The Last Victim_ A True-Life Journey Into the Mind of the Serial Killer - Jason Moss [12]
One idea I had was to talk to a male prostitute so I could at least learn the appropriate jargon and customs. As it happened, I’d already road-tested this strategy on a female prostitute sometime before. It was a typical “Jason experience.” I happened to be walking down the Strip with some friends when she approached us. Most suburban teenage boys would, of course, have muttered a sheepish “No thanks” and skittered away. But with an audience of my peers to perform for, I did exactly the opposite. I pretended to be an interested customer long enough to get her life story, and she even ended up buying us dinner.
I decided to start my research by asking the bartender in a local gay bar for some direction. I was prepared to feel uncomfortable, and, in fact, the whole scene was a bit disorienting. As I stood at the bar talking to the bartender, I noticed some of the patrons checking me out. I suppose it was flattering, but all I could feel was relief that I felt no inclination to respond to their interest.
The bartender advised me to check out the personal ads in a particular newspaper. I looked through the possibilities available and settled on one of them: “For all night companionship, call Rico. Experienced pleasure.”
I called Rico on the phone that very night, half persuaded that I’d pushed the envelope too far this time. I was afraid he might get the wrong idea, that he’d think I wanted more than to talk.
“Hello,” he answered on the second ring.
“Hi, is this Rico?” I said, not at all acting in my role as the nervous patron. “I saw your ad.”
“So,” he replied in a seductive voice, “what can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if we could meet somewhere, so we could talk.”
“Good, because I don’t like to talk over the phone. Why don’t we meet at the bowling alley at Sam’s Town Casino?”
“That sounds fine. Let’s say, an hour.”
I still had time to back out of this meeting. What if someone I knew saw me there? What if the guy turned out to be dangerous or something? It felt like if I backed down, I was giving in to my fear, and then I’d never be able to follow through on my larger plan.
The bowling alley at the casino was extremely crowded. It was jam-packed with bowling lanes, snack bars, gambling machines, and a video arcade. There was a thick smell of smoke and that indefinable, antiseptic aroma they put into the casino air system to hide the scent of fear and defeat. The high noise level seemed to make the whole environment seem anonymous, which gave me some comfort.
I saw Rico waiting at the appointed spot near the bowling lanes. He looked like a construction worker—about five-ten, 170 pounds, with short brown hair. He didn’t look at all like what I pictured a male prostitute to be. He looked . . . I don’t know . . . normal.
As I walked up to greet him, it occurred to me that this is just what Gacy would do, this is how he’d find someone to rape and kill. I was thinking about what Gacy might feel as he approached a prospective victim when Rico began the conversation.
“So what can I do for you?” he asked with a smile, as if we were both already well aware of what that might be.
“I was wondering,” I started hesitantly, “I was wondering if I could pay you just to talk to me and give me some information about what you do.”
The smile on Rico’s face immediately froze, then turned downward into something not nearly as inviting. I quickly hurried on before he bolted altogether. “It’s not what you think. I’m a student from UNLV and I want to write a paper about your lifestyle.”
I could tell he was immediately suspicious. Maybe I was a cop? But I was too young to be a cop. More likely, he was guessing I really did want his services but was uncomfortable accepting my homosexuality.
Straight off, he wanted to eliminate his first suspicion.