Hell, I’m No Angel

By G.D. Kessler

When Niles Galleal began to kill people, he had no idea what morbid appetite he was filling in his own psyche. As the killings progressed, he became consumed by the lust for blood. He found the path he was on was one that he did not know how to get off.

Mickey Trudeux and Jedidiah Raines, San Francisco beat officers, are thrust into the limelight because they are the first responders to a multiple murder. Their rising star is connected to that of the Mayor, Harvey Loosem. So, they need to produce quickly before the tourist industry disappears.

Caught, tried, convicted, and sentenced to death, Niles Galleal has no idea that this is just the beginning of a long afterlife serving the God he comes to love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jan 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483422350

Book preview

KESSLER

Copyright © 2015 G.D. Kessler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the imagination of the author or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places of business, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2234-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2235-0 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 01/05/2015

Contents

Part One:   The Sting Of Death

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part Two:   The Blood Of Life

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Part Three:   Of Mercy And Wrath

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Behold, I have created the smith that bloweth the coals in the fire, and that bringeth forth an instrument for his work; and I have created the waster to destroy.

Isaiah 54:16

PART ONE

The Sting of Death

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Psalms 23

Chapter 1

T HE MANY STREET AND BUILDING lights glowed with little halos surrounding them from the half-thick fog that had rolled in hours before. Really too light to properly be called a fog, yet too heavy to be labeled a mist, one could see out to twenty feet and at twenty-five objects lost their distinctiveness and blurred into the background. Everything was covered with a light sheen of sweat. The ricochet of noise off buildings was constant and seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere.

Driving up Van Ness Avenue, headed towards the Tenderloin, even at almost 2 a.m. there was still plenty of traffic out and about in San Francisco—the city by the bay. The dark blue Buick Skylark cruised silently in its own little world of mist and sound. The stereo was tuned to 91.1 FM, a local jazz station, volume on low. The scent of the city, the smell of the fog and the odor of the sea were intoxicating.

On the front seat next to the driver lay a fully loaded 1911 Colt .45 pistol. In the foot well on the passenger side was a Colt AR-10, the original .308 caliber version of the M-16, converted to fully automatic. A pair of thirty round magazines slaved side-by-side with a special retainer clip lay ready and waiting. Just under the sound of the radio could be heard the sound of a police scanner, the continuous burble of calls and code-speak barely perceptible.

The driver’s ears were tuned to the police scanner as his eyes searched in a routine pattern: rear view mirror, traffic in front, look left, look right, search for possible target, repeat. He took a right turn on Eddy Street alert to all the street life of people buying drugs or waiting for a connection to show up, and the women and some young men prostituting themselves to support their habit. At the Kentucky Fried Chicken he took a left on Polk Street. The red light stopped him at O’farrell Street, to his right Samson Brothers’ Strip Club.

Cruising up to Post Street he took a right. PHATS, (Physically Hot And Tempting Sluts), a club where all the metro-sexual people in this very liberal city met to engage in indiscriminant sex, whether straight or homosexual or whatever, was on the right-hand side before the firehouse. There were a number of what appeared to be prostitutes walking on both sides of the one-way street, and a couple smoking out in front of the club. They were all he-shes, transgenders. From midnight to four in the morning was prime time for the street skin trade; perversion crawled out of the dark cracks in the city’s façade.

The driver quickly changed lanes all the way over to the left hand side. At the next cross street, Larkin, he took a left. Staying in his lane he accelerated slowly. To his left midway up the street was Hemlock, a one-way alley street that ran from Van Ness to Larkin, parallel to both Post and Sutter. A person of interest caught his eye walking slowly about twenty feet from the mouth of the alley. As he passed he saw a girl, must not have been more than sixteen, walking head down not wanting to meet the eyes of anyone else, not wanting to challenge anyone or appear to be advertising something she wasn’t.

His heart quickened in anticipation. The queer taste of neuro-chemicals flooded his mouth and his muscles twitched in response his senses heightening. As he pulled up to the light he kept his target in view in his left side-view mirror and watched as she turned down the alley on Hemlock Street walking against traffic. He thrilled at the sight.

Stopping at the light he waited for a break in traffic before pulling left onto Sutter from Larkin and race down the street only to catch the red light at Polk. When the light changed he edged out into the intersection and finally was able to make a left onto Polk. He drove to the middle of the block and stopped just opposite Hemlock and waited for traffic to clear before turning into the alley.

He drove slowly watching the sidewalk to his right where he knew his desired target would appear out of the night’s fog. Suddenly there she was, walking slow, head still down. He must have been driving all of five mph as he passed by. She never looked up.

