“That’s not what I meant.”
“If the people I talked about in that letter were black, and I was white — and I didn’t call this place home — would you be here right now ‘checking up’ on my story?”
Michael looked down. When he looked back up, his expression was pained. “Maybe not.”
“Sure as hell not! Start tapping, and don’t stop.”
Michael did so. “Believe it or not, I want to help you. If the things you described in your letter did happen, then I want to see justice served.”
“Why the hell you care about somebody like me?”
“Because I care about the truth,” Michael said simply. “If you’re telling the truth, then I will do everything in my power to get you out of this place.”
“That’s sure easy enough to say, ain’t it?”
“Mr. Harms, I like to use my brains, my skills, to help people less fortunate than I am. I feel it’s my duty.”
“Well, that’s real nice of you, son, but don’t go patting me on the head. I might bite your hand off.”
Michael blinked in confusion, and then it registered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be condescending. Look, if you’ve been wrongly imprisoned, then I want to help you get your freedom. That’s all.”
Rufus didn’t say anything for a minute, as though attempting to gauge the sincerity of the young man’s words. When he finally leaned forward again, his features were softer, but his manner remained guarded.
“It ain’t safe to talk about this stuff here.”
“Where else can we talk?”
“No place that I know of. They don’t let people like me out for vacation. But everything I said is true.”
“You made reference to a let — ”
“Shut up!” Rufus said. He looked around again, his eyes locking for a moment on the large mirror. “Wasn’t it with what was filed?”
“No.”
“All right, you know my attorney. You said his name before.”
Michael nodded. “Samuel Rider. I tried to call him, but he didn’t call me back.”
“Tap louder.” Michael picked up the beat. Rufus glanced around and then began speaking. “I’ll tell him to talk to you. Whatever you need to know, he’ll tell you.”
“Mr. Harms, why did you file your appeal with the Supreme Court?”
“Ain’t no higher one, is there?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so. We get newspapers in here. Some TV, radio. I’ve been watching them people over the years. In here you think a lot about courts and such. Faces change, but them judges can do anything. Anything they want to. I seen it. Whole country’s seen it.”
“But from a purely legal technical point of view there are other avenues you really have to pursue in the lower courts before your appeal can be heard there. You don’t even have a lower court ruling from which you’re appealing, for instance. In sum, your appeal has numerous flaws.”
Rufus shook his head wearily. “I been in this place half my life. I ain’t got all that much time left. I ain’t never been married, I ain’t never gonna have no kids. The last thing I’m gonna do is spend years messing around with lawyers and courts and such. I want out of here, and I want out of here just as fast as I can. I want to be free. Them big judges, they can get me outta here, if they believe in doing the right thing. That’s the right thing, you go back and tell ’em that. They call ’em justices, well, that’s justice.”
Michael looked at him curiously. “Are you sure there’s not another reason you filed it with the Supreme Court?”
Rufus looked blankly at him. “Like what?”
Michael let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It was certainly possible that Rufus wouldn’t know the positions now held by some of the men named in his appeal. “Never mind.”
Rufus sat back and stared at Michael. “So what do them judges think about all this? They sent you down here, didn’t they?”
Michael stopped tapping and said nervously, “Actually, they don’t know I’m here.”
“What?”
“I haven’t actually shown anyone your appeal, Mr. Harms. I . . . I wanted to be sure, you know, that it was all aboveboard.”