Sparring Partners(45)
“Holy crap, man!” he’d gushed. “Where in hell?” But then he’d caught himself and stopped talking. Never ask a thief where he found his inventory.
Brian laughed and assured him they indeed had one in stock, and it was in mint condition.
“I’ll check around,” the dealer had said, obviously excited.
A week later they returned with the shotgun and left the pawn shop with $200 in cash, a record for them. They went to an old motel on the edge of town and paid $30 a night. They showered, washed their clothes, ate cheeseburgers at a joint across the street, and for two days lived like kings.
When it was time, they retreated to the woods and moved their campsite miles away. They had hit enough homes in the area and the police were patrolling more.
(5)
It’s eight thirty and Cody walks back and forth, pacing zombie-like with his eyes closed, touching a bookshelf, then touching the bars. Back and forth. He is anxious and wishes he hadn’t thrown away those pills. He suspects his lawyer will soon return for the last time and deliver the news that everyone expects.
There was usually a flurry of last-minute pleas and appeals, with lawyers running frantically from one court to another, but not always. A year earlier, Lemoyne Rubley went all the way with little fanfare. He was two doors down and he and Cody were friendly. They chatted for hours as the clock ticked away, though they couldn’t see one another. The day before the execution, the courts pulled all the plugs and his lawyers gave up. It was the most peaceful execution Cody had lived through in his fourteen years on The Row.
Frankly, now that it’s his turn, he’s thankful he has someone out there still firing away, though with very little ammo. He’s not looking forward to his last visit with Jack Garber.
He’s paid the guy nothing. For the past ten years Jack has represented him with a loyalty that has been amazing. On several occasions, Jack came within one vote of convincing an appellate court that Cody should get a new trial. He once asked Jack why he had chosen to be a death penalty lawyer. The answer was vague and brief and touched on some lofty ideas about capital punishment. He asked Jack who was paying him, and he explained that he worked for a nonprofit foundation that represents people like Cody, death row inmates.
The buzzer rattles again in the distance and Cody jolts back to reality. He walks to the bars, waits, and Marvin appears again. He smiles and says, “Cody, I have some good news.”
“I doubt that. Right now the only good news can come from my lawyer.”
“No, not that kind of good news. It’s something else. You have a visitor. It ain’t your lawyer or the chaplain or some reporter. It’s a real visitor.”
“I’ve never had a real visitor.”
“I know.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s a nice little lady from Nebraska.”
“Miss Iris?”
“Miss Iris Vanderkamp.”
“No way!”
“I swear.”
“But she’s eighty years old and in a wheelchair.”
“Well, she made it. Warden says you can see her for fifteen minutes.”
“What a great guy. I don’t believe this, Marvin. Miss Iris finally made it.”
“She’s right here.” Marvin disappears for a second, then returns pushing Miss Iris in a wheelchair. He parks her at Cody’s door and fades into the darkness of the hallway.
Cody is awestruck, speechless. He inches closer to the bars and studies her smiling face. “I can’t believe this,” he finally says softly. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, how about something like, ‘Hello and nice to meet you after all these years’? That work?”
“Hello and nice to meet you after all these years.”
“Same on this end. I got here as fast as I could. Sorry it took me twelve years.”
“I’m so glad you’re here, Miss Iris. I can’t believe this.”
Cody slowly eases his right hand through the bars. She takes it with both of hers and gives a good squeeze. “I can’t believe it either, Cody. Is this really happening?”
He nods as he slowly pulls his hand back and looks at her. She’s in a wheelchair because, as she explained in one of her many letters, she suffers from bouts of severe bursitis in her knees and other joints. Her lower legs and feet are covered with a thin blanket. Above that she wears a pretty green floral dress and plenty of jewelry—long necklaces and bulky bracelets. Cody notices the jewelry because he certainly stole enough of it in his heyday. She has a round face with a big smile, a long nose with red-framed glasses perched on the tip, and sparkling blue eyes. Her white hair is thick and wavy and has not thinned at all.
She sees a skinny boy with bushy hair who could convince no one that he is twenty-nine years old.
In their twelve-year correspondence they have divulged most of their secrets.
“Yes, Miss Iris, this is really happening. My lawyer, Jack, says we’re down to the lick log, as they say. Got that from one of those cliché books you sent.”
“You use too many of those clichés and metaphors.”
“I know, I know. So you say. But I love a good cliché, one that isn’t used too often.”
“Well, you need to avoid them, most of the time.”