There were no headlights behind him. Stopping his car and putting on the parking brake, he opened his door and stepped out. Walking around the front of his car, Colt automatic in his right hand held down at his side, he stopped close to the cars parked along the curb. Excuse me, miss? Miss? he said loudly to draw her attention. A few more steps and she would be lost in the fog ahead of her.

She stopped and turned to look at him, light from the second floor apartment windows above framing her head and shoulders. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. He raised his arm, pistol cocked, and aimed at her center-mass. I’m sorry, Miss, he apologized, and pulled the trigger. The blast from the .45 reverberated off the tall buildings lining both sides of the alley.

At the exact moment he pulled the trigger a man appeared out of thin air standing directly in front of the girl. He watched as the man staggered from the impact of the bullet and then straighten up as though nothing had happened. You can’t have her! the stranger said matter of factly.

Who are you? The gunman asked.

The man smiled, his teeth glinting in the light. Enoch, you can call me Enoch, the man replied.

Don’t bet on it! snarled the man, and taking a couple of steps closer pulled the trigger again and again. Of the remaining six bullets in the automatic, four hit Enoch. Two went high and wide as Enoch waved his left arm at them and they seemed to be repelled by it and disappear into the fog behind him.

A scream was heard down the fog-laden alleyway. There were two clubs across Polk Street at the end of the alleyway. There was always a lot of foot traffic in front of them. An innocent bystander must have unwittingly become a victim.

In the distance sirens could be heard. The Turk Street precinct was just blocks away and responders were already on their way. Gunshots had priority in this city whose major industry was tourism.

I think you better get going, prompted Enoch.

The gunman thought so too. He quickly got back in his car and putting it in gear stomped on the gas. The engine roared and the Buick’s rear tires burned rubber to the mouth of the alley where it intersected Larkin. Looking to the right he saw the red and blue strobe lights of at least three police vehicles within a block of his position and heading towards him. He knew he needed to stall any pursuit.

Braking hard and shifting the transmission to park, he grabbed the Colt AR and got out. Leaning the assault rifle on the roof of his car after re-seating the magazine and pulling and releasing the charging lever in the upper receiver, he took aim. Holding his breath and then releasing it shallowly he began letting off three round bursts. In seconds one magazine was empty. Hitting the magazine release he ejected the empty and pushed in the full magazine attached to its side. Releasing the bolt and loading another round, he resumed firing until the three cop cars were all stopped with flat tires, cracked blocks and starred windshields.

Ducking down back into his car he threw the AR into the seat next to him, put the car in gear and turned out of the alleyway and drove up Larkin. The light was green and he decided to drive up to Bush Street and turn right. He should be out of the area in moments.

He didn’t see the fourth police car that had stopped on Sutter Street to his left just out of sight before Larkin. Both officers were out and had their department issued AR-15’s locked and loaded and pointing at the intersection. The officers had witnessed everything that had just gone down.

As he drove into the intersection his mind never had a chance to register the muzzle flashes as both officers opened up on him. Bullets came in through the open passenger window, as well as through his door peppering his side, two bullets going into his head. He was dead before his car rolled to a stop crashing into the parked cars along the curb across the street.

Chapter 2

H IS HEART IN HIS THROAT Niles Galleal bolted upright in bed, panic washing over him as he barely forestalled a scream. Breathing short and rapid, sweat pouring off his brow, he kept repeating to himself, It was only a dream, it was only a dream. Having had the dream so many times before he had lost count. It was always the same; the perfect target, the perfect engagement, Enoch thwarting him, and then the unsuccessful disengagement resulting in his death.

Throwing his blanket aside, it was almost too thin to describe as a blanket, he put his feet in his slippers on the floor and rested his head in his hands. He was mightily wishing for more sleep but knew that it was far from him now. Having no idea of the time, he turned his head to look at the windows in the wall opposite his cellblock. Not a glimmer of pre-dawn light showed in the stained and clouded glass.

Count time, he heard over the cell block loudspeaker. Hearing no other movement he knew it must have been the 2:30 a.m. count. The 12:30 a.m. count would still have prisoners talking, and the 4:30 a.m. count would have some prisoners already up and the skyline outside starting to lighten up.

He was on the fifth tier, the death row tier. The building he was in would have taken up the entire field area of Candlestick Park. The cellblock itself, five tiers high, cells back-to-back facing outward, was fifty cells long running down the center of the building. The cells faced the gun-walks that ran along the inside of the outer walls. The front of his cell was made of one-inch steel bars with quarter-inch square steel mesh covering it to prevent the caged men from throwing stuff at the guards.

The voice of the guard doing the count grew progressively louder as he got closer to Niles’ cell. Niles waited, eyes on the tier in front of his cell. The guard stopped outside Niles’ cell looking in at him. Their eyes met and silent communication ensued for a moment.

