Abuse of Chikara (book 1) (7 page)

The delivery man leaves to go home for the night and Psycho and Cara are standing in the hallway kissing. “Hey, let’s fuck in the hallway in front of that stupid preacher’s door.”

“Why do you hate that guy so much, Psycho?”

“I don't know, something about him just pisses me off, but I don't know why.

“What about the landlord?”

Shit, I supply the owner with all his weed and bitches. I'd have to kill somebody for him to do anything. Cara takes off her pants and underwear and lays on the hall way carpet. Psycho lays down, puts his face between her legs, and starts giving her oral sex. He slowly thrusts his tongue inside her as she rubs his head and moans loudly. After getting her in the mood, he picks her up and maneuvers her into his favorite position, doggy style. He knows the father will be out in a moment; he always goes out at this time. The pastor was a creature of habit who rarely broke his schedule. When the pastor exited his front door with his wife and ten year old in tow, he stood there in shock watching this scene of thrusting, moaning and pumping. Here was Psycho with Cara bent over on her knees, getting pumped from behind. Her ample round butt is making a meaty sound like a madman beating a side of beef as she screams and moans like a banshee.

“Dear God, what are you people doing? Let’s go back inside and call the police.”

“Dad, what were those people doing in the hall?”

“Nothing you need to worry about son, now go to your room. I'm going to finish bolting this lock and then calling the police.”

After talking to the police for at least 10 minutes he goes back to let his wife know the status.

“Alma, the police will be here soon, let me see if they're still out there. I don't see them through the peep hole in the door. I'm going out to take a look honey.”

“Aaron, wait for the police please.”

“It's okay dear, the Lord will protect me. I'll come back in at the first sign of trouble.”

He opens the door, slowly peeking in both directions. He doesn't see anything. Slowly he walks the length of both ends of the hallway. Nobody is there, so he checks the porch and still doesn't see anyone suspicious. He waits on the front porch for the police, going over the entire story and showing them the area the activity took place. After the police leave, he goes back inside to talk to his wife.

“Well, they did a report and will check back with me if and when they have anything.” Alma is still in shock over what she's witnessed. She starts to speak.

“I can't believe we have people in this area that would do things like that. And what about the mental damage to our little son? Aaron, do you hear all that loud laughing and noise next door?”

“Yes, I do, and I have a good idea why. Stay here, I want to talk to our friend Mr.

Schadenfreude next door.”

“Aaron, I wish you wouldn't talk so much to that man. He's mentally unstable and may hurt you.”

“I have to dear; I'm a big part of why that young man has issues even though he doesn't know it.”

“Are you going to tell him the truth about you?”

“I will as soon as the time is right

How would he go about telling this young man that they were actually related and that he had been a delinquent father who had not paid any concern for his young son? That he had been a sinner once who did not value his first wife and son from that marriage and his wife had left him because of his poor behavior. He had once been a man, in his younger years, that only cared about sex, booze and hanging out with his buddies. He had neglected his young son while he chased every floozy he could find. To make matters worse, he and other relatives had refused to believe that his brother was molesting the boy. His family had browbeat his first wife into not reporting the abuse that no one wanted to admit.

He remembered the final straw that made his first wife leave. She had reported him as missing when he did not come home for three days, and had not called his job. The police had finally found him on the curb sleeping, missing his shirt and shoes after getting blasted. He had received the divorce papers shortly afterward. He had not made any effort to see his son, and did not even challenge his former wife for visitation rights. He had no contact with his son at all. His ex-wife had not wanted child support and financially made more money than he did. Not to mention she was a very frugal person who always found sales or deals, and saves at least 40 percent of her paychecks. In any case her family was loaded, and she would not want for money. He had not had any contact with his son when they moved to Mexico. He talked to his ex-wife several times years later when he had found Jesus, and kept up with the boy’s exploits from time to time. He had not made any effort to introduce himself as the boy’s father and his ex- wife hadn’t expressed any desire to do so at all. She had even admitted that she had told the boy his father was dead, and had removed any pictures and any materials that pointed to his existence. She had very little contact with him or any of his relatives. He doubted his son even knew any of his relatives. Right, but he needed to gain his trust first.

He walks over to Psycho’s apartment and knocks on the door loudly. “Schadenfreude please come out, I want to talk to you. Are you going to stop laughing like a hyena and come out or not?”

