THE MURDER RAMPAGE JULY 3-5, 1998

He sat in the front seat of his car, the driver's side. The car was a powder blue 1992 Mercury. He was nervous, fearful, anxious with sweaty palms, but nonetheless he was resolute, and committed. What did he fear? He feared failure, nothing else, not the anticipated horrified reaction of family and friends, not the clear looming threat to his freedom and life. Not even his death. Frankly, death was a welcome release from a life of mediocrity, misery, underachievement, ridicule, and scorn. Failure, and only failure, was what he feared tonight. Failure would mean that his memory would be forever linked with everything he despised. No, death was a welcome friend gesturing to him, offering a reverberating demonstration to all who considered him a nonentity. They would have to say, once and for all, that he had incredible courage, unshakable resolve, and absolute dedication to his race; that he faced death as only a hero could. In short, he would have everything at his death they never ascribed to him in life.

Who were "they"? Everyone who never paid any attention to him, everyone who ever gave him the slightest snub, everyone who spurned him, everyone who rejected him, every one who insulted him purposely or no. Everyone included people who he imagined considered they better than him: particularly the niggers with their constant whining and demands for equality , the Jews with their air of superiority and money to throw around, thus rubbing his nose in his own inferiority. It mattered not whether these slights and insults were real or imagined, nor did reality in any manner affect his prejudicial racial perception. To Benjamin Nathaniel Schwartz, the niggers and Jews were an open account. They owed him respect. They owed the white Christian race respect. Benjamin would settle this account in no small measure within the next few days. In Benjamin's settling of the accounts, he would become a national hero, a martyr for all Aryan people. In doing so, no one would ever forget Benjamin Nathaniel Schwartz; or as he preferred to be called Benjamin Nathaniel Black, least of all, the niggers and the kyke.

Benjamin had a secondary objective as well. His friend Peter Langer was soon to be put on trial for nine felony hate crimes. Peter had been recruiting a Neo-Nazi army from among students of the clearly upper-class New Brunswick High School. A quality high school if ever there was one, students graduated at a rate of 97% , and 90% of those went on to college. New Brunswick graduates were well known to Ivy League schools and other prestigious universities across the land. Benjamin would make a statement about those Jews who cried out at various North Suburban town meetings that erupted shortly after Peter's indictment, demanding Peter's lengthy incarceration, and harsh measures to put down the Nazi's. And then there was that fucking nigger Big Ten Conference basketball coach who publicly denounced Peter's actions. This nigger coach made headlines in all the local newspapers, speaking out for his people and against this, “Nazi insanity." He was quoted demanding a, "long imprisonment for that would be Nazi.”

That nigger coach didn't have to do this; he stuck his nose in "our business". He spoke out against Peter, a pure white Aryan, for that he was going to die, reasoned Benjamin. When Benjamin mentioned this coach to Mr. Elliott, and clearly inferred the coach's imminent death, Mr. Elliott simply smiled benignly, barely nodding his head at all. In fact, he moved his head ever so slightly that Benjamin asked himself; "Was Mr. Elliott really agreeing with me, did he really say yes?" Had to be, thought Benjamin; after all, Mr. Elliott said the blacks deserve no consideration. Why then was Mr. Elliott not enthusiastic about that suggestion? Why did Mr. Elliott not openly endorse it Benjamin questioned; why didn’t he congratulate Benjamin for his initiative; thank Benjamin in the name of the white race? Maybe Mr. Elliott was waiting for Benjamin to actually prove him self capable of this action. That had to be it, he thought. Mr. Elliott was not a man to back away from the coming racial holy war.

Remembering previous summers, Benjamin smiled at the irony. He knew he was from solid Aryan/Teutonic stock, but through no fault of his own, he had a very decidedly Jewish sounding name. He changed that himself realizing "Schwartz," is German for black. At the Indiana farm, the "Wolf's Lair", as the members of the invited white supremacist and neo-Nazi groups learned to call it, he was derisively referred to, as the "Nazi kyke," by members of the Aryan Brotherhood, men from The Order, individual members of the multiple skinhead groups that came to the farm. They would tease him unmercifully, asking him if he knew the name of the rabbi who circumcised him. They wanted to know what they could get him as a present for his bar mitzvah. They all pretended that their insults were simply lighthearted fun, just friendly jokes, a little ribbing by his barracks mates, nothing malicious intended; but he could feel the sharp edges to their comments, and laughter.

