The Brickeaters

by The Residents

  “Was he alone?”

  Hazel turned back to the griddle, flipped the hamburger patty and eyed me over her shoulder. “So how come you’re so interested in that guy, mister? Did you know him? Was he a friend of yours?”

  “Uh, no, Hazel, it’s just… well, you see, I’m a writer for the crime show DOA, and my producer thought there might be a story in it, so he sent me to check it out.”

  “No shit!” Excited, the waitress shouted across the room at the two truck drivers, “Hey Lester, Tom, this guy is a TV writer. He wants to know about the stiff they found out on Highway 18 last week.” Unfazed, Lester and Tom remained transfixed on the grainy TV.

  “So was he alone?”

  “No, and that was kinda weird, too. There was another guy with him, and the other guy was a lot younger and at least six-and-a-half feet tall, maybe more. He was like a basketball player or something ’cept he was too wimpy. You know, kind of a baby-face, momma’s boy type, but real tall. Damnedest thing, those two together.” Nodding at a table by the window, Hazel continued, “They sat at that table right over there… had two hamburgers, and fries… the old guy wanted peanut butter on his burger. Weird! Your burger’s done, mister… whaddaya want on it?”

  “Huh? Yeah… everything but onions, I may have a date tonight. So Hazel, what else do you remember? Did they just hang out or what?”

  “Well, that was strange, too. You see, while those guys were in here, this gold Cadillac Escalade drives up and parks in the lot. Then another car drives up right behind it and the Caddy driver gets in the second car and drives away. Just like that… left a brand new Cadillac in the parking lot. The other two guys, they were watchin’ real close out the window. It was a Saturday night and we was pretty busy so I wud’n pa-yin’ much attention, but I noticed those two guys starin’ out the window at that Cadillac. Then after about a half-hour or so they just got up, paid their bill, went out an’ got in the Cadillac and drove away. It was the damnedest thing.”

  “They left in the Cadillac. That is weird. But how did they get here? They must have come in another car.”

  “Well, I didn’t see what kinda car they came in, but when we closed up that night, there was this Toyota or Honda or some kinda little Jap car in the parking lot. I noticed it because the parking lot was empty ’cept for that one car. Then, when I came back the next mornin’ it was gone. Now I can’t say for sure that it was their car, but it was sure as hell gone the next day.”

  “Yeah, okay, thanks Hazel… and thanks for the burger. Oh, Hazel, did the sheriff ever come around and ask you about any of this?”

  “Naw, nobody said nothin’ to me. The sheriff’s too busy playin’ dominos. He don’t get too excited about anything. So whaddaya think, mister? Will you be doin’ a TV show about it?”

  “I can’t say, Hazel. It’s really up to the producer. I’m just gathering information right now, but it’s a good story… thanks. If the producer likes it, we’ll be in touch. You know, we could even shoot a scene in here… maybe even interview you. I’ll let you know.”

  “Hey! Great, mister. Thanks! Thanks! Hey mister?”

  As I looked up from my burger, Hazel was pointing her forefinger and thumb at me in a pistol-like gesture. “Make my day, dude! Make my day!”

  I smiled and nodded but quickly returned to eating my hamburger while mulling Hazel’s story. What if the anonymous caller was the guy with Graves in the café? If it was, he obviously knew plenty… I really needed that phone number. So far kissing up to Patty was working big-time, but I had to keep the wheels greased, which meant finding some flowers back in Clinton. Besides, she was a cute number. Who knows, I might get lucky.

  The drive back to Clinton took me back past the spot where Graves’ body was found. My research said the old man had an accomplice on his recent crime spree, and just as the ex-con had not been positively ID’d, there was no clear description of the sidekick, but the old man apparently hadn’t acted alone. Thinking about the stuff Hazel told me only led to more questions. Why would someone leave a brand new Cadillac in a parking lot in the middle of nowhere for a pair of weirdos like Graves and his young friend? Was the old man’s dinner companion also his partner in crime? And what happened to the other car? And why would the young guy dump Graves’ body out on the road? Did he kill him? And if he did, why tip off the cops? It didn’t make much sense.

  On the return trip, I was about three or four miles past the location of the body when I spotted an old farmer with his pickup pulled over at the side of the road. The hood was up so I figured the guy must be having problems. Stopping the car, I rolled down the window. It was freezing outside.

