The Brickeaters

by The Residents

  Lost in guilt and recrimination, Hendricks laid there for another thirty or forty-five seconds until he finally sat up and turned back to me. “It was funny, you know… the way he was tough on the surface, but not really like that all.” And as he spoke, I could see Wilmer Graves coming alive in his mind and the kid’s spirit seemed to lift. “It happened pretty fast… like the next day… kind of caught me off guard, but I guess by then Willy didn’t have much choice.” He paused, mentally reconstructing the events, then continued, “We were hungry, so Willy ordered this huge pizza… I couldn’t believe the stuff he ate… the pizza was, like, half pineapple and half Kung Pao chicken…” Drifting into reminiscence, the kid was warming up again. “Oh yeah… then he put ketchup on it… he always carried a bottle of ketchup with him… Willy put it on everything… then he started watching TV… horrible stuff… you know, Duck Dynasty, Celebrity Apprentice, Project Runway… junk like that, while I worked on my laptop, but pretty soon I could see he was nodding out… oh yeah, he smoked nonstop, too. There he was, this crazy old guy, on oxygen, smoking and NODDING OUT IN BED! HE BURNED TWO HOLES IN THE BEDSPREAD WHILE I WAS WATCHING… and he kept jerking awake, then jumping up and pointing that crazy gun at me… until he finally had to go to sleep, but he was nervous about me being in the same room, so he took my belt and tied my hands. I couldn’t relax with my arms behind me so I watched Willy sitting on the floor, blocking the door with the gun in his lap. I could tell he was uncomfortable, too, but it wasn’t long before he nodded out again, then slumped over on the floor. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep but I heard something and looked up… and there was Willy, just standing at the foot of the bed… staring. He was sleepwalking… as I watched, the old man wandered around, bumping into a chair, tripping over a stool, talking to himself… still dragging his oxygen bottle behind him… it was kind of creepy… then he turned and walked into the bathroom, very deliberate like. Curious, I got up and followed, but just as I reached the door, Willy climbed onto the toilet, then stepped up on the tank, almost like he was climbing stairs. He was just about to topple over backwards when I lunged in behind him, awkwardly breaking his fall and causing both of us to land in a pile on the floor. At that point Willy woke up, but he was still groggy. Staggering back to the bed, he collapsed, falling back into a deep sleep. The next morning when he untied my hands, I said, ‘Willy, you know you really didn’t have to do this.’ He gave me a kind of hard look, then shrugged his shoulders and that was it. Later he said I was the best getaway man he ever had. It was kinda sweet, in a weird Willy way.”

  As Hendricks continued to speak about his relationship with Wilmer Graves, he recalled a conversation he and the old man had the following day. Willy was in a reflective mood as they sped down the highway.

  “Hey Stork, you got a girlfriend?”

  “Please, Mr. Graves… Willy… I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”

  “Yeah, whatever… you got a chick, kid?”

  “Well, yeah… Margo… we’ve been involved for about a year now. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I been thinkin’ about Millie, my ol’ lady. You know Storkie, there ain’t nuthin’ like the love of a good woman. Hell, I spent most of my life in the joint, but no matter how many times I fucked up, that woman always stood by me… but you know, sometimes… sometimes I have to wonder why.” The old man pauses, lost in thought for several minutes, then continues, “But Millie’s health ain’t so good these days. She needs a new hip… that’s why I been pullin’ these jobs lately… to make some money for Millie’s operation… but the thing is, well, I promised Millie I’d go straight when I got out… you know, I feel real bad about that, but I had to do it… that woman’d do anything in th’ world for me.” Despondent, the old man broods for several minutes, then, apparently remembering something, his mood abruptly brightens and he changes the subject. “Hey Storkie, so what was you doin’ in that motel when I came along? You wud’n gettin’ some nookie on the side, was you?”

  Pleased with his little joke, Graves chuckles in a knowing way, but, blindsided, Hendricks is caught completely off guard. While not exactly hitting the target, the old man’s question definitely nicks a nerve. Flustered, the content screener stammers out a response, “Uh, no… no… nothing like that… it, uh, had to do with my work.”

  “Work? I ain’t never heard of no work that folks do in a cheap motel ’cept prostitutes… an’ Stork, you sure as shit don’ look like no whore to me. What kinda work you do?”

