The Executioner's Song (9 page)

and said, “I guess you think I gobble like a pig, kinda quick.”

Vern said, “Yeah, I noticed that.”

Gary said, “Well, in prison you learn to eat in a hurry. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get your food, sit down and swallow it. Sometimes you just don’t get it.”

“Did you manage to get it?” asked Vern.

“Yeah, I worked in the. kitchen for a while. My job was to make the salad. Took five hours to make that much salad. I can’t touch the

stuff now.” ‘

‘“Ihat’s fine,” said Vern, “you don’t need to eat it.”

You re a pretty strong fellow, Vern, aren’t you?”

“Just the champ.”

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THE EXECUTIONER’S SONG

“Let’s arm wrestle,” said Gary. . Vern shook his head, but Ida sam, ahead, arm wrestle him. “Yeah, come on,” said Gary. He squinted at Vern: “You think you can take me?”

Vern said, “I don’t have to think. I can take you.”

“Well, I feel pretty strong today, Vern. What makes you think you can beat me?”

“I’m gonna make up my mind,” Vern said, “and I think I can do it.”

“Try it.”

“Well,” Vern said, “you eat your breakfast first.”

They got into it before the table was cleared. Vern kept eating his breakfast with his left hand, and arm wrestled with the other.

“Son of a bitch,” Gary said, “for an old bastard you’re pretty strong.”

Vern said. “You’re doing pitiful. It’s a good thing you finished your breakfast. I wouldn’t even give it to you now.”

When he got Gary’s arm halfway over, Vern set down his fork, picked up a few toothpicks and held them in his left hand. He said, “Okay, my friend, any time you want to say uncle, just quit. If you don’t, I’m going to jam your hand right on these toothpicks.”

Gary was straining with every muscle. He started giving karate yells. He even got half out of his seat, but it didn’t make much dif ference. Vern got him down on the point of the toothpicks. Gary quit.

“One thing I want to know, Vern. Would you really have stuck me if I hadn’t hollered uncle?”

“Yep, I told you I would, didn’t I?”

“Son of a gun. -, ry shook his hand.

A little later, Gary wanted to wrestle with the left arm. He lost again.

Then he tried finger wrestling. No one beat Vern at that.

“You know,” Gary said, “I don’t usually take a whipping very kindly.”

When Vern didn’t look away, Gary said, “Vern, you’re all right.” Vern wasn’t so sure how he felt about the whole thing.

Spencer McGrath had developed a few novel techniques in his field. He was able, for instance, to take old newspapers and produce high-quality insulation for homes and commercial buildings. At present, he was working on a plan to take in all the county garbage for recy cling. He had been trying to interest people in such projects for twenty years. Now, the field had begun to open up. Just two and a half years ago, Devon Industries in Orem arranged with Spencer McGrath to transfer his operation from Vancouver, Washington, to Utah County.

Spencer had fifteen people in his employ. They were engaged in building the machinery he would need to fulfill his contract with Devon Industries. It was a large contract and McGrath was working very hard. He knew it had become one of those times in a man’s life when he could advance his career and his finances ten years in two years. Or he could fail, and have gained very little beyond the knowl edge of how hard he could work.

So his social activities were minimal. Seven days a week, he worked from seven in the morning into the night. Once in a while, in the late spring, he would go water-skiing in Utah Lake, or have friends over for a barbecue, but for days in a row he wouldn’t even get home in time to see the ten o’clock news on TV.

Maybe he could have gotten away with less work, but it was Spencer’s idea that you gave the time that was necessary to each per son who came before you in the day. So it was natural that he not only kept an eye on Gilmore after he hired him, but talked to him quite a bit, and so far as he could see, nobody was trying to down grade him in any way. The men knew, of course, that he was an ex-con — Spencer thought it was only fair to them (and to Gary for that matter) to have it known-but they were a good crew. If anything, this kind of knowledge could work in Gilmore’s favor.

Yet it was all of a week before Spencer McGrath learned that Gary was walking to work whenever he couldn’t hitch a ride, and he only found out because there had been some snow that morning and Gilmore came in late. It had taken him longer to walk all the way.

