July 25, 1969 - Hinman

"Cappy, [Catherine Gillies] would you and Sadie round up Charlie and the guys? The food is ready." Brenda [Nancy Pitman] stirred the steaming pots and lifted a roasting pan from the oven in the ranch's dilapidated kitchen.

"Sure." Cappy smiled and headed outside. "Hey Charlie! Chow's ready. You comin'?"

"Yeah, call the others. I'm headin' to the creek to wash up."

"Okay Charlie, I'll tell Brenda."

The guys — Zero (John Haught), Bruce (Bruce Davis), Tex (Charles Watson), Bobby (Beausoleil, suitable for parole January 7, 2025, decision finalized by Governor Gavin Newsom no later than June 6, 2025), Clem (Steve Grogan), and Danny (Danny DeCarlo) — followed Charlie. They stripped, jumped in, and washed off the day's roadway dust and engine grease with a couple well-worn soap bars. With some effort and a lot of splashing and good-natured frolicking, the gang got clean and hoofed it back to the saloon for the evening meal.

The men took their seats at the white laminate and metal kitchen table. The girls followed suit. Everyone dug in.

Brenda was the Family genius for whipping up a wonderful meal from the daily grocery store dumpster runs for fruit and veg, adding the right amount of spices and tofu the girls bought at the Chatsworth market.

The mood was tense around the dinner table. Little small talk and a lot of silence. The girls sensed something was up and ate quicker than usual. The kitchen clean-up could wait. They would leave the men to their meal and conversation. The girls headed outside for a toke and a stroll up the rocky hilltop to view the sunset and the city lights beginning to twinkle in the valley below.

At the saloon dining table, things were far less relaxing.

"Listen. Bobby's goin' to Gary's tonight to get him to join us in our move to the desert. Bobby thinks Gary has come into some dough that could help us get there quicker and away from all this Panther noise."

Charlie looked at Bobby. Bobby nodded. Charlie, hearing no dissension, continued.

"You guys see the news this morning? A Black Panther reportedly shot and dumped at the entrance to a Pig [Manson used the term Pig to mean the police or the white Establishment] hospital? That's got to be Crowe [Bernard Crowe, aka Lotsapoppa]. We need to jam outta here. Bobby, you'll talk to Gary about this Straight Satan drug shit, too, right?"

Bobby nodded again, swallowing hard what had been on his fork. "Yeah, I'll talk to him about it all. But Hell, Charlie, I can't force him to refund the bikers when they didn't give me back the tabs. That's bad business. I'll ask him if this poison shit was possible and get what I can from the dude to humor the guys. I'm a dumbass for gettin' involved in this deal to begin with. What the fuck do I know about biker drug-dealin', anyhow?"

Charlie leaned over his plate. "You got some hard shit to go over with Gary. Getting him all firmed up won't help the confab. Why don't you take Sadie and Mary with you? Soften the blow."

Charlie looked down the table. "Bruce, you drive them over in the truck."

Bruce nodded, his expression more predatory than social.

Charlie leaned back and smiled. "Listen, relax, man. You go over there lookin' like you wanna party, and maybe all this will go down easy. Cupid, sweet-talk the dude. You're good at that. We need to bug out before this Panther shit blows up in our face."

Bobby smiled. "Sure, man, no problem. I'll go round up the girls. Gary's a great guy, and he loves Mary. I don't see nothing wrong. Hell, he's told me how he loves the desert and loves our free life. He'll probably be thrilled we want him to join. I just hope he sees things my way about the tabs. I don't need no SS assholes on my case."

Bruce and Bobby left. They hollered at Mary and Sadie, and all four climbed in the truck headed for Topanga. They arrived as the sun melted behind the canyon hills.

All was quiet at Gary's pad, but he was home. His VW and Fiat were parked below the front staircase. They'd have Gary all to themselves.

The girls headed straight for the stairs. Bruce stopped Bobby and slid him a 9 mm Polish Radom automatic. Bobby looked puzzled.

Bruce said, "Just for insurance, eh?"

Bobby shrugged his shoulders, took the gun, and slid it into the small of his back, paying it no mind. Bruce, the most wily of the bunch, wanted nothing to do with this so-called "party," fearing it may not go down well. He waved and wheeled out of the lot, skidding the truck's tires on the gravel, leaving a dust trail that washed over the only man there to do the job.

Bobby looked up at the girls. They knew nothing of Manson's plan. They wanted to get high. Bobby trudged up the stairs and rapped on the screen door. Music wafted out, and the girls danced on the stoop. Bobby stood still, his shoulders sitting heavier than usual on his slight frame. Partying was not on his mind.

Before Bobby could gather his thoughts, the door creaked open. Gary greeted them with a big smile. "Hey, Bobby! How are ya, man? What you guys doing here?"

"Hey, Gary. We were just jawin' about you after dinner at Spahn's, and we said, let's crash his pad instead of talkin' about the dude. So here we are. Hope it's okay, man?" Bobby feigned a smile.

