"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.