Every town has one, the retard fat fuck who’s pushing forty years yet has the brain of a child. In Banner Creek there was Alfred Simmons, but nobody called him that. His moniker was Beater, awarded to him because, like most sex crazed tards he loved to slap his diddle stick around in public.
The sorry sack of shit had a posse of sorts. His only two friends were Clyde and Tanner, a couple of young tweakers who hung around the tub of lard because they could manipulate him into doing humiliating but hilarious stuff whenever they wanted. The two junkies would spend all day developing new and innovative ways to torture Beater. Last night at the Billiards club, Old Man Bradshaw nearly had a heart attack when Tanner convinced Beater to jam a pool stick up his rear. When the old man went to investigate all the commotion going on, he found Beater with his trousers down around his ankles and half a pool stick lodged up his hairy pale ass.
I find it hard to feel for the man because it was clear that Beater welcomed the abuse. Of course, one can make an argument that his intellect was too low to grasp just what he was doing, but I’ve yet to find the child dumb enough to stick something as large as a pool stick up their rectum while in public. The two meth heads were the only friends the dim wit had ever known, and he feared that if he didn’t make them laugh, well, they would stop being his friend. Eventually Beater started to make up his own stunts, like when he set his balls on fire outside the preschool during recess last week.
Tonight, the three wound up at Dawn’s 24 Hour Waffle Shack, an establishment that was busy all day but desolate by night. The only people that came in at this time were local perverts wanting to catch a glimpse of Rachel Belle’s massive rack and the perpetual party people who spend the whole night nursing a glass of coke and rambling like a tweaker loon. Rachel hated the night shift, but it was all she could find after losing her position at the pharmacy. Had she not been swiping prescription pain killers to feed her own habit, she probably would have never found herself in the restaurant to begin with. The ditzy oxy fiend should count her lucky stars that Mitch Williams didn’t call the authorities on her. Then she would have really been in a world of shit. She shouldn’t be so hard on Mr. Winthrop. He was able to give her a shot, and although she despised the old geezers who mentally fucked her in every position imaginable, they did tip fairly well.
“He pulls that pecker out again I’m calling the law.” Two nights ago, the trio was raising hell when Beater stood on the tabletop and began jacking off. The entire time Jared Glosslow stared stupidly at the scene with that stupid looking, perverse grin. Even the night cook Kevin threw a fit over the stunt, threatening to unload his Glock into their heads if they didn’t leave. So why on earth was Rachel even letting the bastards return? I bet she couldn’t even tell you the answer.
Beater began stuffing his face with moist pancakes while Tanner gazed long and deep into the depths of his glass of water. Clyde had become restless after being a wake for three days now and wanted some fucking excitement. That’s when he saw Beater’s attention was elsewhere. Upon following the line of sight, he saw that it led directly to Rachel’s fat ass, which was up in the air as she tried to reach something from a low cabinet. Then a light went off in Clyde’s demented brain and he smiled at just how diabolical of a plan he had thought up.
“Hey ass clowns, meet me out back in five minutes. We got a real treat planned for the evening.”
The three of them had been hiding behind the dumpster for half an hour when Beater started to get antsy. He hated silence, had always found it unsettling, so instead he felt the need to fill the air with conversation.
“So, tell me the plan Clyde.”
“It become apparent to me that little miss thing in there gets your dick going, and since I care about my dear friend Beater so much I’m going to award, you the chance to fuck Rachel. How’s that sound?” The big lug blushed with embarrassment and excitement.
“Good, but she hates me. Why would she let me do sex with her if she hates me, Clyde?”
“Leave that to me and whatever you do keep your fucking mask on.”
After a while the back door cracked open and Rachel came out with a lit cigarette hanging from her lip. She absolutely lived for these moments, those little fragments of time which allowed her the necessary peace needed to enjoy a menthol, all while inhaling that sweet mountain air. She strolled a little way and plopped down on an old milk crate, take the weight off of her blistered feet.
Clyde and Tanner jumped out of the darkness from behind and tackled Rachel to the ground. She was crying and tried to scream but Clyde was prepared for this, immediately slapping across her mouth a fresh strip of duct tape. After a brief struggle, the two junkies managed to pin her down.
“Listen cunt, this is what’s going to happen now. You will play along nicely and if you are a good girl and let my tubby friend bust a nut off in you, we are going to let you go, but if you resist I will slice open your goddamn throat. Nod if you understand.” Rachel nodded in agreement, what choice did she have. Tanner stripped off her panties from beneath her skirt and, mindful not to say his name, called Beater to join them.