Nevertheless, these were the men among whom he wanted to belong. These were the men he wanted to impress. These were the men to whom he would leave his legacy of genuine manhood. These were the men by whom he wished to be remembered above all others. To Benjamin, these men were heroes. He trained with them at the Wolf's Lair. He showered, shaved, ate, and slept among them in the Wolf's Lair war surplus Quonset hut barracks. Their taunting drove him to extreme personal effort in all the military training in which they participated. He became one of the best pistol shots, with either hand. He quickly became proficient with the AK-47's that were provided by the owner of the Wolf's Lair. With unlimited supplies of ammunition, he practiced more hours with the available weapons than any other guest at the Wolf's Lair.

In the voluntary calisthenics conducted by a former Green Beret and a raving anti-Semite, Benjamin drove himself to out do all the others, many of whom had seen military service or were conditioned athletes. They were powerful physical men. He was slight, but refused to give up at anything. If nothing else the men at the Wolf's Lair came to respect him for his pugnacious will-not-quit attitude.

The Wolf's Lair was more than just a three hundred acre training ground, more than an Arsenal, more than a supply depot of limitless ammunition; it was a school for hate. Here the owner, the ever elegant Elliott Heidel, held court in after dinner discussions with the men with whom he surrounded himself.

Always in a tailored, meticulously cut, and pressed three-piece suit, starched white shirt with French cuffs, gold cuff-links, and polished shoes," Mr. Elliott" as he was referred to, propounded theories of white racial superiority, outlining the enmity of the Jewish world conspiracy against Christian ideals, and emphasizing the duty of the Aryan to gain control of the world once and for all. Mr. Elliott was subtle, never raised his voice, he never showed any emotion. Mr. Elliott was always articulately elucidated racial theories which he supported by historical and scientific references.

Mr. Elliott never used the word "nigger or niggers". He always referred to them as "blacks". It seemed most incongruous, as if Mr. Elliott was separating himself from the cruder, coarser, baser elements there among the men at the farm.

What stuck foremost in Benjamin's mind was Mr. Elliott's theory that the Jew and the blacks were unnatural allies, but rather allies of convenience in an unlikely and shaky partnership.

Mr. Elliott stated flatly," The social glue which held that obscene partnership together was the shared goal to subjugate the white Christian race to their own self-serving philosophies ...."

"If however that partnership could be ruptured....ahhh....then,” Mr. Elliott laid back and closed his eyes in a simulated dream state foreseeing the final victory of the Christian ideals he held scared.

Mr. Elliott suggested spreading among Jews, "fear that blacks had become overtly ant-Semitic." This will bring them into; "our orbit against the blacks." Once the; "blacks are exterminated, we can turn our attention to the Jews themselves," said Mr. Elliott.

He mused that the Jew could be intimidated and made to work against the blacks. He pointed out that the National Jewish Union in Germany in 1932 actually welcomed Hitler's accession. These German Jews felt Hitler would stop the migration of Eastern European Jews into Germany. German Jews considered their Polish and Russian cousins as inferior to German born Jews.

Expanding his theories further, Mr. Elliott explained, citing historical documents, how German Jews actually helped in the organizing, rounding up, and then finally, assisting in the extermination of their fellow Jews of whatever nationality.

Benjamin absorbed everything like a sponge. The fact that Mr. Elliott seemed so refined, so cultured, so polished, made him all the more credible to Benjamin in everything Mr. Elliott said and did .

Tonight, the windows of Benjamin's car were rolled down on the passenger-side. The engine of the car was off; no air-conditioning was necessary. Even though it was a summer evening, Friday of the fourth of July weekend 1998, the lingering heat of the warm summer day was moderated by a cool Lake Michigan breeze.

It was 18:30 hours, Benjamin, always used the 24 hour military clock. After all, that's how military heroes told time. Benjamin knew when to arrive at his post. He had followed the tall, bearded, big bellied Orthodox lawyer from the Circuit Court of Cook County, Skokie, courthouse where Benjamin and his girl friend, Christy Muhlberg, were facing misdemeanor charges of "littering" the North Shore Chicago suburbs with vile anti-Semitic literature. It was at the Skokie courthouse he first saw this Orthodox Jewish lawyer, with his flowing beard, broad brim black fedora, black suit, white shirt with the tizzies hanging down, his trouser belt completely hidden by his enormous stomach Benjamin watched him plead a traffic case for an Orthodox Jewish woman. This was a sickening and bizarre scene to Benjamin, an Orthodox kyke attorney practicing in an American courtroom. Without further cause, Benjamin immediately hated the Jew lawyer.

