Shot in the Heart - Mikal Gilmore [169]
“Why?”
“I’m calling a taxi.” I explained that there was a restaurant within walking distance. He said he didn’t want to be seen on the streets. I didn’t like the sound of that. We ended up at a topless bar—the only place Gary felt comfortable. He seemed in a trance as he studied the girl onstage.
“I want you to tell me what’s happened,” I said, trying to break his spell. “It’s obvious you’re not going to school.”
He was silent for a long time, staring at the table between us. When he spoke, it was with his slow, countrified drawl. “I’m not cut out for school. Man, they can’t teach me anything about art that I don’t already know. Besides, there are more important things.” He leaned toward me and locked his stare into mine. “A friend of mine from the joint is being brought up to the dental school here next week. A couple of guards are bringing him up and I want to go see him. Uh, I need a gun. Can you help me?”
I felt horrified. I was being pressed into a place where I never wanted to be—a place with guns. I didn’t know anything about that world. I didn’t know anything about buying guns or using them, and I didn’t want to know. Instead of saying that, though, I gave Gary some sort of warning about his getting shot or shooting someone and getting more time in prison.
“Hey,” he interrupted, “if you’re worried about being an accomplice or something, then forget it. I’m no snitch.”
“It’s not that. I just don’t want to have anything to do with anything like that. No matter what happens, Gary, you’re throwing away your life.”
He narrowed his eyes. “It’s a matter of dignity,” he said. I looked away, shaking my head. Gary stared without expression at me for a long time, fidgeting with a book of matches. “I’d do it for my brother,” he said, and motioned for us to leave. Once more, he insisted on taking a taxi, back to my place, but he didn’t get out with me. He smiled and ruffled my hair as I got out of the cab. I started to say something but he stopped me. “It’s okay,” he said, but there was a terrible hurt in his eyes. I got out of the taxi feeling ashamed—feeling that I had let down somebody whose love and approval I had always wanted—and also feeling scared. I could tell that Gary was determined to get his gun and set his friend free, even if it meant a shoot-out. I didn’t see how my brother could come out of such a scenario alive. Even if he did, I didn’t want to be the person who had put a gun in his hands. I would feel guilty for whatever that gun did.
This was the first time that Gary put me in the place of making a horrible choice. I knew what his plans were. He had told me the day and the hour he planned on springing his friend from the guards at the dental school. I knew that when that happened, there was a good chance somebody would get killed. I thought about whether I should turn my brother in, and then I thought how I would feel if it was Gary who got shot dead on that day. I decided I could not turn him in. I did not want him dead. But as soon as I decided that, I felt as if I was already morally implicated in whatever killing he might do. He was a dangerous man. He should not be on the streets.
I hated knowing what I knew, I hated having to live with my choice. I hated the idea that I loved him more than the people he might kill.
I ONLY SAW GARY TWICE MORE during that escape period of less than a month. He stopped by for a couple of hours one night while I had a girlfriend over and asked me to play Johnny Cash records for him. He was charming and sober. He kidded the young woman. “You being nice to my brother? He’s my little brother you know, and I feel like I have to look out for him.”
Privately, I tried to prod him out of his plans. “Let’s just say they’ve changed,” he said. “Don’t you worry about it. The less you know, the better off you are.”
Another day I came out of class at Portland State and Gary was waiting for me outside. He had borrowed a car and said he wanted me to meet some friends. We drove out, Gary drinking beer all the way, but he was in a friendly, conversational