The Taco Shack Killer

By Anthoney Pate

A boy who is bullied as a young teen and uses his anger to kill the kid that is bullying. As he grows up, every time he runs into a bully in his life, he kills them. As an older teen, he gets a job at Taco Shack and goes insane working a job he hates and kills off most of the crew and some of the management.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781648014864

Book preview

Chapter 1

Iwas thirteen the first time I killed someone. My name is Anthoney, and I was just like any normal kid in the neighborhood. I was a bit scrawny, like a kid who missed a meal or two, but I could have been any other boy from any other American neighborhood. I even had the typical dirty blond hair falling into my face from the bowl cut my mom used to dole out in the kitchen every month.

I even had my bullies. There was a mean prick named Johnny in my class at school. Johnny was a muscular kid, one who loved to show off the size of his huge biceps and pick fights with all the kids. Even the older kids were scared of him. You would often find him sticking smaller kids in trash cans or pounding someone. My friend George and I got pounded by him many times. We found ways of getting around without seeing him. In school we would cut through the teacher’s lounge to get from class to class. During lunch and recess, we stayed in the cafeteria for protection. We still got a beating from him two to three times a week.

Getting around town was trickier because he lived in the middle of everywhere we wanted to go. We had a special route to any destination we chose. We had to go through the alley behind the post office to get to the school. Through Mr. Cain’s backyard to get to the grocery store. To get to the video store or the convenience store, we had to go down a large embankment. We had to do things like this in order to stay safe with Johnny in our lives. That would all stop very soon.

On the day my luck ran out, it was snowy and I was running late for school. I made it past Johnny’s house and did not see him until I felt his fist slam into my nose. He dragged me to the middle of the playground with blood streaming down my face. Then he continued punching me in the jaw and broke it. As I hit the ground, he was already swinging his foot back to kick me. His foot hit me right in the gut. After he let me get up, he punched at me again. This time I ducked and hit him back. I felt his flesh moving beneath my clenched hand as it sunk into his stomach. I stared at my hand in disbelief as Johnny buckled over with the force of my blow.

Coming to my senses, I started to run, but unfortunately, I did not run fast enough. He caught me and started pummeling me again. One fist after another pounded into my body as though he could obliterate my feeble attempt at self-defense with each bruise leaving on my body. I thought he would never stop, but when he did, I almost wished he had not because he was tearing my clothes off and tying me to a tree. Since I was already running late, I knew the teachers wouldn’t be able to hear me yelling. I didn’t even bother making any noise.

All I could do was to wait for lunch. It seemed to take forever, but eventually, lunch rolled around, and about thirty kids poured onto the playground to find me half-frozen and totally naked. My friend George saw me first and ran to get the closest teacher. I can still see the look on his face to this day: his brown face gaping at me in surprise, unsure of what to do with himself. His black hair was falling into his face. The face that usually was first to smile was hardened by the realization of my injury. The other kids just stood there staring in shock. I was cut down and sent to the hospital, and I was treated for hypothermia, broken jaw, ribs, and nose. Johnny was suspended for a week.

Meanwhile I spent six weeks in the hospital thinking about all the beatings we took, like the time he kicked George in the balls or the time he took turns sticking our heads in the toilet and flushing it. A feeling of overwhelming fear came over me. Are we going to have to live life like this forever? The more I thought about the constant harassment, the angrier I got.

After about three weeks, I was going stir crazy and some would think just crazy. Part of me wanted to kill him. I had enough. I am going to kill him. The question is, well, George’s help. I was going to find out, I thought. Part of me wanted to leave things the way they are. I can’t kill him. I will get into trouble, I though.

In the end, the strong side took over. Stop being a pussy. You want to live a life of fear of that asshole? Kill the asshole. Better yet, kill all the assholes. My thoughts.

George came to see me a lot, but it was the last day that I told him what I was thinking about all that time. At this point, my mouth is still wired shut so I cannot talk.

What up, bro? George asked.

I motioned for him to give me a pen and paper.

We must keep this conversation between you and me. Can you do this? I wrote.

I promise, George said.

I am going to kill Johnny. Do you want to help? I wrote.

I hope you are serious because if you are joking, I am going to rebreak that jaw, George said.

Just then the doctor walked in. I flipped the notepad shut.

And what are you two talking about today? Doctor said.

I nudged George to get him to speak since I could not open the notepad because of what was written in it.

Oh you know, sports, money, cars, and girls, George said with a smile on his face. The doctor chuckled as he left the room.

That was quick thinking, I wrote.

Thanks. It was the only thing could think of. So how do we do it? George asked.

Not here. When I get home, they are going to take this thing off tomorrow before I leave, I wrote, talking about the wire holding my mouth shut.

At school, there was an announcement about the death of Mrs. Tomas, the school librarian, and an invitation to attend her funeral to show our appreciation for her years of service providing knowledge to future generations. It was too bad she died because she was the hottest employee at the school. All the boys in my class agreed that they would have loved to get a chance with her in the back seat of a car. While I was sad, my fantasies of seeing Mrs. Thomas in her panties had come crashing down at my feet. I was also pleased to hear that the funeral would mean being released early from school on Friday.