  “I work in the tech industry. What do you know about the Internet and computers, Willy?”

  “I know it’s a damn good place to watch porn… hell, I hear you can see a woman fuck a donkey on the Internet.”

  Again the old man’s inadvertent comment hits a little too close to home. His face flushed, Hendricks’ embarrassment is unnoticed as the car rolls down the highway; maintaining his composure, the tech worker continues, “Well, it sounds like you know more about what I do than I expected. I’m what they call a content screener, Willy, and it’s my job to look at photos and videos flagged by users as ‘inappropriate.’”

  “No shit… I guess you must see some pretty weird stuff.”

  “Weird? Weird is nothing… we’re talking torture, sadism, bestiality… Every horror and atrocity imaginable shows up in my inbox. There’s a lot of sicko bottom feeders out there, Willy.”

  As the significance of Hendricks’ words sinks in, a look of revulsion creeps onto the old man’s face. Disturbed by the idea of a garbage dump for depravity and filth, he’s nevertheless curious. “Like what… what have you seen?”

  “Willy, I see humanity’s capacity for inflicting pain, documenting it, then holding it up for the world to see as pretty much infinite… are you sure you want to hear this?”

  The old man pauses for a moment. Having lived most of his life among society’s castoffs, men who have inflicted measureless acts of malice upon their fellow humans, Graves feels like he’s seen it all, but still, he can’t help wondering how deep the bottom is… how low does mankind go? After a brief pause, the ex-con takes a long drag off his cigarette and replies, “I’m hooked, Storkie… Fire away. Hit me with your best shot, dude.”

  “Okay, you asked for it. I’ll start off with a couple of easy ones… first there was the guy who made a crucifix out of cow dung. It was thirty feet tall and mounted on a frame of dogwood, just like Jesus’ cross. He said it was supposed to bridge the gap between Christianity and Hinduism. Of course, there was nothing illegal about it… not even borderline. Then there was the one who posted photos of his collection of two thousand dog testicles. And get this… He called himself the Rover Remover… no joke… his mission was ridding the world of unwanted dogs. And then there was the deranged foot fetishist… he posted pictures of severed human feet… there must of been forty or fifty and plenty of photos of what he did with them… the cops took special interest in that one… oh yeah, there was also the rat skinner… only live rats, of course, and documented in high-definition video… and I shouldn’t forget the website dedicated to barbecuing babies. There were no documented killings but there must have been two hundred recipes… smoked babies, grilled babies, baked babies…”

  Having heard enough, the old man protests, “Okay, okay, that’s enough… that’s enough.”

  Divulging his list of depravities brought a tone of world-weariness to the tech worker’s voice. “There’s more, Willy… always more… more than you can imagine… more than… anyone’s mind… can…”

  Tentative and vague, Hendricks’ voice drifts into a meaningless void.

  That night they were sitting in another motel room with the content screener back on his computer and Wilmer Graves watching TV. As a particularly obnoxious commercial invades the space, the old man mutes the television, causing Ted to look up. Becoming more intrigued by his companion, the tech worker asks, “Willy, have you ever tried to go straight? You must have held down a job at some point in your life… what did you do?
”

  The career criminal frowns, a minor acknowledgement of his ongoing failure to deal with the world on its terms. “Yeah, Stork, I had a job… a few of them, but the one I remember most was when I tried to be a bricklayer… it was my first job… I was seventeen and apprenticed with this guy named Edgar… ol’ Edgar was a brick mason an’ a pretty decent dude, but right from th’ start he was raggin’ on me. ‘No, Willy…’an’ ‘That’s not right, Willy…’an’ ‘Do it this way, Willy…’I mean, the guy was just doin’ his job… I knew that, but after a couple’a weeks of listenin’ to him bitch an’ complain while I was haulin’ bricks up an’ down a ladder in that hot fuckin’ sun, all of a sudden I jus’ stopped an’ I said ‘That’s it! I can’t take this shit no more! I quit!’ Well, like I said, Edgar was an okay dude… I could see in his eyes that he cared about me, but he jus’ did’n get it… so he sat there, lookin’ at me an’ shakin’ his head an’ finally he says, ‘You know, Willy… everybody’s gotta do something… Otherwise you can’t pay your rent… you can’t buy shoes for your kids… can’t even eat…’ Then he stopped for a minute and stared at me with this real sad look in his eyes, an’ he reaches over an’ grabs a brick… he holds it up right in front of me an’ says, “Willy, at some point in life you gotta be real… this brick is real. It has substance and if you learn how to use it, it can give you a lifetime of comfort and security, but you can’t eat it… you’re a good kid, Willy, but you can’t eat bricks.’ Well, that jus’ pissed me off, so I picked up a hammer an’ grabbed that brick an’ broke the fucker up in a hunnerd pieces… an’ I ate it… with ol’ Edgar watchin’ the whole time… that night I pulled my first job an’ stuck up a 7-11… Hell! Ain’t nobody gonna tell Willy Graves what he can’t do.”

