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He
pushed
away
from
the
bars
and
swayed
a
little
on
his
feet
.
Brutal
steadied
him
.
"
Easy
,
boy
,
you
all
right
?
"
Percy
did
n't
answer
,
just
stepped
past
Brutal
and
turned
toward
the
duty
desk
.
He
was
n't
staggering
,
exactly
,
but
he
was
listing
to
port
.
Brutal
reached
out
for
him
.
I
pushed
his
hand
away
.
"
Leave
him
alone
.
"
Would
I
have
said
the
same
if
I
'd
known
what
was
going
to
happen
next
?
I
've
asked
myself
that
question
a
thousand
times
since
the
fall
of
1932
.
There
's
never
any
answer
.
Percy
made
twelve
or
fourteen
paces
,
then
stopped
again
,
head
lowered
.
He
was
outside
of
Wild
Bill
Wharton
's
cell
by
then
.
Wharton
was
still
making
those
sousaphone
noises
.
He
slept
through
the
whole
thing
.
He
slept
through
his
own
death
,
now
that
I
think
of
it
,
which
made
him
a
lot
luckier
than
most
of
the
men
who
ended
up
here
.
Certainly
luckier
than
he
deserved
.
Before
we
knew
what
was
happening
,
Percy
drew
his
gun
,
stepped
to
the
bars
of
Wharton
's
cell
,
and
emptied
all
six
shots
into
the
sleeping
man
"
just
bam-bam-bam
,
bam-bam-bam
,
as
fast
as
he
could
pull
the
trigger
.
The
sound
in
that
enclosed
space
was
deafening
;
when
I
told
Janice
the
story
the
next
morning
,
I
could
still
hardly
hear
the
sound
of
my
own
voice
for
the
ringing
in
my
ears
.
We
ran
at
him
,
all
four
of
us
.
Dean
got
there
first
--
I
do
n't
know
how
,
as
he
was
behind
Brutal
and
me
when
Coffey
had
hold
of
Percy
--
but
he
did
.
He
grabbed
Percy
's
wrist
,
prepared
to
wrestle
the
gun
out
of
Percy
's
hand
,
but
he
did
n't
have
to
.
Percy
just
let
go
,
and
the
gun
fell
to
the
floor
.
His
eyes
went
across
us
like
they
were
skates
and
we
were
ice
.
There
was
a
low
hissing
sound
and
a
sharp
ammoniac
smell
as
Percy
's
bladder
let
go
,
then
a
brrrap
sound
and
a
thicker
stink
as
he
filled
the
other
side
of
his
pants
,
as
well
.
His
eyes
had
settled
on
a
far
corner
of
the
corridor
.
They
were
eyes
that
never
saw
anything
in
this
real
world
of
ours
again
,
so
far
as
I
know
.
Back
near
the
beginning
of
this
I
wrote
that
Percy
was
at
Briar
Ridge
by
the
time
that
Brutal
found
the
colored
slivers
of
Mr.
Jingles
's
spool
a
couple
of
months
later
,
and
I
did
n't
lie
about
that
.
He
never
got
the
office
with
the
fan
in
the
comer
,
though
;
never
got
a
bunch
of
lunatic
patients
to
push
around
,
either
.
But
I
imagine
he
at
least
got
his
own
private
room
.
He
had
connections
,
after
all
.
Wharton
was
lying
on
his
side
with
his
back
against
the
wall
of
his
cell
.
I
could
n't
see
much
then
but
a
lot
of
blood
soaking
into
the
sheet
and
splattered
across
the
cement
,
but
the
coroner
said
Percy
had
shot
like
Annie
Oakley
.
Remembering
Dean
's
story
of
how
Percy
had
thrown
his
hickory
baton
at
the
mouse
that
time
and
barely
missed
,
I
was
n't
too
surprised
.
This
time
the
range
had
been
shorter
and
the
target
not
moving
.
One
in
the
groin
,
one
in
the
gut
,
one
in
the
chest
,
three
in
the
head
.
Brutal
was
coughing
and
waving
at
the
haze
of
gunsmoke
.
I
was
coughing
myself
,
but
had
n't
noticed
it
until
then
.