"How did we come so low, a kyke in court,” he had asked himself, without an answer. He vowed to take out this fucking kyke and rid the Aryan society of at least this single repulsive and festering Jewish boil.

He had followed the Orthodox lawyer for approximately three weeks studying the Jew's habits. It was amazing that the Jew never realized he was being shadowed. Benjamin had seen him and his other congregant members, leave their synagogue on at least three occasions and was thoroughly familiar with their habitual pattern after service. They would linger momentarily exchanging pleasantries, not very long, but just long enough to be vulnerable. Then individual congregant members would slowly walk from their synagogue to their homes. This traditional custom extended the period of vulnerability of each individual devout member, and provided an opportunity Benjamin would exploit.

The kykes were coming out from their Shabbat service, and were clustered near the doorway on the sidewalk for easy fellowship and general cordial conversation. Benjamin looked down at the passenger-side seat. There lay two Sturm Ruger .22 caliber, semi-automatic pistols each with a full 10 round magazine of ammunition, with one round each in the chamber ready to fire. He had four more such magazines, all fully loaded, and almost 1000 rounds of.22 caliber ammunition in his car. He even had several boxes of hollow-point .22 caliber rounds, these he would save for very serious work.

Benjamin cautiously turned over the engine of the Mercury. It started with a low mechanical growling noise, unnoticeable to any person who was not paying particular attention to the vehicle itself. In essence, Benjamin was not on anyone's radar at this critical moment. He placed his car facing north on California Avenue with the passenger-side broad-side to the front of the synagogue, approximately 30 feet away. This was well within the lethal range of the .22 caliber pistols he had with him. From this position he could fire on the cluster of Jews out in front of the synagogue, then put the car in gear and drive north down California to bring him abreast of the already walking congregant members. He could fire from the driver's side seat through the car's passenger side window, making sure the spent cartridge casings fell into the car itself, leaving no clue on the street.

At the Wolf's Lair, what did Mr. Elliott say to him? Benjamin remembered the conversation well.

"Intimidate the Jews, and they'll fall in line and help us eradicate the blacks. Scare the Jews, make them think the blacks have turned on them, and their partnership will dissolve like a sand castle before an incoming ocean tide. If in this process one or two Jews die, we certainly will not mourn their passing," he said with a slight laugh as he lifted to his lips his half filled brandy snifter containing a most delicious cognac.

Mr. Elliott gave no such dispensation to the blacks."They are mud people," he said; "…they deserve nothing but extermination from

the very start because, there is nothing they have that any civilized society could use." All the men surrounding Mr. Elliott nodded in agreement. Benjamin took his statements in as gospel.

Remember the word from Mr. Elliott, he said to himself.

"Rahowa... Rahowa... Rahowa," he repeated the word several times just to make certain. This was his battle cry: "Rahowa..." an acronym for Racial Holy War. If he could convince the Jews and the niggers tonight that they each initiated the unprovoked attack upon the other, there would be a racial holy war.

It would be like the 1968 riots, after the assassination of Martin Luther King; that tore apart the black communities in Chicago, Los Angeles, and many more cities in between.

"This time," Mr. Elliott commented dryly, "the blacks will not burn down their own neighborhoods. They will attack that slice of white America that the blacks feel is most responsible for their continued subjugation and that lives so damn self- indulgently secure in their own lily white communities. That will be the Jews gentlemen." Mr. Elliott said triumphantly dragging out the word “J...E...W...S,”

for added emphasis.

Could Benjamin be lighting the spark? Would he win a place in history tonight? Even then Benjamin said to himself, "Not likely!" Nothing in his past ever seemed to "work out for him" why should the future be any better, he asked himself. Never-the-less, he hoped maybe this time, he would set in motion something that would result in the racial holy war that he so firmly believed would occur eventually; and for which he could be the catalyst and the hero!

Benjamin pulled on his ski mask. He picked up the pistols one in each hand, turned in his seat, braced his back against the driver's side door panel, extended his arms, and raised both pistols to eye level. In training on a farm, he excelled at "point and shoot" combat style pistol technique. He was an excellent marksman. He prepared to put that training into action now.

