in the Libertyville Mall. He had a weakness for cheeseburgers with hot chili sauce, and French fries no matter how cold.
Inside in the Wooden Maiden the child slept. A rag soaked in chloroform had been sufficient, within a few seconds, for the child was very young, and could not have weighed more than forty pounds.
Such medical supplies, and other drugs to be injected into the bloodstream, Daddy Love kept in the van, in his cache. In numerous cities and in numerous hospitals and medical centers he had contacts, usually females—nurses’ aides, attendants. Sometimes they were church-contacts who worked in public health care and had access to (controlled) substances. They adored Daddy Love each in her unique way. Each thinking
Maybe he is the one! He will love me, protect me.
And where female adoration wasn’t enough, of course Daddy Love knew to pay.
The chloroform he’d acquired from a woman he’d befriended at the Trenton, New Jersey, Church of Abiding Hope who was a worker at a veterinary.
As long as it isn’t fatal. It’s to quiet a temperamental German shepherd.
It might have been twenty years ago, when Daddy Love had not yet been fully
invisible
, and had made some blunders. Those early years and the pilgrimage newly begun.
He hadn’t been Daddy Love then. He’d been Chet Cash who’d been Chester Czechi. He’d been only just released from the Wayne County Facility for Youthful Offenders, at age twenty-one.
The bastards had incarcerated him for nine years! The social-worker woman and her public-defender friend who’d represented him had argued he hadn’t known what he was doing, he’d had no intention of choking to death his own boy-cousin with whom he’d been playing happily, but the bastards, the prosecutor and the Family Court judge had disliked him, and given him the maximum sentence for a juvenile. And he’d learned
You must show remorse. Grief, and remorse. Otherwise—you are the fool. You are to blame for your own fate.
Eight months released from the facility, and he’d seen his parole officer faithfully. By now, he knew. God-damn Chet Czechi knew to play the game.
Be respectful. Be calm. Smile and say Sir!—Ma’am! Let the assholes think that you give a fuck about them.
He’d begun his travels then. His pilgrimages.
Always returning to check with his parole officer. Of course.
The child had been his first
possession
. Others had entered his life transiently, and had passed out of it leaving no memory. It was not so much different from eating a meal, having a drink—the sex-act, its explosive outcome.
But this child, a beautiful little boy of about nine with silky blond hair, long-lashed tawny eyes, had been his first. (For you would not count his little cousin. That had been a true accident.) And his first loss.
The child’s little heart had just—stopped …
It wasn’t clear to Chet Czechi what had happened. He had not
intended
for anything to happen, of this sort. He’d forced the boy to swallow Valium tablets dissolved in Coke and soon after the boy had lapsed into a comatose sleep and soon after he had—died …
Daddy Love still felt the loss. The beautiful blond child had been meant to be
his son.
His techniques in those days had been crude. He’d had no clearly designated plan. He’d been impulsive, reckless. He’d taken the boy from a thick-thighed female with a snout-face and big jiggly breasts—it had been a necessity of justice to take the child from
her
.
This had happened in a roadside rest-area off I-80 west, south of Erie, Pennsylvania. Stopping for a piss Chet Czechi had been ravished with the knowledge that the child in the company of the snout-faced female was meant to be
his
—yet in the possession of a stranger.
In a similar way the Dalai Lama was chosen. He thought it was the Dalai Lama—the “reincarnated” spiritual leader of Tibet.
The Dalai Lama is born to ordinary parents. You might call them surrogate parents. When a reigning Dalai
Inside in the Wooden Maiden the child slept. A rag soaked in chloroform had been sufficient, within a few seconds, for the child was very young, and could not have weighed more than forty pounds.
Such medical supplies, and other drugs to be injected into the bloodstream, Daddy Love kept in the van, in his cache. In numerous cities and in numerous hospitals and medical centers he had contacts, usually females—nurses’ aides, attendants. Sometimes they were church-contacts who worked in public health care and had access to (controlled) substances. They adored Daddy Love each in her unique way. Each thinking
Maybe he is the one! He will love me, protect me.
And where female adoration wasn’t enough, of course Daddy Love knew to pay.
The chloroform he’d acquired from a woman he’d befriended at the Trenton, New Jersey, Church of Abiding Hope who was a worker at a veterinary.
As long as it isn’t fatal. It’s to quiet a temperamental German shepherd.
It might have been twenty years ago, when Daddy Love had not yet been fully
invisible
, and had made some blunders. Those early years and the pilgrimage newly begun.
He hadn’t been Daddy Love then. He’d been Chet Cash who’d been Chester Czechi. He’d been only just released from the Wayne County Facility for Youthful Offenders, at age twenty-one.
The bastards had incarcerated him for nine years! The social-worker woman and her public-defender friend who’d represented him had argued he hadn’t known what he was doing, he’d had no intention of choking to death his own boy-cousin with whom he’d been playing happily, but the bastards, the prosecutor and the Family Court judge had disliked him, and given him the maximum sentence for a juvenile. And he’d learned
You must show remorse. Grief, and remorse. Otherwise—you are the fool. You are to blame for your own fate.
Eight months released from the facility, and he’d seen his parole officer faithfully. By now, he knew. God-damn Chet Czechi knew to play the game.
Be respectful. Be calm. Smile and say Sir!—Ma’am! Let the assholes think that you give a fuck about them.
He’d begun his travels then. His pilgrimages.
Always returning to check with his parole officer. Of course.
The child had been his first
possession
. Others had entered his life transiently, and had passed out of it leaving no memory. It was not so much different from eating a meal, having a drink—the sex-act, its explosive outcome.
But this child, a beautiful little boy of about nine with silky blond hair, long-lashed tawny eyes, had been his first. (For you would not count his little cousin. That had been a true accident.) And his first loss.
The child’s little heart had just—stopped …
It wasn’t clear to Chet Czechi what had happened. He had not
intended
for anything to happen, of this sort. He’d forced the boy to swallow Valium tablets dissolved in Coke and soon after the boy had lapsed into a comatose sleep and soon after he had—died …
Daddy Love still felt the loss. The beautiful blond child had been meant to be
his son.
His techniques in those days had been crude. He’d had no clearly designated plan. He’d been impulsive, reckless. He’d taken the boy from a thick-thighed female with a snout-face and big jiggly breasts—it had been a necessity of justice to take the child from
her
.
This had happened in a roadside rest-area off I-80 west, south of Erie, Pennsylvania. Stopping for a piss Chet Czechi had been ravished with the knowledge that the child in the company of the snout-faced female was meant to be
his
—yet in the possession of a stranger.
In a similar way the Dalai Lama was chosen. He thought it was the Dalai Lama—the “reincarnated” spiritual leader of Tibet.
The Dalai Lama is born to ordinary parents. You might call them surrogate parents. When a reigning Dalai
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