The Brickeaters

by The Residents

  With my words trailing off, Hendricks began another recording:

  “CEE-LEB CITY… The Land of Lost Angels… LAND OF LOST LOSERS, if you ask me. I have to admit the idea of defiling all that exquisite, pure water agonizes the essence of my being. Doubtless, L.A., home to the LORDS OF ARROGANCE, is the only target capable of abating the pain I feel in enacting such blasphemy, but GODDAMMIT, IT MUST BE DONE! No one wanted to kill innocent infants in Nagasaki, but WAR DICTATES EVIL NECESSITIES! The arrogant liberals speak of the ‘One Percent’ as if being rich is such a DESPICABLE ACT! But, as I see it, many of the affluent, like me, are committed to enhancing the benefits of our culture. It’s the vile and loathsome celebrity class, built on values of testosterone and pretty, that constitutes the TRUE EVIL of society. Once the ENTIRE L.A. BASIN is cursed with BLACK TEETH like mine, the celebrity class will be begging to TAKE IT UP THE BUTT, bent over and whining, while also certifying and guaranteeing the need of pure, clean and pristine water, along with a well-armed and disciplined militia to protect it. It’s not that complicated.”

  As the techie paused the recording again, we looked at each other in stunned silence, one thought dominating our unspoken conversation: how weird can this shit possibly get?

  The next morning we were having breakfast at a small café in Mexico… okay, I know it sounds weird, but don’t blame me… I just live here and take notes… Anyway, we were chowing down on grits and scrambled eggs, trying to come up with a plan for breaching Beasley’s Hummer.

  “Okay, there are only two places where we’re sure to have access to the Hummer, at the café where he eats lunch and at the warehouses… but both are fairly exposed. Ted, does he always park in that same spot around the corner from Nell’s café?”

  “I think so… I figured he parks there so the Hummer doesn’t stick out into the street and maybe get hit.”

  I thought about it for a minute and said, “Okay… I opt for the café, but we need some kind of distraction. Something to keep the fucker occupied while we get in the car. Patty, I think that means you…”

  His protective instincts aroused, Hendricks immediately reacted. “No way, Frank! I don’t want Patty in here with that nut! He’s got a gun and…”

  “But… wait, Frank… listen…”

  “NO! ABSOLUTELY NO WAY!”

  The cute young female, my designated diversion, had listened quietly up to that point, but she immediately spoke up, “Shut up, Ted… I want to hear what Frank has to say.”

  “But… but…”

  “Quiet, Ted! I make my own decisions… Okay? Go ahead, Frank. What are you thinking?”

  “Well, I keep remembering the way you put the whammy on ol’ Duane… I’m not saying you need to sashay into Nell’s wearing a negligee, but…” I paused, knowing I was headed into delicate territory.

  “But what, Frank… I’m listening.”

  “Well, okay…” I paused for a moment, took a breath and continued. “It… It’s about your father…”

  “My dad? What’s he got to do with this? I don’t get it, Frank.”

  “Okay… okay… let me explain… your dad has Gulf War Syndrome… right? And Beasley, in his Desert Storm drag, is obviously obsessed with the military… maybe he’s a vet… who knows? But if you could go in there and somehow connect with the fucker about your dad, I’m willing to bet he would shit in his pants making nice. Meanwhile, Ted and I could get into the Hummer and have everything all set for you to join us after ditching the wacko. We shouldn’t need more than five minutes… Ten at the most. What do you think?”

  Still feeling protective of his young companion, Ted Hendricks wasn’t buying the plan. “It’s too dangerous, Frank. The guy is nutso… there’s no telling what he might…”

  I looked at Patty, recognizing that steely look in her eyes. Without hesitation, she said, “It’s okay, Ted… I can do it… unless you have a better plan.”

  “Well…”

  This was it, big time or bust, so I jumped back in. “Well, what? Look, Ted, if Patty’s okay with this, then we have to do it… Hey! I know you’ve got the hots for the kid, but…” I paused. It was the first time anyone had openly acknowledged the obvious chemistry between them, but what the fuck! It was time to get real here… sort of…

  Shocked, they looked at each other in a knowing way, both uncertain as to what to say. Finally, Patty spoke, “He’s right, Ted…” Realizing the underlying truth of her statement, the cute chick paused, blushing slightly, then continued, “I mean about Beasley and getting into his car. I can do it. It’s okay.” From the look on his face, Hendricks still wasn’t convinced, but at least Patty shut him up.

