The Butcher of Hook's Beach
People knew Sammy wasn't all there. Everyone in town knew it. He'd been the joke of Hook's Beach, Florida since he'd failed nearly every grade in school. He'd picked his nose incessantly, even when the other kids were watching, and he continually walked around with his ratty Fruit-of-the-Looms pulled way up in the back, the result of regular wedgies he received and then simply left there.
His eyes didn't quite jibe with each other, and he was kind of short and dumpy. Growing up, his clothes were always ragged and dirty-looking, and his fingernails were usually untrimmed or bitten, and black. He always had a simple look on his face and everyone just knew there was a bunch of inbreeding in his past. His dad was the town drunk, and his mom, when she wasn't her husband's drinking partner down at Jimmy's Corner Bar, was known to be pretty loose with any man who wanted a quickie. Many a married man could be seen sneaking out the back door, sometimes even while Sammy's dad sat on the front porch, a half gallon of Popov sitting on the floor at his side.
They were both killed in a spectacular, fiery, drunken crash when Sammy was eighteen, and the whole town figured the dim boy would be sent off somewhere. But he stayed on, living in the house where he grew up. He was continually tormented and ragged on by the local teenagers, who would drive by his house and throw beer bottles in his yard. The worst offenders were two big redneck brothers, Jimmy and Mac Stover. Jimmy was eighteen, Mac a year younger. They once stopped at Sammy's house after a night of drinking out at the ball field, and Jimmy took a shit on Sammy's front porch. Another time, Mac sneaked in and knocked on the door while Jimmy waited across the street, hidden in some bushes. When Sammy opened the door, Jimmy let loose a golf ball, which pegged Sammy right in the forehead, knocking him backwards into the house, where he crashed into his little black and white TV, smashing it.
They had both been laughing when they jumped in their truck and did a whole-shot in Sammy's yard before tearing away, tossing beer cans as they went. Sammy had simply shut the door, and walked around with a goose egg between his eyes for the next several days. Another time, the two had stopped at Sammy's and pounded on his door. When Sammy answered, Mac had hauled off and punched him right in the mouth with that big high school ring that he always wore. Jimmy had always busted his brother's balls about wearing it all the time, but Mac had insisted that it served a purpose, and proved it the day he split open Sammy's lips.
Sammy would have been homeless or put away somewhere if it hadn't been for Ralph Peabody, the old man who owned a local butcher shop just outside the town. Ralph had been one of the few people in the Hook that had actually tolerated Sammy's father, so, after he'd gotten himself killed, Peabody felt sorry for the dumb boy and agreed to give him a job.
It wasn't long before the rumors started flying. Most folks believed that old man Peabody had Sammy playing with a different kind of sausage up there after closing time. No one dared to fuck with Ralph Peabody, at least not to his face, so the rumors never reached him. But Sammy heard something about it nearly every day. Jimmy and Mac and some of their cronies would ride by almost nightly, yelling obscenities and Sammy once went out the door in the morning to find a picture of a cross-eyed stickman on his knees, servicing another stickman with an apron on. "Sammy" was written next to the kneeling stickman, and "Pee-body" was written next to the receiver. It had been spray painted on the siding, and Sammy had to go buy some special white paint to cover it up.
At the butcher shop, Sammy started out cleaning the place up; sweeping the floors, taking out the trash, and hosing off the equipment. But it wasn't long before he got a chance to cut a piece of meat or two, and Ralph Peabody couldn't help but notice that the boy had a real flair for it. Soon he had him working the meat counter by himself, and the place had never run smoother.
One day in March, Mac and Jimmy came strolling into the shop. They'd both obviously been drinking, and they wore wide grins as they approached the meat counter.
"Well,well," Mac said, "if it ain't the MEAT boy. Heard you really know how to handle some MEAT, ha ha ha!"
