The Executioner's Song (48 page)

CarS.

By the time he was 4, Gilmore said, he’d broken into 50 houses. Maybe more.

Atlanta, Leavenworth and Marion. Not legends, but still heavies. Gil more carried himself like he was well regarded. Of course, Murder One gives a man standing. When they ask you, “What do you get for killing?” the answer is “self-satisfaction.” Clears the mind.

His ring, Gibbs told Gilmore, had done outboard motors, inboard motors, house trailers, and trailer homes. Don’t get nervous when they see you carrying the stuff. They had a laugh over this. “Half a million dollars’ worth,” said Gibbs, “going right down the Interstate.”

First time Gibbs went to prison out here, he was behind a 2˝-million-dollar forgery. He took, Gibbs said, 2i counts. Next time he went back was when he blew up a cop’s car in Salt Lake. Captain Haywood’s car.

Gave him 15 years when he was 22, Gilmore said. Did them at Oregon and Marion. Gibbs nodded. Marion had the credentials. Flat tened i years consecutively, Gilmore told him. Probably 4 years altogether in Solitary. Gilmore showed real pedigree.

He was in for rubber rafts, Gibbs told him. Stole

them in two weeks out of J.C. Penney’s in Utah Valley, Salt Valley, $39 apiece. Chain saws same way. Made two or hundred bucks a day. Just couldn’t manage his money, that’s all.

My problem, too, allowed Gilmore. He had also done a boosting at J.C. Penney’s.

“If you get out before me,” said Gilmore, “can you bring back some hacksaw blades?”

“Anybody would, I probably would,” said Gibbs. In fact, thought Gibbs, he might. He had as much loyalty in one direction as in the other. He was the man in the old saying. “You got blue eyes, one blew north, one blew south,” Except it was Gilmore had the blue eyes, He liked Gilmore. A lot of class.

“Hey,” said Gilmore, “if you could figure a way to get me out of here, I’d pull any job you want. Just keep enough money for me and my old lady to leave the country, and I’ll give you the rest.”

“If I wanted out of this jail,” said Gibbs, “I’d have people come take me out.”

“Well, around here, I don’t know people,” said Gilmore.

“If anybody would, I would,” repeated Gibbs.

“Yeah,” said Gibbs, “the only difference between you and me when I do it, I have two shoulder men to run interference. come after, my big boys say, ‘What are you chasing this guy for?’

Gibbs could recognize that Gilmore didn’t know any heavies of Salt Lake. Didn’t know the Barbaro brothers, Len Rafts, Ron Mardu, or Gus Latagapolos. “You’re talking heavies, then,” Gibbs.

Gilmore spoke of the Aryan Brotherhood and his

there. Gibbs could recognize some heavy names out of Oregon

The cell they were in was divided into two parts, a small dining area with a table and benches, and to the back, away from the bars, a toilet, a sink, a shower, and six bunks. On the other side of the bars was a corridor that led to the next tank. That was used as the wom en’s cell. When no women were there, it was the pen for drunks. Their first night, they had a drunk next door who kept yelling.

Gilmore answered as if he were the jailer. “What do you want?” he bellowed. The drunk said he had to make a phone call. Had to get bond. Gilmore told him no Judge would give it. Why, the little boy he

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had hit in the trailer court died. What little boy, said the drunk? Those are your charges: drunk driving, auto homicide, hit and run. Gibbs loved it. The drunk believed Gilmore. Spent the rest of the night crying to himself, instead of yelling for the jailer.

Gilmore began to do his exercises. That was something, he Gibbs, he did every night. Had to, in order to tire himself out enou to get a little sleep.

Speaking of health, he expected the death sentence.

“A good lawyer could get you Second Degree. They parole Sec ond Degree in Utah in six years. Six years, you’re on the street.”

“I can’t afford a good lawyer,” said Gilmore. “The State pays for my lawyers.” He looked down at Gibbs from his bunk and said, “My lawyers work for the same people that are going to sentence me.”

He did a hundred sit-ups, took a break, then did jumping clapping his hands over his head. Gibbs lay on his bunk and and lost count. Gilmore must have done two or three hundred. he took another break and tried push-ups but could only get twenty-five. His left hand was still weak, he explained.

