The Three Acts of Bad Benny

by Maurice Blocker

  The Three Acts of Bad Benny

  Maurice Blocker

  Other works by the author:

  No Place of Peace

  /bad/

  adjective

  : of poor quality; inferior or defective.

  : not such as to be hoped for or desired; unpleasant or unwelcome.

  : (of food) decayed or putrid.

  : (of parts of the body) injured, diseased, or causing pain.

  : regretful, guilty or ashamed about something.

  : morally depraved, or wicked.

  : worthless; not valid.

  act one.

  God Hates You. Benny's no artist but his spray job on the side of an old run down gas station does the trick. Sean watches as Benny throws up the finishing touches of his spray paint masterpiece – an upside down cross with a skull on both sides. Sean is Benny's little brother, by two years, and they're nothing alike; which is the usual result of having different daddies. They're both lanky pale skinned teenagers but that's where the similarities end. Sean is two inches taller than his older brother, and has long brown hair that irritates Benny, who's taken to regularly calling him, sissy girl. It's jealousy induced named calling because his own hair is a clumpy blonde mess. It's as if Sean's mother ate nothing but handfuls of brown sugar and cinnamon during her pregnancy that molded into tiny crystallized circles that eventually became Sean's eyes – sweet, brown and innocent. Benny's are narrow, a jaded color of blue and cold. “Sissy girl, let's go, I'm hungry.”

  Benny's finger tips are faded black from the spray paint but it doesn't stop him from licking the special sauce off of them. He eats like a savage. He bites his big mac, stuffs his face with fries, drinks his coke, then repeats the entire process with only a second of breathing time. Nugget fries drink. Nugget fries drink. Sean diligently dips one then the other making sure fries never touch the sweet-n-sour sauce and the nuggets never touch the barbecue sauce.

  “You eat like your faggot daddy, try be'n a man and get'n a burger next time.” A piece of big mac falls out Benny's mouth onto the table, he picks up the half chewed mush of bun and meat and stuffs it back into his mouth.

  “My dad's not a faggot, stop saying that shit.” Sean's voice raises just enough to let Benny know he's serious but low enough to not make Benny mad.

  “Whyyou get the nuggets every time? Dats girl shit.”

  “I dunno, I just like'em.” Sean shrugs his shoulders, whatevering his brother. Benny drinks his coke til there's nothing but the annoying sound of air and tiny bits of soda being sucked through the straw.

  “What time is it?”

  Sean pulls out his prepaid flip cellphone. “Eight fifteen.”

  “Call Lee.” Benny says as he grabs his cup, slides out the booth and heads over to the drink dispenser.

  Lee expertly navigates the winding back roads while taking two long hits from a joint, rolled into a tight perfection courtesy of Sean's thin nimble fingers, but as usual he holds the smoke in too long causing choppy puffs of smoke to blurt out as he coughs something wicked. The sound akin to that of a cat trying to relieve itself of a hairball. Benny snatches the joint, his mouth making love to it as he pulls two long hits before reaching back to hand it to Sean who he knows will refuse it.

  “I'm good.” Sean says on cue.

  “Stop be'n such a pussy sissy girl and hit dis.” Benny pushes the joint right up to Sean's face, nearly burning his nose with the lit end.

  “You know I stopped smoking.”

  “You still cry'n bout your druggy daddy o'ding, get over it, it's been a year.”

  “It was two months ago.”

  “Who cares, he was a faggot anyway. Come on, stop be'n a pussy, hit it.”

  Sean turns his head and looks out the window as Benny continues to prod him with the joint. “Oh shit!!” Lee screams as a deer darts into the middle of the road, frozen in fear the deer doesn't move, his eyes glaring with confusion as he awaits his fate. Lee swerves but it's useless, he hits the deer head on.

  “Shit, my dad's gonna kill me.” Lee stares at the dent on the nose of his '99 Buick Regal. Benny and Sean stand over the deer watching as it struggles to breathe, a back and forth battle between a low guttural sound and wheezing – a piece of broken headlight sticking out of its neck.

  “What should we do?” Sean asks as Lee walks over.

  “My car is totally...Geez, that deer's fucked up man.”

  “It looks like it's in a lot of pain.” Sean kneels down next to the dying animal.

  Smashing a can of soda against the ground, that's what it sounded like when Benny dropped the rock onto the deer's head – a loud bang-pop – blood sprinkling onto Sean's face as he was still kneeling next to the animal when it happened. Sean gets up and stands next to Lee, both stunned into silence.

  “Let's go.” Benny barks already opening the passenger side door.

  act two.

  “One more minute my loves.” John yells to his wife and daughter in the living room. He's leaning against the kitchen counter munching on chips while listening to the soothing sound of kernels of corn pop pop popping in the microwave. Ding. Popcorn's all done. John stuffs the bag of chips deep into the back corner of the cabinet where they keep the Tupperware and his wife's only-used-once cooking utensils. Like the onion chopper or the juicer or that thingy that transforms into five other different thingys. He wipes his greasy fingers off on his jeans to hide the evidence of chip sneaking from his wife; he's supposed to be supporting her newest diet. John takes the hot bag out of the microwave, a puff of steam shoots out the bag when he opens it. Ahhh, the fresh smell of melted butter and popped kernels. John sniffs the glorious aroma before pouring the popcorn into a flower decorated bowl. He grabs a handful, tossing them into his mouth, as he heads into the living room; one must always taste the popcorn before serving it. Precious advice handed down from his mother.

