Sam was sitting on the edge o f his bed. “M ornin’, Sam.”
“M ornin’, Packer,” Sam replied. He was wearing a dirty white
T-shirt and shorts, the usual dress for inmates in their cells
because it was so hot. The bright red jumpsuits had to be worn
when they went outside.
“Your lawyer said he was coming back today.”
“Yeah. I guess I need lots o f lawyers, huh, Packer?”
“Looks like it.” He went on to check on his other boys.
The one light in the cell was above the stainless steel sink.
U nder the sink was a stainless steel toilet. Sam had few
possessions: the most valuable was a collection o f law books he
had gathered over the years. They were placed neatly on shelves
across from his bed. In a box on the floor was a large pile o f files,
Sam’s legal history.
Sam went over to the calendar on the wall. Today was July 12.
H e had twenty-seven days.
H e sat on the bed, picking up Adam’s agreement. H e had
made neat, detailed notes along the edge o f the page. Then he
had added extra paragraphs on the back o f the sheets. Another
idea came to him, and he found room to add it. He took down
his ancient typewriter, balanced it on his knees, put a sheet o f
paper in, and began typing.
♦
Retired Colonel George N ugent marched into the office o f his
boss Phillip Naifeh, superintendent at Parchman.
“Have a seat, George,” Naifeh said to his assistant.
“Yes, sir.” N ugent lowered himself carefully into the seat so
that he would not spoil his perfectly ironed shirt and pants. His
haircut was military, very short. N ugent was fifty-two and had
served in Korea and Vietnam. H e had been at Parchman as
assistant superintendent for two years. H e was dependable, and he