The Executioner's Song

by Norman Mailer

"I can't do anything about it," Kathryne said to herself. She was just thankful the child was home. It was one more wall Kathryne was holding up with her life.

  Chapter 15

  DEBBIE AND BEN

  Debbie was feeling a little off one day and Ben kept wanting to take her to the doctor. She was pregnant, after all. But there were eleven kids over from the Busy Bee Day-Care Center, and Debbie didn't have the time. Ben finally raised his voice a little. At which point she told him he bugged her. That was the worst fight they ever had.

  They were proud that was the worst fight. They saw marriage as a constant goal of making each other happy. It was the opposite of that song, "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden." They kind of promised each other. They weren't going to be like other marriages.

  Debbie was five feet tall and didn't weigh a lot more than a hundred pounds. Ben was six-five and weighed one hundred and ninety when they were married. Two years later, he weighed two-ninety, and looked big and fat and fine to Debbie. He was always going on a diet or splurging. He would lift barbells to try to keep in shape.

  For a young Mormon couple, they lived well. They had steaks in the freezer, and loved to go out and get pizzas. They learned to make even better pizzas at home. Ben would cover every square inch with meat and cheese. They also dressed well and they managed to meet a $I00 payment each month on their Pinto. Ben could have been the huge man who gets out of the little Pinto in the TV commercial.

  They worked hard, however. Ben kept trying to get back to his courses in business management at BYU, but it took two to three jobs a day, plus Debbie managing the day-care center, in order to keep abreast with what they spent living happily with each other. So they hardly needed friends. They had their baby, Benjamin, who was their first priority, and they had each other. That was all of it. It was enough.

  Debbie didn't know about matters outside the house. She knew a lot about plastic pants and disposable diapers and just about anything to do with children in the day-care center. She was terrific with kids and would rather mop her kitchen floor than read.

  Since she didn't have a driving license, however, she couldn't go to the grocery store, the laundromat, or anywhere without Ben.

  She also didn't know their bank accounts nor their debts. She lived in a world of two-year-olds and four-year-olds and took wonderful care of Ben and Benjamin, and their house, and they went out to eat five nights a week. Except when Ben was on a diet, that was their entertainment. They would share one of those deluxe eight-dollar pizzas.

  Ben always had to carry two or three jobs. Before Benjamin was born, there was one stretch when Ben used to get up at four in the morning and drop Debbie at the day-care center at five. She would get play materials ready for the children who would start coming in at seven, and by then, Ben would have driven to Salt Lake where he managed a quick-food restaurant. That work began at 6 A.M., and he wouldn't get home until eight at night. Then he got another job where he didn't have to drop her off at the day-care center till 10 A.M., but had to go to Salt Lake for a stint that began at noon in a chain called Arctic Circle. (It later changed its name to Dandy Burgers.) He would get home at 2 A.M. In the winter it was rough when the roads were icy. Ben began to get a bad feeling about doing that forty-five-mile drive in each direction day and night.

  Of course, he had other sources of income. He would work at BYU on the maintenance crew, plus whatever cleaning jobs he picked up. In turn, Debbie kept Benjamin with her at the Busy Bee and even had a crib in the office. Sundays, and whatever spare time Ben found, he would work as a home teacher for Bishop Christensen.

  If a widow needed some electrical work or handyman plumbing, if her walk required shoveling, or her windows cleaned, why, Ben would do it. He must have checked on the needs of five or six such families a month.

  When the position of Manager at the City Center Motel came open, Ben leaped to take it. The job paid a minimum of $150 a week plus an apartment, but the business might be there for him to build.

  It was not a large new motel, and not on a highway, but at capacity, he could end up drawing as much as $600 a week. In addition, they could have all the time they wanted together.

  Their clientele was mostly tourists, or parents coming up to visit their kids at BYU. Most people who stayed at the motel were quiet. If occasionally a couple looked like they weren't married, Debbie didn't exactly approve of it, and tried to give them a nice, noisy, dirty room.

  The busiest time was at 9:00, getting the maids out to work.