  “Having trouble, old-timer? Can I help?

  Barely looking my way, the old man snorted, “Hum-mph… Don’t need no help. Need a new truck. But hey… thanks for stopping… looks like a radiator hose. I guess I could use a ride into town, if you’re goin’ that way.”

  I pulled the car onto the shoulder and got out. Approaching the truck, I glanced in the back and was shocked to see a huge hog, covered with a grisly combination of caked mud and blood oozing from a series of cuts and lacerations covering its body. The pig was laying on its side and could barely raise its head.

  I’m not a mechanic, but with steam rising from the engine and water spewing out onto the ground, it wasn’t hard to spot a busted radiator hose. Standing next to the farmer, I said, “Sure, I’ll give you a ride into town, mister, but what about your pig?”

  “I’m afraid Bessie’s not gonna make it.” At that point he reached into the cab of the pickup, removed a rifle, walked around to the rear of the truck and shot the pig through the head. With blood suddenly spurting out into the open air, I recoiled in horror. Recognizing my shock, the old man said, “Sorry if I caught you off guard, son, but I just couldn’t leave ol’ Bessie out here to freeze to death. Even if I got her into town, there wud’n much chance the vet could save her, but a cold front’s comin’ through.” The farmer opened the door of the pickup, pulled out a tarp and covered the still twitching body. The bright color of crimson immediately seeped up through the tarp. Increasingly uncomfortable, I looked at the old man who turned back to me, sighed and said, “She wud’n gonna last much longer out here. It’s too damn bad… I really liked that pig.”

  A few minutes later we were speeding down the highway, headed back to Clinton. The image of the pig, both before and after the execution, was still vivid in my mind. “What happened to the pig, uh, Bessie, mister? I mean, she was pretty messed up before… uh, well, uh, you…” I didn’t quite know how to finish my sentence… before you blew her brains out?

  Sitting on the seat next to me, the old man was lost in thought. Staring out the window, he finally began to speak, “Damn strange what happened to ol’ Bessie… she was a good pig… smart, stayed close to home… hell, she was damn good company, for a pig. Better’n a lot of humans for sure. It was just a few days ago when it happened. I was about to go to bed when I remembered somethin’ I had to do in the barn. Ol’ Bessie come out to greet me and all of a sudden there was this gigantic explosion—KAWHOOM! It was like a sonic boom or somethin’ but a hunnerd times more… an’ close by… an’ jus’ like that ol’ Bessie bolted… took off like a bobcat was on her ass. Hell, she was gone in a flash… jus’ disappeared into the woods. I didn’t know what to think. I mean, that explosion kinda spooked me too, but I was tired an’ figured Bessie would be back soon enough… but she didn’t come back. When she wud’n home by noon the next day, I figured I better start lookin’. Damn if I didn’t search for that pig for three days, b’fore I finally found her… all tangled up in some barbed wire in the woods about two miles from the house… still can’t figure out how she got that far from home. That damn explosion musta really spooked her.”

  The old man paused, lost in thought again, then continued. “Anyway, it was good I got there when I did ’cause the goddam coyotes had found her, too, an’ they was about to have a feast… it was a sight. There
she was stuck in that barbed wire with the little bastards nippin’ at her an’ Bessie squealin’ like a skint puppy. I shot three and the rest scattered, but I was in a fix. It was gettin’ dark an’ I couldn’t leave… the coyotes would come back sure as shit, but Bessie was too big and crippled up to get her in the back of the pickup. So I called my son Jake and told him what happened. Jake said he could round up some guys and they’d come lift her up into the back of the truck, but then they didn’t get here ’til this mornin’. I spent the night sleepin’ in the cab of my truck next to that pig… luckily it wud’n too cold. Anyway, they showed up about an hour ago and we managed to pick her up and put her in the truck. Then I started in to the vet’s office… she was in pretty bad shape, but I thought there was a chance she might make it ’til that goddam radiator hose went out. It’s been a shitty week, I’ll tell you that for sure.” Still staring out the window, the old farmer grew quiet once again.

  “That’s a pretty weird story, old-timer. So what do you make of that explosion? Anything like that happen around here before?”

