[Georgia 03] Fallen

lot of them had nothing to lose and everything to gain by engaging in willful acts of violence. Taking the life of a deputy director of the GBI would be a big feather in any man’s cap. Will didn’t know how they felt about cops who took down other cops, but he didn’t imagine that was much of a distinction for inmates looking to raise their status.
    For this reason, they were escorted by two guards who were approximately the size of commercial refrigerators. One walked in front of Amanda and the other loomed behind Will, making him feel practically dainty. No one was allowed to carry guns into the prison, but each guard had a full array of weaponry on their belts: pepper spray, steel batons, and worst of all a set of jangling keys that seemed to announce with every footstep that the only way out of this place was through thirty locked doors.
    They turned a corner and found a man in a gray suit standing outside yet another locked door. As with every other door in the place, there was a large, red panic button beside the jamb.
    Amanda extended her hand. “Warden Peck, thank you for arranging this visit on such short notice.”
    “Always glad to help, Deputy Director.” He had a gravelly old man’s voice that fit perfectly with his weathered, mahogany face and slicked-back gray mane. “You know you need only pick up the phone.”
    “Would it be a bother to ask if you could print out a list of all the visitors Spivey’s had since he entered the system?”
    Peck obviously thought it was a bother, but he covered for it well. “Spivey’s been in four different facilities. I’ll have to make some calls.”
    “Thank you so much for going through the trouble.” She indicated Will. “This is Agent Trent. He’ll need to be in the observation room. He’s got a somewhat checkered past with the prisoner.”
    “That’s fine. I should warn you that we got Mr. Spivey’s death notice last week. He’s to be executed on the first of September.”
    “Does he know?”
    Peck nodded gravely, and Will could see that he didn’t like this part of his job. “It’s my policy to give the inmates as much information as we can as soon as we can. The news has sobered Mr. Spivey considerably. They generally become quite docile during this time, but don’t be lulled into complacency. If at any point you feel a threat, stand and leave the room immediately. Don’t touch him. Avoid being within reaching distance. For your safety, you’ll be monitored through the cameras and one of my men will be outside the door at all times. Just keep in mind that these men are quick, and they have absolutely nothing to lose.”
    “I’ll just have to be quicker.” She winked at him as if this was some kind of frat party where the boys might get rowdy. “I’m ready when you are.”
    Will was led one door down to the observation room. The space was small and windowless, the sort of prison office that could’ve easily passed for a storage closet. There were three monitors stacked on a metal desk, each showing a different angle of Boyd Spivey in the adjacent room. He was shackled to a chair that was undoubtedly bolted to the floor.
    Four years ago, Spivey hadn’t exactly been handsome, but he’d carried himself with a cop’s swagger that made up for his deficits. His reputation was as a practical joker, but a good cop—the guy you’d want to have your back when things went from bad to worse. His file was full of commendations. Even after he’d taken a deal to plead guilty for lesser time, there were men who worked in his station house who refused to believe that Spivey was dirty.
    Now, everything about the man said “con.” He was as hard looking as a piece of honed granite. His skin was pockmarked and puffy. A long, ratty ponytail draped down his back. Prison tattoos decorated his forearms and twisted around his neck. His thick wrists were bolted to a chrome bar welded to the center of the table. His legs were crossed at the ankles. The chains around his leg irons were tightened into a straight line. Will guessed Boyd passed his days working out in his cell. His bright orange uniform was busting at the seams around his overly muscled arms and wide chest.
    Will wondered if the extra weight was a good or bad thing as far as the man’s impending execution was concerned. After several gruesome mishaps with the electric chair, including a man whose chest had burst into flames, Georgia had finally been ordered by the state supreme