"What's happened to you, Sam? Last Saturday you were still ready to fight the bear."
"I'm tired of fighting. I'm an old man. I've had a long life. And what if you're successful in saving my skin? Where does that leave me?
I'm not going anyplace, Adam. You'll go back to Chicago and bury yourself in your career. I'm sure you'll come down whenever you can. We'll write letters and send cards. But I have to live on the Row. You don't. You have no idea."
"We're not quitting, Sam. We still have a chance."
"It's not your decision." He finished the second Eskimo Pie and wiped his mouth with a sleeve.
"I don't like you like this, Sam. I like it when you're mad and nasty and fighting."
"I'm tired, okay?"
"You can't let them kill you. You have to fight to the bitter end, Sam."
"Why?"
"Because it's wrong. It's morally wrong for the state to kill you, and that's why we can't give up."
"But we're gonna lose anyway."
"Maybe. Maybe not. But you've been fighting for almost ten years. Why quit with a week to go?"
"Because it's over, Adam. This thing has finally run its course."
"Perhaps, but we can't quit. Please don't throw in the towel. Hell, I'm making progress. I've got these clowns on the run."
Sam offered a gentle smile and a patronizing gaze.
Adam inched closer and placed his hand on Sam's arm. "I've thought of several new strategies," he said in earnest. "In fact, tomorrow we've got an expert coming to examine you."
Sam looked at him. "What kind of expert?" "A shrink."
"A shrink?"
"Yeah. From Chicago."
"I've already talked to a shrink. It didn't go well."
"This guy's different. He works for us and he'll say that you've lost your mental faculties."
"You're assuming I had them when I got here."
"Yes, we're assuming that. This psychiatrist will examine you tomorrow, then he'll quickly prepare a report to the effect that you're senile and insane and just a blithering idiot, and who knows what else he'll say."
"How do you know he'll say this?"
"Because we're paying him to say it."
"Who's paying him?"
"Kravitz & Bane, those dedicated JewishAmericans in Chicago you hate, but who've been busting their asses to keep you alive. It's Goodman's idea, actually."
"Must be a fine expert."
"We can't be too particular at this point. He's been used by some of the other lawyers in the firm on various cases, and he'll say whatever we want him to say. Just act bizarre when you talk to him."
"That shouldn't be too difficult."
"Tell him all the horror stories about this place. Make it sound atrocious and deplorable."
"No problem there."
"Tell him how you've deteriorated over the years, and how it's especially hard on a man your age. You're by far the oldest one here, Sam, so tell him how it's affected you. Lay it on thick. He'll fix up a compelling little report, and I'll run to court with it."
"It won't work."
"It's worth a try."
"The Supreme Court allowed Texas to execute a retarded boy."
"This ain't Texas, Sam. Every case is different. Just work with us on this, okay."
"Us? Who is us?"
"Me and Goodman. You said you didn't hate him anymore, so I figured I'd let him in on the fun. Seriously, I need help. There's too much work for only one lawyer."
Sam scooted his chair away from the table, and stood. He stretched his arms and legs, and began pacing along the table, counting steps as he went.
"I'll file a petition for cert to the Supreme Court in the morning," Adam said as he looked at a checklist on his legal pad. "They probably won't agree to hear it, but I'll do it anyway. I'll also finish the appeal to the Fifth Circuit on the ineffectiveness claim. The shrink will be here tomorrow afternoon. I'll file the mental competency claim Wednesday morning."
"I'd rather go peacefully, Adam."
"Forget it, Sam. We're not quitting. I talked to Carmen last night, and she wants to come see you."
Sam sat on the edge of the table and watched the floor. His eyes were narrow and sad. He puffed and blew smoke at his feet. "Why would she want to do that?"
"I didn't ask why, nor did I suggest it. She brought it up. I told her I'd ask you."
"I've never met her."
"I know. She's your only granddaughter, Sam, and she wants to come."
"I don't want her to see me like this," he said, waving at his red jumpsuit.
"She won't mind."
Sam reached into the cooler and took another Eskimo Pie. "Do you want one?" he asked.
"No. What about Carmen?"
"Let me think about it. Does Lee still want to visit?"
"Uh, sure. I haven't talked to her in a couple of days, but I'm sure she wants to."
"I thought you were staying with her."
"I am. She's been out of town."
"Let me think about it. Right now I'm against it. I haven't seen Lee in almost ten years, and I just don't want her to remember me like this. Tell her I'm thinking about it, but right now I don't think so."
"I'll tell her," Adam promised, uncertain if he would see her anytime soon. If she had in fact sought treatment, she would undoubtedly be secluded for several weeks.
"I'll be glad when the end comes, Adam. I'm really sick of all this." He took a large bite of ice cream.
"I understand. But let's put it off for a while."
"Why?"
"Why? It's obvious. I don't want to spend my entire legal career encumbered with the knowledge that I lost my first case."
"That's not a bad reason."
"Great. So we're not quitting?"
"I guess not. Bring on the shrink. I'll act as loony as possible."
"That's more like it."
Lucas Mann was waiting for Adam at the front gate of the prison. It was almost five, the temperature still hot and the air still sticky. "Gotta minute?" he asked through the window of Adam's car.
"I guess. What's up?"
"Park over there. We'll sit under the shade."
They walked to a picnic table by the Visitors Center, under a mammoth oak with the highway in view not far away. "A couple of things," Mann said. "How's Sam? Is he holding up okay?"
"As well as can be expected. Why?"
"Just concerned, that's all. At last count, we had fifteen requests for interviews today. Things are heating up. The press is on its way."
"Sam is not talking."
"Some want to talk to you."
"I'm not talking either."
"Fine. We have a form that Sam needs to sign. It gives us written authorization to tell the reporters to get lost. Have you heard about Naifeh?"
w it in the paper this morning."
"He'll be okay, but he can't supervise the execution. There's a nut named George Nugent, an assistant superintendent, who'll coordinate everything. He's a commandant. Retired military and all, a real gung-ho type."
"It really makes no difference to me. He can't carry out the death warrant unless the courts allow it."
"Right. I just wanted you to know who he was."
"I can't wait to meet him."
"One more thing. I have a friend, an old buddy from law school who now works in the governor's administration. He called this morning, and it seems as if the governor is concerned about Sam's execution. According to my friend, who no doubt was told by the governor to solicit me to speak to you, they would like to conduct a clemency hearing, preferably in a couple of days."