Rape-trippin! PDF Print E-mail
Written by Daryl Hutson   
Wednesday, 13 April 2011 20:07

 

Worst of the Worst - Rape-trippin! by Daryl Hutson 4/13/2011

 

Prologue

The day after I posted the “Jacques Missing, Presumed Dead,” article, I phoned the Chattanooga police department giving them what information I had.  They were very kind to send some photos of the deceased for me to identify as, in fact, Jacques Rimmier.  After that discovery I was oddly non emotional, life continued on.

The reality of Jacques’s death took a few weeks to finally set in, and it wasn’t until spring training that his awkward absence caused me to take action.  I knew what I had to do, find his killer, closure, and France’s honor!

 

I obviously suspected the Flesher Field Rapist.  Motives were endless; the largest of which being that Flesher Field isn’t big enough for two sexual deviants hiding in the bushes.  Just like a real cop, I wasn’t willing to pussyfoot around collecting evidence, proving guilt, and staying fit; I decided to go right for it.

 

Part 1 – The Bait

“Hrmmmpfff!, humph!, mmmmmm!” I gave in and tore the duct tape off Travis’s mouth.

 

“OWW! Are you F’ing insane Daryl?” he was obviously not happy.

 

“Listen Travis, just calm down, you’re going to scare him off,” I reasoned as I finished off the can of Axe Dark Temptation on his shivering naked body.

 

“Calm down! Calm down! I’m naked, tied to a foul pole, and most importantly late for work; and you want me to calm down!”

 

“Shhhhh! Here he comes!” I quickly put the tape back over his mouth.

 

Just then a large black van sped around the corner, I was certain this was the Flesher Field Rapist because on the side was a swank decal that said, “Flesher Field Rapist.”  With one glance at Travis the Rapist dashed out the driver door as the still moving van ghost rode across the parking lot and crashed into the swing set.

 

Unless Usain Bolt is a rapist, I’ve never seen one run faster.  I barely had time to jump out from behind the tree and save Travis from even more emotional scars.

 

“Excuse me Mr. Rapist, could you please have a seat over there.” I pointed to the bench and silently thanked Chris Hanson for the acting lessons.

 

“Um, I’m pretty busy, what is this about? Can it wait a couple minutes?” A bead of sweat dripped from his brow.

 

“I’d really rather it didn’t.”

 

We sat on the bench and I came right out with it.

 

“Did you rape and murder Jacques Rimmier?”

 

“No.”

 

“That’s interesting, because it says right here in this chat roulette log file that ‘Flesher Field Rapist: I want to rape and kill Jacques Rimmier.’”

 

“That wasn’t me.”

 

“I believe you. Will you help me find his killer?”

 

“Will you let me have Branch?”

 

“He isn’t mine to give you.”

 

“But you tied him up.”

 

“Oh yeah… have at it.”

 

I waited patiently by the van.

 

Part 2 – Bumps in the Road

“Alright listen Rapist we have to drive to Chattanooga and find out who killed Jacques.  And we need to take your van because I have lots of surveillance equipment to bring and it’s full of ice cream.  But you know one thing is going to have to change or we’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

 

The rapist sighed an embarrassed sigh.

 

“Ok, we installed the four 15” Crankenstiens, an Alpine deck, and MB Quart components. You said you wanted that charged to Travis Branch’s account right?” The installer at Best Buy paused, “But can I ask why it’s says ‘Flesher Field Rapist’ on the side of your van?”

 

“Yes charge it, and no you can’t ask.” I tossed Rapist the keys and we hit the highway.

 

Part 3 – Hold On to that Feelin’

On the first day of our journey we listened to some Journey, and I do believe right around the third time “Don’t Stop Believin’” came around; I realized I was riding around in a creepy van, with a serial rapist, on a road trip to Tennessee… and it was awesome!  We’d high five when other motorists looked at the van with disdain, blankly stared at old ladies in the next lane with our mouths half open, and we even picked up an “If this vans a rockin’ don’t come a knockin’” bumper sticker at the Tennessee Alabama Fireworks Emporium which happens to be in Kentucky. Road tripping with Rapist is the best.

 

The hotel in Kentucky that night only had one queen bed, but Rapist is a gentleman and gave me the choice of either sleeping on the floor, or just snuggling without clothes on. I of course chose the later and had one of the best nights of sleep in my life (no rape WOOT!)

 

The next day we made the final push to Chattanooga and after a visit to Ruby Falls, Rock City, and a touching ride on the Incline Train in Jacques’s memory (you could almost smell the BO, urine, and Franzia), decided it was time to get down to brass tacks.

 

Part 4 – The Twist

Rapist and I stood behind the dumpster at the Wafflehouse.  The location defiantly matched the photos the police sent me, but a few months likely removed all traces of evidence.

 

“Now that we are here, I’m not sure what the next step is,” I said through bites of waffle.

 

“I have a confession to make,” quothed the Rapist. “This waffle sucks…Also I killed Jacques.”

 

“I know you did Rapist,” I paused, “let’s go home.”

 

 

Last Updated on Friday, 15 July 2016 15:10
 

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