  They used to keep four chambermaids who each had a certain number of rooms to do in a given time. If it took six hours but should have taken two, they got paid for two. When they began, Ben and Debbie did a little such work together to learn how long it took.

  While a lot of other motels paid girls by the hour, Ben did it by the room. Of course, if there was an extra mess, Ben made an adjustment.

  He was always fair.

  After a while, Debbie began to enjoy motel work more than she'd expected. There was lots of time together. Nothing much would happen after the morning rush until evening when the majority of people checked in. Ben began to talk of going back to school.

  The work, however, was a little confining. They couldn't, for instance, leave the motel together unless they made arrangements in advance. That interfered with going out to a restaurant. It also rushed their dinner hour. Sometimes they had to eat a little too early.

  They never felt any need to mix with other people, and time went by well. Ben got what social life he needed by going around town to drum up business. He wanted to get the name of the City Center Motel well known, so he worked out special arrangements with a few of the larger motels. He had an understanding where the clerk would receive a dollar for each overflow guest sent Ben's way.

  City Center was always the first small motel to put out a NO VACANCY.

  Nor were they ever afraid of being robbed. Once in a great while, they talked about what they would do if they had to face a gun, and Ben would shrug. He said that a little bit of money wasn't worth, you know, risking your life for. He would do what the robber asked.

  Craig Taylor heard about the service station murder on the radio next morning while driving to work. His first thought was that Gary had done it. Then he thought he heard the announcer say Jensen had been killed with a .32. That gave him hope. The Browning Automatic was a .22.

  At work, Gary seemed normal. It wasn't that he was relaxed, but he had been on edge since the day he broke up with Nicole. This morning he was just normally on edge.

  Later that morning, Spencer McGrath got a call from a lady who said she had an apartment in Provo for Gilmore. If he was going to take the place, he had better come by around noon and give a deposit. Spencer felt that if there was any chance left for the guy, it was to get out of Spanish Fork and learn to live by himself. So he told Gary to take the afternoon off. It was the sad truth, Spencer decided, that he was happier when Gary wasn't around.

  Craig didn't have a chance to talk about anything until right before the lunch break. But as they were slowing down about a quarter to twelve, Gary said, "Want to pitch pennies?" With that, he pulled out a handful of change. It sat there in his palm, a mountain of change. After Gary left, Craig couldn't help but wonder if that was money from the service station murder.

  Gary stopped at Val Conlin's to thank Rusty Christiansen. She had pretended to be the landlady with an apartment for Gary. Val took the opportunity to remind him that he had to get the money for the truck.

  Gary went by Vern and Ida's to ask if he could take a shower. Ida and Vern, however, were just leaving the house, and Ida wanted to be able to lock up. It got complicated. Gary had a funny wild-eyed look, and so Vern suggested they lock the house and let Gary take his shower in the basement, which had a separate exit. Gary agreed but looked a little hurt that they were shutting doors on him.

  Soon after lunch, Val Conlin got a call. Gary had lost the keys to the truck. He was down at the University Mal
l, and needed somebody to come over and take his stuff, since he couldn't lock the cab.

  Val sent Rusty Christiansen. When she pulled up in the parking lot, Gary was sitting there grinning. "Got the boss's car?" he asked.

  Rusty didn't like Gilmore's assumptions. She was driving her own blue Thunderbird and it wasn't all that new. Still Gilmore tried to make up for the bad start. He got almost too gallant opening car doors for her.

  He had a great big pair of rainbow-colored slalom water skis sticking out of the window of his truck with a price tag from Grand Central still on them. Now he explained he wanted to lock the skis in the trunk of her car.

  Next, they went looking for the keys. He retraced his steps through various stores and in the health-food shop he found them—a great big bunch.

  Going back through the Mall, Rusty stopped in front of Kiddy Ville. Her little girl collected Madam Alexander International Dolls and she could see they had a new one in from Spain. So Rusty said, "Have you got a minute?" and he said, "Hey, you know, sure."

  Two old salesladies were clear down the other end. Rusty waited and waited—must have been five minutes. Nobody acknowledged they were in the place, and Gilmore was getting nervous.