Laughing, Psycho and his girl take off their disguises and starts to put on some clothes, but he comes to the door in just his underwear. “How can I help you today, Preach?”

“Well, it seems that two heathens saw fit to engage in sexual relations in front of my door just now. I was wondering if you saw anything or knew anything.”

“Let’s see if I can recollect anything here for you Preach. There was a white guy with an Afro and a big gut, wearing grey sweatpants and a fake beard. He had on glasses with an extra large white t-shirt. And there was a young, buxom white girl wearing a blonde wig, black glasses, black stretch pants and a black shirt. No can't say that I've seen either of those people. Is something wrong Preach your face seems to be turning red all of a sudden, and you look kind of constipated?”

“Look, let’s cut the crap boy. I know it was you dressed up in those silly costumes. What I want to know is why you'd do something so vulgar and immoral?”

Psycho looks at the preacher thinking of the perfect smart-ass comment to make and decides that giving him a straight up answer will piss him off even more.

“Well, you may as well ask why the sky is blue or why does the sun shines or why white men can't jump? I am what I am and that's all that I am.”

“Son, what would your parents think of the way you carry on? As a police officer shouldn't you be setting an example, not abusing your authority?”

Hey Cara, the preacher here says I should be an example to the community.”

With that she burst out laughing loudly at the thought of Psycho being an example to any one, but the mentally ill or insane.

“Hey, why don't you relax, come on in and smoke some weed with me and my girl here?”

“Young man, the body is the temple of the lord and I'd sooner die than defile it with that skunk weed that you smoke.”

With that Psycho slams the door in his face and goes back to watching TV and enjoying his weed.

A group of officers are sitting around at a sports bar watching a news cast about changes the new superintendant has put in place. Bill can’t believe this shit is going down. That punk opened the case again and had them check the camera film. It looks like half of the force are facing civil law suits, not to mention prison time. This Dudley Do-Right looking mother fucker has the feds investigating drug narcotic units for shaking down drug dealers. They just busted Guy, John and Clark for shaking down federal agents they thought were gang- bangers. He's talking about having people being pulled in for random drugs and steroid tests. We got at least a dozen guys on suspension right now.

“We got to do something about this guy, I'm scared to take a fucking bribe right now.”

Bill sits back and considers the scene here. A good leader uses peoples ‘emotions, fears, wants and desires to get them to do what he or she wanted. Hell, George Bush had sold the public on a war that was against their best interest. Certainly, he could harness the raw energy of some pissed off officers unused to being disciplined and not allowed to run amok.

“All right, listen up you cry babies; this is the sarge talking! We stay cool and don't give this guy any ammunition to use against us. We play it by the book and don't expect any help from any of the white shirts. This guy has already demoted any of them them who wouldn't play ball his way, and he has the full support of the mayor. I have an idea on how to deal with him, but need you guys to knock off any extracurricular activates for the next few weeks.”

Begrudgingly everyone agreed to play it cool until Bill came up with a plan. Good, they still believed in him and looked to him as their true leader and not the new superintendant. One thing that did bother him was Alfonso's lack of participation here. He had not been taking part in any of the after work activities of his fellow officers in the last week or so. He was forming a plan to deal with Dudley Do-Right, but needed to know that he could count on every officer on the force to ride with him if need be. He couldn't tolerate a sheep in wolf’s clothing who'd squeal like a pig if the superintendant blew his house down. It was time to arrange that test, and if Alfonso failed he’d have Red arrange that funeral instead. He made a quick call and gives Dirty Red a code word that means he should give Alfonso the test. They had their own little codes that meant nothing to anyone else. Even with phone records, any investigation would not be able to prove he had ordered anyone to be killed. He hoped Alfonso passed the test as he felt the young man would make a useful subordinate to help him achieve his goals of course.

Red, Psycho and Alfonso were driving down Lake and Cicero by the old Brach's abandoned candy factory. Red spots two prostitutes whose services he frequents often. One is an African American girl and the other a Caucasian. Both are 19 to 20 years old and buxom. Red pulls up close to the curb and has Alfonso roll down the passenger side window.

“You ladies looking for work today?”

“Any time for you honey.”

