The boy had seen the guy cruise by twice now. He had this feeling he was gonna stop next time. He was driving a late model vehicle. Dark it was, like the night had now become.
Yep, he was right. The boy sort of felt a little pride at being able to “detect” certain characteristics these park cruisers possessed.
When the vehicle pulled close, the boy could see the man was in his mid thirties at least. A bit stout too. Thirty-six?
“Hey, Blondie. Warm night, isn’t it?” the guy said through the partially open window. Chicago accent. The boy figured the guy was a local. That could be good or bad. Out of town tourists normally spent more freely than locals. But, you never knew exactly.
“Yeah, kinda warm,” he replied. “But it’s June already.”
Country hick accent. Probably Texas, the stout man thought. That’s better. Likely a runaway. Sixteen, seventeen years old max.
“I’m lookin’ for a helper. Flooring. You got any experience?” the man asked.
The boy smiled. Flooring, yeah sure, he thought.
“All kinds,” the youth replied. “Fifty.”
“Hey, do I look rich? Thirty,” the man said.
“Take it or leave it.”
The man didn’t look too pleased, but opened the passenger door nonetheless.
“It isn’t a long drive from here. Only twenty minutes to Norwood Park. What’s your name?” he asked.
“John,” replied the youth. “Yours?”
“John Wayne,” the middle age man said.
John smiled again.
“It’s true ,” the man said. “I always tell the truth. It’s John Wayne Gacy. G-A-C-Y.”
John stuck out a hand.
“In that case, Mr. Gacy, nice to meet you.”
(Author’s note: American serial killer John Wayne Gacy, sometimes remembered for a lack of remorse for his victims, was executed in 1994 by the state of Illinois for the cold blooded murder of at least 33 young males in the Chicago area from 1972 to 1978.)
