"No one was with me that night."
"We can talk about it later."
"We're talking about it now. I was alone, do you hear me?"
"Okay. Second, I want to know about my family."
"Why?"
"Why not? Why keep it buried? I want to know about your father and his father, and your brothers and cousins. I may dislike these people when it's all over, but I have the right to know about them. I've been deprived of this information all of my life, and I want to know."
"It's nothing remarkable."
"Oh really. Well, Sam, I think it's pretty remarkable that you've made it here to death row. This is a pretty exclusive society. Throw in the fact that you're white, middle class, almost seventy years old, and it becomes even more remarkable. I want to know how and why you got here. What made you do those things? How many Klansmen were in my family? And why? How many other people were killed along the way?"
"And you think I'll just spill my guts with all this?"
"Yeah, I think so. You'll come around. I'm your grandson, Sam, the only living, breathing relative who gives a damn about you anymore. You'll talk, Sam. You'll talk to me."
"Well, since I'll be so talkative what else will we discuss?"
"Eddie."
Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "You don't want much, do you?" he said softly. Adam scribbled something meaningless on his pad.
It was now time for the ritual of another cigarette, and Sam performed it with even more patience and care. Another blast of blue smoke joined the fog well above their heads. His hands were steady again. "When we get finished with Eddie, who do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. That should keep us busy for four weeks."
"When do we talk about you?"
"Anytime." Adam reached into his briefcase and removed a thin file. He slid a sheet of paper and a pen through the opening. "This is an agreement for legal representation. Sign at the bottom."
Without touching it, Sam read it from a distance. "So I sign up again with Kravitz & Bane."
"Sort of."
"What do you mean, sort of? Says right here I agree to let those Jews represent me again. It took me forever to fire them, and, hell, I wasn't even paying them."
"The agreement is with me, Sam, okay. You'll never see those guys unless you want to."
"I don't want to."
"Fine. I happen to work for the firm, and so the agreement must be with the firm. It's easy."
"Ah, the optimism of youth. Everything's easy. Here I sit less than a hundred feet from the gas chamber, clock ticking away on the wall over there, getting louder and louder, and everything's easy."
"Just sign the damned paper, Sam."
"And then what?"
"And then we go to work. Legally, I can't do anything for you until we have that agreement. You sign it, we go to work."
"And what's the first bit of work you'd like to do?"
"Walk through the Kramer bombing, very slowly, step by step."
"It's been done a thousand times."
"We'll do it again. I have a thick notebook full of questions."
"They've all been asked."
"Yeah, Sam, but they haven't been answered, have they?"
Sam stuck the filter between his lips.
"And they haven't been asked by me, have they?"
"You think I'm lying."
"Are you?"
"No."
"But you haven't told the whole story, have you?"
"What difference does it make, counselor? You've read Bateman."
"Yeah, I've memorized Bateman, and there are a number of soft spots in it."
"Typical lawyer."
"If there's new evidence, then there are ways to present it. All we're doing, Sam, is trying to create enough confusion to make some judge somewhere give it a second thought. Then a third thought. Then he grants a stay so he can learn more."
"I know how the game is played, son."
"Adam, okay, it's Adam."
"Yeah, and just call me Gramps. I suppose you plan to appeal to the governor."
"Yes."
Sam inched forward in his chair and moved close to the screen. With the index finger of his right hand, he began pointing at a spot somewhere in the center of Adam's nose. His face was suddenly harsh, his eyes narrow. "You listen to me, Adam," he growled, finger pointing back and forth. "If I sign this piece of paper, you are never to talk to that bastard. Never. Do you understand?"
Adam watched the finger but said nothing.
Sam decided to continue. "He is a bogus son of a bitch. He is vile, sleazy, thoroughly corrupt, and completely able to mask it all with a pretty smile and a clean haircut. He is the only reason I'm sitting here on death row. If you contact him in any way, then you're finished as my lawyer."
"So I'm your lawyer."
The finger dropped and Sam relaxed a bit. "Oh, I may give you a shot, let you practice on me. You know, Adam, the legal profession is really screwed up. If I was a free man, just trying to make a living, minding my own business, paying my taxes, obeying the laws and such, then I couldn't find a lawyer who'd take the time to spit on me unless I had money. But here I am, a convicted killer, condemned to die, not a penny to my name, and I've got lawyers all over the country begging to represent me. Big, rich lawyers with long names preceded with initials and followed by numerals, famous lawyers with their own jets and television shows. Can you explain this?"
"Of course not. Nor do I care about it."
"It's a sick profession you've gotten yourself in."
"Most lawyers are honest and hardworking."
"Sure. And most of my pals here on death row would be ministers and missionaries if they hadn't been wrongly convicted."
"The governor might be our last chance."
"Then they might as well gas me now. That pompous ass'll probably want to witness my execution, then he'll hold a press conference and replay every detail for the world. He's a spineless little worm who's made it this far because of me. And if he can milk me for a few more sound bites, then he'll do it. Stay away from him."
"We can discuss it later."
"We're discussing it now, I believe. You'll give me your word before I sign this paper."
"Any more conditions?"
"Yeah. I want something added here so that if I decide to fire you again, then you and your firm won't fight me. That should be easy."
"Let me see it."
The agreement was passed through the slit again, and Adam printed a neat paragraph at the bottom. He handed it back to Sam, who read it slowly and laid it on the counter.
"You didn't sign it," Adam said.
"I'm still thinking."
"Can I ask some questions while you're thinking?"
"You can ask them."
"Where did you learn to handle explosives?"
"Here and there."
"There were at least five bombings before Kramer, all with the same type, all very basic - dynamite, caps, fuses. Kramer, of course, was different because a timing device was used. Who taught you how to make bombs?"
"Have you ever lit a firecracker?"
"Sure."
"Same principle. A match to the fuse, run like crazy, and boom."
"The timing device is a bit more complicated. Who taught you how to wire one?"
"My mother. When do you plan to return here?"