Prison guards were just like any other group of people. A few of them went out of their way to treat all prisoners with as much disrespect as possible already having the opinion that all prisoners were scum. This was behavior more engendered by fear and self-preservation than anything else. No judgments were required and no mistakes would be made in character assessment.

Most of the guards gave as they got. They came to work, they did their jobs, they followed and enforced the rules. And if they were treated with respect they returned respect. It was a classic case of quid pro quo.

And there was the element of the haters. Men for whatever reason, who had it in them to lord it over others, to bully and put down, to demean and control. Maybe they came from abusive families, or they suffered from the short man complex or they just thought it was their place to rule others. It didn’t matter in the end. One quickly learned to stay away from these types of guards. There was no winning against them.

The man standing outside Niles’ cell was in the second category. Ever since he had been on death row correctional officer Bo Johnson had always treated him with respect. And what choice did Niles have in return? He was in a locked cage 24/7 waiting to be executed. He could only make his own situation worse.

How ya doing, Niles? asked Bo, a tinge of concern in his voice. He had seen Niles like this before. The dream again?

Niles stood up and walked to the front of his cell. It was only two steps. The cell was ten feet deep and five feet wide. He stood there in his prison issue boxer shorts and t-shirt; 6 feet tall, 190 pounds, black hair cut short, gray eyes, 35 years of age. He looked Bo in the eyes a smile briefly crossing his face. Yeah, the dream again.

Maybe God is giving you a message, Bo suggested. He was an ardent Christian.

What message could that be? That I’m going to die? I think I already know that. Niles looked away, the reality of his situation only now really hitting home. Why do you think I had my lawyer fast track my execution? I sure as hell wasn’t going to wait around in this box for 20 years before the State got around to shooting me up with the juice.

Bo didn’t want to bring it up seeing as how at midnight tonight the State of California would pursuant to the findings of the sentencing jury and by order of the court put Niles to death. But, Niles had given him the opening. And he would take it, for Jesus’ sake. Maybe the message is real simple. You are going to die, but right now you are alive. It’s not too late. There is still time.

Niles laughed out loud, a short bitter cough of a laugh. Time for what? To repent? To come to Jesus? He looked straight into Bo’s eyes as he said, I killed, no, I murdered 120 people. And I would have killed more if I could have.

Bo returned the stare. I’ve got news for you Niles. You can’t out sin God’s grace. You can only refuse it.

Looking down and slowly shaking his head, Niles commented, It’s not for me. I can’t see it.

You mind if I pray for you? Bo asked.

It’s a waste of time, but no, I don’t mind, go right ahead.

Bo put his right hand up to the wire mesh covering the front of the cell and looking Niles in the eyes, said, Lord, you know this man. You know his life, his past, his heart and his future. I don’t know what your will is in this matter, but nonetheless I pray that you quicken this man’s heart. Save him, Lord. Thank you Jesus. Amen.

Niles’ mind wandered as the prison guard prayed. For just a moment he thought he actually felt something, but no, it was just fear and longing wrapped up in denial. Thanks, Bo. I appreciate it, he said, knowing it never hurt to be polite to a guard.

I serve a gracious Lord; it was my pleasure, replied Bo. Hey, I gotta go, finish this count. I’ll see you tonight. The guard walked off down the tier leaving Niles with only the company of his own thoughts.

Sitting down on his bunk he pulled out his radio and headphones and turning it on tuned it to Coast-To-Coast. George Noori was up in the talk show host rotation this early morning and his guest was an expert in reincarnation. The ideas espoused by the guest and the shared experiences of the various callers where just as cockamamie as the beliefs shared by Bo. If it was one thing Niles knew, there was no accounting for people’s beliefs.

Turning off his radio he lay back and thought about things. This day was going to go much too fast and way too slow. He was all through beating himself up over all his life’s choices and many mistakes. There had been so much out of his control. Yet he could not deny responsibility for his part in his own life. Rationally and logically he was only now experiencing the consequences that naturally resulted from the many wrong choices he had made.

Laying on his back and thinking things over his mind was soon caught up on a rabbit trail and his thoughts were way far away from a cell on death row in San Quentin. Sometime later his reverie was broken by a pronounced squeaking. It was an odd noise and not normal to the cellblock. He waited for it to cease. It did.

As he tried to fall back into meditation again, the squeaking began once more. He lifted his head and opening his eyes looked over towards the front of his cell where the noise seemed to be originating from. What he saw startled him. A little mouse was hopping up and down squeaking away. The mouse seemed to be trying to draw his attention and was doing a good job at it.

