Its just not fair! Thats what Babs Palmer said. And maybe she was right. I know its wasn't fair to drag me all the way out to Bedford Hills on a Friday night. Especially, when they weren't sure whether this show was going to hit the road or not.
Now, usually, the job of State Electrician is pretty predictable. You know in advance when your services will be needed. These services consist of maintaining and operating the State's electric chairs for a nominal fee. My name is Mickey Cochrane, by the way, State Electrician for the Empire State. Smilin' Mike to the "Corrections Professionals" hereabouts.
Sure the job has its surprises, but at least you can usually count on being home in time for dinner. Its almost boring, really. Unless you count that time I gave that domestic terrorist a "permanent wave". Some militia type planted a bomb under my front porch! Good thing it went off early in the morning. Any other time it might have got grandpa while he was at his whittlin' or our old hound dog duke while he was sunnin' over in the corner. The State paid for a new porch and Troopers kept a twenty four hour watch on us for a while. Things calmed down quick though. They always do.
Hey, lets get back to Babs Palmer! Millionaire socialite, with more upper crust friends than the Queen of England. Maybe you've heard of her? She made her money running her Husband's hotel empire. He gave it to her almost as a hobby and she made it big as they come. Babs wasn't what you'd picture when you heard the word socialite. She was small and trim with a killer pair of legs. Her dark hair was cropped short and her eyes glittered like diamonds. At least, from what I could see on TV.
Now, Mister Palmer was a hard case, mean as a snake. Nobody even batted and eye when it came out that he'd actually offed a couple of his people. Fed 'em to the fishes when they screwed up on him. Well, New York ain't the Death Star and you can't just choke the life outta your flunkies. So, Mr Palmer got arrested. He did manage as graceful exit though. His ticker gave out on him right before his trial.
Mrs Palmer, Babs to her friends, was left holding the stinking, green Hefty bag. The DA claimed that she was his equal partner and that she knew damn well what was going on. She pleaded ignorance saying that she was a mere pawn. According to Babs she was kept like a prize mushroom by the evil Mr. Palmer. Most folks figured that the truth was somewhere in the middle. They also figure that the middle still makes her guilty enough to get The Chair. So the Empire State was getting ready to dispense some Justice. On a Friday night. Just so I'd miss Flash Gordon.
I might not have minded even that, but I just couldn't abide all the hub bub that was going on. Believe it or not, the hours just before an execution are usually pretty quiet in the Death House. Babs Palmer should have been making her peace with whatever gods she figured were up there while I got the Death Chamber and The Chair ready to receive her.
Not Ol' Babs Palmer! Oh, no, not her. There were people talkin' and doors slammin'. And if you know prisons, doors really slam. And the sounds coming out of the Death Cell. Geezus. Babs wasn't giving up on a last minute reprieve. From the bits and pieces of talk I could hear she was tryin to get some help from several different "gentleman callers". Those callers shouldn't even have been allowed in the Death House. But Babs had money and money is power, even if you're hours from the electric chair. So, in they came to her. Could they help her out of her dire straits? Who knew?
How many would she have to "see"? Would anyone really help her? Were they there to help or was it something else? At this point, did it even matter? No, probably not. But as long as she was probably on her way out why not have some fun before the clock struck twelve?

There wasn't time for me to worry whether Babs was having any luck. I still had alot of work to do before Midnight. The Death Chamber at Bedford Hills ain't my favorite. I'm used to working in big places. Sing Sing for instance. Now, theres a Death Chamber. Nice glass partition, big ol' chair, cables the size of anacondas.
Bedford Hills? Well, maybe its the influence of the Ladies, but you could call the room intimate. Its small, maybe 20' by 10'. Walls are whitewashed, floors are hardwood, dark from use and a thick coat of floor polish. There was room for half a dozen observers, no more. There were six wooden chairs sitting about ten feet from the electric chair itself. Too close for comfort. Their's or mine. The entrance was set up so that Babs would be able reach out and touch the last witness on the right as she passed on her way to the Hot Seat. Too close.
The Chair itself was small. Well, smaller than the ones at the men's prisons. It was meant for women so that wasn't a problem. What did bother me was that the cabling was smaller. I would be using lower voltages. Less juice may be okay for a smaller person, but I don't like to take chances.
So I was up there checking the wires and connections. It wouldn't do to have any unexpected resistance to the current. I had to make sure that everything was in optimal operating condition. There was no margin for error. I brought my own electrodes with me, as I always did. It took me a couple of minutes to hook up the head piece and then a couple more to attach the calf electrode to the chair. When I was satisfied, I began checking voltages.
This just happened to the very same time that Babs was having one of her more "energetic" visitors. I opened the small gold padlock that kept the switch in the off position. I dropped the lock into my shirt pocket and flipped the red switch to "operate". My volt meter jumped and then steadied right where I wanted it. Bang, bang, bang under my feet. Was that the headboard of her bed?
Yeah, the Death Cell was right under the Death Chamber. I didn't like that either. Why make the condemned walk up a flight of stairs to get to The Chair? I was told that this was supposed to keep the prisoner away from upsetting sights or sounds until it unavoidable. Eh, as the kids say, whatever. It was a good thing that The Chair is on a different circuit than the rest of the building. Because Babs would have been getting have been getting an "upsetting" light show right in the middle of her "meeting".

