As the weight of Willy’s confession sinks in, the only sound is the winter wind rushing outside the windows of the Honda accompanied by the dull roar of tires rolling along asphalt. Finally, breaking the silence is Ted Hendricks’ voice, its tone soft and sympathetic: “Wow… I don’t know what to say, Willy. I guess your childhood was pretty rough… did you ever see your mom again?”
“Naw… I was on my own after that.” The old man flips his cigarette out the window and immediately lights another one. “Seems like you didn’t have it so great either…”
“I guess so…” Moved by the melancholy of the moment, Ted hesitates, then acts on some nameless, inner compulsion. “You know… I like you, Willy… I think you’re a pretty good guy down inside there.”
A lengthy interval follows before the old man finally responds, “Thanks, kid… thanks, l appreciate that… you’re okay, too.”
As the car continues down the highway, the two men sit in silence, each lost in his own version of a world where the sad and unseen pieces of tired and untold stories never quite fit together.
I didn’t know what to say. I had asked Ted Hendricks about the explosion and got a weird story about Dido’s dog Charlie and Wilmer Graves urinating on his father. Not knowing exactly how to respond, I hesitated, but before I could speak, Hendricks came back to Earth—at least the Clinton, Missouri, jail cell version of it.
“I’m sorry… it’s been such a crazy day. You wanted to hear about the explosion and I’m just rambling on… can’t stop thinking about Willy, I guess… I… I must have loved him. It’s weird…” Stopping again, Hendricks sighs deeply, then continues, “But yeah… the explosion…”
As the kid spoke, he and Willy Graves are having breakfast in a small café in Kingdom City. “So whaddaya think, Stork? Look, you’re the one that was followin’ all that Packywhack weirdness, but those warehouses are full of fuckin’ tea, right? And tea is full of floor-ride, right? And the guy WON THE FUCKING LOTTERY, RIGHT? I mean, yeah, he’s a bozo, but he’s a bozo with a bazooka… two hunnerd million bazookas if I remember right.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Willy. Beasley is dangerous and he has enough money to do something really crazy. It’s scary… what can we do?”
They sit in silence finishing their breakfast until the old man speaks in a loud whisper, “Don’t look! But we’re bein’ watched… guess who is lookin’ through the window.”
Hendricks rises and calmly walks to the bathroom, and as he does, the content screener’s back faces the front of the café, but when he leaves the toilet moments later, he’s looking straight at the plate glass window facing the front of the building. Immediately outside, staring though the glass, is Crawford Beasley, impassive and still clinching the cigarette holder between his tobacco-colored teeth. Dressed in full paramilitary drag, his right hand resting on the butt of his pistol.
Sitting down, his back to the window again, Hendricks tries to finish his breakfast, but his hand is shaking as he raises a fork full of scrambled eggs to his mouth. “He sees us. What do we do, Willy?”
“Cool it… I don’t think he knows nuthin’. We wuz just a couple of guys in a parkin’ lot two days ago… why would he remember us? An’ whut would he do anyway… blow th’ whole goddam café away? Jus’ cool it, Stork. He’ll go away in a minute.”
Moments later, Willy nods toward the window and says, “See, he’s already gone. It wud’n nuthin’. Just weird that he happened to be there, that’s all.”
Ted turns and looks at the window. No one is there. “Yeah, I guess so.”
As they finish and pay their bill, the young techie speaks again. “You know, Willy, I keep thinking we screwed up back in that warehouse. We have to tell somebody about this and we need some evidence… we should have taken one of those tea bricks with us. At least we’d have something to show the cops or the FBI or… I mean, I’m not all that anxious to go back, but we need something to prove we haven’t made all this crazy shit up. What do you think?”
The old man pauses for a moment, then responds, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Stork… I mean, I ain’t talkin’ to no FBI, but I guess you can… seems like somebody should… so yeah, let’s go back and get a fuckin’ tea brick.”
It’s shortly after sunset when Ted and Willy return to the two warehouses owned by Crawford Beasley. As the Honda turns off the main road and prepares to pull in between the two buildings, it suddenly stops. Looking at each other suspiciously, the pair is surprised to see a semi-tractor truck parked behind the warehouses blocking the end of the passageway. Obviously uncomfortable, the ex-con speaks, “I don’t like this, Stork… that truck wud’n here before.”