How did this mouse get in his cell? The holes in the wire mesh stretched across the front of his cell were much too small for any mouse to squeeze through. And there were no other openings. Of course the mouse could have swam up through the toilet.

Quickly scanning his cell floor from the mouse to the toilet he saw no water residue or other evidence that the mouse had come through the plumbing. He got up and took the two steps that brought him right next to the hopping up and down and squeaking mouse. The mouse did not seem the least bit afraid of him and just looked at him, whiskers twitching in a cute sort of way.

It was then Niles noticed the matchbook lying on his cell floor next to the little rodent. There was a Camel non-filter cigarette enclosed by the folded cover of the matchbook. Kneeling down he reached out gingerly afraid that what he was seeing was a mirage. He picked up the encased cigarette. Pulling it out of the matchbook he placed it under his nose and inhaled. Ahhh! That fine Turkish blend of tobacco smelled as grand as ever. It was the real deal.

Still resting on his haunches in a kneeling position he looked at the mouse. The mouse had stopped squeaking and was sitting up on his hind legs, front paws held up as if in prayer, and was just watching him with his little black beady eyes. The thought flashed through Niles’ mind and solidified into a virtual certainty. He had not the slightest doubt that this mouse had brought the matchbook and cigarette into his cell.

Turning the matchbook over in his hands, having put the Camel behind his ear, he examined it closely. It was one of a few million generic matchbooks that had been common when cigarette smoking had been accepted by mainstream America. It was an advertisement for stamps and stamp collecting. It offered a starter kit of 20 stamps for the paltry sum of 99 cents. As he opened the matchbook a little folded piece of paper fell out on the floor.

Picking it up, he unfolded it and read, Niles, thank Tikvah, (the mouse). He has never failed me in a mission. I figured the condemned man deserves a last cigarette. Enjoy! Hey, just so you know, Jesus lives and Jesus loves you. See you soon! Enoch.

The note was handwritten, and upon seeing the signed name Niles was more than a little bothered and rocked back on his haunches falling on his butt. He remained sitting there trying to think the situation through. Who the hell was Enoch really? And more importantly, what was he?

He looked down at the mouse. Well Tikvah, thanks for the cigarette, he said quietly. Placing the Camel between his lips he pulled one of the paper matches out of the matchbook and striking it on the striker lit the cigarette. His first inhalation was grand! Niles held the smoke in his lungs for as long as possible before letting it out.

Ahhh, that is so good! he thought, staring at the cigarette he held between his fingers. He looked down at Tikvah. So, mouse, is Enoch an angel? he asked, knowing better than to expect an answer.

Squeak! Tikvah answered.

Hey, Niles, he heard from the cell next door, the quiet voice of his next-door neighbor breaking the silence of the early morning hour. What are you doing over there? Can you spare one for your neighbor?

Niles stood up and came to the bars at the front of his cell closest to the side where his neighbor Lenny Albatroos was imprisoned. A convicted murderer, supposedly a crime of passion having killed his girlfriend in a rage when he came home from work to discover her in bed with the next-door neighbor. Lenny had been sentenced to death and had been on the Row for eighteen years while his A.C.L.U. lawyers exhausted appeal after appeal.

Sorry Lenny, I only have one and I’m enjoying it, he answered in a low voice.

I knew it, I knew it! Niles heard Lenny exclaim in a gleeful voice. That smell woke me up out of a dead sleep. I knew right off what it was and who had it. I told myself only Niles could smuggle a cigarette into the Row! What kind is it?

Niles took another hit off the cigarette, and then blew the smoke out through his bars in the direction of Lenny’s cell. It’s a Lemac, non-filter. He could hear Lenny sniffing through his nose.

Yeah, it is! You lucky dog! Lenny chuckled.

Holding the short cigarette butt between his thumb and forefinger Niles took one last hit off it, and then spit on it to put it out. Making sure it was indeed out, he tossed it into his mouth and swallowed. He figured it might make him a little sick but the effects of the nicotine would be worth it. Yeah lucky me, my last day.

In answer there was silence from the cell next door. And then, I’m sorry, Niles. I didn’t mean to remind you, apologized Lenny in a contrite tone.

Niles laughed. I appreciate your sentiments, Lenny. But there isn’t a minute that goes by that my execution isn’t front and center in my mind.

You don’t think the governor will grant you a stay? The silence that greeted Lenny’s question stretched longer and longer. Finally he answered himself. Okay, that was a stupid question. I should’a known better.

In the beginning of Niles’ stay on the Row there had been much media attention on his case. His lawyer submitted motion after motion demanding his client’s right to a speedy execution. This condition had been part of the plea bargain. The A.C.L.U. had even jumped in unasked to try to derail all his lawyer’s plans.