"Yeah, sure, come on in. I was just smokin' and jammin' on the piano when you knocked."

The girls hugged Gary and everyone followed him in. The only lights lit were the bulb above the stove and the sheet music light over the living room piano. Pot smoke hovered in the heat as a slow-moving haze. If anyone in the canyon had initially overheard this impromptu get-together, they would have heard talking, laughing, and music. But no one heard a thing at Gary's place that night.

The day had been a hot one in LA. Gary had all his picture-framed windows wide open to the canyon breeze. You could see the odd light and hear music coming from other homes way down the canyon, and at the Pacific Coast highway 101 intersection. Parties went on day and night at the Spiral Staircase and other Malibu and canyon haunts.

The girls made tea for themselves and handed the guys cold beers purloined from Gary's fridge. The group sat around the kitchen table. Gary leaned forward, offering a joint to Bobby.

Bobby raised his hand. "Thanks, man, but before we sit back and relax, could we talk about that fucked up SS drug deal?"

"Yeah, sure. They're still beefed about it, are they?" Gary took another toke.

"Yeah. I get their end. But it's still bad business for the SS not to return the stuff to us. Was there any way your tabs could have been bad?"

Gary sat back and thought. "Well, there's one way. When you called me up wanting such a large supply, I had to give you a mix of some new tabs plus a bunch of old ones I kept stored in my basement cold room. Mescaline's chemical composition can decompose over time into a baseline form of strychnine. I checked this out at UCLA the other day to make sure, you know, when I heard about the beef. Unfortunately, I gave you all I had of the older tabs and the SS didn't supply you with testers, so I can't test them and know for sure."

"Man, you talkin' way above my head. Is there any way we can partly refund them, so our rep stays good and we get the SS off my ass, and away from the ranch? They're on Charlie's case. Do you have any of the two grand left?"

"Shit, Bob, I used that money to buy my return tickets to Europe the day after you gave it to me. I leave in under three weeks, and they're non-refundable. I got nothin' for you. Sorry, man."

Bobby leaned forward, nearly pleading with Gary now. "Ah shit, man. They're hasslin' the girls and Charlie even when I'm at my Hollywood apartment. I need these guys to back off. I shouldn't have done the deal. What the hell do I know about dealin'? Geez, man." Bobby lowered his head.

Gary nodded but added nothing to the conversation. Silence reigned. The girls sipped their tea. The men guzzled the beers.

Bobby inhaled. "Okay. How ‘bout this? You take up Charlie's offer to join the group and head up to Barker Ranch with us. Sell your tickets to someone you know at UC and hand the money over to me. I'll give half to Charlie and the other half to the SS. How ‘bout that, man? Can you see your way to helpin' me and Charlie out?"

Gary's eyes bugged out. His once contented expression when the group arrived soon melted, and not from the oppressive heat.

"I can't change my plans now. I've scheduled another girl to take over my piano lesson clients, and I've quit my UC internship for this trip. And all I got for spending money is $200 unless I'm able to make and sell another batch of tabs before I leave. I got nothin' to offer ya, man, seriously."

"Well, I gotta do somethin'. Listen, you're going away, right? How ‘bout you hand me over your two cars, and when you get back, you and I can turn over some more tabs and get replacement wheels for you then. How ‘bout that?"

Gary's deflated look turned to shock. "No fucking way! Those are the only things of value I own. That's not fair, man! Not fair. I didn't fuck up that drug deal. You forced me into it when I wasn't supplied. I still think the shit was good, too. They're probably trying to pull a fast one. Nope. This is your bag, Bobby. Sorry, man. You deal with it."

Gary bolted from his chair. He turned to head into the living room. Bobby jumped up and threw Gary into a head lock, pistol-whipping him with the butt of the Radom.

"Jesus, Bob, what the fuck are ya doin', man!" Gary pried his head out of Bobby's hold, his fingers finding a warm trickle of blood running down his bruised and battered forehead.

"I'm sick of this. I don't care about your plans. I care about my life. I don't make good on this deal, and I'm dead. Sign over those pink slips before you make me do something neither of us wants me to do. I've heard on the streets you've come in a $5000 inheritance, or something. I hear stuff about you, Gary. I know what's going on. You ain't just goin' to Europe on no lousy $200, man. We need what you got to get us away from LA and up to Barker for the winter. Mary, Tex, Katie, Lulu, Linda [prosecution star witness, Linda Kasabian passed away in 2023], me, hell, we all chipped in when they joined Charlie. Why should you be any different?"

Gary fell back into the kitchen chair, silent as the grave, rocking back and forth from the head pain.

With no immediate reply, Bobby tried again. This time with a semi-sweet sell. "You're a goddamned greedy sonofabitch, Gary. The least you could do is help Charlie and me. Charlie wants outta town 'cause of the Panther hit. I want to clean up this SS deal. All we want is for you to join us at Barker and chill out for the winter. We plan on refining our music up there so we can be ready when Gregg Jakobson schedules another recording session in the spring. You could be a part of this. It's going to be great. We could use your music writing talent. You'd be in on any record deal we end up making with Gregg."