“Good, let me get the gate to this factory open and we can all party.” Red has pretty much every key to this factory, amazing what money, drugs and material goods can get you in today’s world. Entering the east gate, they enter the factory itself and prepare to get down to business. “All right ladies, I got something special planned for today’s festivities. “You two sweet young things stand by the wall on the north side over there.” With that, he takes his 38 revolver and shoots the redhead white girl dead in the forehead, killing her instantly. “Listen up Alfonso, I want you to take this gun and shoot that black chick in the head right now man!”

“Are you fucking crazy, dude? Why in the hell are we going to kill these broads for no reason?”

“Don't act so innocent man, we've killed people before.”

“Not like this Red, those guys are usually thugs, rapist or ex-cons.”

“Look Alfonso, everybody gets a test at some point to see if they can be trusted, okay. You're way past due as far as I'm concerned; and Bill has some doubts about you. Now take this gun and shoot that broad now.”

Alfonso takes the gun, hesitates and wishes he hadn't given Red his gun earlier. He didn't have a problem beating up and even killing people he felt deserved it, but he wasn't with doing something like this.

I am sorry man, but I refuse to do shit like this, Psycho! Shoot, this fucking Dudley do right motherfucker! With that Alfonso no longer walks this world of men.

“Too bad white boy, you had potential; you could have been one of my best pupils. Psycho, I'm sick of that bitch screaming, please shoot her.” Red loved this factory; it really muffled gunfire very well, and if you waited for a train to go by no one would hear a thing. Incredible how well CTA trains muffled out weaker noises like gun shots. “Okay, go outside and get that serial killer we got locked up in the trunk and bring him here.” They had caught and arrested a local serial killer that had a habit of shooting prostitutes in the head after raping them, and then dumping their bodies in the local river. He'd confessed to the location of the body after Red had worked him over a few days. “Okay, we’re going to blame Alfonso's death on this serial killer. We saw some guy walking around the factory and went in to investigate. We split up and heard shots, only to find Alfonso dead, and we shot this guy. Take these bodies and dump them with the other ones in the river. We'll blame their deaths on the serial killer also. Nobody knows where the bodies are, so time of death won't be a problem. Seems like a shame that we didn't get to fuck them first Red. Okay, Psycho, you've been a good boy today. You can fuck their dead bodies before you dump them in the river with the rest. Take the other car we got parked on the other side of the factory. The one with the GPS disabled.”

Psycho loads up the bodies and heads off to dump them in the local river. Red knew Psycho would in fact have sex with the bodies before dumping them. It's not like this would be the first time. Well, this job was almost done all he had to do was radio it in and do the paperwork, drugs, money or ass would easily erase any questions asked about what really went on here. Tomorrow he'd start working on that other problem for Bill.

Nick the producer is laying in his cell thinking about his current situation. Prison life hadn’t really been all that bad to be honest. Many of the Hispanic and African American thugs knew about him and his underground films now. His connections to the Mexican Mafia meant that he had some level of protection here. Prison had certain rules one had to follow and observe to survive. One you really needed to have was some connections with a group to survive in here. Unless you were Steven Seagal, Bruce Lee or Rambo, you weren’t going to make it too long in here by yourself. Those who didn’t have any back up were fresh meat and would soon become somebody’s bitch. The second rule was to never appear weak or allow anyone to intimidate you. New prisoners always got tested. Nick was no exception to the rule. He’d knocked out some pumped up white boy the first day in the joint and given that fool a concussion. He wasn’t going to give JetLi or Bruce Lee a run for their money, but he did work out and was a pretty good boxer. He actually had enough skill to fight pro if he had wanted to. Rule three, don’t fuck with the prison guards if you could avoid it. Going too far could lead to a beat down Rodney King style. They could also lead to them setting you up with a cell mate who was a well-known rapist or being left some place alone with known enemies or a trip to solitary confinement. If you really gave them a problem there were nastier situations they could dream up. He hadn’t found prison life to be as mentally or physically debilitating as some found it to be. Nick was a strong-minded person and maybe, just maybe, he was well-suited for this environment. They let him have paper and a pen, so he could still write his screenplays in here. He’d actually improved his writing skill in his opinion. The only thing he had to do in here was workout, write and read. He’d actually improved his knowledge on a number of subjects by reading the books in the prison library. The funny thing is an American prison actually had a better quality of living than some Third World nations. Hell, he’d rather be in prison in an American prison than living in the slums of Brazil any day. The only real drawback had been his inability to shoot his films in prison.