  John's excited, tonight's a special night. Not because it was his daughter's tenth birthday, half a cake and a ceiling filled with balloons are evidence of the recent celebration, no, he's showing her for the first time his favorite movie, Alien. But not without some reservations from his wife who thinks the movie is too scary for a ten year old. John assures her that seeing Ripley kick ass against venom spitting creatures from outer space is a positive influence.

  “The girl needs a proper female role model and the ones from those reality shows you watch with the blown out hair, and godawful make up, who are constantly fighting with each other just don't cut it.”

  His wife didn't really have a comeback after that. He was right of course, but she still wasn't eager to show her daughter a movie with a creature ripping out of a man's stomach, “horrifying,” she said. “For who?” John responded. Again, his wife didn't have a comeback, she just smiled knowing they both knew she meant for her.

  It was no surprise that when the doorbell rang she was curled up on the couch, knees to her chest, peeking through two fingers as her hand covered her eyes. John gets up to answer the door, it's late, too late for any kind of visitor.

  “We're just going to scare him right?” Sean asks. “Yea.” Benny says pushing the doorbell again. The door makes an eerie screech as John opens up shocked to see two of his students at his house even more so by the rifle one of them is holding.

  “Evening Mr. Elliot.” Benny raises the rifle to meet John's eyes. “There's no need for that Benny, I'm sure we can talk about whatever it is that's bothering you.” John catches himself staring down the black abyss of the rifle's barrel, he quickly looks back up at Benny, whose eyes seem so disconnected from his actions, no anger, rage, nothing. For a second John thinks that maybe Benny's possessed by some evil entity. He's not of course.<
br />
  “Let me step outside and we can talk.”

  “Don't you fuck'n move.” Benny jabs the barrel of the shotgun into John's forehead. “I want you to know I'm gonna kill you Mr. Elliot. My face will be the last thing you ever see.”

  “You said we was just gonna scare'em Benny, just scare'em.” Sean's nearly in tears, his voice light and weak.

  “Who's at the door hun?”

  Benny smiles, pulling the trigger before John can answer. John's head bursts open like a pinata, blood and brain matter smack against the door. Streaks of dark red blood stretching back to the wall and up to the ceiling. Sean stands frozen, his mind telling him, run Sean run, but his feet feel weighted down, like the porch has somehow turned into quicksand and his feet are sinking lower and lower by the second.

  “What was that mommy?”

  “I don't know sweetie, stay here.”

  She knows that sound, she knows it all too well, her pappy was a country boy who loved him some deer huntin'. She gets up and doubles over. Her instincts telling her not to go around that corner, but she must, she needs to know why her body is cold with fear. She steps out into the front hallway, it takes her a moment to realize the body on the ground with half a face is her husband, the father of her child, the love of her life. She screams. Then runs back into the living room for her daughter, but she doesn't make it. Her body flies forward hitting the wall with a sickening thud, then crashes to the ground. The hole in her back is the size of a baseball, blood filling it – resembling a hole transforming into a puddle from the rain. Benny kicks the wife's feet making sure she's dead. Sean stays on the porch – feet sinking in that horrid quicksand – until he hears the bloodcurdling scream of the daughter. He runs in. Benny looks over and sees the daughter on the couch screaming with her hands over her eyes; mommy and daddy told her to cover her eyes, “put on her glasses,” when she gets scared. Benny raises the gun.

  “Benny no! Stop! She's a little girl, chill man. Let's go before the cops come.” Sean looks at Benny for any sign that his words have convinced him to not do the unthinkable. The daughter continues to scream with that wretched high pitch of a frightened ten year old. “You're such a pussy.” Benny lowers the gun. Sean sighs a breath of relief. “Come on, the cops have to be on their way.”

  They head out toward the door. Benny puts a foot on the mom's face, admires his black sneakers against her white, blood sprinkled skin – his foot covering one eye the other open, staring up at him – then steps over her. The daughter, on the couch, hands over her eyes, still screaming that wretched fucking sound. Benny stops. Lifts his head. And takes a step back.

  “What?” Sean's voice shakes.

  Benny turns and shoots. The screaming stops. Benny smiles.

  “I hate kids.”

  Benny walks past Sean, stepping over the mother's dead body, like she's nothing more than a pile of dirty clothes, as he heads out the door.

  “What the fuck? I thought you were just gonna scare'em.” Lee says with a voice so highly tweaked you'd think someone was holding his balls. “Drive man, drive. The cops will be here soon.” Benny slaps the dashboard. Lee jumps, then starts the car and speeds off, leaving deep tire marks in front of the house.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, we're so fucked man. We're gonna go to jail.” Lee swallows hard, his balls tight, asshole clenched, the weightlessness of his voice spews of shit inducing fear. “I don't wanna go to jail Benny.”