  She could feel how painful it was for him to wait. Finally, he said, "Which one do you want?" She told him. He said, "Don't worry about it," and opened the case, took the doll, took her elbow, and before she could protest, he had her out of the store. There was a bright red satin dress on the doll and Gary was saying, "Well, you know, it's really cute."

  Rusty didn't know if he was showing off, but at this stage of her life, nothing was going to shock her. She just wanted to get out of the Mall.

  As they went around the long way in the parking lot, Gary said, "You know, you're a pretty cool lady. You handle everything really good. You don't fall apart." When she nodded, he said, "I've been looking for someone to work with."

  "Oh, that's nice," Rusty said. She was in one hurry to get to the car. She'd already decided he was unbalanced, so she certainly didn't want to insult him. "I'm glad you think I can handle things," she said. "You're not bad looking," he said, "but you're too old for me." Looked at her critically. "How old are you?" he asked.

  "Twenty-seven," Rusty said.

  "You don't have a little sister, do you?" Gilmore asked.

  Rusty thought, Lord, if I did, she'd be locked in the basement! Gary said, "It's really too bad but you're just a little too old. I like younger girls."

  "Well," Rusty said, "that's my loss."

  Gilmore stopped to pick up a couple of six-packs so she got back to V.J. Motors before him. "Hey," she said, as she came in, "don't do this to me anymore, Conlin. You go next time." And told about the water skis.

  Gary came in with the loot. "I don't want those slats," Val Conlin said. "They're worth," Gary told him, "$I50."

  "Hey, Gary, I don't have a goddamn boat. What do I want water skis for?" When Gilmore set them down in a corner, Val said, "When are you going to take your personal shit out of the Mustang so I can sell it?"

  "Take a look at these water skis," Gary said.

  "Hot?" Val asked.

  Gary said, "What difference does it make?"

  Val said, "I'm not a hock shop. I don't want hot merchandise. I sure as hell don't need new problems."

  "Well," said Gary, "it's a good buy."

  "Not a worth a turd without a boat," said Val. "Where's the boat? Just remember you owe me $400 as of tomorrow."

  "I'll have it."

  "Gary, you son of a bitch," said Val, "you better understand this and understand this good. If I don't have the goddamn money, you walk. You won't even know you had wheels."

  "Val, you've been good to me, and don't worry. I'll have it."

  "Okay," said Val. "Fine."

  In the silence, Val picked up a newspaper and began reading. After a bit, he put the paper down and exploded. "Judas Priest, can you believe this murder?" he asked. "What kind of idiot would do it? Guy gotta be nuts, just shooting a guy in a gas station. For nothing."

  It really upset him. He slammed the paper on his desk. "You know, I can understand a son of a bitch shooting somebody if you can't get the money. But anybody that would take the cash, and then put the kid in the back room and lay him on the floor and shoot him in the head twice, has got to be a psychomaniac son of a bitch! They ought to string up that bastard." Conlin heard himself raving even as he was saying it, and Gilmore looked him back in the eye and said, "Well, maybe he deserved to be killed."

  The expression on his face was so blank that Rusty decided Gary knew something about the killing. Had he sold a hot gun?

  Val was yelling, "Oh, Gary, come on, for Christ's sakes, to shoot a kid in the head? You got to be crazy, man. Nuts!" Gary just said, "Well . . . " He got up and asked if Val wanted another beer. Val said, "No, we got some. Take it with you, Gary." Maybe it was drinking all that beer so early, but there was definitely a pall on the afternoon.

  On Tuesday afternoons Gary had his weekly session with Mont Court. Their meetings, since Gary had stolen the tape deck at Grand Central, took longer now, but on this hot Tuesday in July, it lasted for over an hour. Gilmore had finally begun to confide, and the parole officer saw it as his opportunity to reach him. In a few days, Court would have to make a recommendation on the presentence investigation, and he had about decided to propose a week of jail. It would give Gary a taste.

  Court didn't look forward to that, however. Gilmore was using every opportunity to manipulate his environment but still it was hard not to feel sorry for him, particularly on a day like this.

