"I am telling them that the killings were unreal. That I saw everything 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 if 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 bouncing on the end, he put his face in a scowl, and said, "Guess I'll be hanging around for a while."
Gibbs thought he'd piss his pants. "What," asked Gilmore, "Is your last request when they put you in the gas chamber?" He waited. 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 phlegm. Smoking gave him a dozen oysters every meal. The kid with phlegm-pot. Gilmore asked, "What do you say to the firing squad?"
"I," said Gibbs, "ask them for a bullet-proof vest." They laughed back and forth like an animal going in circles and getting weak. "Yeah," said Gibbs, "I heard that one."
Gilmore had a quality Gibbs could recognize. He accommodated. Gibbs believed he, himself, could always get near somebody—just use the side that was like them. Gilmore did the same. Around other each other tonight, they were like boiler-plated farts. Filthy devils.
No sooner did he think this, than Gilmore got serious. "Hey," he said to Gibbs, "they're figuring to give me the death penalty, but I have an answer for them. I'm going to check into the State of Utah's hole card. I'm going to make them do it. Then we'll see if they have as many guts as I do."
Gibbs couldn't decide if the guy was a bullshitter. He couldn't visualize doing something like that.
"Yes," said Gilmore, "I'll tell them to do it without a hood. Do it at night if it's outside, or in a dark room with tracer bullets. That way I can see those babies coming!"
The drunk was screaming, "I didn't mean to kill the little boy, oh Judge, I'll never drive again."
"Knock it off," shouted Gilmore.
Yeah, he said to Gibbs, the only legitimate fear a man in his position could have while facing the firing squad was that one of the marksmen might be a friend or relative of one of the victims. "Then," said Gilmore, "they might shoot at my head. I don't like that. I have perfect twenty-twenty, and I want to donate my eyes."
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 of motherfuckers 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.
But I can't take being away from you—I miss you every minute.
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
fuck only me
don't fuck anybody else dont dont it kills me dont kill me
Am I demanding too much??
Write and tell me—
TELL ME TELL ME
GODDAMN IT
TELL ME
Fuck shit piss God Nicole
Tell me.
Wednesday and Sunday are too far apart—why don't you 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 have all of you! With nobody can I share you. I love you.
I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU
I LOVE YOU
No, I ain't drunk or loaded or nothing this is just me writing this letter that lacks beauty—just me Gary Gilmore thief and murderer. Crazy Gary. Who will one day have a dream that he was a guy named GARY in 20th century America and that there was very wrong . . . but what was it and is it why things are so super shitty, to the max, as they used to say in 20th century Spanish Fork. And he'll remember that there was something very beautiful too in that long ago Mormon mountain Empire and he'll begin to dream of a dark red haired sort of green eyed elfin fox whose eyes rolled back 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 fuck 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 door. 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.
"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 11
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.
I've told you that I haven't slept lately—the ghosts have descended and set upon me with a force I didn't believe they possessed. I smack 'em down but they sneak back and climb in my ear and demons that they are tell me foul jokes, they want to sap my drink my strength, sap my will, drain my hope leave me derelict bereft of hope lost empty alone foul demon motherfuckers with dirty furry bodies whispering vile things in the nite chortling and laughing with a hideous glee to see me toss sleepless in endurance truly vile they plan to pounce on me in a shrieking mad fury when I leave with their hideous yellow long toe and finger claws teeth dripping with rank saliva and mucous thick yellow green. Dirty inhuman beasts jackals hyenas rumor monger plague ridden unhappy lost ghostly foul ungodly things unacceptable creeping crawling red eyed bat eared soulless beasts.
They won't let the ol' boy have a nites sleep. Goddamned lost mother fuckers.
I need our silver sword against them. They're slippery motherfuckers.
The demon ghosts
trick tease tantalize
bite and claw scratch and screech
weave a web of 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 they humped on me like fiends when I was on Prolixin for four months I endured a constant onslaught of demon fury oooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOH!
Left me drained and 50 pounds lighter but stronger than they 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 they came the closest they ever have and they ever will.
Gibbs had a habit of waking up in the middle of the night for a cigarette. There, in the endless wee hours, he lit up and lay back to do some quiet thinking about his private situation. All of a sudden, 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. "They'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 embarrassed 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.
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 11. 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 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 Fiorinal I'm afraid I never really gave you a good fuck—makes me feel bad—wish I could fuck you now when my body is on the natural, clean and pure and not full of booze and Fiorinal. 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 fuck 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.
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 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, nonetheless Gilmore could listen to them book somebody, and tell you the name and the charge. It sure kept him from sleeping. Gibbs had noticed 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 6:30, 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."
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