  “Okay, that’s settled then. I’ll pay the bill and we’ll head over to Kingdom City.” Getting up, I walked toward the cashier, but as I reached for my wallet, something outside grabbed my attention. Passing Patty’s Jeep parked on the street, a black-and-white Missouri Highway Patrol car came to a sudden halt. It was Duane and we were in trouble… big trouble. Hurriedly paying the check, I watched as the trooper, in full John Wayne swagger, exited the cruiser and approached the Jeep, simultaneously scanning up and down the street.

  Rushing back to the table, I blurted out the news, “IT’S DUANE! He’s right outside and he spotted Patty’s car. QUICK… out the back… HURRY!” Awkwardly forcing our way through the tiny kitchen, we found ourselves in an alley walking back to the motel. With no other choice we decided to dump Patty’s car and continue in the Honda.

  The day was not getting off to a good start.

  Quickly gathering our stuff, we checked out of the motel and crowded ourselves into Ted’s small car. By this time we knew Duane had a definite make on the Honda, so, trusting the ever alert Ted Hendricks, we escaped the small town, and headed in the direction of Kingdom City.

  Shocked that the hyper-aggressive cop had actually located us in Mexico, I turned to Patty and remarked, “So what the fuck is Duane doing here anyway? Isn’t he way out of his territory?”

  Giving me a worried look, my young companion responded, “He can be pretty tenacious, Frank… and if I know Duane, this has become personal with him by now. And… well, I don’t think he likes you very much.”

  Great! So now I had to contend with Bulldog Duane AND Bonkers Beasley. I patted my pockets in search of Black Jack.

  Continuing, Patty said, “Duane’s probably spent the last two days driving through every small town in Northern Missouri searching for us. He won’t give up either.”

  Comforted by that thought, we quickly covered the short distance from Mexico to Kingdom City. Avoiding the overly zealous trooper madly crisscrossing the state in search of my balls, we pulled up at Nell’s slightly early for lunch. Parking the Honda in an inconspicuous spot, we sat, quietly awaiting the madman’s arrival while pondering the random arrangements of fate.

  It didn’t take long. Also apparently on an early schedule, Beasley pulled the Hummer into its customary spot, stepped out, straightened his jacket, and entered the café. Meanwhile, Patty, having changed into a skirt and blouse back at the motel, was ready for action. After escorting her to the front of the café, I watched to make sure everything was okay, but the chick was a natural. Casually walking past Beasley, she paused, turned, checked him out and nodded approvingly. It took a moment for the presence of another human to penetrate the multilayered defenses insulating Crawford Beasley from the rest of the world, but once his radar zeroed in on the mondo cute Patty, the wacko was hooked. Watching the kid play the big fish would have been fun, but we had business to take care of. Returning to Ted in the Honda, I gave him a solid thumbs-up and we hurried over to the Hummer; as the techie pulled out the keys, we approached the rear door of the giant SUV. Sure, anything could happen after we breached the madman’s lair, but getting in was looking like a piece of cake… until…

  Nervously scanning the immediate area, I waited as Hendricks fidgeted, inserting first one key into the lock then, failing, he tried another, then the first one
again—no luck. Panicked, Hendricks looked up, his eyes wide with terror. “IT WON’T WORK! THE FUCKER MUST HAVE CHANGED THE LOCKS!”

  FUCK! There was nothing to do but bail. Motioning for Hendricks to return to the Honda, I went back to the café, hoping to catch Patty’s eye while calmly flashing the old get-the-fuck-out-of-there-pronto sign. But, executing the coquette role all the way, the young woman’s attention was focused on Crawford Beasley, seemingly hanging on every word. Freaking out, I had no idea what to do next when suddenly, I saw something familiar laying on the table next to Beasley’s hand. It was a set of keys, almost identical to the ones used by Ted Hendricks in our failed attempt to breach the Hummer.

  This was it! Make or break! Do or die! Suck tit or eat shit! Retrieving my trusty bottle of Jack Daniels, I took two mondo slugs and staggered into the café.

