John Wayne Gacy Read Online Free PDF

ringing.
    John Wayne Gacy left Robert Jerome Piest lying on the floor gagging, surrendering, sucking in his final breaths of oxygen as he went to answer his telephone. “You think you can fool me, you fucking little lying homo,” Gacy spat out as he lumbered off.
    It was just past ten. Rob and John had been in John’s house a little over a half hour.
    On the phone, Richard Raphael was angry. John never showed for their meeting. Gacy made several disjointed excuses. His uncle was sick. His uncle might die. He might have to go to the hospital. He was too tired. He forgot. They would meet at John’s house tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. “Don’t be late.” Gacy was completely unaffected by the night’s tragic, morbid occurrence. Richard Raphael noticed nothing whatsoever wrong or different about Gacy’s voice when they spoke. Same old John.
    Gacy closed Rob’s eyes and manipulated his face in an effort to soften the grotesquely contorted frozen facial features of the strangled boy and stuffed a wad or two of paper into Rob’s mouth because he didn’t want him to leak fluids all over the place. He lifted the limp corpse of Rob Piest, carried it down the hall, and placed it onto his own bed in his bedroom.
    Again the telephone rang.
    “Now what?” Gacy mumbled. He answered the phone while Rob Piest’s body lay quiet.
    On the line was Gacy’s aunt Leone Scow, his mother’s sister. “Uncle Harold has taken a turn for the worse,” she said. “They don’t think he will make it through the night.”
    Gacy looked at his silent houseguest. “I have a few things to attend to, but I will be at the hospital as soon as I can get there, within the hour.”
    “Hurry, John,” Aunt Leone said through stifled tears. “It’s time.”
    It seemed that John Gacy was surrounded by death, a death merchant that drew death toward him. Now he had to go and perhaps watch some other poor schmuck gasp his last breath, unless he kicked it before John arrived. “Fuck, this is bullshit,” he grumbled as he lumbered grudgingly down the hall back toward the rec room.
    He surveyed the room. There were two half-empty bottles of beer, one on the small table next to his chair and one on the bar; some IRS forms and an application for employment, which had floated to the floor when Rob involuntarily released his grasp on them; and a light blue parka draped over a barstool. Otherwise, the room was in its normal meticulously kept condition. Gacy was a fastidious housekeeper, a “Felix,” a place for everything and everything in its place. He emptied the beer bottles into the kitchen sink and pitched the empties into the garbage. He groaned as he bent down to pick up the papers off the floor and groused silently about how he was getting older. I can’t even touch my toes anymore , he thought. He put the papers back in his office, in the filing cabinet where they belonged, passing Rob’s corpse on the bed in his room as he wandered about as if it wasn’t even there. He picked up the parka and checked the pockets. He pulled a piece of paper from the right one. It was a receipt from Nisson Pharmacy for photograph development. “I guess the kid won’t be picking up those pictures,” Gacy was muttering to himself.
    He wasn’t crazy about the fact that he had to go out into the cold winter night to Northwest Hospital to tend to his aunt Leoneand his uncle Harold and any gathering relatives, but he had become the go-to guy in the family, the strong shoulder. He had no choice in the matter. The women needed him. He absentmindedly dropped the photograph receipt into the garbage can in the kitchen and put the blue parka by the back door. He would dispose of that later, when he went out. How incongruous a sight—here was this frumpy, middle-aged community leader wandering back and forth from room to room in his stocking feet, shirt untucked from bending over, scratching his belly from time to time, doing light housework, straightening up his little home,