“About the execution,” Harry said.
“And about the way he froze when Wharton attacked Dean,” Brutal said. “I think people finding out about that is what Percy Wetmore’s really afraid of.” He nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “It could work. But Paul… wouldn’t it make more sense to bring Mrs. Moores to Coffey than Coffey to Mrs. Moores? We could take care of Percy pretty much the way you laid it out, then bring her in through the tunnel instead of taking Coffey out that way.”
I shook my head. “Never happen. Not in a million years.”
“Because of Warden Moores?”
“That’s right. He’s so hardheaded he makes old Doubting Thomas look like Joan of Arc. If we bring Coffey to his house, I think we can surprise him into at least letting Coffey make the try. Otherwise…”
“What were you thinking about using for a vehicle?” Brutal asked.
“My first thought was the stagecoach,” I said, “but we’d never get it out of the yard without being noticed, and everyone within a twenty-mile radius knows what it looks like, anyway. I guess maybe we can use my Ford.”
“Guess again,” Dean said, popping his specs back onto his nose. “You couldn’t get John Coffey into your car if you stripped him naked, covered him with lard, and used a shoehorn. You’re so used to looking at him that you’ve forgotten how big he is.”
I had no reply to that. Most of my attention that morning had been focused on the problem of Percy—and the lesser but not inconsiderable problem of Wild Bill Wharton. Now I realized that transportation wasn’t going to be as simple as I had hoped.
Harry Terwilliger picked up the remains of his second sandwich, looked at it for a second, then put it down again. “If we was to actually do this crazy thing,” he said, “I guess we could use my pickup truck. Sit him in the back of that. Wouldn’t be nobody much on the roads at that hour. We’re talking about well after midnight, ain’t we?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You guys’re forgetting one thing,” Dean said. “I know Coffey’s been pretty quiet ever since he came on the block, doesn’t do much but lay there on his bunk and leak from the eyes, but he’s a murderer. Also, he’s huge. If he decided he wanted to escape out of the back of Harry’s truck, the only way we could stop him would be to shoot him dead. And a guy like that would take a lot of killing, even with a .45. Suppose we weren’t able to put him down? And suppose he killed someone else? I’d hate losing my job, and I’d hate going to jail—I got a wife and kids depending on me to put bread in their mouths—but I don’t think I’d hate either of those things near as much as having another dead little girl on my conscience.”
“That won’t happen,” I said.
“How in God’s name can you be so sure of that?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know just how to begin. I had known this would come up, of course I did, but I still didn’t know how to start telling them what I knew. Brutal helped me.
“You don’t think he did it, do you, Paul?” He looked incredulous. “You think that big lug is innocent.”
“I’m positive he’s innocent,” I said.
“How in the name of Jesus can you be?”
“There are two things,” I said. “One of them is my shoe.” I leaned forward over the table and began talking.
The Green Mile
The volumes of the serial novel
Volume I: The Two Dead Girls
Volume II: The Mouse on the Mile
Volume III: Coffey’s Hands
Volume IV: The Bad Death of Eduard Delacroix
Volume V: Night Journey
Volume VI: Coffey on the Mile
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stephen King is the author of more than fifty books, all of them worldwide bestsellers. His recent work includes the short story collection The Bazaar of Bad Dreams, Finders Keepers, Mr. Mercedes (an Edgar Award winner for Best Novel), Doctor Sleep, and Under the Dome, a major TV miniseries on CBS. His novel 11/22/63—now a Hulu original television series event—was named a top ten book of 2011 by The New York Times Book Review and won the Los Angeles Times Book Prize for Mystery/Thriller as well as the Best Hardcover Book Award from the International Thriller Writers. He is the recipient of the 2014 National Medal of Arts and the 2003 National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. He lives in Bangor, Maine, with his wife, novelist Tabitha King.
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Copyright
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1996 by Stephen King
Illustrations copyright © 1996 by Mark Geyer
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ISBN 978-1-5011-3815-7 (ebook)