  He turned and looked at me for the first time. “Son, I ain’t got the faintest idea what happened, but somethin’ got blown to hell… ain’t no doubt about that. I mean, it’s just quiet farmland around here. Ain’t no terrorists or you-nee-bombers or any of that shit in Henry County. But whatever it was, it cost me my best pig… I’ll tell you that.”

  The remainder of the trip back into Clinton was spent in silence. As soon as we reached town, the farmer directed me to a gas station with a mechanic and I dropped him off. I knew he needed a ride back to his truck, but I told him I had some business to take care of. Besides, the pig was dead. I couldn’t see where there was any rush for him to get back. He thanked me and got out at the gas station and I went looking for flowers.

  The floral business was not exactly thriving in Clinton. There was one shop, Bud’s, which was about two blocks from the hospital. Not only did it appear to be at least two hundred years old, with an inventory primarily consisting of dried and plastic flowers, but a layer of thick dust created the impression that Bud’s hadn’t been stocked since the Nixon administration. There was even a photo of Tricky Dick on the wall behind the counter. A sleepy-looking teenager looked up as I walked in.

  “What can I do you for, mister?” he asked cheerfully. I might have been his first customer in two weeks and the young man was eager to please.

  “I need some flowers, kid. How about a bouquet of Bud’s best buds?”

  “Huh? What?”

  The kid was not impressed with my urbane humor. “Flowers, sonny. I need some flowers. Preferably some grown during this decade, if you get my drift.”

  “Huh?” The kid paused for a moment, deep in thought. “Oh, you mean fresh flowers, right?”

  “You got it, kid. How about some roses?” The teenager looked doubtful and shook his head. “Or maybe tulips? Daffodils? Gladiolas?” With the pitch of my voice rising, the back-and-forth movement of his head sped up. Soon, as I watched his shoulders slump, a palpable sense of gloom crept across his countenance. This was not working. Running out of time, I tried again, “What have you got?”

  The teenager frowned. “Gosh, mister, we don’t get any fresh flowers in until tomorrow morning.” He paused as if thumbing through a mental inventory. “Well, we do have some corypanthas in pots in the back. How about that?”

  This was no time to be picky. I needed that phone number, plus my hopes of action with the sweet young Patty were on the rise… I couldn’t show up empty-handed. “Yeah, okay, kid, corypanthas it is… Just put a ribbon and some nice paper around them. And hurry, okay… I’m running kinda late.”

  The teenager hustled off to the back room. I heard him shuffling around, tearing paper and crinkling ribbon with abandon. After a few minutes, he returned beaming. Thrust out at arms’ length was a medium-sized flower pot, immaculately wrapped in gold foil with peppermints, tinsel and red ribbon gaily surrounding the center of the container, but the focal point of the arrangement, where I expected to find a cluster of blossoms, buds and foliage, was a grapefruit-sized object covered with claws. It was a cactus.

  “It’s a cactus! Kid, this is a cactus!”

  Dejected, the teenager slumped down onto a stool behind the counter. “But… but… you said you wanted a corypantha… and this is the nicest one we have. See, it has a brand new bloom about to open on top.”

  Sure enough, on close inspection, I saw a pink floral object about the size of a quarter crowning a thicket of sharp, curving thorns. It was a flower… sort of. I had to get out of there. “Yeah, okay… I’ll take it. I’ll take it. How much?”

  “It’s three-fifty, mister. And I’ll throw in the wrapping for free!”

  “Great, kid, great.” I gave him four bucks and said he could keep the change. Rapt with ecstasy, the teenager was beaming like a lighthouse on the dark side of the moon. Once again I had made the day of another delighted Missourian.

  I jumped in the car and aimed it in the direction of Terry’s Café. And as I drove, the image of Patty, young and fresh, with an easy, open smile, unexpectedly sparkled in my mind. Okay, I didn’t know her for shit and maybe my motives were more mercenary than benign but something about the kid had gotten to me… meanwhile, it was 4:45, I was late AND packing a cactus… this could be tricky. After deciding to leave the, uh, floral arrangement in the car, I parked and hurried in. Patty was sitting at a table by the window, drinking a cup of coffee. She looked a little anxious.

  “Hi, Patty. Sorry I’m late. How’s your mom?”