  Gilmore was talking about drinking, and how much he wanted to cut it out. As he saw it, that was the only way to get back with Nicole. He had to get back.

  They talked, and Court found out that Nicole had left because she was frightened. That disturbed Gilmore. He didn't want her to think he was a violent person. Court listened politely, but he thought Gary was being unrealistic. You couldn't turn somebody's fear around by your desire that they not be afraid. Court did think, however, that Gilmore was being realistic in understanding how much he needed Nicole, and that his chances of getting her back might be better if he cut out drinking.

  Of course, he hardly looked like a teetotaler now. His goatee was on the way to becoming a beard and his clothing looked sloppy.

  It was the nearest they had ever come to a real talk. Gilmore sat there forlornly, saying in a flat sad voice that he thought he had problems as a lover. That carried their relationship a step forward, Court thought.

  Gary spent the next few hours looking for Nicole around Orem and Provo, then in Springville and Spanish Fork. While he was driving on one road, Nicole and Roger Eaton were moving along another.

  Nicole was in a state. Before long, Roger Eaton was in the state. The Tuesday afternoon he had been looking forward to turning out well.

  First, she told him about seeing Gary on Sunday in Spanish Fork. Showed Roger the little Derringer. Seeing the way Nicole pulled it out of her pocketbook, Roger was pretty sure she could use it. He said, "Put that away." He never knew anybody who began to live the way Nicole had to live.

  While driving around, Roger told her about the murder last night at the gas station. That was the first she had heard of it. If she had known, she wouldn't have left her house, she told him. "I'm scared," said Nicole.

  After a little while, she murmured, "I think Gary did that murder." "Are you kidding me?" he asked. "No, I think so," she repeated. "But you don't know for sure?" Roger asked. She wouldn't answer.

  He took her to the Utah Valley Mall and bought her a pair of jeans that ran around $25 and a shirt that cost $35. Then he took her back to her apartment in Springville quickly as he could and let her off about a block away. Before she got out of the car, she warned Roger that Gary had seen the letter he sent.

  Roger began to think that Gary might find Nicole, and beat her up until she gave away his name. Then Gary would come over to the Mall to look for him. Whe
n that thought went through Roger's mind, he said to himself, "My ass is grass."

  As they were saying good-bye, Roger couldn't help himself. He said, "Nicole, I'm afraid Gary might find me." She said, "He'll kill you if he does."

  "What did you do to him?" Roger asked.

  She said, "Nothing. He just wants me."

  Roger said, "He must want you a lot worse than I do, because I don't want to get killed over you."

  She said, "I can understand that."

  He said, "I want this thing to end if it's going to mean my damned life or yours. Let's just forget this crap."

  It was getting dark when he said good-bye to her.

  That evening over the newspaper, Johnny said to Brenda, "Hey, they had a shooting over here." He waited for her to read the account, and then said, "It has all the earmarks of Gary Gilmore."

  Brenda said, "I know he's an asshole, Johnny, but he's not a killer,"

  Johnny said, "I'm afraid he is."

  All day at the motel, Debbie Bushnell had been nervous. All afternoon, she kept calling her friend Chris Caffee. That was most unusual. She and Chris usually talked to each other about once every two weeks, and Chris would drop in at the motel now and again. Chris had used to work for her at the Busy Bee, and they got along well, but they weren't exactly close friends. Debbie was so restless this Tuesday afternoon, however, that she kept calling. Chris finally said, "Debbie, I have five hundred things to do. I don't have anything more to say." Debbie couldn't help herself, she phoned two hours later. "What are you doing?" she asked. Chris said, "Nothing. Why are you calling?"

  Debbie had been having a strange feeling from Sunday on. It continued all day Monday and was worse on Tuesday afternoon. Same with Ben. They had gone to visit his best friend, Porter Dudson, up in Wyoming on Sunday, a rare Sunday off from the motel and Ben couldn't sit still all day. Rushed poor Porter and his wife Pam, through the meal and everything. Now, he was over whatever was bothering him. He had spent part of Tuesday afternoon working on his weights and then he took a nap. It was Debbie at this point who didn't know what to do with herself.