The Last Plea Bargain by Randy Singer Page B

facility where Antoine was sitting at a bolted-down table, wearing shackles on his ankles and wrists. A guard stood just outside the door, staring in through a barred window.
    As the door closed behind Mace, Antoine looked up at him, wide eyed. Before, the two had been separated by bulletproof glass. But today, Antoine’s last scheduled day on earth, they were allowed to meet with no barriers between them.
    Antoine stood, and Mace walked over and gave him a big hug. Mace felt his client’s bony shoulder blades and was a little surprised at how much shorter Antoine was than he had looked when seated in the cubicle. The inmate smelled like he hadn’t taken a shower in a couple of weeks, and his hair was matted and ratty, his breath enough to knock Mace over.
    â€œThanks for coming,” Antoine said as if Mace were a hospital visitor after surgery.
    â€œYeah, I was thinking about going golfing instead but decided against it,” Mace said.
    Antoine didn’t smile, and the two men took their places on opposite sides of the table. They both leaned forward on their elbows so they could keep their voices low. Antoine had a healthy sense of paranoia nurtured by eleven years inside the system and memories of Freddie Cooper turning on him. Mace tried to ignore his client’s putrid breath.
    â€œI don’t have any good news,” Mace said, getting right to the point. “The State Board of Pardons and Paroles has denied clemency. The Supreme Court ruled against our petition for cert. The only chance we have is the petition based on Cooper’s affidavit.”
    Antoine’s expression didn’t change. “About what I expected.”
    â€œWe basically get three strikes on that petition. The Georgia Supreme Court. The Eleventh Circuit. The Supremes.”
    â€œI’m not holding my breath.”
    Mace wished he would.
    â€œI’m not either,” Mace said. He had never tried to pump Antoine up with false expectations. There was no need to start now.
    â€œI’m ready,” Antoine proclaimed. “And I wanted you to look over something.”
    He reached into the pocket of his orange jumpsuit and handed Mace a folded piece of paper.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Mace asked.
    â€œMy last statement. I’ll memorize it by seven.”
    Mace read the paper while Antoine watched:
    I want to say how sorry I am to the members of the Brock family. I have prayed for you every day, and I hope that my execution will allow you to close this chapter of your lives. To Jamie and Chris Brock: I am sorry that you lost a mother. To Robert Brock: I am sorry that you lost a wife.
    I am prepared to die. Those of you with power over me would have no power if it were not given to you from above.
    Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.
    Into your hands, Jesus, I commit my spirit.
    Mace read the statement twice to give himself time to think. He didn’t like it. The proclamation was confusing, and there was no clear declaration of innocence. Worse, Antoine was repeating the words of Jesus, which would make the victims furious.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Antoine asked, his eyes lighting up for the first time since Mace had entered the room.
    Mace made a slight grimace. “It’s okay. Very biblical. But I think you could make a stronger claim of innocence.”
    Antoine had obviously thought about this. “Jesus could have insisted on his innocence too. But the Bible says he was silent, like a lamb at the slaughter.”
    â€œBut that’s different. Jesus had to die to save the world. This is just plain injustice.”
    Antoine reached across the table and took the paper, refolded it, and placed it in his pocket. “I appreciate your input. But the chaplain liked it. And I don’t think I can go wrong quoting the words of Jesus.”
    Mace wanted to argue the point but decided against it. This was Antoine’s final act of self-determination. The