"Yeah," Jimmy laughed, and looked around to make sure old man Peabody wasn't nearby. "The old man says you do WONDERS with his sausage!" The two of them started cracking up, slapping each other's hands, and Sammy just stood there, patiently waiting for them to tell him what they wanted. They'd been in many times before, and it was always the same show, every time. Sammy knew that the joke would wear off and they would give him their order, and then they'd yuk-yuk their way out the door again. He didn't worry about them hurting him in the shop, since neither of them would dare do anything like that in public.
"OK, meat-boy," Mac said, the laughter dying down for the moment. "I need some sirloins, about five of 'em. The best you got."
Sammy looked around at the selection behind the glass display case, and then eyed Mac. "I don't think you'd be happy with any of these. I'll tell you what - I got some really good stuff in back, fresh off the truck." He leaned closer to the counter, and looked around as if checking for any eavesdroppers. "If one of you will keep an eye out, you can come back and pick out five of the best I got. On the house."
Jimmy and Mac both looked shocked. "Well," Mac said, "that's more like it, huh Jimmy?"
"Hell yeah! Well, what are you waiting for? Go on, I'll hold down the fort out here."
"Alright," Sammy said in a low, conspiring voice. "Come on."
He turned and headed down the counter and then opened the big heavy door to the meat locker and cutting room. He held the door open for Mac, who followed him in.
"Hey, Mac, watch out for your sausage!" Jimmy called out, laughing like an asshole.
"Fuck off," Mac said, and then disappeared into the meat locker.
Jimmy started to look around the store, checking to see if the place was indeed empty. There weren't any other customers, and old man Peabody's truck had been gone when they got there.
Jimmy walked to the front door and checked the parking lot, which was deserted. He strolled back over to the counter, checking around for security cameras, which he doubted the old man would have. He saw none, so he went over to where the cash register sat, and leaned against the counter. He whistled softly, looking around, before reaching over and hitting the "No Sale" key. The registered dinged, and the drawer slid open to reveal a decent amount of cash. He quickly scooped it out and stuffed it in his pocket. He gently slid the drawer closed again and strolled away from the register. At the window once more, he checked the parking lot, which was still empty. He smiled to himself and went over to the drink cooler, where he reached in and grabbed himself an ice-cold Budweiser.
As he drained the bottle in one long pull, he decided that there was no sense in him spending his own hard-earned money on beer, so he grabbed four twelve packs out of the cooler and took them out to his truck. When he returned, Mac and the fag-boy were still out of sight, so he went back to the cooler and retrieved four more twelve packs. He dumped them in the truck and returned for some cigarettes. After transporting about a dozen cartons of Marlboros and Camels, he returned to the store to see the little retard coming out of the meat-room with a bundle of packages in his hands. He laid them on the counter, loosely wrapped, and wiped his bloody hands on his apron.
"Alright!" Jimmy said, and reached for the packages. "Damn, you could have wrapped these a little better, Shitheel. Hell, the meat's falling out of this top one."
"Oh, sorry, I'll fix it up. Mac needs your help getting the rest of them out of there."
"The rest?"
"Yeah, I figured since no one was here, I'd hook you guys up."
"Good deal!" Jimmy said, leaving the meat and heading for the meat-room. "I hope you gave us some T-bones! Man, I love a good T-bone!"
Jimmy went inside and Sammy followed, unconsciously feeling the scar on his lip where Mac had hit him several months before. He entered the meat-locker and closed the heavy insulated door behind him.
Out on the counter, the top steak was completely exposed where Jimmy had messed with it. What Jimmy hadn't seen was what lay right in the center of it; a big, shiny, high school ring.
In the back room, a young man screamed in agony, but only momentarily. This was, of course, unheard by the outside world. Those walls and door of that meat-locker are really thick.
Fifteen minutes later, Sammy was restocking the beer and cigarettes from out of the Stover brother's piece of shit Ford, and then he went over and hit the "No Sale" key on the old register, and placed all the money he'd gotten out of Jimmy's pocket back in the little slots. He flipped the CLOSED sign on the door and drove the Stover's truck about a quarter of a mile down the road and ran it into a ditch. Then he returned to the shop and flipped the sign back to OPEN. He went to the meat case and carefully laid out the new cuts. When he was finished, he stood back and admired his work. Yes sir, he sure did have a flair for cutting meat. He grabbed a broom and whistled as he swept up.
