Though Cody had never seen the prison library, he suspected his was in far better shape and had more titles.
His fourth wall was nothing but thick bars, with a door in the center and a slit for food trays. Directly across the hall was Johnny Lane, a black guy who had killed his wife and two stepchildren in a drug-fueled rage. When he arrived nine years earlier he was basically illiterate. Cody had patiently taught him to read and shared many of his books. Then Johnny got religion and read only the Bible. Years ago he decided that God was calling him to preach and he delivered long sermons at full throttle up and down The Row until the complaints finally silenced him. When it became apparent that God was not going to rescue him, he withdrew even further into his cell and covered the bars with bedsheets and old cardboard so that his isolation was complete. He refused the twice-weekly showers and the one hour of daily exercise in the yard. He declined most of the food and had not shaved in years. Cody could not remember the last time he had seen or spoken to Johnny, who slept on a slab twenty feet away.
The prison had strict rules about what could be kept in a death row cell. Ten books was the max until Cody had filed suit. The warden at the time had been furious when he lost in federal court. In fourteen years, Cody had filed, on his own and with no lawyer, a total of five lawsuits. Books, television, food, exercise, and he’d won them all but air-conditioning and proper heat.
But his litigating days were over. Indeed, all of his days were over. He had three hours to live. His last meal had been ordered—pepperoni pizza and a strawberry milkshake.
（2）
The boss of death row was Marvin, a burly African American guard who had been keeping things in order for over a decade. He liked his turf because the men were isolated and caused little trouble. As a general rule, he treated them well and expected the same from the other guards, and most complied. Some, though, were hard-asses, a few could even be cruel. Marvin wasn’t there twenty-four hours a day and couldn’t watch everything.
A buzzer rattles at the far end of the hall and a heavy door opens with a thud. Marvin soon appears at the cell. He looks through the bars and asks, “How you doin’， Cody?”
The Row is quiet for a change, the only noise the muted sounds from a few televisions. The usual bantering between the bars isn’t there. It’s a big night, time for an execution, and the inmates are withdrawn into their own worlds, their own thoughts, and the reality that they are all sentenced to death and this moment is inevitable.
Cody is sitting on his bed, staring at the television. He nods at Marvin as he stands and points his remote at the screen. The voice of a news anchor grows louder: “The execution of Cody Wallace is still on schedule. Despite the usual last-minute appeals by the lawyers, the execution should take place in about three hours, at ten p.m. to be exact. A petition for clemency is still pending in the governor’s office but there is no word.”
Cody takes a step closer to the television.
“It has been fourteen years since Wallace, now age twenty-nine, was convicted of killing Dorothy and Earl Baker in their rural home during a botched breakin and robbery.”
On the screen, the news anchor disappears and is replaced by the two faces of the victims.
“Wallace’s brother, Brian, died at the scene. Wallace was only fifteen when he was convicted of capital murder, and if things go as planned he will be the youngest man ever executed in this state. Experts are expecting no further delays in the execution.”
Cody presses a button, turns off the television, and takes a step toward the bars. “Well, there you have it, Marvin. If Channel 5 says it’s gonna happen, then I’m as good as dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Marvin says in a soft voice. Others might be trying to listen.
“Don’t be sorry, Marvin. We knew this day was coming. Let’s get it over with.”
“Anything I can do for you?”
“Not now. You could’ve helped me escape years ago. We missed our chance.”
“I guess it’s too late. Look, your lawyer is here to see you. Can I send him back?”
“Sure. And thanks, Marvin, for everything.”
Marvin backs away and disappears. The buzzer rattles again and Jack Garber appears, holding thick files. He has long hair pulled back in a ponytail, a rumpled suit, the perfect picture of a frantic death penalty lawyer about to lose another one.
“How you doing, man?” he asks, almost in a whisper.
“Great. Tell me something good.”
“The Supreme Court can’t make up its mind, got those clowns chasing their tails. And the governor won’t say yes or no but then he likes to wait until the courts have slammed all the doors so he can come out of his cave for a dramatic announcement.”