"What about Dulaney?" Sam asked, taking a long drag. There was little or no ventilation in the room and a cloud was forming above them.
"Where's it from?"
"Louisiana. Surely you've read it."
"I'm sure I have. In fact, I've probably read more cases than you, but I don't always bother to memorize them unless I plan to use them."
"Use them where?"
"Motions and appeals."
"So you've handled death cases before. How many?"
"This is the first."
"Why am I not comforted by this? Those Jewish-American lawyers at Kravitz & Bane sent you down here to experiment on me, right? Get yourself a little hands-on training so you can stick it on your resume."
"I told you - they didn't send me down here."
"How about Garner Goodman? Is he still alive?"
"Yes. He's your age."
"Then he doesn't have long, does he? And Tyner?"
"Mr. Tyner's doing well. I'll tell him you asked."
"Oh please do. Tell him I really miss him, both of them, actually. Hell, it took me almost two years to fire them."
"They worked their butts off for you."
"Tell them to send me a bill." Sam chuckled to himself, his first smile of the meeting. He methodically stubbed out the cigarette in the bowl, and lit another. "Fact is, Mr. Hall, I hate lawyers."
"That's the American way."
"Lawyers chased me, indicted me, prosecuted me, persecuted me, screwed me, then sent me to this place. Since I've been here, they've hounded me, screwed me some more, lied to me, and now they're back in the form of you, a rookie zealot without a clue of how to find the damned courthouse."
"You might be surprised."
"It'll be a helluva surprise, son, if you know your ass from a hole in the ground. You'll be the first clown from Kravitz & Bane to possess such information."
"They've kept you out of the gas chamber for the past seven years."
"And I'm supposed to be thankful? There are fifteen residents of the Row with more seniority than me. Why should I be next? I've been here for nine and a half years. Treemont's been here for fourteen years. Of course, he's an African-American and that always helps. They have more rights, you know. It's much harder to execute one of them because whatever they did was someone else's fault."
"That's not true."
"How the hell do you know what's true? A year ago you were still in school, still wearing faded blue jeans all day long, still drinking beer at happy hours with your idealistic little buddies. You haven't lived, son. Don't tell me what's true."
"So you're in favor of swift executions for African-Americans?"
"Not a bad idea, really. In fact, most of these punks deserve the gas."
"I'm sure that's a minority opinion on death row."
"You could say that."
"And you, of course, are different and don't belong here."
"No, I don't belong here. I'm a political prisoner, sent here by an egomaniac who used me for his own political purposes."
"Can we discuss your guilt or innocence?"
"No. But I didn't do what the jury said I did."
"So you had an accomplice? Someone else planted the bomb?"
Sam rubbed the deep burrows in his forehead with his middle finger, as if he was flipping the bird. But he wasn't. He was suddenly in a deep and prolonged trance. The conference room was much cooler than his cell. The conversation was aimless, but at least it was conversation with someone other than a guard or the invisible inmate next door. He would take his time, make it last as long as possible.
Adam studied his notes and pondered what to say next. They had been chatting for twenty minutes, sparring really, with no clear direction. He was determined to confront their family's history before he left. He just didn't know how to do it.
Minutes passed. Neither looked at the other. Sam lit another Montclair.
"Why do you smoke so much?" Adam finally said.
"I'd rather die of lung cancer. It's a common desire on death row."
"How many packs a day?"
"Three or four."
Another minute passed. Sam slowly finished the cigarette, and kindly asked, "Where'd you go to school?"
"Law school at Michigan. Undergrad at Pepperdine."
"Where's that?"
"California."
"Is that where you grew up?"
"Yeah."
"How many states have the death penalty?"
"Thirty-eight. Most of them don't use it, though. It seems to be popular only in the Deep South, Texas, Florida, and California."