"It's quicker than Sparky. Sometimes-"
"Don't tell me no more!" Popcorn said quickly. "I know all about Sparky. They zap you and you breathe your last right then and there. If you lucky."
"They never go that quick," the guard said informatively. "Remember that big black buck, Shango?"
"Now, don't you be callin' Shango no buck!" Popcorn snapped. "He was a righteous dude."
"Remember when the lights flickered the morning he went?"
"Yeah."
"Remember how many times?"
"No! Stop talkin' at me! I can't think no more!"
"Four times, Popcorn, Count 'em. Four. The first time the leather strap holding the electrode to his leg burned clean away. They had to shut off the juice to fix it. And Shango sat there all strapped in for his last ride, his head lolling off to one side, and there was smoke coming out of his ears."
"No way! No way, man! Shango went out wearin' a hood. No way you could tell if his ears be smokin'. You lyin' to me, motherfuck, you tryin' to rattle me."
"Now that you mention it," the guard admitted, "the smoke was coming up out from under the hood. We only found out after they took the hood off that it was coming out of his ears. The executioner said it was the first time he'd ever seen it. Usually smoke comes out of the mouth or up from the shirt collar. I guess the chest hairs burn or something. But you don't have to worry about that, boy. You're too young to have much chest hair."
Popcorn said nothing.
The guard went on. "Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. They jolted him again once they replaced the strap, but the doc found a heartbeat. So they had to hit him four times."
"Did he move?" Popcorn asked in a pathetic voice. "Did he say anything while this was happenin' to him?"
"He couldn't. The electricity, it freezes the muscles. Paralyzes your lungs too. You sit there, can't move, can't breathe, smelling the smoke of your own burning hair while your brains cook like eggs."
Suddenly the unmistakable sound of violent vomiting came from Popcorn's cell. And suddenly Remo smelled the breakfast eggs he had flushed down the toilet.
"Did you have to do that?" Remo demanded in a loud voice.
The guard suddenly appeared in front of Remo's cell. He was grinning broadly.
"My mistake," he said. "I forgot they serve eggs on Mondays. Well, one good thing came out of it. When your turn comes, Williams, I won't have to waste my breath repeating all the grisly details to you."
Remo grabbed the cell-door bars tightly. "Why, you-"
"Temper, temper," the guard cautioned. "Oops, I think I hear the executioner man tapping on the Door of Doom."
The guard went away and opened the squealing door.
"All done?" he asked, suddenly serious-voiced. "Good. Come on, then. Let's get you out of here." The two men went past Remo's cell quickly, but not so quickly that Remo didn't catch a glimpse of the executioner's face. The sight triggered a cold shock in the pit of his stomach. There was something familiar about that furtive, weathered face. But the man passed from view before Remo could see it clearly.
"Sorry I had to take you in through the row," the guard was telling the other man, "but I figured it would be quicker."
The other said nothing in reply, and the first door control buzzed open.
The guard's voice rang back. "I'll send someone back with a mop," he promised. "Unless you want to consider it a second helping."
The guard's laughter was swallowed by the closing doors and a renewed spitting coming from Popcorn's cell.
"If he comes back," Remo said, "I'd throw it in his face. What have you got to lose?"
"He won't come back," Popcorn said miserably. "He know better than that."
"Probably."
"Hey, Remo?"
"Yeah?" Remo said, noticing the unexpected use of his first name.
"Remember what I said about the yard?"
"Yeah. "
"Well, it back on. I'll take Crusher over having my brains sizzled any day."
"We go to the yard today, you know."
"Today?" Popcorn croaked.
"Today. "
"Shit. I forgot it was today. Shit. I done ate my last meal, then."
"I wouldn't go up against Crusher if I were you."
"My life ain't worth the squirt that brought me into the world, man. I want my death to amount to something. You my only friend in the joint, Remo. Shee-it."
"What?"
"I just realized I threw up for the last time. And now I'm gonna take me a last piss." The zipper sound came next.
"Why don't you save it?" Remo suggested. "For what?"
"For Crusher."
"Good thinkin'. Uh-oh, here come the man with the mop."
A guard pushed a steel-wheeled cart with one hand and carried the mop in his other. He had trouble managing both tasks simultaneously. The mop slipped from his held-high grasp and he cursed and let the yarn head fall. He was dragging it after him as he passed Remo's field of vision.
Popcorn's cell grated open and the guard said, "I'll trade you. A new mop for an old tray."
"Deal, sucker," said Popcorn.
"Hurry it up. I gotta wait for the mop."
"Be just a second." The mop made sloppy sounds in the adjoining cell.
Remo, contemplating the ceiling, was suddenly aware of the guard staring at him through the bars of his cell.
"The night shift has been talking about you, Williams. "
"Good for them." Out of the corner of his eye Remo noticed the guard clutched a folded newspaper in his hand. His eyes kept going back to the paper. It was a tabloid.
"Ever been in Yuma, Williams?" he asked.
"No."
"How about Detroit?"
"Never."
"Then you got a twin who should be on the Letterman show or something."
"I'm an orphan."
"They call him Dead Man too," the guard said.
"Who?" Remo forced his voice to be bored. But curiosity was creeping into it.
"Your twin. The one they call the Dead Man."
"We're all Dead Men on this block," Remo said. He shifted position so that he could see the foldeddown top of the newspaper. The upside down headline seemed to say: STARTLING NEW EVIDENCE. SAME ASSASSIN KILLED ROY ORBISON, LUCILLE BALL, AND AYATOLLAH KHOMEINI!"
Remo didn't have to look any closer. The guard obviously had hold of a copy of the National Enquirer. Remo instantly lost interest. Only morons read the Enquirer.
"Well, this Dead Man makes Schwarzenegger look like Rick Moranis," the guard was saying as he opened the paper. "Says here he was sighted in Arizona breaking tanks with his bare hands during the Japanese occupation."
"Can't be me," Remo said. "I was born after World War II."
"The Japanese occupation of Yuma, Arizona. Last Christmas."
"If you believe the Japanese invaded Arizona," Remo grunted, "then I guess you can believe a man can break a tank with his bare hands." He sighed. Sometimes the guards had it worse than the prisoners. Most prisoners got out, one way or the other. But most guards were lifers in their way. It often took a toll. Some went mean. Others got simple. This guard was obviously one of the simple ones.
"They must have buried you pretty deep in Jersey for you not to know about the Japanese thing last Christmas."
"Never heard of it," Remo said.
Popcorn's voice broke in. "I'm done," he said. The guard retrieved the mop and then came to Remo's cell for his tray.
"Mind leaving that paper?" Remo asked casually, his eyes on the paper wadded under the guard's arm.
"You know the rule. Dead Men aren't allowed to read in their cells."
"We're not allowed in the prison library either."
"I don't make the rules." And the guard went on down the line, collecting trays.
When the din began to settle down, Popcorn called out, "Why were you jivin' him, man?"
"I wasn't jiving him."
"You serious? You mean you didn't hear about the Jap thing last Christmas?"