Shot in the Heart - Mikal Gilmore [172]
“Your honor,” my brother said, “my next parole appearance is this month. Do you think the Parole Board might parole me right away?”
The judge smiled grimly. He recognized there was a little humor in the remark. “I would doubt it, Mr. Gilmore, but I think if you were sitting on the Parole Board you wouldn’t consider yourself for a parole right now either, in the light of this past experience.
“All right. That will be the sentence.”
After the proceedings, Gary asked for a moment to speak to my mother and me. My mother was shaking, she was crying so hard. Gary leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Look, don’t worry,” he told her. “They can’t hurt me any more than I’ve already hurt myself.”
He turned to me. We shook hands through his handcuffs, then he ruffled my hair. “You did right. Now do me a favor. Put on some weight, okay? You’re too goddamned skinny.”
The next time I saw him was six days before his execution.
WHAT NONE OF US KNEW, THROUGHOUT ANY OF THIS, was that Gary had been betrayed by his best friend, Barry Black. Barry had known that Gary planned on meeting him and the guards at the dental school with a gun, but he grew afraid that he might get killed himself, or that he might end up drawing additional time for attempting such an escape. Barry went to the warden and made a deal. He told the warden what Gary’s plans were, and who he might be staying with in the Portland area. In exchange, the warden gave Barry protection, and an assurance that all this would be taken into consideration during his next review before the Parole Board.
When Gary arrived back at the prison, he made it known that he was hurt and angry. Barry was kept in a separate part of the prison yard, away from Gary. Gary would stand outside and yell, “Barry Black is a fink!” so loud and so long, the guards would drag him off the field and into his cell. Barry went into isolation for protection. Gary got into a fight with somebody so he could also be placed in isolation. When the warden caught wind of this, he had Barry Black transferred to another prison. There was little question in anybody’s mind that Gary would have killed his old friend the first chance he got.
YEARS PASSED. I wrote Gary a couple of letters during this time and he wrote back, but there was a coldness and bitterness in what he wrote. I figured he had never forgiven me for my resistance that day in the topless bar. In turn, I had my own anger: Gary’s request had been unfair, and he had been a fool to destroy the best chance he’d ever had at a second start. But it was more than anger: I was also afraid of my brother. I saw him as a walking deadly force.
I returned to my habit of not going to see him, and we both drifted into a long silence. We were each too proud to give the other person’s viewpoint much thought. In time, Gary had me taken off his visitors list. I didn’t feel insulted, I didn’t feel ashamed. Instead, I felt relieved.
Meantime, Frank continued to see Gary. Not long ago, he wrote me a letter, telling me about those visits:
I started these visits because of a letter I received from Gary. He was filled with pain and hatred because he had been forgotten by his family. He sounded like a man who was ready to jump off an eleven-story building.
On my first visit, I was really surprised at how much he had changed. He was much meaner-looking than I had remembered him being before. I remember one of the first things that we talked about was the guards. Gary was of the opinion that all guards were pussies, and that they were trying to make him and his friends look bad all the time.
I asked, “Well, Gary, are they treating you decent?”
“C’mon, Frank, they don’t treat any of us like we are human. All guards suck—don’t you agree?”
“No, Gary. Me, I think some guards suck, but I think some prisoners suck too.”
“Well, Frank, old buddy, you’re wrong. All guards suck. In one way or another. But you should know this. You’ve been in prison. You’re a pro too.”
“No,” I would tell him, “I’m not even an amateur.” Then I’d try to change the