This was the moment. There would be no turning back from here. Only then did he realize he was sexually aroused.

His first target was a cluster of four Orthodox Jewish men. The Jewish lawyer with the enormous stomach was in this group, standing to the left as Benjamin was facing them. A smaller Jew standing to Benjamin's right was chatting with this lawyer. Benjamin sited them both, his left hand, aiming at the lawyer, while his right hand trained on the smaller Jew. Benjamin stared down the burnished stainless steel barrels of his pistols, checked his site pictures, thumbed off the safety of both pistols, took a deep breath and screamed at the top of his lungs; "Rahowa...Rahowa...Rahowa!"

His scream was probably not heard by his victims, even though the passenger side window was open the cab of the car, absorbed or muffled Benjamin's shouting, and as he shouted, he squeezed both triggers.

Crack, crack, crack, crack, came the first four shot burst. After simultaneously squeezing the first shots from both guns, he alternately squeezed each trigger one after the other firing a total of 10 rounds. The pistols loud reports caused the Jews to turn toward the noise. The large Jew lawyer did not realize he had been hit twice in the belly; his attention was focused on the first shot that struck him in the upper arm. He was stunned and did not immediately appreciate he was hurt. He stared in amazement at the tear the bullet made in the sleeve of his black suit coat. The smaller Jew likewise did not immediately recognize that he had been hit in the front quarter of his left hip by two bullets.

Benjamin shifted from his original targets to the other men standing nearby. Two Jewish men who filled in the cluster of four were each hit once in the chest. The momentary shock that froze each man was suddenly replaced by self-preservation instincts as the danger became real. The Jewish lawyer fell, or dropped, to the ground. Two other Jews deliberately dove to the ground for safety. The remaining one turned around and tried to run to the doorway of the synagogue. He was hit by two bullets in the upper back and fell against the building.

Surprisingly none of the four Jews immediately yelled for help nor gave warning to others. They were suspended emotionally, and immobilized physically for what seemed an agonizing period of time. They recovered as quickly as possible from their initial shock and began to react somewhat rationally to the situation. The entire shooting took less than twenty seconds.

Benjamin put the pistols down, put his automobile in forward gear and drove unhurriedly north on California Avenue. With his left hand on the steering wheel, he drove the car and with his right hand picked up one of the pistols. His new targets were three Jewish women, slowly walking north on California approximately three and a half blocks from the synagogue. The three women turned as they heard the noise from the gun shots, but there was no sense of danger and the women turned towards the noise as much in curiosity as for any other reason.

What they saw was curious, even bizarre, but not immediately threatening: three Jewish men on the ground; one Jewish man leaning against the wall at the doorway of the synagogue. They also saw a light blue car coming toward them. As the car passed abreast of them, they all suddenly realized the horrifying danger. Benjamin, his right arm extended, held tight in his hand the stainless steel Ruger pistol. As he passed them, he fired all five remaining rounds in this one pistol. The Orthodox women were dressed in traditional modest long dresses, clothing them from the neck to the wrists, the skirts down to their ankles. The .22 caliber slugs caused the dresses to flap as they struck two of the women. When his first pistol was empty, Benjamin grabbed the second, and fired back over his right shoulder at the third woman who dove and rolled behind a tree to avoid being hit.

Almost as an afterthought, Benjamin screamed at the women: "That's for Martin Luther King, you fucking kyke bitches!" When they were later interviewed by investigating police detectives, none of the women could remember and quote exactly what Benjamin shouted. They remembered only that he screamed something about Dr. King and swear words.

Two women were hit, one woman was hit twice. The third woman escaped injury. Altogether, Benjamin fired 20 round emptying two full magazines. He hit four Orthodox Jewish men and two Orthodox Jewish women. No one was killed, but this was the plan for the Jews, intimidation only, according to Mr. Elliott’s teachings. Not a bad fucking score he told himself with a smile. He pulled off his ski-mask, as he was sweating buckets.

He continued his unhurried drive up California Avenue to his next planned attack site, saying to himself over and over: "God I am good... real damn fucking good. The next one is for you, Peter...for you Peter."

