“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 boltupright 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.
Percy’s eyes widened, and he lunged. He meant to run, but Harry grabbed his arms and a lunge was all he was able to manage.
“Let go of me!” Percy shouted, trying to jerk out of Harry’s grasp. It wasn’t going to happen, Harry outweighed him by almost a hundred pounds and had the muscles of a man who spent most of his spare time plowing and chopping, but Percy gave it a good enough effort to drag Harry halfway across the room and to rough up the unpleasant green carpet I kept meaning to replace. For a moment I thought he was even going to get one arm free panic can be one hell of a motivator.
“Settle down, Percy,” I said. “It’ll go easier if – ”
“Don’t you tell me to settle down, you ignoramus!” Percy yelled, jerking his shoulders and trying to free his arms. “Just get away from me! All of you! I know people! Big people! If you don’t quit this, you’ll have to go all the way to South Carolina just to get a meal in a soup kitchen!”