Through his lawyer Niles had smuggled out a press release and an opinion piece that had been given to Rolling Stone Magazine. In the article Niles had derided and castigated the California Governor. The Governor hated him for it. It had all been part of Niles’ plan to ensure his own quick and timely death.

Niles overlooked his neighbors’ stupidity. They were all about the same here on the Row. Crimes of passion, stupid decisions, impoverished criminals too poor to be able to afford a decent defense. And the crimes themselves not noteworthy enough to draw more than just a single 30 second blurb on the news thus not generally attractive to the A.C.L.U. in furthering their communist agenda. Hey, I’m going to lay down for awhile, wait for breakfast. Talk to you later Lenny, he said quietly.

Alright, Niles, he heard in reply. I’m glad someone got over on the system. Lenny was just too excited for words.

As he turned away from the bars he looked down not wanting to step on the mouse. The mouse was gone. He searched his cell from one end to the other. Tikvah had disappeared just as he had arrived—in secret. Niles envied the little mouse being able to leave like that. Somehow he knew he was missing something important. He placed the matchbook and the note onto his little shelf and lay down on his bunk to wait for breakfast.

Chapter 3

B REAKFAST HAD COME AND GONE on the Row and daylight was streaming in through the windows of the containment building. The windows were dirty and smudged and had bird droppings on them from the gulls but did let in a little light. Low conversations were taking place between neighbors, radios and T.V.’s could be heard coming from cells, everything very quiet and very tense. The prison had been on lockdown for the past couple of days, standard procedure before an execution. All the dead men were walking on eggshells in deference to Niles the next man up to be put down.

Niles had been lying on his bunk listening to all the background noise, wiggling his toes in and out of a draft of light coming into his cell from one of the few holes in the windows. His attention had wandered and he was surprised to hear, Niles! Niles? It was Bo standing at the front of his cell, and he was with two other guards.

Yeah? What is it? he replied, still lying in his bunk, not bothering to get up.

Bo smiled at the blatant disrespect. He figured it was aimed at the other guards and not him. Your lawyer is here. You want to see him? He watched Niles think it over.

After a few moments Niles got up and took the two steps to the bars opposite Bo. I might as well, he answered. It may be the last friendly face I see before you kill me. He turned around putting his hands behind his back and waited.

Pulling out a ring of keys Bo unlocked the covered feeding slot that was placed at waist height in the cell door. The cover fell open revealing a five by sixteen inch opening. Wrists! commanded Bo.

Niles backed up until his wrists poked through the slot and he felt handcuffs being put on. He waited for the command.

Step forward!

He took one-step forward and stopped, eyes towards the back of his cell. He heard the feeding slot close and lock and then the cell door unrack and the key go in and unlock his door. Niles knew the other two guards were standing ready, one with his collapsible baton out and the other with his pepper spray just in case he should be stupid enough to all of a sudden start to get crazy. He wasn’t about to get crazy.

Bo knelt down and put the leg irons on Niles, and then standing up locked the connecting chain to his wrist cuffs. Not too tight? Bo asked.

Niles moved his arms and legs and felt some freedom. I’m good, thanks.

Bo stepped back out of his cell and stopped. C’mon out, slowly.

Restrained from any quick movement Niles shuffled forward out of his cell and onto the tier in front and stopped. He waited while Bo locked his cell door. He almost laughed at this point knowing that while he was in talking with his lawyer his cell would be thoroughly searched. What for he didn’t know, except maybe something he might use to commit suicide and cheat the State out of a perfectly good execution.

At the end of the tier, on the death row only, was a little room that had been constructed for just such meetings as this. The room was equipped with two telephones: one a dedicated line to the governor’s residence in Sacramento and the other for the use of the attorney. It also had an Internet connection and a power receptacle for the lawyer’s use. There was also a table and two chairs. The room had been made from the two adjoining cells on the end on Niles’ side. It had been decided for security purposes that it was easier to bring the lawyer to the prisoner than the other way ’round.

Lenny inhabited the cell to Niles’ left, and they moved right. His neighbor on this side was Martin Luther Farmer, a former drug addict and pimp and member of the TDR, (The Transvestite Diablos Riders; the most powerful gang in San Francisco who controlled most of the west coast drug trade). He had been convicted of beating one of his transvestite whores to death. She had only been fifteen. Niles was now ‘Row News’ and Luther was at the front of his cell watching everything very closely. My man, he said in his high-pitched voice still reminiscent of a woman’s.