Again, he was smiling to himself, as he sensuously caressed the two very warm pistols lying on the passenger seat. This was a good beginning, but he had more to do. He told himself he must not be complacent, he must not forget his plan just because he shot some Jews. He then ran his hand lightly over his crotch, confirming that he was still sexually aroused. He would deal with this later, after his next action.

At the next red stop light, he casually reloaded his two Ruger pistols with another 10 round magazine each. One magazine, however, he previously loaded with eight rounds of .22 caliber hollow-point cartridges. Benjamin had a detailed plan for this deliberate attack. Understanding the last two cartridges loaded would be the first rounds fired; these two cartridges were standard .22 caliber ball ammunition. He wanted his target to know he was shot, wanted him to feel the pain, wanted to make sure his children see their father feeling the pain, wanted to make sure the father is dying, and then wanted to make sure the father watches his kids watch him dying. "Now there's a damn good master plan, fucking great!” he thought to himself. The next attack would be a murder.

California Avenue became Dodge Avenue, when Benjamin, going north, crossed Howard Street the border between Chicago and the city of Evanston. When Dodge intersected Emerson, Benjamin turned westward passing through the intersection with McCormick where Emerson, going west became Golf Road. He drove on Golf until he came to Hamlin. He made a left turn on to Hamlin, drove two blocks and parked his car. He looked around in disgust at the affluent suburban neighborhood where he was situated. A nigger lives here, unfuckingbeliveable! On this fine summer night, the residents were nowhere to be seen.

Two blocks away he spotted the large cluster of bushes in full summer greenery. He had selected the site previously. He knew where his target would likely be in proximity to the bushes. He knew when his target would be there. He knew who would be with his target.

Jimmy Burke was the nigger head basketball coach of the local Big Ten University and lived on this street in Evanston.

Every evening in the summertime, he habitually took his children for a jog around the neighborhood. It was now about 20:10 hours, Jimmy and his two girls would be coming down the street shortly. He had read about Jimmy's fitness habits in one of the local-papers. He remembered the picture of Jimmy jogging with his daughters. It didn't take much to pin down Jimmy's address. He would kill that loud mouth fucking son-of-a-bitch nigger Big Ten Conference Basketball coach right in front of his children, and have them blame the Jews for the murder. Now that's a god damn fucking good plan.

After a 10 minute wait, Benjamin got out of his car, taking only one of the two pistols with him. He walked over to the bushes and positioned himself on one knee behind them. He could completely hide himself by simply bending his body at the waist. Benjamin periodically raised himself above the level of the bushes and peered down the street, from where he knew his target would be coming.

Trying desperately to stay focused he could not help but replay the shooting of the Jews in his mind. His physical arousal grew each time he went through his memories.

"Okay, you stupid asshole focus, focus, now is not the time to loose it "; he kept telling himself.

Then a quick look over the top of the bushes, and there they were, obviously at the end of the jog because the three of them were walking not running. Benjamin realized he could peer through the bushes as they came toward him, he'd be able to spring his attack before they could see him or realize what was happening. He waited impatiently.

Finally, Jimmy was within 10 feet of Benjamin. Benjamin jumped up shouting; " Rahowa mother fucker!" He quickly brought his gun up, extending his right arm, fired two solid .22 caliber ball rounds that struck Jimmy in the upper chest below the collarbone. Like the Jews, previously, Jimmy was more stunned at the report of the pistol than anything else. But he regained composure quickly recognizing that he had been hit by gunfire. He reacted as a parent looking to get his children out of harm's way. Before he could completely turn away and cover them, Benjamin lowered the pistol and fired three successive hollow-point .22 caliber slugs into the center of Jimmy's chest. Hitting square on Jimmy's sternum, the hollow-point slugs exploded Jimmy's sternum, fragments of both the sternum and the slugs in turn shredded Jimmy's heart. Jimmy never completed his turn towards his children, but he did push them away yelling at them; "Run home... run home... Go... go.....Now!" The two daughters, not comprehending any of this, least of all the danger they were in, screamed in terror, and tried to reach their falling father. He pushed them away as he hit the ground.

Benjamin immediately knew that Jimmy was dead or soon would be. And now the terrified, sobbing, daughters realized their predicament but they continued to kneel by their father's body until they knew they had no option but to get away and get help. Then only did they get up and run.

