Case MO70

Marshal: Please state your name for the dictahpone.

Witness: I am Allan Gilmore, proprietor of the New South Illustrated News. I am also an auxiliary member of the organization known as the Lily-White League, under the name Inkbiter, recruited by a friend of my father. I declare that the information I provide today, I provide in exchange for a recommendation of reduced or commuted sentence, but without any additional coercion.

Marshal: Thank you. Your speech marks you as a man of letters.

Witness: I appreciate letters. North and South may rebuke me, but the written word remains written. No army or law can change the nature of a double-u. Shall we?

Marshal: I must ask, out of professional and personal interest, why you were so willing to cooperate. You lack the zealotry of the other League members I’ve had the misfortune of meeting, and if such a zealotry can be doused, I would like to know the method.

Witness: I respect that, sir, though I doubt you’ll have much luck. If we met two weeks prior, I very well may have dug my heels in and told you to go find someone else. You know I’m the last man in my family? Father, brothers, uncles, died in the war. If I was old enough to hold a gun, I might be dead too.

Marshal: Awful. I’m sorry for your loss.

Witness: Are you really? If we’d won, I can’t say I would be. But we did lose. We lost at the voting booth, and then we lost on the battlefield, and every time we lose, we lose harder. The League, the Klan, the Orders, the Knights, they’re sunk costs, sure, but they’re also our last hope of finally winning after all this time. But only a chance at hope, mixed with a lot of spite. You Yankees never account for spite. But after that horrible day, I must accept that the Confederacy will not return in any form or fashion, let go of that last hope. And spite’s not worth twenty years in prison, not when the Gilmore line needs a heir.

Marshal: Understood. Might I implore you to try understanding why the country ultimately chose abolition? I can recommend some reading material.

Witness: The prison guards won’t let me have my collections of Poe, and they confiscated the burlesque business card I smuggled in, so I will, in fact, consider your offer. Glad you’re the one dealing with me. I heard the other Marshal was-

Marshal: I would rather you not comment on Marshal 19.

Witness: Fair. Awful thing to happen to a guy, can’t imagine you enjoy thinking about it.

Marshal: Thank you. Now, regarding your arrival to this fine city?

Witness: From the start, Mr. Morrison was to handle the execution and Ms. Campbell and I were to publicize it and use it to drive support for the remnants of the Confederacy. But after the kidnapping went poorly and Mr. Morrison was left adrift, Ms. Campbell decided she couldn’t trust him to take care of things. And I wanted to see the hanging in person; easier to write the article that way. So, I accompanied her to Cincinnati by train and we went to find Morrison and the n-

[Silence]

Witness: Mr. Freestone. Apologies if I do slip. You know, I should have a partial transcript. I learned shorthand when I was a court reporter, and I took notes for the article I would have written if all went to plan.

Marshal: That’ll be in evidence. Do the best you can now and I’ll fish it out later.

[Converted from shorthand]

(Just got off train in Cincinnati; Thorn’s veiled in black so she looks like a widow; clever)

(Steelheel’s hiding in an opera house. Thorn knows the owner. We meet with him first. Thorn flirts without flirting. Then opera house)

(Gunshot?)

Thorn: Morrison, save your ammo. Couldn’t kill me if you wanted to.

Steelheel: Thorn? Damnable woman, are you mad? Why are you here?

Thorn: I did say I might do some travelling.

Steelheel: Here? The Marshals are raising an army to find us and you’re here? You’re Rosalee Campbell and a known fugitive; people know your face!

Thorn: You think this is the first time I’ve had to travel without being recognized? Really, Steelheel, you should learn to trust your betters. Besides, Inkbiter thinks the article will spark better with a first-hand account.

Steelheel: So you’re the man with the printing press? Always liked your work. Quick with that pencil, aren’t you?

(Steelheel: Handsome man, even disheveled. Dangerous. Firm handshake)

Thorn: Jesus, you speak more kindly to him than any woman I’ve seen you with. No wonder he’s tongue-tied. The darkie, where is he?