  “So this was, what… two days into your involvement with Graves and you were getting to know him pretty well.”

  Hendricks got that faraway look in his eyes again. The affection he felt toward Wilmer Graves was apparent. “Yeah, Willy was pretty special. I never knew anybody quite like him.”

  The kid was telling me a lot, but I kept feeling like we were just scratching the surface; obviously a lot more happened back there, so I questioned him again. “What can you tell me about ‘Beasley’? When we first spoke, back at Starbucks, you said something like ‘I should be looking for Beasley.’ What can you tell me about him?” The look on the kid’s face as soon as I mentioned Beasley’s name was like someone stabbed him in the stomach with a steak knife. “What’s the matter, Ted? You look sick.” But that was it… like he was a faucet that somebody just turned off. Clamming up, the tech worker abruptly turned his back to me and tried to go to sleep.

  After Hendricks had been so open about his relationship with Wilmer Graves, I wondered if maybe I’d shut him up for good, but at that point, I had other things to think about. The cell we occupied was behind the main building. The barred room was obviously a makeshift addition to an office never intended to accommodate prisoners in addition to the sheriff and his staff. Covered with a tin roof and partially exposed to the Midwestern winter, the jail was heated by couple of propane patio heaters. Wedged into its crudely constructed nook, the cell with its two small cots, leaking sink, and open, uninviting toilet, was your basic shithole—literally.

  More than anything else, I needed a plan to get out and of course, that meant Patty. It was 8:30 in the morning and the young clerk should be at work, but I had no idea if she knew I was back here or not. Duane sure as hell wouldn’t tell her, and for all I knew Bernie might not either. My friends in this dumbfuck town numbered exactly one, and when I stopped to think about it, there weren’t many back in L.A. eager to bring me a get-out-of-jail-free card either.

  The situation needed drastic action and since I truly in fact felt like DOGSHIT ON A STICK, it should be a piece of cake. Falling on the floor, I began to moan, “OOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAHHHHHH! OOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!” I did that for a couple of minutes, gradually getting louder, but nothing happened until Hendricks finally rolled over, stared at me for a few seconds and said, “Shut the fuck up!” My plan obviously wasn’t working so I opted for the heavy artillery. Back in college I roomed with a guy affectionately known as Barry the Ep. Barry was a card-carrying epileptic, consequently I had seen my share of grand mal seizures. It was time to throw a fit.

  Arching my back, I tensed every muscle in my body, clenched my teeth, and began to breathe—loud, fast and rhythmic—through my mouth. I guess the act was pretty convincing because Hendricks was on me in an instant. “My God! Are you okay?” I breathed that much louder, adding a slight wheeze to enhance the effect. Apparently experienced with seizure victims, Hendricks took a sock off and stuck it in my mouth to keep me from biting my tongue. Sucking sock, I almost threw up but the act was working. The young techie immediately yelled for help and almost instantly, the back door of the office opened—and who should pop out but Patty. BINGO!

  Approaching the cell with a confused look on her face, she stopped just outside the door, looked down and said, “Frank? Is… is that you?” With no hesitation, I dropped the epileptic bit, sat straight up and said, “Patty! It’s me… you gotta help me get outta here!” Startled and confused, both Patty and Ted Hendricks froze, staring in stunned silence.

  Patty finally spoke up, “Frank… what are you doing? And why are you in jail?”