Luther, how they hanging? Niles remarked, as Bo prodded him to keep him moving. Luther had been on the Row for fifteen years and was hoping for another fifteen. He had just turned 38 and the NAACP had gotten involved in his case specifically because Luther was black and his victim white. His lawyers contended that he would not have gotten the death penalty if his victim had not been white.

Luther smiled and throwing his head back laughed loudly. Better than you, my man, better than you. Laughter dying out, Luther looked directly at Niles as he asked, You still going with it? Every convict on the Row knew that in Niles’ case all he had to do was say the word and he would get a stay. They all thought he was crazy for not doing so. Suddenly silence washed across the Row like a tsunami as everyone waited to hear Niles’ answer.

Now it was Niles’ turn to laugh. The sooner I’m out of here, the better. With neighbors like you wherever I end up has got to be better than here. And then he was past Luther’s cell.

Niles’ cell was almost exactly in the middle of the tier, so they had about twenty cells to pass before getting to the ‘Up’ room, nicknamed from the old slang term, lawyer up. There had been no executions since he had been on the Row but Niles had heard all the stories and all the traditions.

One took place now. As he passed each cell the condemned man inside stood at the bars at the front watching Niles shuffle by. No matter how many times Niles was marched up and down the tier this last day of his, the condemned convicts would to a man honor the prisoner who was about to die.

They finally got to the Up room where Bo unlocked the door. His lawyer, Kenneth Lemond, was already in the room waiting for him. Why they would lock the lawyer in here all alone was anyone’s guess. State security sucked. Lemond stood up as Niles shuffled into the room.

Niles stood right inside the door and waited, back to the opening while Bo closed and locked it. Then he backed up against the door and stuck his wrists through the slot so that he could be freed from the handcuffs. The leg irons would remain on, but he didn’t have far to move anyway. He shuffled to his side of the table. His lawyer stood opposite him hand out. Niles shook the proffered hand and then they both sat down.

The guards remained outside the Up room. The room itself was under video surveillance for security purposes but there were not supposed to be any electronic listening devices inside in order to protect client/lawyer confidentiality. The Up room and the Row itself were designated as No Hostage Zones. Even if Niles took his lawyer hostage and threatened his life everyone involved knew the threat would carry no power.

They looked at each other over the table. Speaking in a low voice his lawyer finally greeted him. Hello, Niles. You’re looking fit.

Thanks for coming, Ken. You know you didn’t have to.

Ken smiled. He did indeed know he didn’t have to be there. Over the past year or so he had taken a liking to his client. He was a born again Christian and knew Niles was not saved. He had been praying for him since the first day he met him. He knew his client’s wishes and didn’t expect him to change his mind. But the visit was as good an excuse as any so that if nothing else happened he could at least pray with him.

I’m glad to have come, Niles. I felt obligated. As I’ve told you before, my friend Steve Lark who is now a judge, because of the peculiarities of your case, would have no problem issuing a last minute stay. Of course you realize this would just be to ensure that none of your civil rights have been violated.

Niles looked down smiling to himself. Lawyer speak; it always came down to this. The justice system was an adversarial system and it was a cruel system. The two didn’t mix well, as much as the courts and the lawyers denied both. The tune played and they all danced to it. At the end of the day only he would die.

Well, I guess you need me to be on record. I admit and understand you did make this last offer to me. I respectfully decline. Niles looked up at Ken. I really appreciate all your efforts on my behalf, but I want to die. It will give me peace.

There was a smile on Ken’s face now as he replied, You are greatly deceived if you think your death will result in the end of things for you, especially peace. On the contrary, it will only be a transition to the beginning of an eternity that, after your judgment in front of God Almighty, will continue with you separated from God, to suffer the pains of hell fire forever. Ken pointedly looked around the Up room which had once been two death row cells. This is a cake walk compared to what’s coming your way.

Niles felt the anger rise up in him from some deep and hidden place. It felt good, like an old friend and constant companion since before he could remember. He leaned forward a little. Where was God when I needed him? a little spittle flew from his mouth in his passion.

Ken didn’t retreat. He recognized he was engaged in a battle with satan for this man’s soul. I can’t answer that, Niles. I can, however, tell you three things I am certain of. God the Father loves you. Jesus the Son died for you. And God the Holy Spirit is calling you, now. How are you going to answer?

Sitting back and relaxing a little, a quiver crossed Niles’ lips as he managed to get out, I’m going to answer; I don’t believe it. I’m going to answer; no.

Ken held out his hands towards Niles and laid them on the table palms up. Looking steadily at him, he said, I’m not just your lawyer. I’m also your friend. You would do me a great honor if you would allow me to pray for you right now.