“I know, Willy… I don’t like it either. Wait here… I’m gonna check it out.” Parking the Honda at the opening of the corridor, Hendricks exits the car, walks out to the road and looks around. The area is deserted. Returning to the Honda, the techie gets in and says, “I don’t know, Willy… yeah, it’s weird but there’s nobody around… I guess it’s okay.” He drives the car up into the shadows between the two buildings and cuts the motor. The air is dead and this leaden atmosphere mirrors a total lack of movement and sound.
Donning their silver sheets again, the strange twosome is moving toward the rear of the buildings when Willy stops and whispers, “I’m sorry, Stork, but my goddam prostate’s actin’ up… I gotta pee. Look, I’ll let you in the buildin’ an’ you grab the tea brick, okay. You don’t need me and that’ll give me a few minutes to take care of business, then we can get the fuck outta here.”
“Yeah, okay, Willy… whatever you say.”
Using his flashlight, the old man quickly picks the lock and opens the door, allowing Hendricks to enter the metal building. Standing in the shadows, the ex-con relieves himself, then quietly waits for his partner’s return. The autumn air is cool. As he waits, Graves lights a cigarette and watches the smoke as it joins his frosty breath creating tiny clouds that curl and waft their way up and into the night. Taking another deep drag and exhaling, his attention fixates on the puffy abstraction leaving his lips until a distant sound grabs his attention. Holding his breath, the old man cocks his head and listens to the faint hum of a motor, quickly growing louder… and louder. Alarmed, it’s obvious that something is approaching and as the noise reaches a dull roar, Willy ducks down behind the Honda just as a large vehicle enters the opening between the buildings. In the dark, from his position hidden behind the small Japanese car, Graves is unable to make out the vehicle, but one thing is clear: the Honda is trapped.
Uncertain, the old man removes the pistol from his waistband and waits, as the car blocking the exit sits in silence. Suddenly the entire area is washed in light accompanied by the sound of electronic deadbolts sliding into place, breaking the silence with an ominous, grinding noise. Not only is the Honda pinned between the two larger vehicles, but Ted Hendricks is now apparently trapped inside the warehouse. Outwardly calm, despite their dire circumstances, Willy listens as footsteps circle the new vehicle, then stop as the opening and closing of a hatchback is heard, followed by a crackling electronic sound. Eerie, harsh and abrasive, a voice, amplified through a bullhorn, slices through the night air.
“HAHAHA!!! YOU DUMBFUCKS! YOU IDIOTS! YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR SUBHUMANS! DID YOU ACTUALLY THINK ME UNAWARE?… THAT I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE FOLLOWING ME? HAHAHA! WHAT UTTER AND SHEER STUPIDITY! HOW MUCH DID I DELIGHT AT YOUR NAÏVE AND MORONIC IGNORANCE? HOW EASY WAS IT FOR ME TO ATTACH A GPS TRACKING DEVICE TO THAT WRETCHEDLY ANTIQUATED JAP CAR? HUH? HUH? OKAY, NO MORE MISTER NICE GUY! I’M ROLLING UP THE DOOR AND GIVING YOU EXACTLY THIRTY SECONDS TO LEAVE MY BUILDING, CRAWLING ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES! UNDERSTAND?”
As the large metal door rises, footsteps are heard approaching the entrance to the warehouse. After a few moments of silence, the amplified voice pierces the silence again.
“ALL RIGHT IMBECILES! YOUR TIME IS UP! I’M COMING IN! WHEN THIS DOOR CLOSES BEHIND ME YOU WILL BE TRAPPED LIKE INSECTS IN A CESSPOOL, QUIVERIN
G AND COWERING AS I TRACK YOU DOWN LIKE THE DESPICABLE DOGS YOU ARE! ARE YOU READY! ARE YOU READY TO DIE, DOGS? HAHAHAHA!!!!”
The sound of footsteps is heard again, quickly followed by the noise of the rolling metal door closing with a screeching thud. But, as silence dominates the aural landscape again, a single throbbing drone purrs quietly in the background. In his haste, Crawford Beasley exited the Hummer with its engine still running. Rising up from behind the Honda, Willy cautiously approaches the large vehicle and peeks inside. Noting the key in the ignition and the absence of anyone nearby, he enters the cab, carefully placing his oxygen bottle on the seat beside him, shifts the car into reverse and backs up to the front of the warehouse. Sitting right outside the closed metal door, the old man then triggers the car’s air horn, blasting its intrusive screech across the nocturnal landscape.