After school, George and I were hanging out, talking about our favorite topic: getting revenge on Johnny.

The librarian dying gave me an idea of what to do with the body, I struggled to say because my jaw was still sore.

Good, where? George asked.

I let you know when you need to know, I said, struggling to speak.

Are you going to tell me what the plan is? George asked.

I would like to, but I need to work it all out before I tell you, I said.

You are not going to give me moment-to-moment instructions when we actually do it, are you? George asked.

No, you will know ahead of time, I said.

What are you thinking? Maybe I can help, George asked.

All right, if you could kill any way you want, how would you do it? I asked.

I would shoot him with your dad’s sniper rifle, George said.

Nah, too quick. I want him to suffer, I proclaimed.

All right, let’s stab him to death, George suggested.

That’s better, but if you accidentally hit a vein, he will bleed out very quickly. But that gives me an idea. How about this… I asked. I laid out the plan for George, and he agreed that was the way to do it.

Okay, so Thursday after school, we can bring all the supplies we need and do a quick setup. Then Friday, we will execute the plan, George said

You bring a sledgehammer, rope, and the rest of the stuff we talked about, I said as I handed him a list.

George and I took a walk to the school to brainstorm logistics like the distance between the school and the place where we would take our revenge. Also we would have to move the body to the cemetery. This would be the most time-consuming part next to the kill. We wanted to take him far away from the school, away from possible witnesses, far enough away so no one would hear his screams.

Johnny was waiting for me Friday morning when I got to school. He tried to punch me, but I ducked, squatting down. This put me in the perfect position to hit him right in the balls. He fell to the ground and curled up into the fetal position. George came running from around the corner, and we joined forces stomping, kicking, and pounding the crap out of him. We wanted him to feel all the pain he had ever inflicted on us. For the grand finale, we spread his legs and took turns kicking him in the balls. The school bell rang, and we realized we were going to be late for class.

Johnny never reported us to the principal because he figured he would get back at us later. We went to class and did not see or think about Johnny again until lunch.

By the time we got to the cafeteria, the whole school was talking about what happened to Johnny. A girl named Amanda had seen us kicking Johnny’s ass and spread the word. All the other kids could not believe someone had finally beaten him up!

After lunch they dismissed us. Everyone else was leaving for the half day, so they didn’t see us grab Johnny, gag him, and drag him kicking and screaming to the woods behind the school. About two hundred yards into the woods, there was an abandoned house. We took him inside and tied him to a chair with some rope that George pulled out of his backpack. We moved the chair into the bathtub, and I took a hammer from my backpack. I began smashing his toes one by one until they resembled roast beef. Blood splattered around in the tub as I smashed his toes and the rest of the bones in his feet. Tears ran down Johnny’s face as he screamed for help through the gag.

Your turn, I said as I looked at George.

Are you sure I don’t want to use this? George asked as he picked up the sledgehammer.

Ya, I said with a smile.

Then George smashed both his ankles with a sledgehammer that we had left there the night before. We could hear the bones crushing as if they were plywood being smashed as we stomped on it, as George savagely smashed his ankles.

Your turn, Anthoney. Hit him in the head, George said.

No! I said with an annoyed voice.

Why not? George asked.

Because if we hit him in the head too hard, it will kill him. We need him alive to suffer, I answered.

Oh, that’s logical, George responded.

I’m going to hit him in the knees, I said.

Johnny shook his head wildly and screamed no into the gag as I slammed the sledgehammer onto his knees.

As much as I am enjoying this, don’t you think we should hurry this up? We don’t want to get caught. Someone could hear, George asked.

Don’t chicken out on me now. This is payback for all those years of torture. Now break the bones in his upper legs, I ordered.

You are right, George agreed.

This time, when the sledgehammer hit his leg, the blood splattered higher than the side of the tub. It splattered across the walls and even the ceiling. I think George punctured a vein because the blood started spurting out one of his legs really fast. I quickly took off Johnny’s belt and used it to make a tourniquet to slow the blood flow. The blood flowed much slower, but he was still bleeding internally.

Well, you just moved our time frame up. He will bleed out in five to ten minutes, I said.

Even with the tourniquet on? George asked.

The tourniquet is buying us five to ten. Let’s go get as much damage in as possible, I explained.

I picked up the hammer and started smashing his fingers while George took the sledgehammer to his chest, hitting him once in the right side and once on the left side of the chest. George hit him two times. Before we knew it, it was over. Johnny started coughing and spitting up blood around the gag. Johnny breathed his last breath of blood and died.

What happened? George inquired.

My guess would be that you broke his ribs and they punctured his lungs, but that is just a guess, I responded.

Now what? Mrs. Thompson’s funeral should be over now, but we can’t take him to the cemetery till it gets dark, George asked.

Now that the fun is over, we got to clean up just in case someone finds this place. No evidence left behind, I said.