He couldn’t believe his ears. These Jesus freaks just didn’t quit. Here was the second time today one wanted to pray for him. He wanted to just blow this man off but before he knew it he reached out and clasped the hands of his Christian lawyer. He watched as Ken closed his eyes and lowered his head.

Father, thank you for hearing me right now. I want to plead with you to save this child of yours. Niles is liar, a thief, and a murderer, and he admits it. And there is certainly nothing worthwhile in him to in any way persuade you to save him. But you sent your Son Jesus to die for just such as he because you love him. Thank you, Father. Amen. Ken looked up and released Niles’ hands and sat back looking at him. Thank you, Niles.

For what? I don’t feel any different, Niles commented.

His lawyer chuckled. You know, I am more than just a lawyer. I am also a priest. As he saw the look of incredulity cross his friend’s face, he quickly added, No, not in the classical sense. As a Christian we are all called to intercede and pray for others, and that is what a priest does and we as Christians are called to do. You allowed me the privilege to be obedient to my calling.

I’m sorry nothing happened.

Ken looked at him for a moment and then said, Yet. Standing up he walked around the desk and held out his hand to Niles.

Niles stood up and as soon as he was on his feet Ken grabbed his hand and then wrapped him up in a bear hug. This felt a little odd as his lawyer was only about five feet seven and a bit on the pudgy side. He stood there not knowing how to respond. Finally Ken released him and backed up a step.

I’ll be praying for you, Ken said.

Yeah, you do that. Niles could feel the sincerity and care radiating from his friend. Thanks, Ken. Turning quickly, he shuffled to the door. I’m ready to go back to my cell, he announced to the guards standing outside.

Back up to the door. Bo will be here in a moment, one of the guards ordered.

Niles did as he was told, and waited. In a few moments Bo was there and the cuffs were back on. The door opened and he shuffled back out onto the tier. The last he saw of his lawyer he had his head down and he seemed to be talking under his breath. Somehow he knew Ken was praying for him.

Chapter 4

A S NILES SHUFFLED DOWN THE tier and back to his cell, again all the convicts on the Row stood at their cell bars and watched as he went by. Looking down the tier he saw his cell door standing open two guards he had never seen before standing out front. Every once in a while something of his would fly out the open door, over the tier rail, and down to the floor some 50 feet below.

Bo, what’s going on? Niles asked quietly, knowing better than to raise a ruckus or get angry. Bo was in front of him and the other two escorts were behind him.

Bo didn’t even turn his head as he whispered out of the side of his mouth back towards Niles, The warden’s on a rampage, sorry Niles.

That was all the answer he required. Gregory McCormick was the current warden at San Quentin State Prison, and had been for about four years. He was a political appointee of Governor Schwarzenegger. Niles’ and McCormick’s hatred for each other went way beyond the bounds of death row convict and prison warden. And of course, since his attack upon the governor, and seeing as how Schwarzenegger and the warden were good friends and all, the warden hated him all the more.

Niles’ procession halted in front of Luther’s cell. That punk has been in there for 10 minutes tearing your shit up, Luther said quietly to Niles.

Niles smiled and replied, I guess I really don’t have to worry about cleaning it up, do I?

The two guards outside his cell went everywhere in the prison with the warden and were affectionately called Abbot and Costello. One of the warden’s sidekicks called into the cell, Galleal is back, Warden McCormick. A moment later the warden waddled out of the cell.

McCormick was a big man. A little over 320 pounds stacked on a five-foot ten body blimped him out. He was in his late 40’s and had risen exceedingly fast in corrections primarily because he could play politics with the best of them, and the California Correctional Officers’ Union wielded an extraordinary amount of power.

The warden looked at him with absolute distaste on his face. Galleal. Good, you’re back. We’ve got to talk. And then addressing Niles’ escorts, he ordered, Throw him in his cell. Don’t unchain him yet.

Abbot and Costello moved away, and Bo and his contingent led Niles to the entrance where Niles shuffled into his cell. Everything in his cell was torn up and on the floor, including his little television and radio. His mattress was stripped and wedged in the corner between the toilet and the wall. He could see his favorite books of poetry in the toilet. For just a moment he thought how cruel fate was in allowing him to kill so many seemingly innocent people and yet let a cretin like the warden live.

As Niles stared at the destruction he felt a presence behind him. Turning around he saw it was the warden. Gregory, so good of you to stop by for a visit, he remarked in a manner he knew would grate on the warden’s nerves.

Red streaks ran up both sides of the warden’s neck and turned his head a bright color as anger got the better of him. That’s Warden McCormick, Galleal! he managed to spit out.

Niles just looked at him, open contempt showing in his face and in every bit of body language. Yeah, whatever Gregory.

