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.
6.
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."
"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."
"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 pot was made out of a Dixie cup with the aluminum 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.
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 '60s and they both used the same drug, Ritalin, a rare type of speed not in common use.
"Had enough?" Gilmore asked.
"Hit me," said Gibbs.
Well, Gary would point out that prior to their arrests, they had both been living with 20-year-old divorcees. Each of them had met the girl through her cousin. Each of the girls had two children. The first was a 5-year-old daughter, brunette, whose name started with an S. Each girl had a 3-year-old son by another marriage. Both little boys were blonds and their names started with a J. Both Nicole and Gibbs's girlfriend had mothers whose first name was Kathryne. And each of them had moved in right after he met the girl.
After comparing these coincidences, Gibbs did stop and think.
He even started to wonder. Maybe there was sense in what Gary was saying.
Of course, Gary hadn't hit the difference. Gibbs's girl was nothing to look at, and Nicole was beautiful. After Gibbs saw the way she put herself out for Gary, he decided she must also be beautiful inside.
Why, when she didn't have money for stamps, she would hitchhike down to the jail to bring Gary a letter. If they needed coffee, Tang, writing paper, pens, whatever, Gibbs had only to tell the jailer to release money from his account and Nicole would go right out and buy the things and bring them back.
One time, making up the list, Gibbs asked if there was anything that had not been mentioned, and Gary said, "Do you like that instant hot chocolate?" "Yeah," Gibbs replied, "it's all right." Actually he preferred cold drinks like Tang but said, "Have Nicole get a carton of those packets of hot chocolate." He could see how embarrassed Gary was to want something or need it. Got all choked up. "Gibbs," Gary said now, "you are one of the best sons of bitches I ever met in twenty years of lockup. Mark my words, somehow, someday, you'll be repaid for being so good to others."
Gibbs could see that Gilmore was really looking for some way to repay these favors. He even began to speak of fixing Gibbs's teeth, which rattled in his sleep. "Well," said Gibbs, feeling uncomfortable, "I like to play with them." He had a full upper plate, but he had sure broken it in two. Shortly before he came to the slammer, he had been driving along in his Eldorado, drunk as a skunk, got sick and had to puke. Too lazy to stop. What the hell, he was doing 80 on the Interstate.
He just opened the window, heaved, and must have gone another 100 yards before he realized his teeth had gone out with the cakes. Slammed to a stop on the shoulder and ran back in the dark, until he found a stream of vomit. The false teeth were in two pieces in the middle of it.
Now he played with them. Made a Clickety-click sound like castanets.
Sometimes Gibbs would poke the whole job out at people just to watch their expression when his front teeth split apart in front of them.
He wouldn't kid this way around Gary, however. Gilmore was too self-conscious about his own teeth. It even took him a couple of days to get around to telling how he worked in the dental lab at Oregon State. If Nicole could buy a kit in a pharmacy, Gilmore could repair his denture. Gibbs released the money right off.
After her visit, she sent back a box of Denture-Weld, which contained a bottle of liquid, tube of powder base, eyedropper, plastic cup, a stick to stir it all, sandpaper, and instructions. Gilmore threw the instructions aside and went to work. In fifteen minutes the teeth were back together and fit like new. It made Gibbs worry. With his plate fixed, Gilmore might be able to her the words he was saying while asleep. Gibbs just hoped those words wouldn't embarrass him.
Later that night, Gilmore sat up and began to work at little adjustments on his own plates. Gary was really looking for a privacy trip with those teeth. In the silence of the night, Gibbs pretended to be sleeping and watched Gary, intent and alone at his work, old as his age and more, his lips fallen in on his gums.
The four trustees were petty criminals just serving a little county jail time. So they were all deathly afraid of Gilmore when they came back at mealtime. They would stand as far as they could from the slot in the door when they slid their trays through. A man could hardly reach out and grab you through that little space, but the trustees had a lot of caution. They had heard the jailers talk of how Gilmore made his victims get down on the floor, then, splat! Anytime a fellow in one of the other tanks started a tough-guy role, the jailers would now tell him to quit or he could go live with Gilmore. That man, they would point out, did not have a hell of a lot to lose by killing another man.
They took Gibbs out of the cell one day to let Gary be alone with a psychiatrist, and the jailer took Gibbs to the kitchen for coffee. The trustees couldn't be nice enough. Fixed Gibbs a sandwich, the works.
Finally one of them asked why he was out of his cell. "Oh," Gibbs said, giving a wink to the jailer, "we're being pulled one at a time for a shakedown. Gary will be here just as soon as I go back." Gibbs had never seen four guys wash trays so fast. They planned to be done for sure before The Great Gilmore arrived.
Just then the jailer had to walk to the front office to answer the phone. Soon as he did, Gibbs took every package of punch he could see on the table, stuffed them in his pants, said to the trustees, "If one of you punks say a word about this, you'll hate it."
Soon as the jailer took him back, Gibbs started unloading his stolen goods. Gary said the nut doctor was going to recommend that he was sane and competent to stand trial. "What do you expect?" said Gilmore. "He's paid by the same people who pay my lawyers. The State of Utah. I can't win for losing." Then he said, "What are we waiting for? Let's mix up that punch before the Man comes looking," So they got busy and made up a gallon.