The Last Victim_ A True-Life Journey Into the Mind of the Serial Killer - Jason Moss [38]
16
What’s Up, Buddy?
“This is a collect call from inmate . . . ‘John Gacy’ from the Menard Correctional Center. To accept the call, say yes after the tone.”
It was nine o’clock on a Sunday morning when the phone rang. I was sound asleep when I grabbed—or rather knocked—the receiver off the hook, struggling to think clearly. Rather than a live person, I heard an unearthly recorded, mechanical voice speaking without inflection.
“Huh?” I muttered into the receiver, realizing as I said it that I wasn’t selecting one of the offered choices.
I was now fully awake. In fact, I could never recall feeling more alive than at that moment. “Yes,” I said softly, and then much louder: “Yes, operator, I accept. I mean, I’ll accept the call.” What an idiot I sounded like, but before I could berate myself further, I heard a real voice, a human voice.
“What’s up, buddy?”
Silence from me. I was utterly speechless, unable to form a single word. I just sat up in bed, mute, gripping the phone in a tight clinch, trying to organize my thoughts and remind myself to stay in role. I kept telling myself to stay calm, that I could do this, that I could be a good actor when I wanted to be. There was, however, another voice in my head simultaneously saying, “Jason, this is John Wayne Gacy, one of the most successful killers in the country. His full attention is now directed toward you.”
“I know this is probably awkward for you,” Gacy tried to reassure me. “Just relax. I’m watching TV right now, just hanging out in my cell. What about you?”
I felt so nervous, I still couldn’t respond immediately. “Uh, sorry. I was out late last night. I just woke up.”
“Out late banging your girlfriend?” Gacy asked with a snicker.
Another long pause while I tried to gather my thoughts and figure out where this was going. “Yeah,” I played along. Then I tried to change the subject. “I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you.” I hoped I sounded appropriately passive and helpless like my chosen character. The fact is, at that point I did feel pretty helpless.
Gacy immediately began talking about the letter I’d just sent him in which I’d sounded hurt and angry. “Don’t worry about the letter,” he said, his voice conciliatory. “You’re taking it way too seriously. I didn’t mean that you were trying to use me or anything. It’s just that so many people write because of that reason.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not one of those people,” I told him, trying to sound firm in my own way.
“I didn’t say that you were. I apologize for how it sounded in the letter. You just don’t understand how many people want something from me. I really didn’t mean that you’re like that. Don’t worry, bud, okay?”
All the while Gacy was apologizing to me, I couldn’t keep from grinning. He really did believe I was who I pretended to be. He was doing everything he could to ingratiate himself, to make amends. I wiped the pleased smile off my face to remain consistent with my character. I remembered that I was supposed to be feeling indignant.
“John, what you wrote in your letter was complete bull-shit! None of that was true, you know!”
Saying this to Gacy was probably the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life. No matter how many times I told myself that he was only on the phone, thousands of miles away, I still thought that if I went too far with my act, he’d somehow find a way to get me, just like those monsters in the movies.
I held my breath as I waited to see how he’d respond. It seemed like hours before he said anything. I could almost feel him thinking on the other end of the line, making his own calculations.
“You can be a feisty little shit, can’t you?” he replied in a tone of voice that was starting to irritate me. “What’s the matter, Jason? Didn’t you get enough sex last night?” He started laughing at his feeble attempt to change