The Executioner's Song (49 page)

“Well, Tex,” said Gibbs, “crank up.” Gary could no more yodel than Gibbs could knit. So Gary just hollered over shucks he was lying, couldn’t oo-lay, oo-lay-oo to save his butt. All three began to laugh, They had a good night sending notes back and forth. In the morning, she got out. Gary’s depression was back.

September I could not sleep for the third nite running. Somethings happening to me. I dozed briefly last nite and awoke in the middle of a dream about a severed head. I can hear the tumbrel wheels creaking again and the swift slide of the blade —in my dream I was being interviewed by a female Mont Court parole.officeress or whatever, dreams take their own course, and pretty soon a doctor or the male Mont Court, or somebody, came back.

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I’ve told you that I haven’t slept lately-the ghosts have scended and set upon me with a force I didn’t believe the smack ‘em down but they sneak back and climb in my ear demons that they are tell me foul jokes, they want to sap my drink my strength, drain my hope leave me derelict bere.ft of hope empty alone .foul demon mother.fuckers with dirty .furry bodies pering vile things in the nite chortling and laughing with a glee to see me toss sleepless in durance truly vile they plan on me in a shrieking mad fury when I leave with their hideous long toe and nger claws teeth dripping with rank saliva mucous thick yellow green. Dirty inhuman beasts jackals rumor monger plague ridden unhappy lost ghostly .foul things unacceptable creeping crawling red eyed bat eared beasts.

They won’t let the of’ boy have a nites sleep. Goddamned mother fuckers.

I need our silver sword against them. They’re slippery .fuckers.

The demon ghosts trick tease tantalize bite and claw scratch and screech weave a web o.f oldness oldness pull in harness like oxen a wood creaking tumbrel a gray wood tumbrel through the cobbled streets of my ancient mind.

They’ve attacked me before we have had several bouts humped on me like iends when I was on Prolixin .for months I endured a constant onslaught of demon fury oooooooO00000000000 H I

Left me drained and 5° pounds lighter but stronger than will ever be.

they like it when I hurt

And I have been burning lately

I hate to say it but in the last week they almost got me came the closest they ever have and they ever will.

Gibbs had a habit of waking up in the middle of the night cigarette. There, in the endless wee hours, he lit up and lay do some quiet thinking about his private situation. All of a Gary said, “You actually did it, didn’t you, Gibbs?” He replied carefully, “Did what?” Gary said, “You actually lit that motherfucker, didn’t you?”

In the morning, Gary said, “You talk in your sleep, Gibbs. You say a few words and then you start playing with your teeth. Sounds like you got a dice game going on down there.” Gibbs got a little paranoid. He wasn’t altogether happy about saying things in his sleep. If it was the wrong thing, Gilmore might decide to separate his heart from his lungs.

All that day, Gary’s depression got worse, and the next night about 3 A.M., when Gibbs woke up again, Gary said, “Are you okay?” Gibbs replied, “I think so. I’m not sure.” Made a point of trying to laugh even though he was gasping and coughing from his cigarette. “You going to be all right, man?” asked Gilmore, “need an iron lung maybe?”

Gibbs was silent. He was just trying to control his wheezes, Out of the silence, Gilmore said, “In the morning, we’ll tell the guard we can’t get along. That way he’ll move you.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Gibbs.

“Yeah,” said Gilmore, “I think I’m going to hang it up. If I do, you’re better off out of here. They might just try to drop a murder rap on you.” He nodded. “Ihey’re going to be a mite disappointed if they don’t receive the self-satisfaction of trying me on my two hot ones.”

Gibbs nodded. “If that’s what you want,” he said, “I’ll go so far as spitting at the guard or throwing something, and take the hole.” “Yeah,” said Gary, “I appreciate that. I really might have to ask you to leave tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” said Gibbs, “I’ll do it.”

In the morning, however, Gilmore said to hold off. He wanted to see if word would come from Nicole that day, In the afternoon, sure enough, a letter did arrive. He read it and said, ‘“Never mind. I’ve decided to wait.” Gibbs couldn’t get over how jubilant he was.