Everything was as ready as it could be in the Death Chamber. The clock on the wall was just hitting eight pm. It was the same clock I'd be watching with my finger on the switch. At exactly 12:01am I'd flip it down and send the current surging through Mrs. Palmer's tightly strapped body. The same body that was being used to good effect just beneath my feet.
For a small chair, this one had alot of straps. More than it needed, in my opinion. It was meant to prevent the condemned from putting up much of a struggle. This spared the witnesses a bit. So, the news stories the next day weren't quite so lurid. Made everyone happy. Well, except for the Guest of Honor.
And me. All those straps just meant it would take longer to get Babs ready once she was in the chair. I was glad I didn't have to do that work. Two of the guards would fasten her to the chair. It was still my job to attach the electrodes. And, so, I'd be the one to actually hood Babs. Once I dropped the black cloth in front of her face everyone would know that we were ready to go.
But that all was four hours in the future, if it happened at all. So now, instead of Babs, I had time to kill. One last look around the Death Chamber and I stepped out into the ante room. This was where the witnesses would wait before being shown to their seats. Now, the only occupant was Jimmy, one of the guards. He was sitting behind a grey metal desk reading an old Maxim magazine. He looked up when I walked out of the Chamber.
"Test go okay?" he asked.
"Smooth as a gravy sandwich," I assured him.
"Good," he nodded. "This is going to be a big one."
"Seems pretty routine," I offered.
"Nah," he dismissed me with a wave of his hand. "Sexy Socialite gets the Hot Seat? Instant history."
"National Enquirer history maybe, " I chuckled.
"Out of all your executions, this'll be the one they remember, Mike."
"Don't wish that on me!"
"You'll be famous," he said, with a grin.
"Just make sure theres a good dial tone on that thing," I fired back, pointing to the big, black ancient telephone on the desk. "Shes workin' hard to get that call."
"Yeah, I heard that," he agreed. "Good enough to cheat your Chair.?"
"Time will tell, Jimmy, time will tell."

Eleven o'clock. Straight up.You've heard of the "Eleventh Hour Reprieve"? Well, this was when it would happen. Or not. My mouth was dry and my heart was thudding, just a little. The Eleventh Hour. This is when time, in the Death House, starts to get compressed. Along with the electrician's nerves. Things were going to start happening.
Forget one minute after midnight, the execution would begin in this hour. About a quarter to twelve, actually, when the Warden, two guards and I would march down to the Death Cell and fetch Mrs. Palmer. Before the eleventh hour was done Babs would be fastened to the Electric Chair and hooded. Only the Final Act, the electrocution, would be carried out in the new day. Precisely as 12:01am.
The bang-bang on the metal steps startled me. What? We were they getting started without me? Then it hit me. Witnesses! I watched with interest as they were escorted into the ante chamber. All members of the print media. Which was just as well. This sort of intimate setting didn't lend itself to grandstanding talking heads from TV news. Most of them ended up putting on more of a show than the execution itself. Screaming, fainting, running out of the Chamber like their clothes were on fire. I didn't need the circus.
I nodded to the men as they stepped through the door. I knew them and they knew me. We were just fellas with a job to do. They made mine easier and I tried to do the same for them. There was only one reporter I didn't recognize and she was the last one through the door. She was a young woman with long, dark hair cascading around her white, too white face. Her eye were like saucers. A deer in the headlights, thats what she was in that prison.
"Writer from Cosmo," Jimmy offered. "Babs' personal choice to record her last moments."
"Ah, I see."
Well, she was either going to win the Pulitzer Prize or be scared for life, maybe both. Maybe like Thomas Hardy, she'd turn this execution into a classic novel. I'd be immortalized in print. Yep.
Jimmy welcomed the writers offering them a seat on the hard wooden benches that lined the wall. None of the men accepted his invitation to a cup of coffee. Even the old timers were wired enough now not to need a caffeine crutch.
I kept my distance. Mainly because I didn't want to be asked stupid questions. The young Lady caught my attention again. Her big saucers were fixed on the Death Chamber door. She was shaking.

