The Executioner's Song (5 page)

                "Gary," said Toni, "I don't think you realize Daddy's financial situation. He's got too much pride to tell you."

                "He'd be furious if he knew we were talking to you about this," Brenda said, "but Dad isn't making a whole lot right now. He created a job so the parole board would help you get out."

                "If you need ten dollars," said Toni, "Daddy will be there. But not just to buy a six-pack and then come home and sit around and drink."

                Toni would put it this way. She and Brenda understood it was difficult for Gary to know what to do with his money. After all, he had never had to manage his weekly pay before.

                Gary answered, "Well, yeah, I don't seem to know. I go to buy something, and like I don't have enough left. Suddenly I'm broke." Toni assured him, "Gary, I figured once you understand Daddy doesn't have money to keep loaning you, you will never put him in the position of asking him."

                "I feel bad," said Gary, "about this. Vern has no money?"

                "He has a little," Brenda said. "But he's hurting for money. He's trying to save for his operation. Vern doesn't carry on, but that leg gives him pain all the time."

                Gary sat with his head down, just thinking. "I didn't realize," he said, "I was putting Vern on the spot."

                Toni answered, "Gary, I know it's hard. But try to settle down, just a little. What you spend for beer doesn't sound like much, but it would make a difference to Mother and Daddy if you took five dollars and went and bought a sack of groceries, 'cause, you know, they're feeding you, and clothing you, and board and room."

                Brenda now moved to the next topic. She knew Gary had needed time to unwind and work with somebody like Vern, whom he didn't have to regard as a boss all the time. Yet the moment had come, maybe, to start thinking about a place of his own and a real job. She had even been doing some looking for him.

                Gary said, "I don't think I'm ready. I appreciate what you're trying to do, Brenda, but I'd like to hang in with your folks a little longer."

                "Mother and Dad," said Brenda, "haven't had anybody living in their house since Toni got married. That's been ten or twelve years. Gary, they love you, but I'll be frank. You are starting to get on their nerves."

                "Maybe you better tell me about that job."

                "I've been talking," said Brenda, "to the wife of a fellow who has an insulation shop. He's Spencer McGrath. From what I hear, Spencer doesn't act like a boss at all. He's right in there with his men."

                While Brenda had not met him, she had spent, she explained, an enjoyable few minutes with McGrath's wife, Marie. She was a pleasant woman, Brenda said, kind of heavyset, always smiling or chuckling, a strong Ma Kettle type.

                Marie had said to Brenda, "If you don't reach out your hand to someone coming out of prison, they're going to turn right around and be frustrated and start getting in trouble again." Society had to open up a little bit, she had said, if anybody was going to get rehabilitated.

                "All right," said Gary, "I'll go meet the man. But," he looked at them, "give me another week."

                After work, Gary came in with a sack of groceries. Just odds and ends and nothing to do with putting a meal together, but Ida took it as a happy gesture. It turned back her thoughts to a time thirty years ago and more when she had loaned Bessie $40 because Frank Gilmore was in jail. It took Bessie almost ten years, but she paid back that forty. Maybe Gary had the same characteristic. Ida decided to tell him about Margie Quinn.

                She knew this nice girl, Marge, the daughter of a friend. About six years ago, Marge had a baby, but she was living alone now, raised her baby nicely. In fact, she stayed with her sister, and worked as a chambermaid down the street.

                "Good looking," Ida told him. "She's a little sad, but she has beautiful blue eyes. They're deep set."

                "Are her eyes as beautiful as yours, Ida?" asked Gary.

                "Oh, git along, little doggie," said Ida.

                Gary said he'd like to see her right now.

                The girl who was working the night shift in the Canyon Inn Motel office saw a tall man walk through the door. He came up with a big smile. "Oh," he said, "you must be Margie." "No," she said, "Margie isn't here this shift." The fellow just left.

                Margie Quinn got a phone call. A pleasant voice said, "I'm Gary, Ida's nephew." When she said hello, he replied that she had a nice voice and he'd like to meet her. She was busy that night, she told him, but come over tomorrow. She knew who he was.

Marjorie Quinn's mother had already mentioned that Ida had a nephew just out of prison and wondered if Marge would consider going out with him. Marge asked what he had been in for, and learned it was robbery. She thought that wasn't too bad. It was not like murder, after all. Since she was just dating one fellow at this time and not going steady, she thought, Well, it can't hurt.

                There was a smile on his face as she opened the door. He had a silly hat on, but otherwise seemed all right. She asked if he wanted a beer, and he sat and drank one in the living room, sitting back nicely on the couch. Marge introduced him to Sandy, her sister, who was living with her, and her daughter, and after a while she asked if he wanted to go for a ride up the canyon.

                Before they got very far, Gary said, "Let's get some more beer." Marge said, "Well, I don't care."

                Halfway up the pass, they stopped by Bridal Falls where a narrow stream of water fell for a thousand feet, but they didn't take the gondola up. It was too expensive.

                They sat by the river and talked awhile. It was beginning to get dark and Gary looked at the stars and told her how much he enjoyed them. When he was in prison, he rarely got to see them, he said. You could get out in the yard in the daytime, he explained, and catch plenty of sky above the wall, but the only time you'd ever see the stars was in the winter if you went to Court on some beef or other. Then, you might not be brought back to the penitentiary until late afternoon when it was already dark. On a clear evening, you could see the stars.

                He began to talk to Marge about her eyes. They were beautiful, he told her. There was sadness in her eyes but also glints of moonbeam.

