The Brickeaters

by The Residents

  Wincing slightly at the words “stupidity” and “ineptitude,” Beasley remained calm, and after a brief pause, he said, “Excuse me, Officer, I think I’ll have a cup of coffee.” Turning, the madman continued and walked toward the kitchen, “Can I get you some?… please, have a seat.”

  “No, thank you… I prefer to stand.”

  Taking his time, the older man poured himself a cup of coffee, then spoke again. “It’s interesting that you should mention that, Officer Duggan… Someone recently attempted to break into the PAGWAG compound. They failed to get past my security system, of course, but I did manage to take their picture… would you like to see it?” At that point, Beasley opened a drawer and pulled out a piece of paper containing an indistinct black-and-white image.

  “Yes… that could be quite helpful, Mr. Beasley… I appreciate your cooperation.”

  As the grim-faced fanatic approached the lawman’s outstretched arm, the paper suddenly slipped from his grasp, slowly floating toward the lawman’s feet. Instinctively reaching down, Duane never saw Beasley’s .45 as the crazed lunatic fired his pistol eighteen inches from the trooper’s right temple.

  Mesmerized in the rear of the Hummer, Patty, Ted and I saw the shot on the techie’s computer while also feeling the deep resonance of gunfire as it echoed throughout the compound. Without thinking, the young blonde screamed, “DUANE! NO!” and immediately broke down sobbing as Hendricks and I stared at each other, abandoned by sanity in a sick, sordid and monstrously malignant moment.

  Moments later, with Patty’s chest heaving and tears streaming down her cheeks, Ted Hendricks was the first to speak: “Patty, get it together… we have to go.” Pointing at his computer, the kid continued, “I’m sorry, but Duane’s dead… and we have to get out of here.” As we watched, the madman retrieved a large sheet of plastic then struggled to roll the trooper’s hulking corpse onto it. “We have to find a place to hide… Beasley’s gonna be dealing with Duane’s body for a while… I’m gonna hack the fucker’s surveillance system, then we have to get out of this car.”

  After masking our intrusion from Beasley’s surveillance system, Ted nodded and I quietly opened the rear door of the Hummer as we stepped out into the cool air of the garage. We noted the various rooms of Beasley’s compound during the kids’ earlier hack, but the overall layout of the structure was a blank; all we knew was that the madman was somewhere else, a living room-like space, while we were in the garage. Examining the large open area revealed two roll-up doors, one at either end of the big room; apparently the limited maneuverability of the Hummer was such that it entered through one door and exited through the other. The only additional way out of the garage was a single door leading into the main part of the compound. Using care, we turned the handle and inched it open, immediately finding ourselves staring into an empty hallway. Easing down the corridor, we cautiously continued to another door leading to a second hallway, which appeared to be circular, arching away from us in opposite directions and containing a series of doors leading into various unknown rooms within the compound.

  Puzzled by the strange setting, we looked at each other in confusion. Beasley’s house, as observed from the outside, was an ordinary wood-framed suburban type, but the structure we were in was made of concrete, appearing more similar to a bunker than a ranch-style home. Since the number of rooms observed on the security system had never quite jibed with the modest nature of the house, Beasley’s compound was somehow much more elaborate than it appeared. Barring a detour into the Twilight Zone, there was one obvious answer: confirming my earlier hunch, we had to be underground.

  Turning to look at my younger companions, I whispered, “We must be under the house… nothing else makes any sense… and it figures that a nut like Beasley would create a concrete fortress under his home. This is where he plans to wait out the apocalypse.”

  Nervously looking around, Hendricks responded, “So where is the fucker now?”

  “He has to be upstairs. The room where he shot Duane was on the ground floor… he’ll be busy cleaning up for a while so we should be safe long enough to find a hiding spot, but we have to hurry.”

  Moving quickly, we checked out all the various spaces, including a bedroom, kitchen, generator and battery room, an armory, laundry, exercise room, another bedroom apparently dedicated to his mother, lots of storage and a large central control room. Overall the lower level of the compound was much larger than the house above; wasting no time, we soon had a solid feel for the layout—and a plan.

