* * *
On a cold, windy day in late March, Lance Malco was handcuffed by a guard and led to a ragged and dented prison van that was at least twenty years old and unfit for highways. A trustee drove it while two guards watched Lance in the back. They bumped along dirt and gravel roads through the vast fields of Parchman, passing other camps encircled in chain-link and razor wire and crawling with inmates in prison garb going about their useless activities. Killing time. Counting days.
For Lance, his days were now on the downhill side. His sentence was half over and he was scheming to return to the Coast. He and Fats had a plan to get him transferred to a medium-security facility in south Mississippi, and from there Fats was certain he could swap a prisoner or two and move his old pal back to the Harrison County jail. They had to keep their plan quiet. If Keith Rudy got wind of it he would raise hell, call the governor, and torpedo everything.
Lance had never been to Unit 29, known simply as “the Row.” It was three miles from his unit, but it could’ve been a thousand. Parchman didn’t give tours to other inmates. The request to visit his son had languished for thirteen months in the warden’s office before it was approved.
Death row, though, was the source of much gossip and legend, and it seemed as if every inmate at Parchman knew someone on “the Row.” The fact that Lance now had a son there gave him an elevated status, one he cared nothing for. Every prisoner cursed the DA who put him away, and killing one made Hugh a legend at Parchman, but Lance was not impressed. Almost three years after the murder, he still found it hard to believe that Hugh could have done something so stupid.
As dust boiled from the bald tires, they passed Unit 18, a World War II–style barracks unit used to house German POWs back then. According to a source, and Lance was still trying to verify it, Nevin Noll was assigned to the unit, but under an alias. During his first four months at Parchman, he had been in protective custody, according to the same source. Then he had been eased out into the general population with a new name.
Lance was on his trail, bribing guards, trustees, and snitches with cash.
Lance, Hugh, and Nevin, together again, sort of. They were scattered over a wretched and forlorn plantation with 5,000 other lost souls, trying to survive another miserable day.
The Row was a flat, squat building of red brick and tarred roof far away from the nearest camp. The trustee parked the van and they got out. The guards led Lance in through the front door, got him properly signed in, removed the cuffs, and walked him to an empty visitation room divided in two by a long section of thick wire mesh.
Hugh was waiting on the other side, seated nonchalantly in a cheap metal chair, with a big smile and a friendly “What’s up, Pops?”
Lance couldn’t help but smile. He fell into a chair, looked through the wire, and said, “Aren’t we a fine pair?”
“I’m sure Mom’s proud of us.”
“Any contact with her?”
“A letter a week. She sounds good. Frankly, after you left home she really perked up and became another woman. I’ve never seen her so happy.”
“Didn’t bother me either. I wish she would go ahead and file for divorce.”
“Let’s talk about something else. I’m assuming someone is listening to us right now, is that correct?”
Lance looked around the dingy and semi-lit room. “Legally, they’re not supposed to listen, but always assume they are. Don’t trust anybody here—your cellie, your friends, the other inmates, the guards, the trustees, and especially the people who run this place. Every person can knife you in the back.”
“So no chatting about our problems, then? Past, present, or future?”
“What problems?” Both managed a smile.
Hugh said, “Cellie? Who says a I have a cellie? My little room is eight feet by ten, with one bunk, a metal commode, no shower. Certainly no room for another person, though I think they tried that once. I’m in solitary twenty-three hours a day and never see anybody but the guards, a bunch of animals. I can talk to the guy to my right but can’t see him. The guy on my left checked out years ago and speaks to no one.”