We untied Johnny and left him in the tub. I scrubbed down the chair with bleach then used it to stand on as I scrubbed the ceiling and upper walls. Meanwhile, George was on his hands and knees scrubbing the floors and lower walls. After we finished, George and I laid out some plastic and moved the body onto it and then wrapped it around Johnny, inspiring this conversation starter from George.

We should have put the plastic down before we started smashing him up, then we would not have had so much to clean up, George said.

Lesson learned: we will have to remember that just in case we have to do this again. I laughed.

George did not laugh. He just nodded his head.

Is something wrong? I asked.

I just hope we don’t have to do it again, George said.

Me too. I smiled. But we will have to do it again, I thought as I turned away and went back to work. Although we had savored every moment of street justice, we also were not interested in facing the consequences of our actions. Luckily the cemetery was right next to the school. It made a convenient place to stash the body. Taking the body to Mrs. Thomas’s freshly dug grave, we dug down three feet and threw the body in, covering it with the freshly dug dirt. We walked home. We had a conversation.

Okay, so they’re probably going to report him missing. We need an alibi, I said.

I think you should call Amanda and tell her to cover for us. I think she has a crush on you, George said.

No, then we would have to tell her what we did, I said.

Your parents are not home, right? We can tell them we were at your place playing video games. We went straight there after school, let out in the crowd of excited kids, no one saw which way we went, George said.

That might just work. That’s what we will do, I said.

The next day, Johnny was reported missing. The police questioned all the teachers because the school was where he was last seen. When I got home, my mom was talking to the police. I tried to sneak by quietly.

Anthoney, come in here. These police officers need to ask you some questions, Mom called out.

Damn, she saw me, I thought. Fear rushed through my body as I walked over.

Hello, Anthoney. I am Detective Smith. This is Detective Jones. We have some questions about a classmate of yours, Johnny— Detective Smith said.

What about him? I interrupted.

He has gone missing, Detective Jones said. Detective Smith shot him an angry look.

We were wondering if you had seen him after school on Friday? Detective Smith asked.

Nope, I came home right after school and played video games till bedtime, I answered.

Is that true, ma’am? Detective Smith asked my mom.

I don’t know. I was out with my husband. We didn’t get home till about ten o’clock. He was here when we got here, Mom said.

Are you sure you didn’t stop and pick another fight with Johnny— Detective Jones snarled.

Another fight? When did you get into a fight with him before? Mom interrupted.

Every day since we moved here, and no, I came straight home, I answered.

Is there anybody who can corroborate your story? Detective Smith asked.

George came home with me and hung out till my parents got home, I answered.

Now that I think about it, George was here when we got home, Mom confirmed.

All right. Thank you for your time, Detective Smith said as he stood up to leave.

You let us know when you find him, right, Detective? I pretended to care.

Yes, he replied. They talked to George later that night; he gave the same story.

No matter what the local police and Johnny’s parents did, they never found his body.

The next day, George and I went swimming at the pond. We were both sitting on the beach after a swim, staring at all the girls when one caught my eyes. It was Amanda; she was approaching us. I zoned out into a fantasy of Amanda running over slowly, stripping naked and pulling me into the water…so rudely interrupted by George throwing a bucket of sand on my crotch which covered my fully hard dick.

What the hell?. I said.

George interrupted me, You will thank me later.

Followed shortly by, So what are you two perverts doing, staring at girls, I presume? Amanda stated.

I hope she doesn’t see my boner, I thought.

The only girl Anthoney was staring at was you, George chimed in.

I threw a handful of sand at him, hitting him in the chest.

Is that true, you get that boner staring at me? Amanda asked.

I smiled. Yes, none of these girls even come close to your beauty, I said.

She took my hand and led me to the water and pushed me in.

When I came out, she said, That is my version of a cold shower.

Thanks, I think, I said.

As she walked away, I said, I’ll be here tomorrow if you want to try that again, I said.

I got a better idea. Why don’t you and your sidekick come to my house for dinner and a movie tonight? Amanda asked.

We will be there, George said.

Six o’clock, Amanda said as she turned and walked away.

Dude, she is into you, George said.

Dude, she invited us both, I said

Ya, but she called me your sidekick, George said.

The girls always go after Batman, not Robin, I said.

And that was the beginning of our friendship.

Chapter 2

George was having a little trouble getting past what we had done, so I took control of his life and mine. For three years, George and I spent all our spare time in the gym working out so we would be tough to handle if we ever needed to fight again. Under my tutelage, George finally stopped feeling sorry about what we did but still took a back seat to what I wanted our lives to be.

George and I applied at a fast food place called the Taco Shack so we could make some money, and since we were the only two applicants, they hired both of us. It was our first job, and we were both surprised at how well the job paid considering how easy it was. Our boss was a big fat lazy man named Brad whose only thrill in life was sitting on his ever-growing ass, eating the food we made for him, and criticizing our work. George and I worked on the night shift after school. Brad used to be an air force pilot, so you would think he would be a by-the-book hard-ass workaholic, but that could not be further from the truth. In reality, he just let things go the way they went and did not think problems were bad enough to exert any effort to fix them. That was okay with us because that