  Of all the different rooms, the one obviously dedicated to the memory of Beasley’s mother was easily the most compelling. Containing a bed, a bathroom and a closet full of clothes in addition to her large framed portrait and several dried funeral sprays, it appeared that the room was originally intended for the older woman’s occupation, but she died either before or shortly after moving in. Adjacent to the mother’s room was the largest of the storage areas, primarily consisting of shelves loaded with food and water—Beasley’s stockpile for surviving Armageddon. By moving spare bedding from a closet in the dead woman’s room into the rear of the storage space, we were able to build a small nest that was unlikely to be discovered. Hiding within the storage space also gave us easy access to food as well as a nearby bathroom in the rear of Mom’s bedroom. All we had to do was wait a few hours until the lunatic made his daily trip into Kingdom City for lunch and to the tea warehouses; at that point we would have several hours to search for the evidence we needed. Later we would leave in the rear of the madman’s Hummer, exactly the same way we came in. Settling down in our little hideaway, I was beginning to think this crazy plan might actually work.

  Meanwhile, the passionate connection between my young companions had continued to heat up. Hanging out in our cozy little hideaway at the rear of the storage space, their hands were like small animals, touching and rubbing, as they amplified and absorbed the tension flowing freely between them. It was as if the witnessing of Duane’s violent death had triggered some curious counterintuitive reaction in the trooper’s ex-girlfriend, and instead of grieving, she was compelled to replace whatever animal outlet Duane had provided—with Ted Hendricks as the all too eager recipient. Needless to say, all this touchy-feely crap was not going down so great with me, but they did maintain some consideration, stopping somewhere short of a full-on dogs-in-heat rut, whamming away like lust-plagued lizards right beside me… but it was obviously just a matter of time. Meanwhile, employing skills slightly short of genius, I had managed to score not one, not two or three, but five more pints of Jack Daniels shortly before we entered the back of the Hummer and so, fully fortified, I soothed my bruised soul to the tune of Romeo and Juliet panting like twin tornados in hell.

  After waking up the following morning, we scavenged breakfast from Beasley’s emergency stockpile, and while the idea of canned tuna, peanut butter, dried apricots and crackers had little appeal… Hey! It wasn’t so bad. But we knew Beasley would be leaving for Kingdom City soon and needed a plan for best utilizing our time.

  Not part of the burgeoning bliss, I spoke up, “Patty, Ted, as soon as Beasley leaves, I think we should split up. We can cover a lot more territory if each of us searches a different room. I think we’re okay down here for now but we have to find the evidence we need and get out. The guy may be a murderous creep, but he’s not an idiot.” Viewing more than ten seconds apart akin to a vacation in Vladivostok, the lovers reluctantly agreed.

  But Beasley didn’t leave. The circular layout of the lower level of the madman’s compound placed us on the opposite side of the building from where the Hummer normally exited, meaning we could hear the big car as it entered but not when it left; but, around 10 a.m., we curiously noted the sound of a car entering the garage. Puzzled, Ted hacked back into the surveillance system to check it out, and as we watched the image slowly circulating from one camera to another, we soon found ourselves viewing the garage, and there it was: Duane’s highway patrol car sitting next to the
Hummer.

  Mesmerized, we watched as Beasley, dressed in coveralls, drove a forklift carrying Duane’s plastic-covered body into the garage. Pausing in front of a large workstation, he reached over and twisted an unassuming piece of hardware attached to the rear of the work space, causing the entire unit to slide sideways, revealing an unseen chamber behind. In disbelief, I uttered in a loud whisper, “A panic room! Of course, the fucker would have a hidden safe room.”

  Working quickly, Beasley drove the forklift into the safe room, unloaded the body then returned, leaving the doorway open. At that point he crossed the space to another workstation where he picked up a pair of heavy gloves, some goggles and an acetylene torch. Dragging the tools back across the room, he promptly put on the safety gear and fired up the torch. Dumbfounded and glued to the screen, we watched as the madman methodically began the tedious process of carving the patrol car up into hundreds of small pieces.