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THE EXECUTIONER’S SONG THE FIRST MONTH

That got to Spencer. Gilmore had never told a soul. Such pride was the makings of decent stuff. McGrath made sure he had a ride home that night.

Later that day, they had a little talk. Gilmore wasn’t real anxious to get into the fact that he didn’t have a car while most people did. That got to Spencer too. He thought that with another paycheck or two, he could take Gary to Val J. Conlin, a used-car dealer he knew. Conlin sold cars for a little down and small weekly payments there after. Gilmore seemed to be appreciative of this conversation.

Monday, when he got into the shop, he told Spencer that the Drivers’ Bureau said he would have to take a training course unless he had a previous driver’s license. Gary told them he had one in Oregon, and they were going to send for it. In the meantime he would wait on the car. ‘

Wednesday, however, he picked up the Mustang after work. That night, to celebrate, he had an arm-wrestling contest with Rikki Baker at Sterling’s house. Rikki tried pretty hard but Gary won and kept bragging it up through the poker game.

Spencer felt all right. It had taken a week but Gilmore appeared to be loosening up. He was coming to see that Spencer didn’t like his people to think of him as a boss. He did the same work they did, and didn’t want any superior relationship. If, as expected, his employees were faithful to what they were all trying to do, that was enough. No need to ride anybody.

Rikki felt embarrassed at losing and stayed away. When, a few days later, he dropped in again, it was to hear that his sister Nicole had gone to visit Sterling one evening, and Gary had been there. Nicole and Gary ended up with each other that night. Now, they were staying out in Spanish Fork. His sister Nicole, who always had to go her own way, was living with Gary Gilmore.

Next day, Gary asked Spencer if he was serious about the car. He wanted to know if they could go down that afternoon and look at one.

Rikki didn’t like the news one bit. Nicole was the best thing in his family as far as he was concerned. He told Sterling that if Gary did anything to hurt her, he would kill him.

At V.J. Motors, there was a 6-cylinder ‘66 Mustang that seemed to be pretty clean. The tires were fair, the body was good. Spencer thought it was a reasonable proposition. The car sat on the lot for

$795, but the dealer said he would move it at five and a half for Spence. It beat walking.

Yet when Rikki saw them together, he realized that Nicole liked the guy a lot. Gary came over to Rikki and said, “Man, you’ve got the most beautiful sister in the world. She’s just the best person I ever met.” Gary and Nicole held hands like they were locked together at the wrist. It was all different from what Rikki had expected.

So that Friday when Gar got paid, Spencer took him back to the car lot and it was arranged that Gary would put up $5o, Spencer McGrath would add another $5o against future salary, and Val Con-lin would carry the rest of it in hi-weekly $5° payments. Since Gary was getting $4o a week and taking home $95 of that, the deal could be considered functional.

Gary wanted to know if he could take time off on Monday to get a license. Spencer told him all right. It was agreed that Gary would stop for his license Monday morning, pick up the car, and come to work.

Sunday morning, Gary brought Nicole over to meet Spencer and Marie McGrath. Spencer saw a very good-looking girl, hell of a figure, not too tall, with a full mouth, a small nose and nice long brown hair, She must have been r9 or 2o and looked full of her own thoughts. She was wearing Levi’s that had been cut off at the thigh, a T-shirt, and no shoes. It sounded like a baby was crying in her car, but she made no move to go back.

Gary was immensely proud of her. He acted as if he had just walked in with Marilyn Monroe. They were sure getting along in

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supergood shape. “Look at my girl!” Gar was all but saying, “Isn’t she fabulous.

When they left, Spencer said to Marie, “That’s just about what

Gary needs. A girl friend with a baby to feed. It doesn’t look like she’ll

him.”

be too much of an asset to He squinted after their car. “My

God, did he paint his Mustang blue? I thought it was white.” “Maybe it’s her car.” “Same year and model?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” said Marie.

10

Since Spencer lived next door to the work shed in Lindon, Marie could look out the window and see when Gary was there half an hour ahead of time. Some mornings, she would ask him in for a cup of coffee.

While sipping it, Gary would put his feet on the table. Marie would walk over and slap him across the ankles.

“Now, there,” Gary said to Brenda, “is a lady who knows her own mind. She’s not wishy-washy.” He grinned. “I put my feet up just to annoy her.”