  “Oh, hi Frank. It’s okay. I haven’t been here too long. Mom’s all right, but not great. She was better this morning, but this afternoon she seemed kinda down. Recovery from the surgery takes several days… maybe a couple weeks. That’s a long time to be in the hospital.” She paused and gave me a funny look. Yeah, she was cute but I needed that goddam phone number… it was time to start tap dancing.

  “Uh, well, I guess you’re wondering about the flowers.” She just looked at me. “Well, you know Clinton is not exactly the floral capital of, uh, Missouri. I tried to find some, but, well…”

  “Where did you go… Walmart? I thought they always had fresh flowers there? It really doesn’t matter… you see…”

  “Gosh, Patty, I didn’t think of the Walmart.” WALMART! Jesus, how dumb could I be. Of course they would have flowers at the Walmart, along with camo diapers, XXXXL cargo shorts and fifty-pound bags of bacon. Attempting to avoid another collision with mid-American culture, I blurted out, “You see, we don’t have Walmart in West Hollywood. But I did find a little florist shop over near the hospital.”

  “You mean Bud’s?” She looked worried.

  “Uh, yeah, I think that was the name on the sign. Yeah… so I went into Bud’s and this young guy waited on me. He wasn’t much help, though. To tell you the truth, I don’t think his elevator went above the second floor… as a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure it was stuck in the basement. He said…”

  “Elevator? What are you talking about… is that some kind of joke, Frank? That must’ve been Lonnie… a skinny kid with glasses and pimples? Lonnie is the kid brother of my best friend, Sissy Anne. I know him pretty well. Lonnie’s real smart and he loves helping people.”

  Right. “Well, yeah, uh, sure, I guess I must have misjudged young Lonnie. See, I was kind of distracted. I really wanted to get those flowers for your mom. I mean, you know, it was pretty important to me and all they had at Bud’s was dried flowers… and some plastic ones…”

  “My mom loves dried flowers!”

  FUCK! I wasn’t hearing this.

  “She’s allergic to most of the real ones. I tried to tell you at the clothes store, but you weren’t listening. Real flowers give her hay fever. She would’ve been sneezing like crazy, but once they’re dried, flowers don’t have as much pollen and they’re okay. She would’ve loved some dried flowers, Frank.”

  Great… suddenly I was a guy who didn’t
listen, trashed her best friend’s brother and nearly gave hay fever to the chick’s sick mother. Fuck the phone number.

  A few awkward moments passed in silence. With my poor brain desperately seeking a path to redemption, Patty stared out the window in this remote, distant way. Maybe she was a cat lover. If so, I could mention Ernie, my Persian, and show her a YouTube video of Ernie mangling a toy mouse, but the way things were going, she would say her favorite uncle died throwing up blood after being bitten by a rabid cat. Finally, Patty turned back to me and spoke, “I’m sorry, Frank, but I have to go back up to the hospital and see Mom.”

  “Okay, Patty, I understand. No problem.” I had one last shot… I had to go for it. “Um, Patty… I know this is kind of weird, but I did get something for your mom over at Bud’s. It’s pretty strange. That’s why I didn’t bring it in. It’s out in the car.” She gave me a look like maybe I bought a bouquet of hemlock, poison ivy and wolfsbane and couldn’t wait to give it to her mom.

  “What is it, Frank?”

  “Well… I know this is going to sound kind of bizarre, but they had this potted cactus at Bud’s. I think the kid called it co… ry… pan… tha… or something like that. Okay, I know it’s weird, but…”

  “CORYPANTHA! Frank, my mom totally loves succulents! She will completely freak! We have to go take it to her right now!”

  “But… but… I thought maybe we might…”

  “How did you figure that out! You are totally cool, Frank. C’mon, let’s get the corypantha and go over to the hospital.”

  Okay, now pay attention here. This is important because it’s the way life really works. I’m sweating my balls off, completely failing to impress young Patty until KABOOM!, she’s blown away by a goddam cactus that I bought by mistake. I mean JESUS! all of a sudden I was some kind of hero… whatever… I’ll spare you the incredibly tedious boredom of the mom visit, but if you ever want an hour to feel like fifteen fucking years, just go visit some old bag YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW in the hospital. Patty’s mom was so out of it, she barely recognized her daughter and she sure as shit didn’t know who I was.