  “Patty! Patty! Where did you go, Honeybunch? Your daddy needs you, Patty… Come to Poppa!” Lurching across the room with my arms spread, I watched the wide-eyed young woman, the wheels of her mind spinning furiously, gamely struggling to figure out what the fuck I was up to. Deliberately slurring my words, I pressed on, “Patty… my darling daughter… who’s your friend, honeypot? Huuuuuhhh?” Weaving back and forth, I plopped a hand on Patty’s shoulder, attempting to control my erratic movements.

  Playing along, Patty turned to her table companion and said, “Uh… Mr. Beasley, I’d like to introduce you to my… father… like I said earlier, Daddy fought with our forces in Iraq during the Gulf War and…” Pausing dramatically, the kid actually reached up and wiped away a tear, before continuing, “…sadly, he was exposed to sarin gas during the war and…” Pausing again, my bogus offspring looked up, her eyes swelling with pathos. “Daddy often still feels the effects… and he’s, uh, having a bad day… isn’t that right, Daddy?”

  Revealing no recognition from our earlier encounter, Beasley’s soulless façade, obscured behind dark glasses, momentarily cracked, as the madman gingerly reached out, attempting to add support to my hapless and unstable stance. Sensing his momentary vulnerability, I collapsed, sprawling my floundering carcass across the table and sliding into his lap, causing both of us, as well as the entire contents of the table to crash, spreading itself across the floor of the tiny café.

  Immediately bouncing back to his feet, Beasley roared, “YOU OAF! YOU CLUMSY FUCKING CLOD!” Looking down at his coffee-stained camo jacket, the quasi-military lunatic was livid. Not missing a beat, Patty grabbed the table and returned it to an upright position as I flopped around the floor, nabbing Beasley’s car keys in the process.

  Maintaining our game of confounding the kook, Patty pleaded, “He didn’t mean it, Mister… really he didn’t… Daddy’s just having a bad day. Here, let me help you.” Brushing french fries and bits of bacon and tomato from Beasley’s soiled Desert Storm attire, while I pathetically struggled to regain my footing, the earnest young decoy continued, “I’m so sorry, Mister… I’ll take Daddy out and get him settled down… I’m so sorry…” Helping me back up, she said, “C’mon, Daddy… we’ve ruined this poor man’s lunch… c’mon, we have to leave now.”

  At that point, the two of us slowly made our way out of the café as the dumbfounded Crawford Beasley stood glaring, completely uncertain as to what he had just witnessed. As soon as Patty and I were safely outside, the obviously excited female immediately threw her arms around me, landing a huge wet smacker on my lips at the same time. Startled, I stammered, “Uh, thanks, Patty… but we gotta hurry… we have to get into that Hummer and you have to return the wacko’s keys before he realizes what’s up.”

  “Sure, Frank… I get it.”

  Hurriedly we rushed back to the Honda where the freaked-out Ted Hendricks, oozing anxiety like a lost lamb, nervously waited. “WHAT HAPPENED? I THOUGHT WE WERE BAILING… WHAT TOOK YOU SO FUCKING LONG, PATTY! ARE YOU OKAY?”

  “Change of plans, kid… LOOK! I got the keys, but we have to hurry before Beasley gets wise.”

  “But, wait… What’s going on?”

  “COME ON! I’ll explain later.” Frantic, we raced the short distance between the Honda and the SUV. Quickly unlocking the rear of the big car, Ted and I scrambled in as Patty hurried back to return the keys while making more apologies for her doddering dad; within seconds, the plucky blonde rejoined us in the rear of the Hummer. Searching the roomy rear cabin, we discovered several large storage compartments beneath the seats and scrambled in, sliding the doors closed behind us.

  It was going to be a wild ride.

  Fifteen minutes later, Crawford Beasley entered the Hummer. Separated as we were, the weight of the madman’s combat boots clomping around the large vehicle produced three distinct pockets of anxiety, isolated in the dark and each marooned in its own mind. After a relatively short ride, we felt the SUV turn in to the compound, pause as it passed through the two gates, then glide into the garage. Concealed beneath the seats, we remained hidden for fifteen or twenty minutes before cautiously crawling out and convening in the rear of the giant car. Momentarily safe inside the Hummer, we clearly had to leave soon, but avoiding Beasley’s security system wouldn’t be so simple. Undaunted, the ever diligent Ted Hendricks, techie supreme, had a plan.