Then he stood on his head for ten minutes. What’s the

of that, asked Gibbs. Oh, said Gilmore, it gets the blood circulating your head, good for your hair. He wanted, Gilmore added, to try keep as much youthfulness in appearance as possible. Gibbs Every con he knew, including himself, had a complex about What the hell, the youthful years were all lost. “My personal ion,” Gibbs said, “is that you are a young-looking person for 35 old. I am five years younger, and look five years older than you.”

“It’s your coffin nails,” said Gilmore, sniffing the smoke. He picked a top bunk as far away as possible from Gibbs, who was ing in the bottom bed across.

“You don’t smoke?” said Gibbs.

“I don’t believe in supporting any habit you have to pay for,” Gary. “Not if you spend your time in lockup. They had a cell in tion named after me.”

The drunk in the next tank was whimpering piteously.

said, “Yeah, the Gary M. Gilmore Room,” and they both laughed. tening to the drunk cry was as comfortable as lying in bed on a met night hearing trees rustlel Yes, Gilmore told him, he had put so much time in Segregation that he almost never earned from a prison job. And there sure wasn’t money coming from Any luxuries allowed in the can, he had learned to do without. sides,” he said, “smoking is bad for your health. Of course, s of health, . ,” He looked at Gibbs.

“They keep taking me,” said Gilmore, “to be interviewed by psychia trists. Shit, they come up with the stupidest questions. Why, they ask, did I park my car to the side of the gas station? ‘If I parked in front,’ 1 said to them, ‘you’d ask me why I didn’t park to the Side.’ ” He snorted at that. “I could put on an act, have them saying, ‘Yeah, he’s crazy,’ but I won’t.”

Gibbs understood. That offended a true man’s idea of himself. “I am telling them that the killings were unreal. That I saw ev erything through a veil of water.” Now they could hear the drunk moaning again. ” ‘It was like I was in a movie,’ I say to them, ‘and I couldn’t stop the movie.’ “

“Is that how it came down?” asked Gibbs.

“Shit, no,” said Gilmore. “I walked in on Benny Bushnell and I said to that fat son of a bitch, ‘Your money, son, and your life.’ “

They both cracked. It was funny as hell. Right there in the middle of the night, in this hot fucking two-bit asshole jail, with the drunk slobbering in his shit and counting his sins, they couldn’t stop laughing. “Pipe down in there,” said Gilmore to the drunk. “Save your crying for the Judge.” The drunk was one wet sorrow. Like a puppy first night in a new house. “Hell,” said Gilmore, “the morning after I killed Jensen, I called up the gas station and asked them if they had any job openings.” Again they cracked.

Gilmore, tonight, would break off his arm ff he could make a good joke. Cut off his head and hand it to you, if his mouth would spit nails. “What’s your last best request when they’re hanging you?” he asked, and answered, “Use a rubber rope.” Pretended to be bounc-

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ing on the end, he put his face in a scowl, and said, “Guess I’ll hanging around for a while.”

Gibbs thought he’d piss his pants. “What,” asked Gilmore, your last request when they put you in the gas chamber?”

Gibbs wheezed. “Why,” Gilmore said, “ask them for laughing gas.”

“That is enough,” said Gibbs, “to choke you up.”

For that matter, he was almost strangling on his own phle Smoking gave him a dozen oysters every meal. The kid with phlegm-pot. Gilmore asked, “What do you say to the firing

“I,” said Gibbs, “ask them for a bulletproof vest.” They laul back and forth like an animal going in circles and getting “Yeah,” said Gibbs, “I heard that one.”

Gilmore had a quality Gibbs could recognize. He

Gibbs believed he, himself, could always get near somebody use the side that was like them. Gilmore did the same. Around other tonight, they were like boiler-plated farts. Filthy devils.

No sooner did he think this, than Gilmore got serious. “Hey,” said to Gibbs, “they’re figuring to give me the death penalty, have an answer for them. I’m going to check into the State hole card. I’m going to make them do it. Then we’ll see if they as many guts as I do.”

Gibbs couldn’t decide if the guy was a bullshitter. He couldn’t sualize doing something like that.

“Yes,” said Gilmore, “I’ll tell them to do it without a hood.

at night if it’s outside, or in a dark room with tracer bullets.

I can see those babies coming!”

The drunk was screaming, “I didn’t mean to kill the little boy, Judge, I’ll never drive again.”