Eleven thirty-five. I don't mind telling you that this paticular Mike did feel much like smilin'. There was a knot in my gut. Not like me at all. I'm usually a cool cucumber. The heavy tromp of footsteps on the metal stair made me jump. Even the Warden, when he appeared in the door, looked a little green. He didn't say a word. We stood. I looked over to where the young reporter sat in the Death Chamber. She was just about "the whiter shade of pale". I mouthed the words "Here we go". She tried to smile but it didn't come out very well.
We followed the Warden out to the stairs. There the Doc and a guard were waiting for us. The guard as carrying a waist chain and cuffs. Babs would sport this jewelry as she walked the Last Mile. It was regulation and it was ridiculous. All it would accomplish is to slow us down in the Death Chamber. Best policy is to make sure the interval between entering the Death Chamber and throwing the switch is a small as possible. My legs were stiff as I followed the procession down the stairs. And it wasn't from sitting. My knees shook. I tried to hang back as much as possible. I didn't want Babs to see me. I'm not even sure why.
Turns out, I shouldn't have worried. I couldn't have gotten closer to her than average joe behind the ropes at the Oscars gets to Angelina Jolie. The Death Cell was full even now. Why did they allow that? Her lawyer was still there in addition to a woman, her personal assistant, and our own Matron. Babs was a small, attractive woman with short, dark hair. Dressed all in black, she seemed comfortable as the center of attention.
"Mrs. Palmer, " the Warden said. "Its Time."
"Mrs Palmer will be ready in a moment!" her assistant snapped.
Babs simply refused to acknowledge the Warden. Her bearing was, well, regal. The assistant took a pair of black, open toed pumps from a shoe box and set them on the floor in front of her. Babs held the assistant's hand to steady herself as she stepped out of fuzzy, pink slippers and into the severe black heels.
"You may proceed," the assistant informed the Warden.
The two guards stepped forward. Babs lifted her arms in accommodation and watched impassively as the heavy steel chain circled her waist. Her gaze shifted to infinity as she stared ahead while the guards brought her arms down and cuffed her wrists to the chain.
"Lets get going," the Warden said.
Babs had put us a bit behind schedule. One guard and the Doc fell in behind him. The Matron took Mrs. Palmer's elbow and lead her out of the cell. The second guard followed them. I brought up the rear.
Behind us the Lawyer and the Assistant stood together in the cell. Both of them looked lost. Without Babs they seemed to be a loose ends. But Mrs. Palmer was our problem now. We turned the corner and they were out of sight.
The pace of the procession was slow and measured. Mrs. Palmer's stride was steady even in the high heels. At the base of the stairs the Warden stopped. He turned and spoke a few words to the Matron. He seemed to be asking if Babs could mount the stairs. Her calm bearing made the question hardly worth asking. In my opinion.
The Matron nodded and we continued our little parade. As Babs mounted the stairs, I noticed that her skirt was rather short. Nice legs, for a mature woman. I glanced up again and, to my horror, she caught my eye. There was satisfaction in her gaze. She'd caught me checking her out. She still had power over men, electric chair not withstanding.
We reached the top of the stairs and crossed to the anti-room. The guard at the desk stood as we entered. Again the Warden stopped. Right at the open door of the Death Chamber. It was almost as if he was hesitant to continue. Come on, come on, I thought to myself. You're just making this harder on all of us. A few seconds, a few hours, a few lifetimes went by and then he continued into the Death Chamber.