Inside the warehouse, as the chaos erupted, Ted Hendricks climbed on top of a stack of tea bricks. From this perch, ten feet above the ground, he is able to follow the progress of Beasley as the older man methodically searches for intruders, until, without warning, the uber-loud horn of his Hummer penetrates the closed door, immediately followed by the roaring throb of its engine.
Stunned, Beasley rushes to open the closed metal door; and as he does, Willy, watching the steel barrier rise from inside the Hummer, guns the motor again, then steers the huge car back in the direction of Kingdom City. When the metal door finally opens, Beasley, carrying his bullhorn in one hand and his pistol in the other, is shocked to see his car driving away. Dumbfounded and drunk with disbelief, the middle-aged man feebly chases the Hummer down the highway.
“STOP! STOP! YOU HEAR ME? THAT’S… THAT’S MY CAR! YOU CAN’T TAKE MY CAR! DO YOU HEAR ME! YOU CAN’T TAKE MY CAR! HOW… how…” as he lowers the bullhorn, Beasley’s voice assumes a faintly flaccid and fragile tone. “… how will…I… get home?” Approximately one hundred feet from the warehouse, the quasi-military devotee stops and stares, his beloved Hummer gradually growing smaller in the distance.
Back at the warehouse, Ted Hendricks stands for a moment in the open doorway, watching the curious interplay between Crawford Beasley and his rapidly disappearing Hummer, but, quickly realizing his opportunity, the techie rushes back to his Honda, slides in behind the steering wheel and speeds away, driving in the opposite direction. Hearing the sound of the escaping car, Beasley immediately turns and fires wildly, aiming several shots in the general direction of the Honda, but, immersed in his own futility, he slowly lowers the gun as his head erratically pivots back and forth, following the flight of the two departing vehicles.
It’s several hours later as Hendricks and Graves rehash the hectic events of a wild day while eating barbecue in their motel room.
“Gimme that hot sauce, Stork… damn, these ribs are bitchin’.”
“Yeah, sure… no problem.” Hendricks grabs a white foam container of coffee-colored sauce and hands it to his companion. After taking a bite of chicken, he pauses then looks over at Willy eagerly gnawing on a sparerib. “Hey Willy… you hid that Hummer in a great spot… good job.”
“Thanks… I spotted that dirt road when we were following the dumbfuck yesterday… he’ll never find it up there.”
They eat in silence for a few moments until the younger man stops and speaks again, “But, uh, what do we do now, Willy? I mean Beasley’s a nutcase… And shit, he’s dangerous as hell, but we’re not the ones to stop him… and I have to get back to Margo… and my job.”
“Yeah, I know…” Reflecting, Graves pauses for a minute as he lights a cigarette, then continues, “I been thinkin’ ’bout this, Storky… I mean, we got the dude’s car an’ he’s gonna want it back, right?”
Eyeing his roommate uncertainly, the content screener responds slowly, “Yeah? What’re you thinking, Willy?”
“Look… you gotta get back to your life an’ I gotta get back to Millie… I think I got enough dough to get her operation now, but I wanna get her somethin’ special… really special… you know what I mean?”
His uneasiness growing, Hendricks responds with apprehension. “No… I don’t know what you mean, Willy… and I’m getting a bad feeling about this…”
“Now don’t be gettin’ yur panties all bunched up… ol’ Willy ain’t steered you wrong yet, have I?”
Dumbfounded as he looks around the cheap motel room littered with empty food cartons, cigarette butts and dirty clothes, Hendricks briefly considers the shameless gall saturating the ex-con’s question. “Well, I don’t know about that, Willy…”
“Okay, okay, I’m a shitty housekeeper… so what? Here’s the deal… Millie’s gonna be all pissed off if I just show up with a fist full of money from doin’ a buncha stickups, so I gotta surprise her… take her mind off all them jobs I been pullin’…”
“Yeah?…”
“Yeah… so Millie has always had this thing about Cadillacs… she calls ’em a sign of real class… an’ I been promisin’ to get her one for years…”
“What are you saying, Willy.”
“A trade… a simple trade… no big deal. We give Beasley his Hummer back and he gives us a Caddy… an Escalade… a gold one.”
