THE TOY COP
Chapter Five
This prick was no exception. There he sat, Charlie "The Taker" Overland, rapist and killer of perhaps scores of children throughout New England (and unofficially credited with the rape of a five year-old girl in Hurricane, West Virginia). A Bible sat in his lap, the same Karla Faye look of serenity on his face.
How convenient. This was precisely the reason why Odell Seels was not a religious man- Christianity dictated that sinners be forgiven. Hell, the Roman Catholic Church was even worse- A few acts of contrition, with maybe a few bucks thrown in, and you could continue packing for the Pearly Gates.
Warden Seels was neither a forgiving nor a forgetful man. "Turn the other cheek" should be confined to proctological examinations. It had no place in his belief system.
Odell stood at the Death Row guard's station, watching Overland on a black and white monitor. The condemned peacefully read his King James, digesting what would be the last free meal of his worthless and miserable life, and Seels' stomach churned. There appeared to be not one fly turd of remorse in Overland's charcoal briquette of a heart for what he'd done, no matter how much of the Good Book he read.
The children. Oh God, all those poor children.
On the other hand, he supposed that a debt was owed to Charlie Overland- his atrocities were such Capitol Hill lawmakers were finally convinced that Senator Forrest's long-neglected capital punishment bill may have some merit to it, after all. No doubt, in this, practically the 11th hour of the Senator's re-election campaign, tonight's execution will prove to be Forrest's hole card. He'd need it, since the Attorney General, Ralph Brinkman, was making a strong comeback in the polls since the series of debates.
This is why the Senator was going to be one of the 12 witnesses to this, the first execution in Massachusetts since 1947. You couldn't buy a better campaign ad with a billion dollars.
Vengeance is mine.
Words to live by.
Charlie Overland looked up from the bible for the first time since he'd begun Romans 12:19- Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. Since beginning his bible studies earlier in the year, Overland had grown to vastly prefer the fire and brimstone Old Testament to the namby-pamby New Testament. But there was something to be said for this passage in Romans.
The Taker sat in a cell sardonically dubbed "Room Number One", after the Bates Hotel of PSYCHO notoriety. "You check in, but you don't check out," they say. It was the final holding cell on Death Row, used to confine inmates preparing for execution. Of course, Charlie Overland was the first guest to occupy this cell for this purpose. Since 1947, when the state congress banned capital punishment, the cell was used for solitary confinements.
It was a bare 9 x 9 cell, as one would expect. There were no windows, bookshelves and no books, no family photos or nude girlie centerfolds on the walls, not even graffiti, nothing to indicate the identity, personality, or even existence of its previous occupants. It was the final indignity to the living condemned inmate, to have their identity and very existence erased before even being introduced to the Great Equalizer. Only his mind and the number stenciled onto the left side of his bright orange prison jumpsuit distinguished Charlie Overland from any other inmate at Varrick, living or dead.
It was fitting that the State Correctional Board and the Federal Bureau of Prisons should decide on Varrick to have the dubious honor of putting to death the first inmate in Massachusetts in over half a century. Judge Varrick had sentenced a total of 136 men to their death in his 31 years on the bench.
Presently, Overland became aware of a shadowy presence. Could it be Gabriel, the Archangel? No, it was too soon for that. Three and a half hours too soon, to be exact.
Warden Seels filled the doorway of the cell.
"How are we doing, Overland?"
"That's a strange and redundant question for a man in your position to ask a man in my position, Warden. How do you think I'm doing?" Sadistic cocksucker, thought Overland.
"Looks to me as if you're still plea bargaining before your Final Judgment, Charlie," Seels had said in his Dallas drawl, motioning with his chin to the black limp leather Bible atop The Taker's lap. "Find any loopholes?"
Overland looked at Seels with barely controlled hatred as he delicately pushed a strand of shoulder-length blonde hair behind his right ear. Neither man seemed to care that the conversation was being overheard by an armed corrections officer standing three feet from the cell.
"You're a very cynical man, Warden. You think it's improbable that the Lord visits even condemned souls?"
"'Visits'?!" Seels couldn't contain his laughter. "Far from it! I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that the Lord practically has reserved parking outside!"
"There are no atheists in foxholes or on Death Row, Warden."
"I'll bet," he added with a snort. "Look, Overland, just between you, me, and the lamppost… you do know that this piety act ain't gonna earn you a second more on this planet, don't you? You had enough time to get acquainted with the word of the Lord before you started hurting all those children. This Born Again stuff… too little too late. I mean, there are miracles, then there are miracles."
Overland was keen enough to spot the stress on the last "miracles."
"Yes, Warden. It is the latter kind of miracle that will prove to be my salvation. There are the miracles of the Lord, which are far and few between. Then, there are the manufactured kind."
That, plus Overland's look of implacable surety, that smirk… Seels stiffened momentarily then dismissed the implied threat with another snort.
"I'll be seeing you in another three and a half hours, Mr. Overland."
A final sneer, then Seels turned his back on him. Overland maintained the smirk on his own face until he heard the distant metallic sound of locks being electronically released. Underneath the orange jumpsuit, a tattoo of a dragon twitched as if imbued with a life of its own.
Vengeance is mine.
And what was that bullshit about a miracle, a manufactured miracle? He didn't reasonably expect to be broken out of prison, out of Death Row, did he?
If anyone other than Overland had made such a threat, Seels would've laughed out loud. Broken out of Death Row. The idea was preposterous. The idea was absolutely unthinkable.
Seels' idea, then, was to double the guard around Overland's cell.
Enjoy! Let me know what you think. My email address is Crawman2@Yahoo.com
It was the damnedest thing, thought Warden Seels. More times than not, you could almost bet your paycheck and your dick on it. Just as these condemned inmates are about to meet the Lord, they become acquainted with Him through the Bible, as if rehearsing their stories before actually meeting Him. In Texas as an Assistant Warden in 1998, he'd seen Karla Faye Tucker go to the execution chamber with a serene smile on her face, safe and smug in her belief in the Lord and how He would deliver her from this nest of woe and suffering. Seels would always remember that day. Likewise, he'd never forget the look of puzzlement and incipient shock when they actually began to insert the IV hookup into her antecubital.
(15 minutes ago)
Seels hadn't liked The Taker's control, his nearly glacial emotions. This was the time when control had absolutely no place and no use. Why was he holding his obvious hatred of the Warden, the corrections officers, the courts, the establishment in general, so tightly in reserve? What was he saving it for? Some incendiary, self-righteous final statement to the Senator, perhaps?
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