Gary slowly cocked his head to face Bobby, his expression pained more from the emotional than the physical. "This isn't like you, man. I don't know where you've heard this shit about me and some inheritance, but your info is bogus. I've got no extra dough. I'll sign over one car to you for the SS shit if that's the only way out of this thing. But then you leave me alone. I don't want to be part of Charlie's crumby Family, or any goddamn record deal. I just want to live my life peacefully, ya dig?"

Bobby handed the 9mm to Sadie, knowing full well Sadie wouldn't shoot Gary, but the threat would be visible all the same. Bobby left the kitchen and tossed the place, looking for the plane tickets.

Sadie screamed. "Bobby! Gary's got the gun!"

Bobby raced back to see Gary fighting with Sadie, trying to wrench the gun for her hands. Bobby jumped Gary. The two struggled. Someone got hold of the trigger.

Bang!

The bullet ricocheted around the small room. The four ducked until the projectile came to rest under the kitchen sink.

"Listen, you sniveling asshole. Sign over both the cars to me right now! I didn't come here to get fucked by you and your bullshit! Give us what you got, or the next shot will hit more than your frigging kitchen sink!"

Gary's face turned a bright red. Pure rage.

"That's all you came here for tonight, wasn't it? Not to party. You wanted to steal from me to cover your end on that SS deal we both know wasn't bad. That's cold, man, really cold. After all I've done for you guys."

Bobby stared at Gary. No emotion, no affect. Gary no longer saw the easy-going guy Bobby had always been. This time, he saw a killer.

"Okay, okay. I'll sign over the goddamned cars if you just leave me alone!"

"That's a wise decision, man. I don't want shit on my ass any more than you do. Your two cars will probably come to a grand. That'll get the SS off Charlie, off me, and off you."

The two men headed down to the driveway to retrieve the VW and Fiat pink slips. Both wanted this moment to be done. They returned to the house. Gary signed them over and shoved them at Bobby with an audible huff.

A car roared up the driveway, skidding its tires on the hard-packed ground. Before the girls could say someone was there, Bruce and Charlie barreled through the screen door. In silence, Charlie marched into the living room, whipped out a 15 inch cutlass from behind his back — the one the Straight Satan's had given him — and sliced a horizontal gash through Gary's left cheek and ear.

Gary screamed. The force of the blow and the resulting pain sent Gary falling to the floor, the gushing blood seeping into the carpet. He lifted his hand to the wound. His fingers became soaked with the warm, red flow. Gary curled up into a fetal position as a defense against the raging pain.

"Give Bob every goddamned thing you own or die, your choice!" Charlie said.

Bobby, stunned, stared at Charlie. "Why did you do that?"

Charlie glared. "To show you how to be a man."

Gary turned his head. Every movement, searing pain. "You stuck me, you goddamned sonofabitch! All I've done for you and Mary and Bobby. This is what I get? You're fucking crazy, man. Take your gang and get the hell out of my house before I call the cops! Get fucked!"

Bobby finally found his voice. "Charlie, what are you doing? I had this situation under control. What am I supposed to do now?" Bobby pointed his hands at Charlie's bloody mess.

Mary and Sadie ran in.

Charlie turned to Sadie and said, "You and Mary take the truck and go get some first aid shit to take care of Gary." He pushed a $20 bill into her hand. Charlie's threat to kill Gary had been forgotten as soon as it was said.

The girls nodded and took off. Bruce got a towel for Gary's ear. Charlie pulled Bobby into the kitchen.

"Listen, man. Mary called the ranch and told me there was trouble. Gary got your gun. There was a shot. What was I supposed to think?"

Bobby opened his mouth to respond. Charlie was in no mood to listen.

"Why can't you take care of your own shit? Why do I got to clean up other people's messes? Crowe dead 'cause of Tex. Gary sliced up 'cause of you. And none of these deals were mine! I'm not going back to the joint for nobody, you dig? I need you to take care of Gary. Get whatever money he's got, then bring him back to Spahn's. There we can make sure he ain't no snitch while he heals. Can I count on you to finish what you started, man?"

Bobby was spitting mad. "Goddamn it. I had everything under control. Yeah, I'll clear this up. We'll get to Spahn's real soon. Gary signed over his cars." Bobby showed Charlie the pink slips. "But he says he ain't got no inheritance, and he's not joining us in the desert."

Charlie waved a hand in dismissal. "Look, I don't give a shit about all that now. Just get things done. We can work on Gary once you get over to Spahn's. I can't be part of anything you do here to clean this up, you hear?" Charlie's last words hissed like a viper's tongue.

Without another word or apology, Charlie and Bruce wheeled out of the drive as the girls drove back in.

It was 12:07 a.m. July 26, 1969.