Free Death Penalty by William J. Coughlin Page B

anything except scare me that I might tip the damn thing over. I didn’t think to shut the engine off.” He stopped, then spoke in a calmer voice. “After that, nothing. I woke up in the hospital.” A tear formed, then trickled down the side of his gaunt face. “Like this.”
    I wanted to get out of the hot, smelly trailer.
    â€œOkay,” I said. “I just wanted to talk to you a bit before the case came up. Sort of get a feeling for it, you know? I’ll do my very best for you.”
    His eyes returned to the television set. “It’s really not for me, the money,” he said quietly. “It’s more for the wife. This is no life for her. With the money they can put me in a nice place. Not a nursing home, not the kind with old people. I wouldn’t want to go there. But a nice place, with people like myself. They could take care of me.”
    â€œYour wife doesn’t mind, Will,” Mickey said. “She loves you.”
    â€œThis is God’s punishment on me,” he said, as if talking to the television. “I was on my way to commit sin that day. It’s a terrible punishment, but I suppose it’s fair as far as I’m concerned. My wife, she didn’t do anything. It’s not fair to her. With a little money she and the kids could get a place of their own, a nice place.”
    He paused again, this time longer. “She has to do everything now, feed me, wash me, change me. It’s no life for her, and I know she hates me for what I’ve done. I don’t blame her.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Will,” Mickey said. “We’ll do the worrying for you.”
    â€œThey have a visiting nurse who stops by and does the things Milly can’t do. But the rest . . .”
    Mickey stood up and patted Will McHugh’s leg, forgetting that he could not feel the gesture. “Everything is going to be just fine,” he said.
    â€œHe’s right,” I added, feeling like a fraud. It was a choice between cruel truth and mercy. I chose mercy.
    â€œWe’ll win,” I said. “I promise you.”
    I wasn’t sure he even heard me. His attention was completely directed at the fuzzy picture on the screen. It was as if he had escaped into the flickering picture; it was the only escape open to him anymore.
    Outside, the air seemed like cool perfume. I gulped it in.
    Mildred McHugh had been watching. She came quickly out of the house.
    â€œAre you all done?” she asked Mickey.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œGood. I’ll go change him. He can’t feel anything, but it makes me feel better. Anything else you want?”
    Mickey shook his head. “No.”
    â€œWhen is the appeal hearing again?”
    â€œIn a couple of weeks.”
    â€œDo we have to be there?”
    â€œNo,” Mickey answered. “Just the lawyers.”
    She nodded. “Just as well. It’s hell trying to arrange things to move him.”
    She looked at me through those thick lenses. “If you lose I believe I will kill myself.” She said it without any humor, emotion, or even threat. It was said as a quiet fact. She marched off toward the trailer.
    I followed Mickey back to the car and climbed in.
    â€œLet’s go,” Mickey said. “I can use a drink.”
    â€œSo can I. That’s why we won’t be stopping for one.” I backed out of the driveway. “Mickey, why the hell did you insist on bringing me here? It was a wasted trip.”
    He snorted. “No, it wasn’t wasted. When you’re standing up there and talking to those three black-robed assholes you’ll remember this. You’ll remember that poor bastard, and you’ll do a better job because of it.”
    I didn’t reply, just shoved the accelerator down and sped away.
    Mickey didn’t say anything more for a while, then he turned to me. “Do you remember that movie,
The Fly?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWill