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“We get along great,” I assured her. “The guy is just lonely or something and he appreciates the attention I give him. Besides, you know me—I can get along with people of any age.”

When I saw her nod her head in agreement, I knew I was scoring some points.

“Besides,” I said, spreading the frosting on the cake, “I could write some really cool papers for school about the prison system and serial killers. It’s totally safe.”

It was the safety issue that most concerned my mother, as it would any parent. There was no way she was going to let me go unless she was totally convinced nothing bad could happen. She absolutely insisted on talking to the prison’s warden to go over arrangements for the visit and hear his own assurances that I’d be protected. I agreed this was a sensible precaution.

Frankly, I was amazed she was so amenable to the idea. I wasn’t sure if she thought the whole thing was a scam by Gacy that would never come to pass. More likely, she saw, in me, a chance to vicariously live out her own fantasies of being a criminal investigator. After all those years of reading crime books, she realized how unique this opportunity actually was.

Now that my mother was on board, I knew my father would be a snap. The only obstacle was setting up a conversation with the warden.

The next time Gacy called, he was more than happy to speak with my mother, telling her that he and I would just hang out like old friends for a couple of days. He reassured her that he was just a regular guy. Sure, maybe he’d killed a few dozen boys my age, here and there, but he could be charming when he wanted to be.

Despite his breezy claims, my mother asked him straight out, “Look, you’re on Death Row. What’s to stop you from harming my son, or making sexual advances towards him, or even killing him?”

That seemed to give him something to ponder because he waited awhile before he responded. Finally, he said, “First, I’ve never killed anyone. Second, if I did hurt your son in any way, they’d take away all my privileges.” He forgot to mention, however, that his scheduled execution date was just weeks away and he really had very little left to lose.

Still unconvinced, my mother said she’d have to talk to the warden, too.

“No problem,” said Gacy. “It’s already been arranged— hold on.”

While my mother was waiting to be connected to the warden’s office, I told her that because Gacy was such a prison celebrity, there was even more than the usual amount of security to make sure nothing unpredictable would occur.

Before she could answer, the warden came on the line.

“Hello, Mrs. Moss,” he said, “how can I help you?”

“Well, Warden, my son was thinking about going down there to visit Gacy. How can I be sure that nothing bad will happen to him?”

“Well, you can never be completely sure about anything, Mrs. Moss. But we take a lot of safety precautions here at Menard.”

“Will Gacy be able to touch Jason or be near him?”

“No, that won’t be possible. They’re each seated in two different rooms, with a glass wall between the inmate and visitor so they can speak to one another. Gacy will have his hands and legs shackled as well. There’s also a camera in the room where the visitor is seated. This is monitored at all times.”

“Really?” my mother said, apparently impressed.

“There’s not much to worry about,” said the warden. “There hasn’t been an incident here in many, many years. Your son will be fine.”

“Yes,” my mother agreed. She seemed a bit flattered that someone with this much authority was treating her with such respect.

“Gacy gets visitors here all the time,” he explained. “He’s getting old, and surprisingly, he can actually be fun sometimes. I don’t think a guy trying to get out on appeal would risk his whole life and the postponement of his execution to try something stupid. And let me reassure you again, all he could do is try. The security is just too tight.”

Before my mother hung up, she hit the warden with one last question: “What about guards? There’ll be guards around, right?”

“Oh yes, there’ll be a guard walking the halls every couple