“If she’s such a nice woman, why do you want to annoy her?” “I guess,” he said, “I like an ankle slap.”

Brenda didn’t want to hope too hard, but, God willing, Gary might come around the bend.

She wasn’t too happy, therefore, when he brought Nicole to her house. Oh, God, Brenda said to herself, Gary would end up with a space cadet.

Nicole just sat there and looked at her. She had a little girl by the arm and didn’t seem to know the arm was there. The child, a tough-looking 4-Year’°ld, looked to be living in one world and Nicole in another.

Brenda asked, “Where are you staying?”

Nicole mused herself. “Yeah.” She mused herself again. “Down the mad,” she said in a soft and somewhat muffled voice.

Brenda must have been on radar. “Springville?” she asked. “Spanish Fork?”

Nicole gave an angelic smile. “Hey, Spanish Fork, she got it,” she. said to Gary as ff little wonders grew like flowers on the highway of life.

“Don’t you love her looks?” Gary said.

“Yeah,” said Brenda, “you got yourself a looker.”

Yeah, thought Brenda, another girl who pops a kid before she’s

5 and lives on the government ever after. One more poverty-stricken welfare witch. Except she had to admit it. Nicole was a looker. Star quality for these parts,

My God, she and Gary were in a trance with each other. Could sit and google at one another for the entire day. Don’t bother to visit. Brenda was ready to ask the fire department to put out the burn.

“She’s I9, you know,” Gary said the moment Nicole stepped away.

“You don’t say,” said Brenda.

“Do you think she is too old for me?” he asked. At the look on his cousin’s face, he began to laugh.

“No,” said Brenda, “quite frankly I think you are both of the same intellectual and mental level of maturity. Good God, Gary, she’s young enough to be your daughter. How can you mess around with a kid?”

“I feel 19,” he told her.

“Why don’t you try growing up before you get too old?” “Hey, coz, you’re blunt,” said Gary. “Don’t you agree it’s the truth?” “Probably,” he said. He muttered it.

They were sitting on the patio blinking their eyes in the sun when Nicole came back. Just as if nothing&ad been said in her absence, Gary pointed tenderly to the tattoo of a heart on his forearm.

When he had stepped out of Marion, a month ago, he said, it had been a blank heart. Now the space was filled with Nicole’s name. Hek

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had tried to match the blue-black color of the old tattoo, but her name

appeared in blue-green. “Like it?” he asked Brenda.

“Looks better than having a blank,” she said.

“Well,” said Gary, “I was just waiting to fill it in. But first I had to find me a lady like this.”

Nicole also had a tattoo. On her ankle. GARY, it said. “How do you like it?” he asked. Johnny replied, “I don’t.”

Nicole was grinning from ear to ear. It was as if the best way to ring her bell was to tell the truth. Something about the sound set off chimes in her. “Oh,” she said, extending her ankle for all the world to see the curve of her calf and the meat of her thigh, “I think it looks kinda nice.”

“Well, it’s done,” said Brenda, “with a nice steady touch. But a

tattoo on a woman’s ankle looks like she stepped in shit.”

“I dig it,” said Gary.

“Okay,” said Brenda, “I’ll ive you my good opinion. I like that

tattoo about as much as I like that silly-ass hat you wear.”

“Don’t you like my lid?”

“Gary, when it comes to hats, you’ve got the rottenest taste I’ve ever seen.” She was so mad she was ready to cry.

Less than a week ago, he had come over to apologize for how he had acted in the movie theatre, came over all decked out in beige slacks and a nice tan shirt, but wearing a white panama hat with a wide rainbow band. That hat wouldn’t even have looked happy on a black pimp, and Gary wore it with the brim tilted down in front and up in back like the Godfather might wear it. He’d stood outside on her mat, his body slouched, his hands in his pockets, and kicked the base of the door.

“Why don’t you just lift the latch?” Brenda had asked in greeting.

“I can’t,” he’d said, “my hands are in my pockets,” and waited for her to applaud the effect.

“It’s a pretty hat,” Brenda said, “but it doesn’t fit your personality. Not unless you’ve turned into a procurer.”