(Into a back room. Mad Cutter tied to chair. Stench to him. Vagrant-like. Hollowed body. Shining eyes. Not afraid)

Cutter: Rosalee…Campbell? Forgive me if you are not, my vision is hazy. I’ve been fasting in prayer for the past few days, after all.

Thorn: He tells jokes now?

Steelheel: What did I tell you? His behavior’s downright unseemly. I’ve seen r******s out West act all calm in the face of danger but - look at him, he’s smiling!

Thorn: You really are easily spooked. He’s just playing dumb; every c**n knows how to play that from birth. You’re a smart n****r, aren’t you? Think you know everything. Must spook you not knowing what we’re going to do to you.

Cutter: Not to worry, I am more than clear on my role here. I have been brought to Cincinnati, where you plan to execute me in front of as large an audience as possible, as part of an attempt to shame those who couldn’t catch me and gain credit for the lost South. I suspect the other two are out preparing the gallows?

(Yelling. Mostly Steelheel, doesn’t know how Mad Cutter found out. Thorn trying to shut him up.)

(Think the Cutter smiled at me? Tried to say something, couldn’t hear him over the other two. Steelheel just hit him in the mouth. Thorn led Steelheel out the room to go talk)

Cutter: Inkbiter, is it? And did I hear correctly? You write articles for a newspaper? I am Victor Freestone, handyman for the human body. I’d shake your hand, but…

Marshal: And you responded?

Witness: I did. He surprised me, addressing me like we were drinking together at a cotillion. I’m not…my family worked in manufacturing, not agriculture. You meet a couple of freedmen in that position, so I treated him as such.

Marshal: I’m a bit surprised myself. I’ve only talked to him briefly, but every account of him paints him as well-spoken, but polite and unassuming and very reserved. He has a boldness to him in your retelling that is absent anywhere prior.

Witness: You haven’t seen the half of it. I suspect it was an intentional strategy. I talked to Mr. Peters, one of Steelheel’s men, between then and the hanging and he told me that the Mad Cu-

Marshal: Names, please, Mr. Gilmore.

Witness: Right, right. Mr. Freestone asked a couple of innocuous questions after some polite small talk. That’s how he knew what the plan was. He’s wily.

Marshal: I could have guessed as much after the first time he managed to escape me. Continue.

Witness: Well, he just let me talk about myself, how I got into writing and the newspaper business. He said something about why he decided to get into the business of fixing people, how his mother suffered physically and such. Just normal talk, like we’re waiting for the train on the same bench. Then Thorn came back, said Steelheel went outside to check on the gallows, and kicked me out so she could talk to him alone.

Marshal: A shame. It’ll be difficult to find out what they were discussing given-

Witness: Marshal, I have the conversation written down. Nobody in the League trusted that woman. We hated her for forcing herself on us, and she hated us because she knew we’d rather that be the other way around. I can’t blame her for that bitterness - spite is in the blood of the South - but it was fearsome. She couldn’t pay me to not listen in while she’s talking with someone as unique as that one.

[Converted from shorthand]

Thorn: You proud of yourself there? Pleased with yourself?

Cutter: Such boastfulness would be unbecoming before a lady such as yourself.

Thorn: Far too pleased with yourself. Now, listen. We need it known that the League succeeded where the Marshals failed. That doesn’t mean you have to die.

Cutter: And the price to avoid death?

Thorn: Half the reason we came all the way to that hole in the ground called Henshaw was because nobody had heard of what you do. If someone of proper stature could bring such methods into wizardry, then-

Cutter: No.

Thorn: Victor Freestone, I know a thing or two about acting out of spite, but understand I am your best bet of surviving past next week. Is that really your final answer?