  At that point Ted excused himself and went to the bathroom, leaving me and Patty alone for the first time in several days. As we sat wrapped in blankets in our strange little cocoon hidden behind a dozen or more racks of shelving, I reflected on the look of stunned disbelief I’d seen on Patty’s face as we watched Beasley wrangle Duane’s corpse into the safe room. While her body had certainly reacted in kind to Ted’s affection and desire, she hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words since we witnessed the gruesome sight of Duane’s execution.

  “I can’t say Duane was one of my favorite people, but no one deserves to go like that. I guess you guys must have been pretty close, Patty.”

  Lost in thought, the aggrieved young woman looked up, taking several painful moments to gather her thoughts before speaking and when she did, her words were slow and deliberate. “Duane… he… he was my first boyfriend… the first serious boyfriend I ever had…” As she paused, I could feel the weight of Patty’s grief, an emotional holocaust hidden in the heat of a frenzied lust fest. Grief is a weird thing, not that I’m exactly an expert, but it seems that it’s a lot like love… maybe it’s the same thing, just twisted around in a different direction. And similar to the way that love can connect and morph into other related emotions—kindness, dependence, lust, anger—grief often pulls the same trick. It’s like people getting pissed off at each other during a funeral or a wake, and this was the deal with Patty, her grief mutating into sexual desire. After all, the kid had lost her mom, her brother and, in reality, her entire life up to that point—and all within the last week. No wonder she seemed so eager to escape into the warm and fuzzy glow of Ted Hendricks’ embrace.

  Speaking with obvious difficulty, she continued, “He… Duane… he wanted to have children with me, Frank. That means a lot to a woman… any woman… okay, I guess I was over him, but… but to see him gunned down like… like a dog…” At that point she completely broke down, collapsing into my arms… guarded, I told myself it was just the father figure thing again and nothing more, but Ted’s sudden reappearance, wide-eyed and flustered, didn’t make things any easier. Not knowing what to do, the kid grabbed his computer, moved across the room and plopped down on the floor, as I, equally uncomfortable, continued consoling his lover.

  Okay! It was weird.

  So much for part one of the plan. Beasley obviously wasn’t going anywhere, consequently the idea of trying to search the compound outside of our little safe spot was nuts… Okay, just being there was fucking nuts, but still…

  It took the madman about eight to ten hours of steady work to completely dismember and dismantle the patrol car, and, using the forklift for the engine block and larger parts, he gradually moved the fragmented vehicle into the panic room next to Duane’s body. Later, after completing his work, Beasley disappeared somewhere in the interior of the compound. Mildly concerned about what the nutcase was up to, Hendricks checked into the security system after an hour or so and BINGO! Wackarama… The nuttiness never stops.

  The series of images from the various security cameras placed around the compound switched from one to another as usual, until the picture reached the dining room in the house upstairs. In the dim light, little was visible except Crawford Beasley, illuminated by the candles of a small birthday cake, and the large portrait of his mother that he had retrieved from the bedroom downstairs. Also on the table was a small, ancient 45 rpm record player. Immediately drawn into this odd and compelling scene, we locked the surveillance system onto this camera and turned up the sound as the madman recited yet another bizarre monologue, but the tone of his speech, soft, tender and caring, was remarkably different. Speaking directly to the portrait, the madman’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  “…as you well know. Mumsy, another aspect of the human folly known as religion that I actually do embrace is the deification of MOTHER. Mary, Mother Earth, the Ultimate Source, YOU… these concepts both haunt and rejuvenate, as my thoughts daily rejoice in the memory of your dearly departed goodness and grace. You were the light… A beacon… A shining force of virtue and honor… giving me so much more than I deserved. So often I’m tortured by the specter of your final days… The pain permeating every pore of your being… The agonizing attempts to smile and touch the soul of your beloved Crawbaby one last time. It pains me to say it but my solitary fear in life is that my memories of you, dear Mumsy… the thoughts I cherish and hold so precious, will someday fade, like the scarlet sunsets of summer. Yes, the cruelty of life and the frailty of men cannot be overstated, but I WILL NOT LET IT HAPPEN, MUMSY! NEVER! NO! NOT EVER! I love you… like the sun loves the inky blackness of space… like the robin loves the lively newness of spring… like the fragrance of the flower loves the nose that gives it meaning.”

