Executioner's Song, The - Norman Mailer [316]
"Where is it against policy?" Bob would ask. "In which book?"
"Oh, it isn't written," Ernie Wright said just like Sam, "it's just prison policy."
Moody and Stanger discovered they could get a lot more done by working with Assistant Wardens and Lieutenants. The two prison Chaplains were also useful. Campbell, the Mormon, was fighting the prison half the time, so you could expect him to become frustrated and walk around in a pout with a tight steely face. But, the other Chaplain, the Catholic, Father Meersman, was an old boy, and he would tell the lawyers, "Butter 'em up. Don't ask whether you can or can't. Just go as far as you can. When they cut you off, try some other time." Father Meersman had worked in the prison for years and enjoyed a smooth relationship, a pleasant-faced man, gray-haired man, not tall, not short, not heavy, not slim, moderate in every one of his physical details. "Just say, 'whatever is fair, Warden, whatever's fair.' "
Of course, Gary could get caustic about Father Meersman. "The padre," he said to Moody and Stanger one day, "gave me a cross to die with. Specially made. Fits in the palm of your hand. That papist prick ought to be a used-car salesman."
Moody also got a little pressure in Mormon circles. He was a member of the High Council, one of twelve Elders to advise the President of his Stake in Provo, but now and then words would come back that some people thought he should be kicked off the High Council for accepting blood money. On the other hand, Church members in good standing would say, "You're doing a fine job. We admire you for that." Half and half.
Moody brushed it off. It was like the flak he took when he defended one man for killing another while driving under the influence of alcohol. "How could you do that?" he was asked, "You're a Mormon. You don't drink." Some Church people didn't understand the system or his role in it.
Still, it wasn't all bad. By this time, Ron Stanger could hardly wait to get home and catch himself on the tube. He frankly enjoyed the publicity more than Moody. Bob wasn't so much in love with his bald head that he wanted to rush over to see his image, but the kids liked it. "There's Daddy," they'd scream. Fun to see them having pleasure. And, of course, at the courthouse and on the street, everybody was asking how they were doing, everybody said they saw them on TV. It was a good feeling for Moody to run into attorneys he had gone to school with, who were now, perhaps, making more money than him, and be able to chat about the case. On the whole, he felt relaxed. Gilmore hurt his practice, and helped it. Changed it. Moody liked to think of himself as a man who wasn't paralyzed by the idea of change.
GILMORE You tell Larry Schiller I want that phone call to Nicole. I'm sure that Schiller can put pressure on people if he wants to.
STANGER Larry's quite a mover, all right.
GILMORE You guys have made some moves, but it hasn't been enough, I haven't gotten the phone call.
STANGER It hasn't been successful.
GILMORE Man, I've gone sixteen days without eating, and I'll go forever.
I'll do whatever I have to do to get that phone call. If it takes a bribe, pay it. I don't give a shit what it takes . . . I want to talk to Nicole and I don't know if I'll be cooperative with anybody until I do.
I guess that sounds like an ultimatum. I don't know if I have the right to ask you to arrange a phone call in order to get answers to these questions, but I guess that's what I'm doing.
STANGER You've got a right to ask what you want, Gary.
GILMORE I want to talk to Nicole.
As soon as the lawyers returned to Provo with a tape, Schiller, if he was in town, would come over to their office to make a copy immediately.