                She thought he was a pleasant conversationalist. When he asked if she'd like to make a date to see a movie, she consented.

                After that, however, a State Police car happened to go tearing up the canyon. His mood shifted. He started talking about cops. The more he spoke, the angrier he got. It came off him like an oven with the door open. She had second thoughts about going to the movies with him.

                After the night got really dark, they continued up the canyon to Heber, stopped for more beer, then headed back. It must have been 10:30 by then. As they were coming down the hill into Provo, she said, "You don't mind if I take you home now?"

                He said, "I don't want to go there."

                Marge said, "I have to get up for work tomorrow."

                "Tomorrow is Saturday."

                "That's a big day at the motel."

                "Let's go over to your house."

                She said, "Okay, for a little while. It can't be for long."

                Her sister had gone to bed, so they sat in the living room. He kissed her. Then he started to do more.

                She said, "I better take you home."

                "I don't want to," he said. "They're not there."

                She insisted. She got him to go. It took all her powers of argument, but she drove him over. It was just a few blocks and when they got there, the lights were out. He said, "They're not here."

                Now, she realized she was drunk. It came over suddenly that she was smashed. She managed to say, "Where do you want me to take you ?"

                "Over to Sterling's."

                "Can't you get in here?"

                "I don't want to."

                So she took him over to Sterling's. When they got there he said, Sterling isn't up. She said, "You can't stay at my house."

                Still, they went back to her apartment. She didn't want to get picked up for drunk driving, and at least she knew the way to her house.

                In the living room, Gary started kissing her again. She was feeling miserable and wondering how to get out of this, when she passed out with her arms folded and her head down. By the time she stirred, he was gone. She woke up remembering she'd made a date to go to a movie with him sometime the following week.

Next morning, Gary phoned early. Marge told her sister to say she was not up. He called half an hour later, and Marge said, Just tell him I'm not here. That ended it, she hoped.

                By Saturday night, Gary was drunk. Early in the evening he tried to convince Sterling Baker to drive him up to Salt Lake City, but Sterling talked him into going home. Now, Gary tried to warm Vern up for the trip, but got the answer that it was close to midnight and fifty miles one way, and let's forget the idea. Gary answered, All right, just lend me your car. "Well," Vern said, "you can't take it."

                Gary gave a look. His eyes at such times had the fury of an eagle in a cage. Those eyes practically said to Vern, "Your '69 gold Pontiac is out in the driveway, and so is your '73 green Ford pickup. You won't lend me either." Aloud he said, "I'll hitch."

                Vern could see Gary in a bar in Salt Lake looking for trouble. "Do what you wish," said Vern. "I'd like you to stay here."

                "I'm on my way."

                After he left, Vern couldn't take it. Before three minutes were gone, he said to Ida, "Hell, I'll drive him." He got into his car, thinking of the look on Gary's face when he would pull up alongside, open the passenger door, and growl, "Why don't you go to Salt Lake with this damn fool?" But Vern couldn't find him. There was a place on West Fifth where you would start hitchhiking, only nobody was there. Vern went back and forth through the streets. Gary must have picked up a driver instantly.

                Eight o'clock Sunday morning, Gary called from Idaho. He was 300 miles away. "How," said Vern, "did you get there?"

                Well, said Gary, this dude picked him up and he fell asleep, and the fellow went right through Salt Lake. By the time he woke up, it was Idaho. Vern, said Gary, "I'm broke. Could you come and get me?"

                "Maybe Brenda will go," said Vern, "but I sure won't." He took a breath.

                "You won't come and get me?" Gary sounded real aggravated. A lot yawned between them. Vern said, "Stay where you are. I'll call Brenda."

                "What," asked Brenda, "are you doing up north?"

                "I wanted to drop in on Mom," said Gary. "You see, I ran into this fellow in Provo who has friends in Idaho. He said, 'Let's visit my buddies, then shoot you on up to Portland.' "

                "Oh, God," said Brenda. He had violated his parole. He had been told not to leave the state.

                "Anyway," said Gary, "once we got to Idaho, this fellow got mad at me and took off. I'm stuck at this bar, Brenda, and I better get back. Can you come for me?"

                "You poor thing," said Brenda. "You just get your thumb out of your rear end and put it in the air."

                A few hours later, a long-distance call reached Mont Court at his home. He was asked to contact Detective Jensen in Twin Falls, Idaho. Mont Court then learned that his parolee, Gary Gilmore, had been arrested for driving without a license. How should they proceed, Detective Jensen wanted to know? Mont Court thought awhile and recommended that Gilmore be allowed to go back to Utah on his own recognizance, and then report in to him immediately.

                Brenda got another phone call. Gary was in Twin Falls, he said. Had been hitchhiking and got a ride with a fellow driving a pickup truck. When they stopped in a bar, the guy started making passes. Gary had to fight him right in the bar. Then, they went to the parking lot to finish. He knocked the guy out.

                "Brenda, I thought I killed him. God, I really thought I killed him. I put him in his pickup, and drove like a maniac. I figured if I could find a hospital, I'd drop him off there.

                "Then the guy went into a seizure. I stopped the car and got his wallet out to see his name—in case he was dying. Then I started speeding for a hospital. Soon as the cops pulled me over, the guy came to. He told the police he wanted me booked for assault and battery, kidnap, stealing his wallet, and taking his truck."

                Brenda was trying to follow it all.

                "I had some of my week's pay," said Gary, "and that was enough to post bail for driving without the license. Then, I worked it out."