  With that, the surprisingly warm and sentimental but obviously insane Crawford Beasley switched on the record player, lifted the arm and placed the needle onto the disc. As the sound entered the room, the scratchiness of the well-worn record pushed the fragile voice into the background but the message, after decades of use, was still clear.

  (To the tune of “You Are My Sunshine”)

  “You are my Crawbaby, my only Crawbaby

  You make me happy when skies are gray

  You’ll never know dear how much I love you

  Please don’t take my Crawbaby away.

  “It’s Mumsy dear… It’s Mumsy and this is your sixth birthday. You’re a big boy now… My little Crawbaby is practically all grown up… And you’ve never had a single cavity… Not one… I’m so proud of my big boy. Oh, I know you’ve hated brushing so often and you certainly have no fondness for tea… I know that, too… But see how it’s paid off… Oh yes, boys do need a father and I know how you’ve missed your daddy, but the military life, with all its fussy rules… Well, it just wasn’t for me…I do hope you understand…I do… And I love you oh so much… My little Crawbaby. Happy Birthday, son.”

  The following morning Patty, Ted and I were just finishing breakfast when another alarm suddenly sounded. The warning signal, identical to the one that announced Duane’s arrival, instantly charged the space with apprehension. Switching on his laptop, Ted cracked into the security system just as Crawford Beasley was responding, but this time, instead of a single officer in a highway patrol car, it was two SUVs containing a tac squad—at least a dozen men.

  Again, Beasley’s response was slow and deliberate. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”

  Standing at the outermost gate, the officer in charge barked into the intercom, “Please state your name and position, sir.”

  Continuing to take his time, the madman responded, “I am Crawford Beasley, officer… Director of PAGWAG and the owner of this estate. Is there a problem?”

  “Yes, there is a problem, Mr. Beasley. A state trooper is missing and the PAGWAG compound was his last reported location. We would like to come in and ask you a few questions. Do we have your permission to enter the premises, Mr. Beasley?”

  “Of course… of course… I’m happy to do anything I can to help, gentlemen.”

&nb
sp; Echoing Duane’s entrance, a short delay was followed by the metallic sound of the gate opening. As the two vehicles passed through the portal, a pair of officers wearing body armor and wielding automatic weapons jumped out, positioning themselves by the outer opening. After proceeding through the second gate, the large vehicles stopped immediately outside the entrance to the house. As a smiling Crawford Beasley stepped out and greeted the men, two more tac squad members took positions on either side of the door.

  His eyes concealed by sinister black glasses, Beasley looked around, sizing up the situation. “I’m flattered that PAGWAG has been deemed worthy of such attention, officers. The situation you are pursuing is obviously quite serious.”

  Showing little regard for Beasley in his faux military drag, the cop stepped to within a foot of the madman’s face and stated flatly, “As I said, Mr. Beasley, a fine officer is missing. We take that quite seriously. May we come in?”

  Nervous despite his outward calm, Beasley nodded, “As well you should, officers…. as well you should. Of course you can come in… right this way, gentlemen.” Attempting to cover his uneasiness with polite chatter, the madman continued as he escorted the police squad into his living room. “My father was in the military… sadly, he died in the service when I was young… I volunteered, of course, but was declined due to, uh, health reasons… but I’m happy to do anything I can to help the protectors of America’s freedom… anything I can…”

  Upon reaching the living room, the tac squad, on full alert, stationed itself around the perimeter of the room as the group’s leader turned and faced Crawford Beasley. “We are doing everything possible to find our missing officer, Mr. Beasley. Since this was his last reported location, I’m sure you understand the necessity of thoroughly searching the premises. Do we have your permission to search the compound, Mr. Beasley?”