  Having spent several hours inspecting the compound’s surveillance setup, the kid was fairly certain he could substitute a static frame grab for the active camera feed in each room. Since the field of each camera would never change, a careful observer could possibly detect the ruse, but since Crawford Beasley was the only occupant, changes would be fairly subtle and confined to the room he was in—as long as that was the case, we should be okay.

  Meanwhile, with Patty and me looking over his shoulder, the kid logged on to the system. As expected, with the exception of the control room where the loony Beasley was ordering supplies on Amazon, the rest of the building was completely quiet until, without warning, an alarm bell suddenly sounded, alerting the compound of a visitor. Watching, as several cameras focused on the heavily secured outer gate, we were shocked to see a familiar black-and-white cruiser parked at the entry. Who else… Duane! Stunned, we listened in fascination to the conversation between our two primary and wildly contrasting antagonists.

  Responding to the alarm, Beasley barked, “What can I do for you, officer?”

  “To whom am I speaking, sir?”

  “Crawford Beasley, officer. I am the Executive Director of PAGWAG. How may I be of assistance?”

  “Mr. Beasley, I am pursuing three suspects involved in an incident of domestic terrorism. A map pinpointing this location was found in one of the suspect’s vehicles and I would like to ask you a few questions. May I come in?”

  A long and increasingly uncomfortable silence followed, expanding the tension between the two men. After patiently waiting for several moments, the trooper spoke again, “Mr. Beasley?” More time passed and still no response. His irritation beginning to show, Duane repeated his request, this time more forcefully, “MISTER BEASLEY… MAY I PLEASE COME IN? I’D LIKE TO ASK YOU SOME QUESTIONS!”

  Showing no emotion, the compound’s occupant responded, “I’m sorry, but I’m busy right now officer. Can we do this another time?”

  “This is strictly a routine matter, Mr. Beasley. You are not under suspicion and have no obligation to allow entry or answer questions. If you prefer I can return later with a backup squad and a search warrant. At that time you will no longer have any choice. Is that what you prefer, Mr. Beasley?”

  Another awkward silence ensued before a metallic clicking sound was heard and the gate slowly swung open. As we followed his progress on a series of surveillance cameras, Duane returned to his cruiser and eased through first one and then another security gate before finally stopping in front of the compound’s main entrance. Despite the heavy security measures used to safeguard the enclave, the madman’s house, a typical low-slung suburban home, was warm and inviting. Standing on the landing, the state trooper paused for a moment until the front door opened and a smiling Crawfo
rd Beasley greeted him at the threshold.

  Gesturing toward the interior of the building, the quasi-military maniac spoke, his voice calm and seemingly pleasant, “Step this way, officer. I apologize for the delay… this is our pledge season… a demanding time of the year for PAGWAG.” After passing through a dark hallway, the pair emerged into a large and seemingly little-used living room.

  Hyper-vigilant, Duane paused for a moment, scanning the interior of the nondescript building, then spoke, “So what exactly is PAGWAG, Mr. Beasley?”

  “I’m pleased that you’re interested… Officer…?”

  “Duggan… Sergeant Duggan. You were telling me about your organization, Mr. Beasley.”

  “Yes, of course, Officer… PAGWAG is an alliance of patriotic Americans. Brave men and women dedicated to the preservation of clear, clean and pristine water, as well as the unflinching defense of our glorious rights under the Second Amendment. A man like you must surely agree with those principles… am I correct, Officer?”

  Satisfied with his inspection of the room, Duane returned his focus to Crawford Beasley, slowly absorbing the older man’s foppish façade. After lowering his gaze from the madman’s beret to his cigarette holder, ascot, camo uniform, beret, and immaculately shined combat boots, the trooper frowned slightly, returning his stare to Beasley’s shaded and hidden eyes.

  As both men stood, two feet apart, their eyes solidly fixed on each other, another sustained silence invaded the conversational space, slowly building tension until the older man finally spoke, “So what’s this all about, Officer?”

  Patient and methodical, Duane returned to his original inquiry, “We have evidence of an incident involving domestic terrorism, Mr. Beasley. It appears that a car bomb was exploded in a remote area of southern Missouri; in addition, we have reason to believe this bomb was possibly part of an assassination plot aimed at the President. Ironically, it seems that the stupidity and ineptitude of the terrorists is the primary reason the plot failed.”