He was nervous, loafing around like a moron, trying frantically to steady his breath. This would be the first time he would have sex with a woman and although the thought had always aroused him before it terrified him. Clyde hollered for the oaf to hurry the fuck up before somebody found them. Although scared nothing seemed worse than disappointing his friends, so he dropped his pants and positioned himself between Rachel’s thighs.
The feeling was incredible, the whole thing was perfect apart from Rachel’s sobbing. Then there was the problem regarding his stupid face mask. Really, it was nothing more than some old cotton beanie with eyes holes cut into it. The issue Beater had was that it was a typical hot summer night, and the humidity was making it hard for the fat fuck to breathe. It was suffocating him so right before blowing his load he pulled the mask off, unaware that now Rachel was able to identify her assailant.
For a moment Clyde and Tanner just stood there, listening to the low whimpers and trying to understand how someone could be so fucking stupid as to remove their mask during a rape, especially when they knew the broad. Finally, Clyde tore his mask off and ordered Beater to his feet.
“Watch her.” He barked at Tanner before leading his moron friend out of earshot .
“Whats the matter Clyde.” Beater was genuinely confused, he hadn’t the slightest inkling of what he could have possibly done wrong.
“You took your goddamn mask off.”
“That doesn’t matter now, but because you fucked up, now I need you to do something. You do understand that what we did was a crime, right?” Beater nodded. “Well, you took off the mask and now she knows who we are. So, what I need you to do is kill her.”
“I can’t do that.” Beater had done a lot of questionable things in life leading up to the rape, but those were just goofs in his eyes where nobody really got hurt. What Clyde was asking him to do now was murder. Just the word frightened him.
“Yes, you can. I want you to grab that chunk of broken concrete over there and smash it over her head. She won’t feel a thing.”
“But Clyde, I really can’t.”
“Goddamn it Beater, do you want to send your friends to jail, because that’s what’s about to happen. And since you’re a retard, they will lock you up in a rubber room all by yourself for the rest of your life. With that said, may I suggest that you nut the fuck up and put this bitch out of her misery. Do it for us.”
There it was, Clyde’s power of control over the man-child. Beater had been threatened with what he dreaded most, losing his friends and being all alone. There was no way he would let that happen, no sir. So, he reluctantly picked up the chunk of concrete and returned to Rachel.
He felt sorry for her, even began to tear up when he heard her muffled cries. She tried pleading for mercy, but her voice couldn’t make it past the duct tape, and even if Beater had heard her, she knew that nothing could change his mind. Her fate had been sealed the moment that lard ass over there got all stupid and decided to remove his mask. Rachel knew that Clyde was a sadistic, paranoid son of a bitch who would stop at nothing in order to save his own ass, even if that means murder.
The concrete came down with such velocity that it bounced back in the air for an instant before crashing back down into the blacktop, exploding into a million pieces. Beater looked at the sexy waitress whom he had just moments ago forced himself on, except now there was a massive hole in the center of her face. The smile, beautiful blue eyes and dimples were all lost to a gaping meat pit full of busted teeth, exposed sinew and a growing puddle of pink and red.
Rachel had died that night behind the Waffle Shack in one of the most brutal ways. Authorities had nothing to go on and since she didn’t have family, there was not a single person to make sure that the case remained open.
Afterwards, when Beater found himself all alone, he would wander around aimlessly. No matter where his journey would begin, he would always find himself returning to the place where Rachel had died. Once he was there, he would lie down in the very spot where he left her dead. He would turn his head and see the spot where the concrete chunk busted open and begin to cry. Beater wanted nothing more than to bring Rachel back to life, but even he understood that were nothing but fairy tales. He sought mercy from the lord but knew in his heart that there would be none offered.
Clyde and Tanner inevitably would go on their separate ways, leaving Beater alone and lost to a volatile mental state. The townsfolk quickly took notice of the man’s drastic change in attitude and mannerism as he sunk deeper into a pit of depression. The mischievous yet happy man that everyone had once come to know would be replaced by a wandering soul in torment. He stopped talking to people, even his own mother, until she eventually washed her hands and committed him to the psych ward.
At fifty-seven years old, Beater would be diagnosed with terminal cancer. In the painful weeks leading up to his death, he would spend every lucid moment trying to prepare himself for the centuries of torment that would await him in the bowels of Hell. On his death bed a preacher would be summoned by hospital staff to say a final prayer, but Beater would simply wave him off with what little strength he could muster.
“Go own, there’s no penance for me, save your breath for someone who deserves mercy.”
In the end Beater would die as he always feared, alone.