was immediately obvious that the conference room had been added as an afterthought.
The air conditioner, a small window unit, was snarling angrily and producing much less than it should. The room was divided neatly by a solid wall of brick and metal; the lawyers had their side and the clients had theirs. The partition was made of brick for the first three feet, then a small counter provided the lawyers a place to sit their mandatory legal pads and take their pages of mandatory notes. A bright green screen of thick metal grating sat solidly on the counter and ran up to the ceiling.
Adam walked slowly to the end of the room, sidestepping a varied assortment of chairs - green and gray government throwaways, folding types, narrow cafeteria seats.
'I'm gonna lock this door,' Packer said as he stepped outside. 'We'll get Sam.' The door slammed, and Adam was alone. He quickly picked out a place at the end of the room just in case another lawyer arrived, at which time the other lawyer would undoubtedly take a position far to the other end and they could plot strategy with some measure of privacy. He pulled a chair to the wooden counter, placed his jacket on another chair, removed his legal pad, unscrewed his pen, and began chewing his fingernails. He tried to stop the chewing, but he couldn't. His stomach flipped violently, and his heels twitched out of control. He looked through the screen and studied the inmates' portion of the room - the same wooden counter, the same array of old chairs. In the center of the screen before him was a slit, four inches by ten, and it would be through this little hole that he would come face-to-face with Sam Cayhall.
He waited nervously, telling himself to be calm, take it easy, relax, he could handle this. He scribbled something on the legal pad, but honestly couldn't read it. He rolled up his sleeves. He looked around the room for hidden microphones and cameras, but the place was so simple and modest he couldn't imagine anyone trying to eavesdrop. If Sergeant Packer was any indication, the staff was laid-back, almost indifferent.
He studied the empty chairs on both sides of the screen, and wondered how many desperate people, in the last hours of their lives, had met here with their attorneys and listened for words of hope. How many urgent pleas had passed through this screen as the clock ticked steadily away? How many lawyers had sat where he was now sitting and told their clients that there was nothing left to do, that the execution would proceed? It was a somber thought, and it calmed Adam quite a bit. He was not the first to be here, and he would not be the last. He was a lawyer, well trained, blessed with a quick mind, and arriving here with the formidable resources of Kravitz & Bane behind him. He could do his job. His legs slowly became still, and he quit chewing his fingernails.
A door bolt clicked, and he jumped through his skin. It opened slowly, and a young white guard stepped into the inmates' side. Behind him, in a bright red jumpsuit, hands cuffed behind, was Sam Cayhall. He glowered around the room, squinting through the screen, until his eyes focused on Adam. A guard pulled at his elbow and led him to a spot directly across from the lawyer. He was thin, pale, and six inches shorter than both guards, but they seemed to give him plenty of room.
'Who are you?' he hissed at Adam, who at the moment had a fingernail between his teeth.
One guard pulled a chair behind Sam, and the other guard sat him in it. He stared at Adam. The guards backed away, and were about to leave when Adam said, 'Could you remove the handcuffs, please?'
'No sir. We can't.'
Adam swallowed hard. 'Just take them off, okay. We're gonna be here for a while,' he said, mustering a degree of forcefulness. The guards looked at each other as if this request had never been heard. A key was quickly produced, and the handcuffs were removed.
Sam was not impressed. He glared at Adam through the opening in the screen as the guards made their noisy departure. The door slammed, and the deadbolt clicked.
They were alone, the Cayhall version of a family reunion. The air conditioner rattled and spewed, and for a long minute it made the only sounds. Though he tried valiantly, Adam was unable to look Sam in the eyes for more than two seconds. He busied himself with important note taking on the legal pad, and as he numbered each line he could feel the heat of Sam's stare.
Finally, Adam stuck a business card through the opening. 'My name is Adam Hall. I'm a lawyer with Kravitz & Bane. Chicago and Memphis.'
Sam patiently took the card and examined it front and back. Adam watched every move. His fingers were wrinkled and stained brown with cigarette smoke. His face was pallid, the only color coming from the salt and pepper stubble of five days' growth. His hair was long, gray, and oily, and slicked back severely. Adam decided quickly that he looked nothing like the frozen images from the video. Nor did he resemble the last known photos of himself, those from the 1981 trial. He was quite an old man now, with pasty delicate skin and layers of tiny wrinkles around his eyes. Deep burrows of age and misery cut through his forehead. The only attractive feature was the set of piercing, indigo eyes that lifted themselves from the card. 'You Jew boys never quit, do you?' he said in a pleasant, even tone. There was no hint of anger.
'I'm not Jewish,' Adam said, successfully returning the stare.
'Then how can you work for Kravitz & Bane?' he asked as he set the card aside. His words were soft, slow, and delivered with the patience of a man who'd spent nine and a half years alone in a six-by-nine cell.
'We're an equal opportunity employer.'
'That's nice. All proper and legal, I presume. In full compliance with all civil rights decisions and federal do- gooder laws.'
'Of course.'
'How many partners are in Kravitz & Bane now?'
Adam shrugged. The number varied from year to year. 'Around a hundred and fifty.'
'A hundred and fifty partners. And how many are women?'
Adam hesitated as he tried to count. 'I really don't know. Probably a dozen.'
'A dozen,' Sam repeated, barely moving his lips. His hands were folded and still, and his eyes did not blink. 'So, less than ten percent of your partners are women. How many nigger partners do you have?'
'Could we refer to them as blacks?'
'Oh sure, but of course that too is an antiquated term. They now want to be called African-Americans. Surely you're politically correct enough to know this.'
Adam nodded but said nothing.
'How many African-American partners do you have?'
'Four, I believe.'
'Less than three percent. My, my. Kravitz & Bane, that great bastion of civil justice and liberal political action, does, in fact, discriminate against African-Americans and Female-Americans. I just don't know what to say.'
Adam scratched something illegible on his pad. He could argue, of course, that almost a third of the associates were female and that the firm made diligent efforts to sign the top black law students. He could explain how they had been sued for reverse discrimination by two white males whose job offers disappeared at the last moment.
'How many Jewish-American partners do you have? Eighty percent?'
'I don't know. It really doesn't matter to me.'
'Well, it certainly matters to me. I was always embarrassed to be represented by such blatant bigots.'
'A lot of people would find it appropriate.'
Sam carefully reached into the only visible pocket of his jumpsuit, and removed a blue pack of Montclairs and a disposable lighter. The jumpsuit was unbuttoned halfway down the chest, and a thick matting of gray hair showed through the gap. The fabric was a very light cotton. Adam could not imagine life in this place with no air conditioning.
He lit the cigarette and exhaled toward the ceiling. 'I thought I was through with you people.'
'They didn't send me down here. I volunteered.'
'Why?'
'I don't know. You need a lawyer, and - ' 'Why are you so nervous?'
Adam jerked his fingernails from his teeth and stopped tapping his feet. 'I'm not nervous.'
'Sure you are. I've seen lots of lawyers around this place, and I've never seen one as nervous as you. What's the matter, kid? You afraid I'm coming through the screen after you?'
Adam grunted and tried to smile. 'Don't be silly. I'm not nervous.'
'How old are you?'