Cutter: I wouldn’t do it if I could, but that doesn’t matter because it can’t be done. It took me a week of mentorship before I learned just how to break through the skin safely, and I hear I’m supposed to be dead by then. If you were smart as Ms. Macy, or perhaps Ms. Walstead, I might be able to manage it, but-

(the boy yelped. she’s hit him somewhere, don’t know where. can’t see what without giving myself away. cutter sounds pained when he talks again)

Cutter: Are you proud of yourself there? Pleased with yourself?

Thorn: Mention that harlot again and I will kick harder next time.

Cutter: There’s no point in a next time. I tell you, it cannot be done.

Thorn: Fine. It was an idle hope. I am about to lead the execution of the nation’s most infamous, uncatchable criminal. I am going to return to the status and fame that befit me, free to preach my gospel to the world, that the intelligence and brilliance given to whiteness is hardly locked in gender. I don’t need to be a horrific surgeon as well. Meanwhile, you’ll have choked to death. Steelheel hung a lot of r******s in the West; he knows how to make it last, make you suffer.

Cutter: I’m sure he does. It won’t work, by the way.

Thorn: Oh, really? You think the Marshals are going to finally become competent and rescure you? Maybe your little girl genius or the vulgar vixen? Maybe Prince Remus is going to whisk you away? Please. Whatever tricks you had planned against Steelheel, I am far more-

Cutter: A miraculous rescue was your idea, if I recall, so I have no interest in stealing it. I mean exploiting my death won’t work. You want to be taken seriously, so you can’t just hang me from any tree branch, no, you need an audience, you need gallows, you need to act like you’re just as good as the government instead of just a bitter dying cult aching for a lynching. I sincerely doubt you’ll be able to pull that off. You can’t hide the fact that you’re acting out of raw hate. Reporters who are not part of your league will take note. How confident are you that the nation will accept your account?

Thorn: You’ve been too busy running to read the newspapers. Inkbiter has done well to turn the nation against you and the Marshals. His account alone will be enough to push things into our favor.

Cutter: That won’t be enough. There will be questions from legal professionals about the use of execution when I have taken no life. If anybody connects you or Mr. Morrison to Marvin’s circus, there will be questions about the five people who did die because of you - and threats, no doubt. I left poor Josephine’s face in disarray, but I’m not the reason her father is dead - Henshaw will remember that. The mayor alone will gun you down before letting you profit off of the town’s misfortune.

Thorn: Oh, you think the old war goat is going to save you, is that it? You think a one-armed man is capable of overcoming two experienced magi and-

Cutter: Have you ever gotten shot? For a moment it’s sharper and brighter than anything you’ve ever felt, a flash of a white, shining crevice in reality. Then you actually hear the gunshot, and then you feel that vital essence pour out of you with the blood, the fragility of life brought out to suffer. Your body knows with certainty that one day it will die, even if that isn’t the wound that does the deed. Henshaw’s pastor did that to me because he was afraid I might become an accessory to murder. Don’t worry though. Mayor Macy’s a war hero and a much better shot; he killed wizards so well he made captain; he knows how to make it quick.

Thorn: I am not going to be threatened by a n****r tied to a chair.

(Never heard Thorn this upset. Did she just stuttered [sic]?)

Cutter: No threats. I am merely telling you the facts. This is not going to go the way you expect. You’ll do better than Mr. ‘Steelheel’ alone, I’m certain, but not by much, not by enough. I know a thing or two about trying to correct the world on who you really are, and you have nothing to correct. You are a singer and a wizard and a sadist, and not much else, and that is not enough to kill a man and become a hero. You’re not enough.

Thorn: And you’re just a n****r with pretensions. Why am I bothering to listen to you? I’ll call back-

Cutter: You’re bothering to listen to me because you can call me nigger all you like, but you know I’m too smart for you to risk ignoring me. So listen to me; it is not going to work. You haven’t even realized the biggest problem yet. Do you want to know what it is?

(can’t hear anything. is she strangling him?)

