He held it for a moment, teasing with his eyes. 'Suppose I keep it?'
I shrugged. 'We'll come in and take it back. You'll go down to the little room. And you will have drunk your last R.C. Unless they serve it down in hell, that is.'
His smile faded. 'I don't like jokes about hell, screwtip.' He thrust the cup out through the bars. 'Here. Take it.'
I took it. From behind me, Percy said: 'Why in God's name did you want to give a lugoon like him a soda-pop?'
Because it was loaded with enough infirmary dope to put him on his back for forty-eight hours, and he never tasted a thing, I thought.
'With Paul,' Brutal said, 'the quality of mercy is not strained; it droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven.'
'Huh?' Percy asked, frowning.
'Means he's a soft touch. Always has been, always will be. Want to play a game of Crazy Eights, Percy?'
Percy snorted. 'Except for Go Fish and Old Maid, that's the stupidest card-game ever made.'
'That's why I thought you might like a few hands,' Brutal said, smiling sweetly.
'Everybody's a wisenheimer,' Percy said, and sulked off into my office. I didn't care much for the little rat parking his ass behind my desk, but I kept my mouth shut.
The clock crawled. Twelve-twenty; twelve-thirty. At twelve-forty, John Coffey got up off his bunk and stood at his cell door, hands grasping the bars loosely. Brutal and I walked down to Wharton's cell and looked in. He lay there on his bunk, smiling up at the ceiling. His eyes were open, but they looked like big glass balls. One hand lay on his chest; the other dangled limply off the side of his bunk, knuckles brushing the floor.
'Gosh,' Brutal said, 'from Billy the Kid to Willie the Weeper in less than an hour. I wonder how many of those morphine pills Dean put in that tonic.'
'Enough,' I said. There was a little tremble in my voice. I don't know if Brutal heard it, but I sure did. 'Come on. We're going to do it.'
'You don't want to wait for beautiful there to pass out?'
'He's passed out now, Brute. He's just too buzzed to close his eyes.'
'You're the boss.' He looked around for Harry, but Harry was already there. Dean was sitting bolt-upright at the duty desk, shuffling the cards so hard and fast it was a wonder they didn't catch fire, throwing a little glance to his left, at my office, with every flutter-shuffle. Keeping an eye out for Percy.
'Is it time?' Harry asked. His long, horsey face was very pale above his blue uniform blouse, but he looked determined.
'Yes,' I said. 'If we're going through with it, it's time.'
Harry crossed himself and kissed his thumb. Then he went down to the restraint room, unlocked it, and came back with the straitjacket. He handed it to Brutal. The three of us walked up the Green Mile. Coffey stood at his cell door, watching us go, and said not a word. When we reached the duty desk, Brutal put the straitjacket behind his back, which was broad enough to conceal it easily.
'Luck,' Dean said. He was as pale as Harry, and looked just as determined.
Percy was behind my desk, all right, sitting in my chair and frowning over the book he'd been toting around with him the last few nights - not Argosy or Stag but Caring for the Mental Patient in Institutions. You would have thought, from the guilty, worried glance he threw our way when we walked in, that it had been The Last Days of Sodom and Gomorrah.
'What?' he asked, closing the book in a hurry. 'What do you want?'
'To talk to you, Percy,' I said, 'that's all.'
But he read a hell of a lot more than a desire to talk on our faces, and was up like a shot, hurrying - not quite running, but almost - toward the open door to the storeroom. He thought we had come to give him a ragging at the very least, and more likely a good roughing up.
Harry cut around behind him and blocked the doorway, arms folded on his chest.
'Saaay!' Percy turned to me, alarmed but trying not to show it. 'What is this?'
'Don't ask, Percy,' I said. I had thought I'd be okay - back to normal, anyway - once we actually got rolling on this crazy business, but it wasn't working out that way. I couldn't believe what I was doing. It was like a bad dream. I kept expecting my wife to shake me awake and tell me I'd been moaning in my sleep. 'It'll be easier if you just go along with it.
'What's Howell got behind his back?' Percy asked in a ragged voice, turning to get a better look at Brutal.
'Nothing,' Brutal said. 'Well... this, I suppose - !'
He whipped the straitjacket out and shook it beside one hip, like a matador shaking his cape to make the bull charge.