“Knock it off,” shouted Gilmore.

Yeah, he said to Gibbs, the only legitimate fear a man in his tion could have while facing the firing squad was that one of marksmen might be a friend or relative of one of the victims. said Gilmore, “they might shoot at my head. I don’t like that. I perfect twenty-twenty, and I want to donate my eyes.”

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This guy was a roulette wheel, decided Gibbs. Just depended which number came up. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life,” said Gilmore from the upper bunk, “and a great many errors in judgment the last couple of months, but this I will say, Gibbs. I am in my element now. I have never misjudged a person who has done time.” “I hope you have a favorable impression of me.” “I believe you are a good convict,” said Gilmore.

On that high praise, no higher praise, they went to sleep. It was three in the morning. They would bullshit until three every morning.

September 9 I’m not a weak man. I’ve never been a punk, I’ve never been a rat, I’ve always fought-I ain’t the toughest son of a bitch around but I’ve always stood up and been counted among the men. I’ve done a few things that would make a lot ofmotherfuckers tremble and I’ve endured some shit that nobody should have to go thru. But what I want you to understand, little girl, is that you hold my heart and along with my heart I guess you have the power to crush me or destroy me. Please don’t. I have no defense for what I feel for you.

I can’t share you with any other man or men Nicole. I’d rather be dead and burning in some hell than have any other man be with you.

I can’t share you —I want all of you —

I have to go without fucking, you can too. Sorry to be crude but that’s true. We love each other and belong to each other let’s don’t ever hurt each other Nicole let’s don’t ever hurt each other.

This pain paralyzes me. I keep thinking of you being with somebody. I can’t help it. I have to chase the ugly pictures out of my mind. I don’t want anybody to kiss you or hold you or fuck you. You’re mine I love you.

You said on the last page of your letter that I will not have reason to hurt that way ever again I’m 35 fucking years old been locked up more than half my life. I should be a tough son of a bitch, all the things that have happened to me.

6

TELL ME

TELL ME

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[ THE EXECUTIONER’S SONG

But 1 can’t take being away from you — I miss you every min ute. And I cannot stand the thought of some man holding your naked

body and watching your eyes roll back sleeping in your arms.

I can’t share you-l won’t. You’ve got to be all mine. l don’t care that you say you have this crazy heart that won’t let you refuse any request to make another happy. I have a crazy heart too. And my crazy heart makes a request of your crazy heart —don’t refuse my request to be only mine in heart mind soul and body. Let me be the next and only man to have you.

God I want you baby baby baby

luck only me

don’t luck anybody else dont dont it hills me dont kill me Am I demanding too much?? Write and tell me —

TELL ME

GODDAMN IT

Fuck shit piss God Nicole

Tell me.

Wednesday and Sunday are too far apart — why don’t

write me morel?

Nicole don’t be with anybody else dont dont dont dont

dont

I’m really fucking this letter up

I’ve got to come to a conclusion and this is it. I’ve got to hava of you! With nobody can I share you. I love you.

I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE

I LOVE YOU

“

No, I ain’t drunk or loaded or nothing this is just me this letter that lacks beauty —just me Gary Gilmore thief and derer. Crazy Gary. Who will one day have a dream that he was a named GARY in 2oth century America and that there was very wrong.., but what was it and is it why things are so su shitty, to the max, as they used to say in 2oth century

And he’ll remember that there was something very beautiful that long ago Mormon mountain Empire and he’ll begin to dream dark red haired sort of green eyed elJn fox whose eyes rolled and could swallow all of his cock and who laughed and cried with him and didn’t care that his teeth were fucked up forever and who taught him how to luck girls again instead of his hand and pictures in Playboy.

Next night, they put a girl in the same tank where the drunk had been. She was also crying and Gary hollered over, Hey, sister, it can’t be all that bad. She immediately quieted down.

Gary found out her name was Connie, and when she inquired if he had a cigarette, Gibbs slid a pack down the hallway to her cell ar, d Connie thanked them.

They kept trying to talk but you had to holler loud, so Gary wrote a note and slid it over. Told her he was rather handsome, liked young girls, western music, and yodeling. Especially, he liked to yodel. She wrote back that she’d seen his picture in the newspaper and agreed he was good looking. Thanked him for being kind, and asked if he would yodel.