  “Two pussies, dats what I've got in the car, two pussies I can't even fuck. Stop cry'n, aint no one go'n to jail. As long as no one talks.” Benny turns around to the backseat. Sean's staring out the window, silent. “You hear me sissy girl? No one's go'n to jail if we all keep our mouths shut.” Sean doesn't move an inch, his eyes locked on the blurred images of the houses passing by. Benny turns back around. “Don't talk to anyone about tonight and everything will be OK.” Benny says to no one and to everyone at the same time. “I'm hungry let's go to Taco Bell.” Lee says hoping food will calm his nerves and maybe push that feeling of wanting to vomit back down his throat.

  “Where the fuck yall been?” Shouts Nina, or Amber, if you're one of the john's from the city. She owes Carlos, Benny's daddy, fifteen hundred and doesn't plan on paying that stingy fucker back, ever. Nina's a prize for any junky, john, woman beater or shit bag who's been frequently referred to as, mother fucker, in some context in his life. She watches an episode of 48 hours, eating Lays potato chips while smoking a cigarette and drinking a bud light. All in an effortless rotation of – eat drink smoke eat drink smoke eat drink smoke eat drink smoke eat drink smoke. Her burgundy hair sits up high, knotted up in a loose ponytail with the smell of dried smoke and alcohol. “We was just driven around with Lee.”

  Benny takes a seat next to his mother, shaking the beer cans on the table to see if any aren't empty, found one. He leans back and drinks. “Fuck's wrong with you?” Nina says blowing smoke out of her nose as she looks over at Sean who hasn't moved an inch since walking into the house. His eyes glossed over like he's fresh off smoking a joint of premium kush. It's tears he wouldn't let drop on the drive home.

  “I told you to stop callin' your brother that sissy girl shit.” Nina hates how Benny's narrow eyes remind her of his shit for a father, Carlos. “And you need thicker skin.” Her eyes ping ponging between Sean and the TV. Her mouth either chewing or drinking or smoking. “You're gonna get called names all your life, and sissy girl aint gonna be the worst of it.”

  Suddenly Sean erupts, leaping on Benny like a frog, fists flailing wide right and left. Sean's never been in a fight that didn't end with Benny jumping in and beating whomever senseless on his behalf. Benny tosses Sean to the ground, kicks him three times in the stomach then once in the face before Nina can pull him away.

  “I don't know what the fuck is goin' on between you two but that shit ends now.” It takes a moment for Nina to catch her breath; years of smoke vacationing in her lungs has slowed down her airflow. “It's just us. We have to have each others backs because no one else is going too. Understand?”

  Sean gets up half bent over holding his stomach and heads upstairs, not bothering to speak nor look at his brother, or mother, as he goes. Benny plops back down on the couch, man-of-the-house-style, and goes back to his beer. “Fuck'n fag.” He says, not so, under his breath.

  Nina darts him a look wanting to rip into him for being such an insensitive little shit like his father and, more importantly, a freeloader, also inherited from his father. Always drinking her shit and never giving even a penny for it, but she's too tired to bother with any form of arguing. She sits back down, picks up her bag of Lays from the floor, her cigarette off the table and goes back to her 48 hours. Eat drink smoke. Eat drink smoke.

  act three.

  “I heard they're using the tire tracks to try and find the car that was used.” Carly says into her static heavy phone. “What?” Lee says panicky, hoping Carly won't repeat what he knows he just heard. “Goddammit I hate this phone, I keep telling my mom I need a new one but she just says, hold it still, uhhhhh, so fucking annoying.”

  “Carly!”

  “What Lee? Stop yelling, gosh.”

  “What did you say about tires?”

  “Amanda said her brother told her that the police are gonna use the tire tracks from in front of the house to find out what car was there when Mr. Elliot and his family was killed.”

  Lee swallows without breathing – his chest feels like a 300 hundred pound man is sitting on it. The static on Carly's phone is persistent.

  “Uhhh, I hate this phone.”

  “Hold o...”

  Lee drops the phone and runs into the bathroom, bends over and starts blowing chunks – pieces of vomit stick to the edge of the toilet seat like droplets of paint on a floor. “Hello, hello, Lee, you there? Stop playing Lee. Come on, you there? Lee?” That last, Lee, was said with a pinch of worry.

  “Hello.” Lee's voice is heavy as the weight of three dead souls sinks int
o him like a bite from a Pit-Bull.

  “What's wrong Lee?”

  “Do you love me Carly?”

  “Of course. What's wrong? Tell me Lee, please. I love you so much, you know I'll do anything for you.”

  “I fucked up, really really really fucked up. And I'm so scared Carly. I'm so scared.” His bottom lip is quivering uncontrollably, his left hand is clenched so tight his knuckles have turned pale white, his body not working and working at the same time. He can't breathe, his heart racing at 100 miles an hour.

  “What happened?” The pinch is gone, it's all worry now.

  “Those are my tire tracks. I was there. I saw Mr. Elliot's head splatter like a crushed tomato.”

  That fucking static, it's never ending.