Jimmy, sensing he was hovering in midair, looked down from above and saw himself lying on the ground. Jimmy watched in horror as Benjamin raised his pistol and pointed it at the two fleeing girls. Jimmy tried desperately to yell out a warning to his daughters to "run like hell," but no sound came. Jimmy tried to beg the man with the pistol not to kill his daughters, but again no sound came out of Jimmy's open mouth.

Finally, from within him came a terrified, desperate prayer half-scream, half-sob:" No...No...No...! Don't let him kill my kids, Dear sweet Jesus, Son Of God,....Save them, save them, Oh Dear God, please...please....please...Oh, God, No...Oh, God.....No...NO....!"

Not a sound came from Jimmy's mouth. The shrieked agony of the father's soundless prayer, burst outward from the depth of his very soul.

Benjamin was pointing the gun at the girls, when he looked down at Jimmy's body lying on the street. Why did he look down, he didn't know, Jimmy was still dead, wasn't he? But, then he thought to himself, "Somebody's got to tell the story, there has to be witnesses to the Jew's vengeance tonight." The girls were running down the street. He decided they'll do, and then he shouted at them; "That's for shooting our Jews tonight! Tell all your fucking nigger friends that's for shooting our Jews tonight! We'll do more...wait and see!" Benjamin paused, and looked at Jimmy once more.

From above Jimmy saw the man with the pistol then suddenly pull back his arm, bringing the pistol alongside his own head, pointing straight up, not at the girls. The girls were no longer threatened. They would live.

Jimmy, still hovering in midair, was suddenly calm. In the distance he saw a bright light. Slowly he began to move towards the light, not walking, not running, not moving his feet at all, simply moving towards the light. As he moved the light grew in size and brightness. It was not discernible with any of the usual human senses, but nonetheless he knew someone was beckoning him forward towards the light, really pulling him forward. He was at absolute peace within his soul. While he did not even know the man who fired at him, nor why, he was not angry with the man. He had no fear at all. He did however feel surrounded with love. He felt pure love in his soul. He continued to move forward toward the light.

Benjamin did not bother to pick up the spent .22 caliber shell casings, but quickly went back to his car. The neighbors most assuredly heard the shots and would be out soon. The whole matter took less than two minutes. But he had to move on quickly to his next appointment.

It was past 21: 00 hrs when Benjamin arrived in Glencoe at the Presbyterian Church where a congregation of Korean Christians met for a Korean language worship service. They met at times that did not conflict with the worship schedule of the white Christians who owned the physical church plant.

Many of the Koreans had already departed. Several simply lingered under the light provided by the wall lamp outside the door of the church. It was dark, only the illumination of the wall lamp provided any light at all even to the parking lot. Nevertheless, there were three Koreans, casually talking to each other under the light that shone down. Disappointed, Benjamin still drove through the parking lot to the church entrance, which gave him the best angle from which to fire at the Koreans.

"These gooks didn't belong in Glencoe, they didn't belong in the United States, the fucking Chinks belonged in fucking Korea," he said to himself. And, reasoned Benjamin, in doing what he intended to do, maybe they would get the message and maybe they would go back where they belong. Maybe he didn't have to kill them. Maybe he simply had to scare the living shit out of the gooks to accomplish his purpose.

Benjamin abandoned the previous precision of his earlier attacks. As he slowly cruised by the entrance to the church, he simply fired randomly at the Koreans. He took no aim at all; the .22 caliber slugs bounced off the wall of the brick church, ticking off chunks of mortar and brick. The Koreans responded quickly, diving out of the lamp's light, praying that they would be hidden by the darkness from their unrecognized and unknown assailant. They had no idea that Benjamin considered them only secondary targets, not worthy of the concentrated effort of his previous attacks. Benjamin was quite satisfied simply to spray bullets in their general direction without any expectation that anyone would be hit. Here his purpose was to scare and to scare only.

He drove out of the church parking lot at a leisurely pace, seemingly unconcerned that police were surely summoned and would arrive shortly. Benjamin appeared unreasonably confident of his invulnerability, at least as of this moment.

He got to I-294 and headed for Indiana. At a toll-way service station, he gassed up the car and then pulled over to an isolated part of the parking area. There, where no other car was parked near him, he turned off his engine. Let his head roll back, closed his eyes and began to relive the night’s events. In doing so, he again became sexually aroused. The intensity of his urgings was irresistible, the memory of the shooting of the Jews instantly bringing him erect. He pulled down the zipper of his pants. Indiana can wait, for now.