Executioner's Song, The - Norman Mailer [184]
When a girl finally decided to let you fuck her she'd always put on this act like she was being taken advantage of and 9 times outa 10 the girl would say "Well, will you still respect me?" Some goof-ball skit like that. Well the cat was always so hot and ready to go by then that he was ready to about promise anything, even respect. That always seemed so silly, but it was just the way the game was played.
I had a chick ask me that once, a real pretty little blond girl, everybody really was hot for her ass and I had her alone one nite in her house. We was both about 15 and necking pretty heavy both getting worked up and l was in and l knew it and then she came up with that cornball line: "Gary, if I let you do it would you still respect me?" Well, I blew it. I started laffing and I told her: "Respect you? For what? I just wanta fuck and so do you, what the fuck am I sposed to respect you for? You just won a first place trophy in the Indianapolis 500 or something?" Well, like I said I blew that one.
Oh well. There's still 2 or 3 weeks. If Gibbs makes bail but the time is right right now. This is the best time. That fool wetback Luis is on at nites now and he never comes back here to check on me. He don't check the bars for cuts. He just sets out there watching cop shows on the boob tube. Also this is the perfect time for me to get the shoes-just before I go to court it would be so natural for Snyder or Esplin to bring me a pair of ones and twos.
Sterling finally said he wouldn't sew the hacksaw into the shoes.
A lot of precious time had gone by. Nicole decided to try it herself.
She bought a pair of brogans at the thrift store, and cut a little slot in the sole with a razor. With a lot of work, she was able to push the blade in, but it was too long and so she took a chance and broke the blade in half. She could get that much in. But when she tried to sew up the slit, it looked a mess. They would never pass those shoes.
Chapter 27
A PROSECUTION
The District Court of Utah County had jurisdiction for the trial.
It would take place in Judge Bullock's courtroom, 310 in the Utah County Building, largest edifice in downtown Provo, a gray, massive, old lion of a legal temple reminiscent to Noall Wootton of a thousand other government buildings that had a Greek pediment supported by stone columns at the top of broad steps.
Having been born in Provo and grown up in Provo, Wootton kind of liked going to Court there, and this was going to be the biggest murder case he had yet tried.
Like a lot of other lawyers in the area, Wootton had gone to BYU and transferred to the University of Utah for law school. Did it with no great desire, not in the beginning anyway, just that his father had a successful practice, and Noall figured, hell, he could take the course, and try business afterward. When he got out he was offered a job with the FBI and a position with United Airlines, but turned them down because his father offered to take him in. That worked out well. Wootton, Senior, taught him a great deal.
Noall soon decided, however, that being in an office all day was not his idea. He enjoyed a courtroom. Even felt contempt for class mates who went to Salt Lake or Denver or L.A. to work. They just ended up in back rooms preparing cases for big-city trial lawyers.
Whereas Noall was where he wanted to be. Right in the courtroom against those big lawyers.
He started by doing defense work, but came to the conclusion most of his clients were punks. His duty, as he saw it, was to make certain his client was not convicted if innocent, or not overcharged if guilty. The punks wanted to get off at all costs, guilty or not. Noall couldn't buy that. He began to think prosecution was the way to go.
One case brought this home. It was a man he defended who had much the same background as Gilmore. The fellow, Harlow Custis, had spent eighteen years