"Sit down, Williams," the warden said in a nononsense but unbelligerent tone of voice. He waved for the guards to shut the door behind them. Remo slipped into a simple wooden chair. The hard chair made him feel instantly uncomfortable. He wasn't sure why, but it stirred some vague, unreachable memory.
The warden made a point of ignoring Remo as he leafed through a manila file folder. He was a short, pugnacious man with a smooth bald head. There was a small pit in the flesh along the bridge of his nose, as if someone had chiseled a chunk out of it.
When the warden looked up, he let the folder fall flat. He gave it a last glance before turning his full attention to Remo.
"Do you know why you're here, Williams?"
"The state says I killed a drug pusher."
"That's why you were sent up to Trenton State Prison. I meant why you were transferred to Florida State."
Florida, Remo thought. So the guards weren't lying. Aloud he said, "It must have slipped my mind somehow." He wondered what the warden was talking about.
"You're a very foolish individual, Mr. Williams. You were better off back in New Jersey, where they don't take advantage of their death penalty. Up there, you were just another lifer on death row. But you kept getting into trouble. According to your sheet, you maimed your cellmate. Put out his eye over a cigarette. That was bad enough. But on top of that, you killed a guard. I imagine that guard had family who had high political connections, because someone pulled a lot of strings to get you transferred to my prison. It's not legal, but when I protested, I was told, in no uncertain terms, to play along. So I am."
"Maybe I needed a change of scenery," Remo said flatly. He wondered where this bullshit was going.
"You're pretty casual now," the warden resumed. Remo noticed the nameplate in front of his desk said he was Warden McSorley. "But I'm told the Trenton officials had to sedate you for the transfer. So you must know what you've gotten yourself into."
"Sure," Remo said coolly. "I got myself into Florida. "
"That's true," the warden said humorlessly. "But you've also gotten yourself onto Florida's death row. You see, unlike New Jersey, this state does take full advantage of its death penalty. And since you've been transferred into our jurisdiction, you fall under Florida law."
Remo said nothing. His eyebrows drew together, forming a deep notch.
"I'm sorry," the warden said in a voice that was neither sympathetic nor sarcastic, but simply a voice. "You were a police officer once, according to your records. And I hold no truck with drug pushers. Maybe you had your reasons for doing what you did, but killing a corrections officer ... well, my responsibility is to the law."
"I want to talk to my lawyer," Remo said tightly.
"I understand that an appeal has already been filed on your behalf. In the meanwhile, you'll be expected to obey the rules of this institution. You'll be allowed out of your cell for two minutes every other day to shower, and twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays, for thirty minutes of supervised exercise in the prison yard. Otherwise, you will be confined to your cell, where you will take your meals and do all your business. Given your rather extensive record of violence against corrections officers and fellow prisoners, I will have no choice but to put you into segregated detention if you misbehave in any way."
"You make me sound like a bad little boy," Remo said in a hard voice.
"Be assured, Mr. Williams, I do not see you in that light at all. Now, do you understand everything I have just told you?"
"Guess so."
"Do you understand what I mean by segregated detention?"
"Sure. Solitary."
"Is that what they call it up at Trenton?"
Remo had to think about that before answering. "They called it administrative detention," he said at last.
"And I'm certain a man who's staring at the death penalty will think twice about living out his last days in solitary confinement." The warden pressed a buzzer. The two C.O.'s entered the room and took their places on either side of Remo Williams' unflinching face.
"Before these officers escort you back to your cell, do you have any questions?" the warden wanted to know.
Remo stood up, sending his chains clacking. "Just one," he said quietly.
The warden looked up quizzically.
"Do you gas, inject, or fry in this state?"
"We have a very efficient electric chair, Mr. Williams. If it comes to that, you won't feel much more than a short-lived jolt. It's quite humane, really."
"Just the same, I think I'd prefer the needle." The warden's face registered curious interest.
"Really?" he said. "If you don't mind my asking, why is that?"
"They don't shave your head before the lethal injection."
"Ah," the warden said as if understanding. But Remo could tell by the opacity in back of his eyes that he didn't understand at all.
Remo was silent as they led him away.
Chapter 3
They waited until Remo was back in his cell before they removed the chains and leg irons. Remo sat on the bunk as the barred door clanged shut. For the first time he noticed the white sign fixed to the cell doors: DANGER! STAND CLEAR WHILE GATE IS IN MOTION in stark black death-warrant letters.
It was the only reading material in the cell, so Remo read it several times slowly.
A voice from the adjoining cell broke his concentration.
"Hey, Jim. What's happenin'?" The voice was black. Southern.
"The name's Remo."
"Don't be takin' no attitude, man. I calls all white boys Jim. What're you in for?"
"None of your business."
"Suit yourself. I was just bein' friendly. My name's Mohammed."
"In that case, my name's Allah."
"The Muslim brothers pronounces it Al-lah, whitey. But if it suits you, you can call me Popcorn. All the cons do. Just don't you be puttin' down my personal god. Allah's all that be gettin' me through the day till I gotta walk down the line. I killed my old lady, don't you know."
"Tough."
"Don't I know it. Sometimes I really miss the woman. Wouldn't have cut her, but I caught her in bed with some turkey I never saw before. And it was my birthday. That was the unforgiving thing, you know."
"Spare me," Remo said, throwing himself back on the cot. He stared up at the ceiling.
"I hear you was a cop once."