His eyes didn't quite jibe with each other, and he was kind of short and dumpy. Growing up, his clothes were always ragged and dirty-looking, and his fingernails were usually untrimmed or bitten, and black. He always had a simple look on his face and everyone just knew there was a bunch of inbreeding in his past. His dad was the town drunk, and his mom, when she wasn't her husband's drinking partner down at Jimmy's Corner Bar, was known to be pretty loose with any man who wanted a quickie. Many a married man could be seen sneaking out the back door, sometimes even while Sammy's dad sat on the front porch, a half gallon of Popov sitting on the floor at his side.
They were both killed in a spectacular, fiery, drunken crash when Sammy was eighteen, and the whole town figured the dim boy would be sent off somewhere. But he stayed on, living in the house where he grew up. He was continually tormented and ragged on by the local teenagers, who would drive by his house and throw beer bottles in his yard. The worst offenders were two big redneck brothers, Jimmy and Mac Stover. Jimmy was eighteen, Mac a year younger. They once stopped at Sammy's house after a night of drinking out at the ball field, and Jimmy took a shit on Sammy's front porch. Another time, Mac sneaked in and knocked on the door while Jimmy waited across the street, hidden in some bushes. When Sammy opened the door, Jimmy let loose a golf ball, which pegged Sammy right in the forehead, knocking him backwards into the house, where he crashed into his little black and white TV, smashing it.
They had both been laughing when they jumped in their truck and did a whole-shot in Sammy's yard before tearing away, tossing beer cans as they went. Sammy had simply shut the door, and walked around with a goose egg between his eyes for the next several days. Another time, the two had stopped at Sammy's and pounded on his door. When Sammy answered, Mac had hauled off and punched him right in the mouth with that big high school ring that he always wore. Jimmy had always busted his brother's balls about wearing it all the time, but Mac had insisted that it served a purpose, and proved it the day he split open Sammy's lips.
Sammy would have been homeless or put away somewhere if it hadn't been for Ralph Peabody, the old man who owned a local butcher shop just outside the town. Ralph had been one of the few people in the Hook that had actually tolerated Sammy's father, so, after he'd gotten himself killed, Peabody felt sorry for the dumb boy and agreed to give him a job.
It wasn't long before the rumors started flying. Most folks believed that old man Peabody had Sammy playing with a different kind of sausage up there after closing time. No one dared to fuck with Ralph Peabody, at least not to his face, so the rumors never reached him. But Sammy heard something about it nearly every day. Jimmy and Mac and some of their cronies would ride by almost nightly, yelling obscenities and Sammy once went out the door in the morning to find a picture of a cross-eyed stickman on his knees, servicing another stickman with an apron on. "Sammy" was written next to the kneeling stickman, and "Pee-body" was written next to the receiver. It had been spray painted on the siding, and Sammy had to go buy some special white paint to cover it up.
At the butcher shop, Sammy started out cleaning the place up; sweeping the floors, taking out the trash, and hosing off the equipment. But it wasn't long before he got a chance to cut a piece of meat or two, and Ralph Peabody couldn't help but notice that the boy had a real flair for it. Soon he had him working the meat counter by himself, and the place had never run smoother.
One day in March, Mac and Jimmy came strolling into the shop. They'd both obviously been drinking, and they wore wide grins as they approached the meat counter.
"Well,well," Mac said, "if it ain't the MEAT boy. Heard you really know how to handle some MEAT, ha ha ha!"
"Yeah," Jimmy laughed, and looked around to make sure old man Peabody wasn't nearby. "The old man says you do WONDERS with his sausage!" The two of them started cracking up, slapping each other's hands, and Sammy just stood there, patiently waiting for them to tell him what they wanted. They'd been in many times before, and it was always the same show, every time. Sammy knew that the joke would wear off and they would give him their order, and then they'd yuk-yuk their way out the door again. He didn't worry about them hurting him in the shop, since neither of them would dare do anything like that in public.
