"They also have this rule, it's unwritten I'm sure, that allows one final conjugal visit with the wife. If there's no wife, then the warden in his boundless mercy allows a brief appointment with a girlfriend. One last little quickie before lover boy checks out." Sam glanced along the counter at Stock, then leaned even closer.
"Well, ole Stock here is one of the more popular residents of the Row, and he somehow convinced the warden that he had both a wife and a girlfriend, and that these ladies would agree to spend a few moments with him before he died. At the same time! All three of them, together! The warden allegedly knew something fishy was going on, but everyone likes Stock, and, well, they were about to kill him anyway, so what's the harm. So Stock here was sitting in the little room with his mother and sisters and cousins and nieces, a whole passel of Africans, most of whom hadn't uttered his name in ten years, and he was eating his last meal of steak and potatoes while everybody else was crying and grieving and praying. With about four hours to go, they emptied the room and sent the family to the chapel. Stock waited for a few minutes while another van brought his wife and his girlfriend here to the Row. They arrived with guards, and were taken to the little office up front where Stock was waiting, all wild-eyed and ready. Poor guy'd been on the Row for twelve years.
"Well, they brought in a little cot for this liaison, and Stock and his gals got it on. 'The guards said later that Stock had some 'fine-looking women, and the guards also said they commented at the time on how young they ,looked. Stock was just about to have a go with either his wife or his girlfriend, it didn't really matter, when the phone rang. It was his lawyer. And his lawyer was crying and out of breath as he yelled out the great news that the Fifth Circuit had issued a stay.
"Stock hung up on him. He had more important matters at hand. A few minutes passed, then the phone rang again. Stock grabbed it. It was his lawyer again, and this time he was much more composed as he explained to Stock the legal maneuvering that had saved his life, for the moment. Stock offered his appreciation, then asked his lawyer to keep it quiet for another hour."
Adam again glanced to his right, and wondered which of the two lawyers had called Stock while he was exercising his constitutional right of the last conjugal visit.
"Well, by this time, the Attorney General's office had talked to the warden, and the execution had been called off, or aborted as they like to say. Made no difference to Stock. He was proceeding as if he would never see another woman. The door to the room cannot be locked from the inside, for obvious reasons, so Naifeh, after waiting patiently, gently knocked on the door and asked Stock to come on out. Time to go back to your cell, Stock, he said. Stock said he needed just another five minutes. No, said Naifeh. Please, Stock begged, and suddenly there were noises again. So the warden grinned at the guards who grinned at the warden, and for five minutes they studied the floor while, the cot rattled and bounced around the little room.
"Stock finally opened the door and strutted out like the heavyweight champ of the world. The guards said he was happier about his performance than he was about his stay. They quickly got rid of the women, who as it turned out, were not really his wife and girlfriend after all."
"Who were they?"
"A couple of prostitutes."
"Prostitutes!" Adam said a bit too loud, and one of the lawyers stared at him.
Sam leaned so close his nose was almost in the slit. "Yeah, local whores. His brother somehow arranged it for him. Remember the funeral money he worked so hard to raise."
"You're kidding."
"That's it. Four hundred bucks spent on whores, which at first seems a bit stiff, especially for local African whores, but it seems they were scared to death about coming to death row, which I guess makes sense. They took all Stock's money. He told me later he didn't give a damn how they buried him. Said it was worth every dime. Naifeh got embarrassed, and he threatened to prohibit the conjugal visits. But Stock's lawyer, that little dark-haired one over there, filed a lawsuit and got a ruling that ensures one last quickie. I think Stock's almost looking forward to his next one."
Sam leaned back in his chair and the smile slowly left his face. "Personally, I haven't given much thought to my conjugal visit. It's intended for husband and wife relations only, you know, that's what the term means. But the warden'll probably bend the rules for me. What do you think?"
"I really haven't thought about it."
"I'm just kidding, you know. I'm an old man. I'd settle for a back rub and a stiff drink."
"What about your last meal?" Adam asked, still very quietly.
"That's not funny."
"I thought we were kidding."
"Probably something gross like boiled pork and rubber peas. Same crap they've been feeding me for almost ten years. Maybe an extra piece of toast. I'd hate to give the cook the opportunity to prepare a meal fit for free world humans."
"Sounds delicious."
"Oh, I'll share it with you. I've often wondered why they feed you before they kill you. They also bring the doctor in and give you a preexecution physical. Can you believe it? Gotta make sure you're fit to die. And they have a shrink on staff here who examines you before the execution, and he must report to the warden in writing that you're mentally sound enough to gas. And they have a minister on the payroll who'll pray and meditate with you and make sure your soul is headed in the right direction. All paid for by the taxpayers of the State of Mississippi and administered by these loving people around here. Don't forget the conjugal visit. You can die with your lust satisfied. They think of everything. They're very considerate. Really concerned about your appetite and health and spiritual well-being. Right at the very last, they put a catheter in your penis and a plug up your ass so you won't make a mess. This is for their benefit, not yours. They don't wanna have to clean you afterward. So, they feed you real good, anything you want, then they plug you up. Sick, isn't it? Sick, sick, sick, sick."
"Let's talk about something else."
Sam finished the last cigarette and thumped it on the floor in front of the guard. "No. Let's stop talking. I've had enough for one day."
"Fine."
"And no more about Eddie, okay? It's really not fair to come in here and hit me with stuff like that."
"I'm sorry. No more about Eddie."
"Let's try to focus on me the next three weeks, okay? That's more than enough to keep us busy."
"It's a deal, Sam."
Along Highway 82 from the east, Greenville was growing in an unsightly sprawl, with its strip shopping centers filled with video rental and dinky liquor stores, and its endless fast-food franchises and drive-up motels with free cable and breakfast. The river blocked such progress to the west, and since 82 was the main corridor it had evidently become the developers' favorite territory.
In the past twenty-five years, Greenville had grown from a sleepy river town of thirtyfive thousand to a busy river city of sixty thousand. It was prosperous and progressive. In 1990, Greenville was the fifth-largest city in the state.
The streets leading into the central district were shaded and lined with stately old homes. The center of the town was pretty and quaint, well preserved and apparently unchanged, Adam thought, in stark contrast to the thoughtless chaos along Highway 82. He parked on Washington Street, at a few minutes after five, as downtown merchants and their customers were busy preparing for the end of the day. He removed his tie and left it with his jacket in the car because the temperature was still in the nineties and showed no sign of relenting.