Gary spent the afternoon going through her old mail,, picking up this one and that one, finally he said, “Here’s one to read if you like.” Gibbs noticed it had little spots of blood on the pages. He felt embar-

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rassed and just skim-read it, but couldn’t help taking notice of one part where Nicole said, “how warm and nice it felt, my life being drained from my body.”

Gibbs was careful not to say anything or show any emotion, but to himself he thought, “She’s either the most sincere broad I ever heard of, or one of the dingiest, ding-a-ling chicks in the world.” Gilmore said, “What do you think?” Gibbs replied, “I can’t really say because I’ve never been in your position, but evidently she’s dedicated to you.”

Now that Gilmore was out of his depression, Gibbs decided to keep him out of it, and started talking about how easy it would be to escape. Just get a hacksaw blade. The jail was old and the bars didn’t have a stainless steel core inside. In fact you could see where somebody had already cut a couple and they’d had to weld them back in place.

Gary decided to send word to Nicole to tell Sterling Baker. He could do the job right at the shoe repair. Gibbs said you had to separate the outer sole from the base, insert two blades, then carefully restitch the shoe by hand, using the same holes. Any shoemaker could do it.

Gary approved of the idea one hundred percent. Started a letter to Nicole explaining how to go about it. Since he didn’t want any jailer to look over what was written, he gave it to Mike Esplin to mail for him after the lawyer dropped by to discuss his case.

jail-they don’t x-ray shoes, they don’t have a metal detector-I could be out of here that very nite.

Do this for me Angel. I will come and get you and we will go. And I don’t want to find any man with you when I get there. Get me that blade. I’ll come in the nite and take you away and for whatever its worth for as long as it can last before I am caught — or killed we will live laff love sing be together come together.

Like we’re supposed to be.

September 13 I stayed so fucked up on that beer and Fiorinol I’m afraid I never really gave you a good luck —makes me feel bad —wish I could luck you now when my body is on the natural, clean and pure and not full of booze and Fiorinol. I would lay you on your back and put some vasalene in your bootie and fuck you there until we both came —and then take you to the bath tub and frolic in the water with you for a while and scrub each others back and butts and arms and legs and balls and cock and pink cunt and tell you a story while we both soaked and you smoked a cigarette.

Baby we’ve got each other—that’s all that matters my fair freckled angel. The bringer of the silver sword. Baby hold me tonite against your naked body wrap it all around me and luck me in your mind and in your thoughts and in your dreams come to me when you leave your fair body in sleep and enter my heart and soul my mind my body take me into your soft warm wet love into your beautiful mouth into your heart your soul your very essence put my hands on your bootie and go wild with me abandon it to me so that in sleep and in all that is we may be as one something beyond imagination.

September 12 Dearest Fairest

I have something I want you to do. If you will do this and do it right I believe that I will soon take you away-to Canada, perhaps — the Pacific Northwest — somewhere. Away. Together me and you and your kids. Here is what I want: a carbon steel high quality hacksaw blade. They sell them in hardware stores. I need a pair of shoes size 1 i. Sterling can put the hacksaw blade inside the sole of the shoes. It would be cool if perhaps Ida, she’s above any suspicion, were to bring the shoes along with some clothes to me on a visiting day or the lawyer Craig or Mike this is a hick town mickey mouse Once again she decided she had never been loving him more. His sexy letters got her so excited, it was playing hell with her decision to be true. “You’re so full of bullshit,” she said on her next visit, “I bet you can’t even get a hard-on, and here you are writing things like this.” He just grinned back. She was loving him.

Nicole spoke of the hacksaw blades. She had tried a little hardware store and asked for carbon steel. The old guy behind the counter saw she didn’t know the size and didn’t seem to care ‘cause she bought the two kinds in stock. He gave her a funny look, and

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said, “Who are you trying to break out of jail?” She had a hard time keeping a straight face.

Now, she had taken the blades over to Sterling. He wasn’t, she told Gary, too enthused. First, he said he would, then decided he’d have to think about it. A couple of days had gone by. He was still thinking.