"OK, meat-boy," Mac said, the laughter dying down for the moment. "I need some sirloins, about five of 'em. The best you got."
Sammy looked around at the selection behind the glass display case, and then eyed Mac. "I don't think you'd be happy with any of these. I'll tell you what - I got some really good stuff in back, fresh off the truck." He leaned closer to the counter, and looked around as if checking for any eavesdroppers. "If one of you will keep an eye out, you can come back and pick out five of the best I got. On the house."
Jimmy and Mac both looked shocked. "Well," Mac said, "that's more like it, huh Jimmy?"
"Hell yeah! Well, what are you waiting for? Go on, I'll hold down the fort out here."
"Alright," Sammy said in a low, conspiring voice. "Come on."
He turned and headed down the counter and then opened the big heavy door to the meat locker and cutting room. He held the door open for Mac, who followed him in.
"Hey, Mac, watch out for your sausage!" Jimmy called out, laughing like an asshole.
"Fuck off," Mac said, and then disappeared into the meat locker.
Jimmy started to look around the store, checking to see if the place was indeed empty. There weren't any other customers, and old man Peabody's truck had been gone when they got there.
Jimmy walked to the front door and checked the parking lot, which was deserted. He strolled back over to the counter, checking around for security cameras, which he doubted the old man would have. He saw none, so he went over to where the cash register sat, and leaned against the counter. He whistled softly, looking around, before reaching over and hitting the "No Sale" key. The registered dinged, and the drawer slid open to reveal a decent amount of cash. He quickly scooped it out and stuffed it in his pocket. He gently slid the drawer closed again and strolled away from the register. At the window once more, he checked the parking lot, which was still empty. He smiled to himself and went over to the drink cooler, where he reached in and grabbed himself an ice-cold Budweiser.
As he drained the bottle in one long pull, he decided that there was no sense in him spending his own hard-earned money on beer, so he grabbed four twelve packs out of the cooler and took them out to his truck. When he returned, Mac and the fag-boy were still out of sight, so he went back to the cooler and retrieved four more twelve packs. He dumped them in the truck and returned for some cigarettes. After transporting about a dozen cartons of Marlboros and Camels, he returned to the store to see the little retard coming out of the meat-room with a bundle of packages in his hands. He laid them on the counter, loosely wrapped, and wiped his bloody hands on his apron.
"Alright!" Jimmy said, and reached for the packages. "Damn, you could have wrapped these a little better, Shitheel. Hell, the meat's falling out of this top one."
"Oh, sorry, I'll fix it up. Mac needs your help getting the rest of them out of there."
"The rest?"
"Yeah, I figured since no one was here, I'd hook you guys up."
"Good deal!" Jimmy said, leaving the meat and heading for the meat-room. "I hope you gave us some T-bones! Man, I love a good T-bone!"
Jimmy went inside and Sammy followed, unconsciously feeling the scar on his lip where Mac had hit him several months before. He entered the meat-locker and closed the heavy insulated door behind him.
Out on the counter, the top steak was completely exposed where Jimmy had messed with it. What Jimmy hadn't seen was what lay right in the center of it; a big, shiny, high school ring.
In the back room, a young man screamed in agony, but only momentarily. This was, of course, unheard by the outside world. Those walls and door of that meat-locker are really thick.
Fifteen minutes later, Sammy was restocking the beer and cigarettes from out of the Stover brother's piece of shit Ford, and then he went over and hit the "No Sale" key on the old register, and placed all the money he'd gotten out of Jimmy's pocket back in the little slots. He flipped the CLOSED sign on the door and drove the Stover's truck about a quarter of a mile down the road and ran it into a ditch. Then he returned to the shop and flipped the sign back to OPEN. He went to the meat case and carefully laid out the new cuts. When he was finished, he stood back and admired his work. Yes sir, he sure did have a flair for cutting meat. He grabbed a broom and whistled as he swept up.
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