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greed for the first hundred years。 of baseball。 What's wrong with the players asking for all the money they can get？〃
〃Who's worth five million a year？〃
〃Nobody。 But if rock stars make fifty； what's wrong with baseball players making a few million？ It's entertainment。 The players are the game； not the owners。 I go to Wrigley to see the players； not because the Tribune happens to be the current owner。〃
〃Yeah； but look at ticket prices。 Fifteen bucks to watch a game。〃
〃Attendance is up。 The fans don't seem to mind。〃
They drove through downtown； deserted at four in the morning； and within minutes were near the jail。 〃Listen； Adam； I don't know how much Lee has told you about her drinking problem。〃
〃She told me she's an alcoholic。〃
〃Definitely。 This is the second drunk driving charge。 I was able to keep the first out of the papers； but I don't know about this。 She's suddenly bee an item around town。 Thank heaven she hasn't hurt anybody。〃 Phelps stopped the car at a curb near a fenced lot。 〃She's been in and out of recovery half a dozen times。〃
〃Half a dozen。 She told me she'd been through treatment three times。〃
〃You can't believe alcoholics。 I know of at least five times in the past fifteen years。 Her favorite place is a swanky little abuse center called Spring Creek。 It's on a river a few miles north of the city； real nice and peaceful。 It's for the wealthy only。 They get dried out and pampered。 Good food； exercise； saunas； you know； all the bells and whistles。 It's so damned nice I think people want to go there。 Anyway； I have a hunch she'll turn up there later today。 She has some friends who'll help her get checked in。 She's well known around the place。 Sort of a second home。〃
〃How long will she stay there？〃
〃It varies。 The minimum is a week。 She has stayed as long as a month。 Costs two thousand bucks a day； and of course they send me the bills。 But I don't mind。 I'll pay any amount to help her。〃
〃What am I supposed to do？〃
〃First； we try to find her。 I'll get my secretaries
on the phones in a few hours； and we'll track her down。 She's fairly predictable at this point； and I'm sure she'll turn up in a detox ward； probably at Spring Creek。 I'll start pulling strings in a few hours and try to keep it out of the paper。 It won't be easy； in light of everything else that's been printed recently。〃
〃1'm sorry。〃
〃Once we find her； you need to go see her。 Take some flowers and candy。 I know you're busy； and I know what's ahead for the next； uh…〃
〃Nine days。〃
〃Nine days。 Right。 Well； try to see her。 And； when the thing down at Parchman is over； I suggest you go back to Chicago； and leave her alone。〃
〃Leave her alone？〃
〃Yeah。 It sounds harsh； but it's necessary。 There are many reasons for her many problems。 I'll admit I'm one of the reasons； but there's lots of stuff you don't know。 Her family is another reason。 She adores you； but you also bring back nightmares and a lot of suffering。 Don't think bad of me for saying this。 I know it hurts； but it's the truth。〃
Adam stared at the chain…link fence across the sidewalk next to his door。
〃She was sober once for five years；〃 Phelps continued。 〃And we thought she'd stay that way forever。 Then Sam was convicted； and then Eddie died。 When she returned from his funeral； she fell into the black hole； and I thought many times that she'd never get out。 It's best for her if you stay away。〃
〃But I love Lee。〃
〃And she loves you。 But you need to adore her from a distance。 Send her letters and cards from Chicago。 Flowers for her birthday。 Call once a month and talk about movies and books； but stay away from the family stuff。〃
〃Who'll take care of her？〃
〃She's almost fifty years old； Adam； and for the most part she's very independent。 She's been an alcoholic for many years； and there's nothing you or I can do to help her。 She knows the disease。 She'll stay sober when she wants to stay sober。 You're not a good influence。 Nor am I。 I'm sorry。〃
Adam breathed deeply and grabbed the door latch。 〃I'm sorry； Phelps； if I've embarrassed you and your family。 It was not intentional。〃
Phelps smiled and placed a hand on Adam's shoulder。 〃Believe it or not； my family is in many ways more dysfunctional than yours。 We've been through worse。〃
〃That； sir； is difficult to believe。〃
〃It's true。〃 Phelps handed him a key ring and pointed to a small building inside the fence。 〃Check in there； and they'll show you the car。〃
Adam opened the door and got out。 He watched the Mercedes ease away and disappear。 As Adam walked through a gate in the fence； he couldn't shake the unmistakable feeling that Phelps Booth actually still loved his wife。
36
RETIRED Colonel George Nugent was barely ruffled by the news of Naifeh's heart attack。 The old guy was doing quite well by Monday morning； resting fortably and out of danger； and what the hell he was only months away from retirement anyway。 Naifeh was a good man； but past his usefulness and hanging on simply to bolster his pension。 Nugent was considering a run for the head position if he could get his politics straight。
Now； however； he was pressed with a more critical matter。 The Cayhall execution was nine days away； actually only eight because it was scheduled for one minute after midnight on Wednesday of next week； which meant that Wednesday counted as another day though only one minute of it was used。 Tuesday of next week was actually the last day。
On his desk was a shiny leather…bound notebook with the words Mississippi Protocol printed professionally on the front。 It was his masterpiece； the result of two weeks of tedious organizing。 He'd been appalled at the haphazard guides and outlines and checklists thrown together by Naifeh for previous executions。 It was a wonder they'd actually been able to gas anyone。 But now there was a plan； a detailed and carefully arranged blueprint which included everything； in his opinion。 It was two inches thick and a hundred and eighty pages long； and of course had his name all over it。
Lucas Mann entered his office at fifteen minutes after eight； Monday morning。 〃You're late；〃 Nugent snapped； now a man in charge of things。 Mann was just a simple lawyer。 Nugent was the head of an execution team。 Mann was content with his work。 Nugent had aspirations； which in the past twenty…four hours had been bolstered considerably。
〃So what；〃 Mann said as he stood by a chair facing the desk。 Nugent was dressed in his standard dark olive pants with no wrinkles and heavily starched dark olive shirt with gray tee shirt underneath。 His boots gleamed with heavily buffed polish。 He marched to a point behind his desk。 Mann hated him。
〃We have eight days；〃 Nugent said as if this were known only to him。
〃I think it's nine；〃 Mann said。 Both men were standing。
〃Next Wednesday doesn't count。 We have eight working days left。〃
〃Whatever。〃
Nugent sat stiffly in his chair。 〃Two things。 First； here is a manual I've put together for executions。 A protocol。 From A to Z。 pletely organized； indexed； cross…indexed。 I'd like for you to review the statutes contained herein and make sure they're current。〃
Mann stared at the black binder but did not t