“WHAT? ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY? We’re dead meat if Beasley sees us again! He’ll burn us alive and throw the ashes in the trash… no way I’m going near that guy!”
“C’mon Stork… think about it… all’s we hav’ta do is figger out some kinda swap where he drops the Caddy off then leaves… we’ll make it someplace where we can watch but he can’t see us… then after he’s gone, we get the Cadillac an’ tell him where to find his goddam Hummer… nuthin’ to it… piece’a cake…”
“I don’t know, Willy… It’s crazy… I don’t want to have anything to do with that guy… I mean, who knows what he might do… no, it’s just too crazy.”
“Look… you want outta this whole deal, right? An’ I gotta get home one way or ’nother… I mean, I gotta get back to Alabama and I ain’t gettin’ on a Greyhound with this goddam oxygen bottle… Just help me do this one thing an’ I’ll be gone back to Millie an’ you can go home an’ call up the FBI about Beasley… or whatever the fuck you wanna do… okay?”
As the ex-con takes a deep drag on his cigarette, a tense moment passes between the two men. Obviously uncomfortable with the old man’s plan, Ted nevertheless sees its logic—and potential outcome… maybe.
“I don’t know… let me think about this a little, Willy… okay?”
“So you guys actually stole Beasley’s Hummer, then traded it back to him for the Escalade? Shit! That takes some balls!”
“Yeah, well, Willy had plenty of nerve… maybe too much.”
Hendricks checked his watch. It had been nearly an hour since he phoned Margo—she would be showing up soon, but he hadn’t gotten to the end of his story. I needed to hear about the explosion. “So how did you work out the swap? Facebook?”
“Yeah, it was easy enough to arrange with private postings. That café right outside of Adrian was the perfect spot. Willy and I waited inside for Beasley to show up and drop off the Cadillac.”
Ted Hendricks is fidgeting with his food as his companion lights another Camel. “Willy, you’re not supposed to smoke at this table.”
“Hell, Stork, we ain’t in no goddam Califuckin’fornia… nobody gives a shit ’bout a little smoke aroun’ here.” The old man coughs into his napkin, then resumes his meal, alternating between a bite of hamburger, a sip of coffee and a drag on his cigarette. A few minutes later Hazel, the waitress, approaches their table.
“How you guys doin’ over here? Can I getcha somethin’ else?” Noting the nervous Hendricks, she glances down at his barely eaten burger and comments, “What’s the matter, Shorty… not hungry… or you prefer Gaines-Burgers? Haw! Haw! Haw!” Her fake laughter echoes against the hard walls of the small café.
Obviously startled, the young techie looks up. “Huh… what?”
“I’m just jerkin’ your chain… you are one long drink a’
water, kid, sure as shit… I’ll bet don’t nobody call you Shorty… huh?”
“Uh, no… not for a while… uh, could I have a coffee, Hazel?”
“Sure, kid… No problemo…”
The waitress returns with Hendricks’ coffee and refills Willy’s cup. They sit in silence for a moment as the content screener continues to pick at his food, occasionally sipping the hot steaming brew. Bored, the ex-con finally speaks, “Hey! I’m pretty excited about that Caddy, Stork. Ol’ Millie gon’ shit in ’er pants when I drive up in that baby.” He coughs again. Willy’s chronic smoker’s cough appears to be getting worse.
“I have a bad feeling about this, Willy… Beasley gave in too easily. I don’t trust it.”
“C’mon, Stork… give it a rest. You been bellyachin’ ’bout this all day. I tell you, there ain’t nothin’ to it.” The old man takes a long drag and continues, “Shit man! This is it! I can feel it! My life ain’t been nuthin’ but fuck-ups an’ bad breaks up to now, but this is it… things is finally goin’ my way.”
The two men are sitting at a table by the window with Willy monitoring the parking lot outside. As Ted Hendricks picks up a cold french fry, stares at it for a moment, then drops it on his plate, the old man speaks up excitedly, “Stork, look… look… there it is!”
With Willy and Ted watching intently, a large gold-colored car pulls into the parking lot followed by a taxi. After the Cadillac slips into a parking spot, Crawford Beasley, as always in full Desert Storm drag, steps out of the Escalade, pauses for a moment to survey the scene, then enters the back seat of the cab and drives away.
The Brickeaters Page 15