Cutter: Every bit of effort you put into trying to officialize or justify this execution undercuts the Confederacy you wish to resurrect. Under the Confederacy, I’m a nigger with pretensions, a coon out of line. You don’t execute a coon; you lynch him. You hang me from the neck until dead in front of this town, as an act official, then you will say to the world that, for all my wrongs, I am a human being, not loose livestock.

(she’s laughing now?)

Thorn: You really thought you had something there. A broken neck kills a human, a pig and a n****r the same way.

Cutter: But a human being gets a coffin and a funeral - or if they don’t, it is noted. A human being is remembered. You think that you’ll be able to leverage my death for your own aggrandizement and walk away, but my legacy, as grim as it is, will follow yours forever. Steelheel’s might as well; he’s the one who actually caught me. Any status you build will never be truly self-made; your efforts will always stand on the deeds of two men. That’s the price of killing a human being instead of a nigger you can just toss in the river when you’re done. Don’t worry though. If you need a good example of a woman succeeding largely on her own merits and achievements, you can always ask Matilda. She got closer to beating me on her own that you could with the whole League behind you.

(nobody’s talking. did she kill him with some silent magic? did he manage to kill her with just words?)

Thorn: I’m going to cut that fucking tongue out of your mouth.

Cutter: As a medical professional, blood loss and infection might finish me off before the gallows. Might I suggest a simple linen gag?

(another yelp. a lot of hitting. since when does Thorn get physical?)

Witness: By the time she let me back in, she’d gagged him with her own veil. The man had a black eye and a cut lip, and god knows where else she beat him. Steelheel came back, made a crack about Thorn getting rough with the field n-Negro, she nearly assaulted him and I had to calm them down before she and I could decamp at a hotel. I didn’t say a word to her for the rest of the night.

[Silence]

Witness: Marshal?

Marshal: Yes, yes, I’m…still here. I’m just…your retelling was very…impressive.

Witness: Impressive is a word. Terrifying is another. Didn’t raise his voice or change tone once in those three minutes, still talking politely like he’s commenting on the harvest. I think he spooked the lot of us. I know I didn’t try and see him again before the hanging, and I doubt Campbell or Morrison did either. That’s probably why he was able to pull it off; nobody was keeping an eye on him besides Peters and Nelson, and they’re useless.

Marshal: Thank you for your insight, Mr. Gilmore. I think it might be best if we take a break for the night. I can fetch your notebook in the meantime.

Witness: If I may, I have a question to exchange for the one you started with. All you Marshals used to be Union soldiers, right?

Marshal: True. I made sergeant before I lost most of my limbs.

Witness: You knew you were murdering men who were your kin only a few years prior, burning fields and farms that used to clothe you, freeing slaves that helped support the wealth the North enjoys. You seem like a gentle soul. How do you live with all that blood on your hands?

[Silence]

Marshal: I didn’t think about it back then. I got drafted with my friends, so I stuck with them, and that was enough. However, with the benefit of maturity and education, I believe that if it was not me and my generation, it would be the next, or the one after. The only path forward without bloodshed was compromise, and that had been strained to its absolute limit. And the South broke compromise first when they let the Fire-Eaters break with the Union.

Witness: How could we have compromised with Lincoln? His election was the first step to the total abolition of slavery, and the fall of the South with it.

Marshal: It has been abolished, at great cost that could have been avoided if it was done voluntarily, and scarred as the South is, it is not dead. Neither are you. Then and now, I never wanted you dead. I wanted my friends to survive to live a good life, and now I want everyone to survive to have a better life. The Constitution promises the pursuit of happiness to every man. I see no reason to make that pursuit longer than it has to be for any man or woman.

Witness: Huh. I expected abolitionist hokum, but you sound more like a unionizer like that. Careful the Pinkertons don’t catch you.

Marshal: There’s a Negro woman in Chicago who preaches on things that would make the Pinkertons gnash their teeth. She’s still alive, and she’s not made of stone. But I appreciate your concern.

Witness: Sure, sure. So…when should I expect the reading material?

Marshal: I’ll check with Okese once she’s done with all the autopsies.

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