  “I’m sorry, Patty, but I can explain. Okay, I fucked up. I was checking out the site of the explosion and wrecked my rental car driving back to town. It was stuck in a drainage ditch in the middle of nowhere and I started drinking… okay, I had already been drinking, but it was cold… and then I set the rental car on fire, but hell… I was fucking freezing and who should come along but your buddy, Duane… I mean, yeah, he rescued me and all, but then he threw me in this fucking jail cell… and who should I find in here but Ted Hendricks! He’s the guy I was telling you about… Wilmer Graves’ accomplice… he knows all about Graves’ death and the explosion and everything! It’s just… it’s just…” I was exhausted, burned out, fried, and as I plopped back down on my cot, the world was spinning around me like a record stuck in a groove repeating over and over, “FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!…”

  Somewhere a curtain seemed to be closing… the world was getting dark and the last thing I remembered seeing was Patty and Ted Hendricks standing there, still staring at me. I don’t know which was more wide open, their eyes, their mouths or their blown fucking minds.

  Several hours passed before Patty brought a doctor who promptly pronounced an irrefutable diagnosis: hangover. He then prescribed two Alka-Seltzers and told me to sleep it off, which I did. When I woke up it was déjà vu all over again, as Ted Hendricks towered over me, his irritation immense—and rising.

  “So you already knew about Willy and me… and the explosion. Why didn’t you just come out and say it, instead of pissing around like a fucking retard?”

  “Look, I was trying to get you to talk about your involvement with Graves back at Starbucks, then later at your house, so don’t play dumb… and yeah, I found that crater, but I have no idea what caused the explosion… and why. But I know it has something to do with somebody named Beasley. You made that much pretty clear. So what gives, kid?”

  Repressing his anger, Ted Hendricks was silent as a tense moment soaked the tiny cell. When he finally spoke, his voice was a hiss, “Willy was the only other person who ever called me ‘kid,’ and it felt kind of affectionate when he did it, but you make it sound condescending.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, but there’s a story here… your story… and Willy’s story… and I want to tell it, but you have to help me, ki…, uh, Ted. Something bad has happened… bad and scary as shit… and maybe I can help, but you gotta let me in… okay?”

  As Hendricks stared at the floor, another long silence ensued before he finally looked up and spoke again, “Okay, I guess it starts with PAGWAG.”

  As Ted Hendricks returned to his story, he and Willy are back in another motel. It�
��s late at night as Graves counts the money he got from robbing a donut shop while the young techie works at his computer. After their last conversation, the old man has become fascinated by his companion’s job. “Hey Storkie! So what kinda weird shit are you findin’ out there on them interwebs now?” Wearing the portable headphones he often uses when he works, Ted is oblivious to his roommate’s question, causing the ex-con to hobble across the room and yell, “YO STORKO! I’M TALKIN’ AT YOU, DUDE!”

  Removing the headset, Hendricks looks up from his laptop. “Huh? Oh sorry, Willy… yeah, well, I’ve just been looking at something you might find interesting. It’s a Facebook page for a group called PAGWAG. The letters stand for Purity And Grace is Water And Guns. PAGWAG’s agenda seems to be guarding and protecting our water supply…”

  “So what’s wrong with that? I mean, good water… that’s cool. Right?”

  “Well, sure… nobody gets upset about clean drinking water, but their idea of protecting our water supply is to create a special security force of ten million armed militia who will have the responsibility of defending every reservoir, dam, aqueduct and water treatment plant in the country. This force, which PAGWAG calls the Water Warriors, would be financed by a special tax on cell phones because they believe that radiation from cellular networks is contaminating the water supply.” At this point, Hendricks pauses and looks up from his laptop. “Are you sure you want to hear this, Willy? It’s pretty wacky stuff?”

  Graves finishes counting the money, looks up and nods yes. “Yeah, yeah, Storky… keep readin’… makes a lotta goddam sense to me. Go on…”

  The tech worker gives his companion a questionable look, then turns back to his computer. “Okay, if you say so… Up to this point, everything I’ve mentioned is more or less standard right-wing, nutso conspiracy theorist dogma. With minor variations, I see this stuff all the time. It’s so common in my work that it’s not even entertaining and definitely not dangerous; these guys never have any money and even less motivation to actually do anything, but this one is different. The deeper you go in this, the stranger and more disturbing it gets.” Hendricks pauses and looks up again.