names in on a form. 'Who's Ralph Griffin?'
'The new minister here. He's opposed to the death penalty, can you believe it? His predecessor thought we should all be gassed, in the name of Jesus, of course.'
Adam handed the form to Sam. 'Sign here.'
Sam scribbled his name and handed it back.
'You're entitled to a last conjugal visit.'
Sam laughed loudly. 'Come on, son. I'm an old man.'
'It's on the checklist, okay. Lucas Mann whispered to me the other day that I should mention it to you.'
'Okay. You've mentioned it.'
'I have another form here for your personal effects. Who gets them?'
'You mean my estate?'
'Sort of.'
'This is morbid as hell, Adam. Why are we doing this now?'
'I'm a lawyer, Sam. We get paid to sweat the details. It's just paperwork.'
'Do you want my things?'
Adam thought about this for a moment. He didn't want to hurt Sam's feelings, but at the same time he couldn't imagine what he'd do with a few ragged old garments, worn books, portable television, and rubber shower shoes. 'Sure,' he said.
'Then they're yours. Take them and burn them.'
'Sign here,' Adam said, shoving the form under his face. Sam signed it, then jumped to his feet and started pacing again. 'I really want you to meet Donnie.'
'Sure. Whatever you want,' Adam said, stuffing his legal pad and the forms into his briefcase. The nitpicking details were now complete. The briefcase seemed much heavier.
'I'll be back in the morning,' he said to Sam.
'Bring me some good news, okay.'
Colonel Nugent strutted along the edge of the highway with a dozen armed prison guards behind him. He glared at the Klansmen, twenty-six at last count, and he scowled at the brown-shined Nazis, ten in all. He stopped and stared at the group of skinheads mingling next to the Nazis. He swaggered around the edge of the grassy protest strip, pausing for a moment to speak to two Catholic nuns sitting under a large umbrella, as far away from the other demonstrators as possible. The temperature was one hundred degrees, and the nuns were broiling under the shade. They sipped ice water, their posters resting on their knees and facing the highway.
The nuns asked him who he was and what he wanted. He explained that he was the acting warden for the prison, and that he was simply making sure the demonstration was orderly.