Mrs. Palmer calmly, almost confidently, stepped across the threshold and into the Death Chamber. The Matron turned her to face The Chair. It was then, and only then, that Babs hesitated. Who could blame her? The instrument of her doom was only steps away. Dark polished wood, cruel leather straps seeming to grow out of it like tentacles. They reached out for her to embrace her and restrain her death throes.
The Matron looked at her in silence. All of us would be patient with Babs in this moment. The room was utterly quiet as seconds ticked by. Finally the Warden nodded to the leading guard. He took Mrs. Palmer's other elbow. Along with the Matron, he urged Babs forward. For the first time, I detected a wobble in her knees. Her heels clicked loudly on the hardwood floor as she advanced the last few steps to The Chair. They turned her back to The Chair. The guard swiftly unlocked the cuffs and the waist chain. He handed them to the Matron. She stepped aside. Now, the first guard came up. Both took Mrs Palmer's elbows and eased her back into The Chair. Mouth half open, she gazed about in helpless terror.
Now was the time, that for all concerned, things must move quickly. Mrs. Palmer's quaking knees barely held on long enough for her to reach the seat. Immediately, she leaned forward with her palms flat on the arms of The Chair. She started to rise. The guards kept a firm pressure on her shoulders. Babs settled into the seat and the guards went to work. One leaned in from the right threaded and buckled the strap across her hips while the man on the left tightened the chest strap under her ample breast. Babs was still and quiet. Her glassy eyes gazed toward infinity. Her hands trembled violently and her face was a vivid red. For a moment I thought she was going to have a stroke and do my work for me. The men quickly strapped her wrists and her forearms just below the elbow. Finally the men bent and opened her legs slightly, placing her ankles in their leather confines. The straps held her slim ankles in a loose embrace. The guards were done, quick and clean.
Okay, now it was my turn to go to work. I'm not ashamed to tell you that my heart was pounding. I had a job to do and, as much for Babs as anyone else, I had to do it quickly. I squatted next to The Chair. With an inward cringe I reached up just under the hem of Babs' skirt to find the top of her sheer, black stockings. I hooked my index and middle finger under the elastic band and slid the soft nylon down her smooth, white leg. I let it fall and make a shimmering puddle over the leather strap below.
I dipped the small sponge in the pan of saline solution next to The Chair. When I pressed it against her calf goose flesh rose on Babs' leg. I wrapped the electrode cuff around her calf. With care, I made sure that the electrode covered the sponge. Water from the sponge trickled down her leg as I strapped the cuff tight. It must not come loose as she jerked and spasmed during the electrocution.
One more bit, one more thing. The hardest thing. The helmet. I had to be close to Babs, really close. My hand was shaking as I dripped the sponge in the saline. I stood up and placed the sponge over the small shaved spot on the crown of her head. She didn't react at all. I picked up the helmet and placed it over her head. My heart was pounding painfully now. It fit well enough, to my great relief. There was only one small adjustment to make with the velcro strap across her forehead. I never looked at her face. She closed her eyes, but remained passive as I tightened the strap under her chin. Done for the moment, I stepped back.
The Warden stepped forward.
"Barbara Ann Palmer, you have been convicted of murder in the first degree by a jury of your peers. In accordance with the laws of New York State you've been sentenced to Death by Electrocution. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?"
"No," came the toneless, distant reply.
The Warden looked at me. "Proceed."
I took the mask from the back of the Chair. It was made of soft, black nylon. A strip of velcro would attach it the helmet. Babs stiffened as I draped it over her face. She made a small sound as I pressed the velcro together fixing it in place. The Chair creaked. She trembled. Barbara Palmer was masked.
"Please, hurry," she whispered.
I would try. I stepped to the switch. A small, gold key unlocked the padlock in the switch. I turned the key, took the lock out and dropped it in my pocket. Finger on the red lever, I turned to the Warden.
Next to me, Babs' body was tense against the straps. She shook with terror. Her panting breath moved the mask. The Warden looked at the clock. It was past twelve. The new day was here. Mrs. Palmer's last day. There was no reason to delay. He looked at me and nodded.
I pushed the lever down. A low hum filled the room. Babs spasmed against the straps. Her body stiffened and jerked, her breasts bounced. The leather creaked. At first, the girl reporter seemed taken aback by the violence of Mrs Palmer's reaction to the current. She didn't realize that was a sign this was a "good" execution. Soon though, her eyes got big and she started scribbling in her notepad. She wasn't missing a thing. Steam rose from both of the sponges as the electricity heated them. Not smoke, not burning, but the clean, white steam of a good flow. Babs continued to spasm as the electrocution continued. Her hands were balled into fists, her right foot had come half out of her shoe. The second hand turned. Two minutes. I flipped the lever up. Mrs Palmer's body went limp like a puppet with the strings cut.
The Doctor stepped forward. His stethoscope went to Babs' chest. He listened for a long moment, but I had no doubts. He looked at the Warden and nodded.
"Time of Death 12:05am," the Warden said.
He looked at me and nodded. Enough praise for a job well done. I would leave Babs to the tender attentions of others now. The witnesses stood. I followed them out the door. The girl reporter was waiting for me. She had some questions for the State Electrician.

 

A good, plain story. Thanks!

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