Gilmore owned the best sense of hearing Gibbs had ever come across. If there was a case of a man with bionic ears, it was Gary Gilmore. While it was at least ninety feet from their cell out to the front office, ninety feet of turning down three different halls and walkways, none theless Gilmore could listen to them book somebody, and tell you the name and the charge. It sure kept him from sleeping. Gibbs had no ticed that Gilmore would only average two to three hours out of the twenty-four. He didn’t seem to need more.

Cahoon would have breakfast at 6:3o, and Gibbs would still be in a drowse, but Gary would be up and eating. Then he would write a letter to Nicole, or read one of his books. He did this in the morning while it was peaceful through the jail.

From time to time Gilmore would speak of how unusual it was to find a man who had done as much time as Gibbs and didn’t like to read. Gibbs figured he had gotten through three books in his life: The Godfather, The Green Felt Jungle, Vendetta. Now, Gary handed him The Reincarnation of Peter Proud. Said it would give Gibbs a clue to the hereafter. Gibbs read it to make Gilmore feel good, but that didn’t turn him into no believer in reincarnation.

They got into a discussion about Charlie Manson. Manson had psychic powers, Gilmore explained. “I know he made Squeaky Fromme take a shot at President Ford.”

“You actually believe such stuff?” asked Gibbs.

“Yeah,” Gilmore said, “you can control people with your mind.” Gibbs felt apologetic. “I don’t believe in nothing I just can’t see.” “Well,” Gary said, “Manson put her up to it.”

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“How?” asked Gibbs. “They didn’t let Manson have a visit from the girl.”

“No,” Gilmore said, “Manson was using psychic powers.” Gibbs didn’t see it.

Later that evening, Gilmore was heating water for coffee. They would roll toilet paper into a doughnut shape and light the middle. It produced a steady flame that lasted long enough to get the water to boil. Their heating pet was made out of a Dixie cup with the alumi num foil from their baked potatoes wrapped around it. For a handle, they tied the ends of a piece of string to two holes on the rim, and held the cup above the flame.

Gibbs was lying on his bunk watching Gary do this when he had the thought: “I’d sure laugh if the string broke.” Just then, the string did catch fire, the cup fell, the water spilled. Gibbs let it out. He laughed so hard he rolled up in his bunk like a potato bug, and pop-popped a string of farts. Gilmore looked at him with disgust, then threw the cup, string and all, into the toilet.

“You are,” said Gilmore to Gibbs, “the fartingest motherfucker I ever saw.”

“I,” said Gibbs, “can fart at will.” He laughed his ass off at the

remark and gave another. Always laughed like a maniac after a fart. “Well,” said Gilmore, “they don’t stink. I’ll say that for you.” “I’ve always been a toot-tooting son of a bitch.”

“Why don’t you save ‘em for a week,” said Gilmore, “and make an album?”

After Gibbs caught his breath, he told him, “Hey, Gary, I wasn’t being ignorant about your misfortune. It’s just I was thinking it was going to happen. Right before it did.”

Gary lit up. “That,” he said, “is psychic powers.” Gibbs wanted to say, It will take more than a broken string to give me religion, but he kept his mouth shut.

Still, Gibbs did have a kid sister living in Provo who was married to a fellow named Gilmore. When Gibbs heard of Gilmore’s arrest, meaning Gary’s, he wondered at first if it was his brother-in-law, whom he had never met.

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Gary, hearing that, said, “Did you ever think how much we have in common? Maybe we were meant to meet.” Gibbs thought, “Here we go with reincarnation again.”

Gary made a list: they had both spent a lot of time in prison, Gibbs in Utah and Wyoming, himself in Oregon and Illinois. Prior to prison, they had each gone to Reform School. Both were considered hardcore convicts. Both had done a lot of time in Maximum Security. Both had been shot in the left hand whilst in the commission of a crime. Neither of them cared for their fathers. Both fathers were heavy drinkers and dead now. Gilmore and Gibbs both loved their mothers, who were religious Mormons and lived in small trailer courts. Neither Gilmore nor Gibbs had anything to do with the rest of each immediate family. On top of that, the first two letters on both their last names were “GI” although neither had ever seen the armed services. Their first experience with drugs was in the early ‘6os and they both used the same drug, Ritalin, a rare type of speed not in common use.

“Had enough?” Gilmore asked.