If this had been a cartoon, steam would have already been shooting out of the warden’s ears and the top of his head would have been flopping around like the loose cover on a boiling pot. The warden took a couple of deep breaths and wiped a hand down across his face. Finally he managed to regain enough control of himself to attempt to say something. As he opened his mouth a voice was heard from next door.

Hey, Niles! Is that fat slob bothering you again? Lenny shouted out in a faux falsetto voice so the entire Row could have a little entertainment. For all of them, the guards, and particularly the warden, epitomized the society and the enemy that was going to kill them. He was fair game in their minds.

Turning his head to his sidekicks, McCormick ordered, Abbot, pepper spray that man’s cell. Now! The nicknames of the two guards had been used for so long that they had become pretty much accepted by everyone in the prison although only the warden used them to their faces. This was most probably because, to the warden, these two men were too low on the power structure for him to remember their real names.

The guard, Abbot, turned and took the couple of steps necessary to bring him to the front of Lenny’s cell. He pulled out his pepper spray bottle and triggering it liberally, sprayed the stream into the cell. They could all hear Lenny screaming, Okay, okay, stop! Stop! This is cruel and unusual punishment! You’re violating my civil rights!

Other convicts took up the chant and started yelling about civil rights’ violations. It was a strange occurrence but in this cellblock only the convicts on the Row took part in the tirade.

The sooner you all shut up, the sooner Warden McCormick can get out of here and leave you to your program, Bo yelled at the top of his voice. After a few moments the yelling ceased.

Abbot stopped spraying Lenny’s cell and stepped back over to the front of Niles’ cell. All done, sir, he told the warden.

McCormick turned back to Niles, If I had my way I’d execute you all tonight, save the State a lot of money.

Niles had no doubt he would. Under color of authority he knew some men would do as much as they could to exercise power and demean and hurt those less fortunate or those they considered beneath them. I guess you’ll just have to obey the law like the good little cog in the machine you are, he commented.

His eyes on him the entire time, the warden reached into his pocket and pulled out a matchbook. He saw Niles’ glance of recognition. How did you get this? Which guard smuggled it into you? Or did you get it from that stinkin’ liberal do-gooder lawyer of yours? he asked accusingly.

Hey, lighten up bro, Niles replied in a tone of intimate camaraderie. It’s not that big a deal.

I’m not your bro! You will treat me with respect! McCormick almost shouted.

In a pig’s eye, Niles said, Oh, not you guys, he announced, looking towards the guards.

I want to know who Enoch is, and who’s this Tikvah he’s talking about. And where’s the cigarette?

Niles just looked at the warden and smiled. I’m shocked! Shocked! That you would even think I would violate the no smoking laws in California prisons. What kind of person do you think I am anyway?

There was a space of about two seconds of total silence and then the entire Row burst out laughing. Yeah! Yeah! What kind of person do you think that mass murderer is, anyway? An anonymous voice yelled out.

Well? I’m waiting. McCormick, said, choosing to ignore the spectacle he was becoming.

Niles took a step closer to the warden and saw him wince at his proximity. In a low voice, almost as if the warden was his confidant, he said, Tikvah is Enoch’s mouse and Enoch’s mouse brought me the note, the matchbook and the cigarette. I don’t know where Tikvah is now, and I smoked the cigarette. He exercised every bit of self-control he could manage, watching the warden get mad again. He smiled and then said in a stage whisper, It was a Camel non-filter. I hope I don’t get cancer. It could kill me, you know, Gregory?

Moments passed as the warden just stood staring at Niles. If looks could kill there would have been no need for an official execution later that day. Without another word he turned on his heel and walked out of the cell. Lock the door, he ordered over his shoulder.

What about his restraints? asked Bo.

Leave ’em on. I’ll let you know when to take them off. The warden walked off down the tier followed by his two lackeys Abbot and Costello.

Bo closed and locked the cell door. Looking in at Niles he said, Sorry, Niles. You know how it is.

Niles didn’t even bother to give an answer. He just waited and watched as Bo locked his cell door and then he and the two guards took off down the tier leaving him alone. He tried to sit down on his bunk, but the chain connecting his leg irons to his wrist cuffs kept him from getting comfortable. And with his hands behind his back he couldn’t pull his mattress out from between the wall and toilet. On further reflection he figured that it was a little late to worry about controlling his smart mouth now.

Hey, Niles, you all right? Luther asked.

Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s a good thing I don’t have to put up with this stuff too much longer, otherwise I’d be really pissed. Thanks for asking, Luther.

He shifted over to the bars on Lenny’s side. Hey Len, you okay? All through his talk with the warden, after Lenny had been pepper sprayed, he had heard coughing and sneezing and spitting coming from next door. That pepper spray was