Abuse of Chikara (book 1) (6 page)

“Hello Quinton! Have you decided on taking that promotion in Chicago you told me of?

Yeah, I have accepted it. I'll be starting a week from now.”

“Perhaps we'll bump into each other as I do a lot of business in Chicago.”

“You never did say what type of business that you do Mr.?”

“The name’s Lucien Pike and you could say I provide counsel to those in need.”

“You mean like a preacher or holy man?”

“Yes, one could say I'm a prophet doing my lord’s work.”

Quinton noticed the beautiful gold cuff links Lucien wore on both sleeves. An upside down triangle with lines going through it on both sides, and a large v at the bottom.

“That's an unusual symbol on your cuff links.”

“Oh yes, the symbol represents the bringer of light.”

“Well, I was never much of a man for religion myself, but whatever gets you through the day I say.”

“We all need to call on a higher power to get through the day, my friend. I've heard the situation in Chicago isn't the greatest with a number of officers running wild. You might find that you need my lord’s help. Let me give you my card, if you need help or just want to talk.”

Quinton took the card and placed it in his wallet. He spent at least three hours talking to this well-travelled and informed man. This Lucien knew a great deal about a variety of topics, wars, health, the stock market, science, it didn't matter. Quinton rather enjoyed talking to someone so intelligent. And his proper speech was refreshing as well. Too often people around him used so much slang and profanity. He didn't care for slang much, something he'd inherited from his father who was an English teacher. Dear old dad never used slang and always emphasized proper language and writing. A loud chirping sound pulled him out of reminiscing about his father. Lucien was taking a call on his cell phone, which was also solid white with blue trim around the edges.

“It appears I have to take care of some business my friend. Perhaps we'll talk later.”

“Nothing bad I hope?”

“Oh, not at all, just a sick member of my flock needs my guidance. Well, duty calls. I've enjoyed speaking to you perhaps we can do so again.”

They shake hands and Lucien walks off to be picked up by a large limo, which is white as well. Well, he's definitely consistent with his color schemes. Tired Quinton gets up and walks toward his door to turn in for the night. Fumbling with the keys, he drops them when he hears a familiar voice behind him. Son, don't be deceived by this foul creature. Turning around he doesn't see anyone. He walks around his house looking for the voice. “Mom, is that you?” Son, don't give into hatred, don’t go down that path. Looking around he doesn't see anything, but the same children of varying races playing. “Man, I'm hearing things now.”

He sits down in his Lazy Boy recliner in the living room and turns on the TV. Flipping through the channels, finally he finds one of his favorite shows Babylon 5. Don't be fooled by him my son. Again, he hears his mother’s voice, but louder this time. He gets up and does a check of the interior of his town house, hoping he is not going insane. After being unable to locate anyone in the house, he chalks it up to nerves or his imagination. Crap, I'll take a sleeping pill to help me get some rest before I go crazy. The sleeping pills did help him sleep, but he did nothing but toss and turn the entire night. His sleep was filled with visions of hell and demonic beings torturing wayward human souls. He dreamt of a large whole opening in his bedroom connecting to another world filled with screams and pain. He didn't want to go, but his feet had a mind of their own. Shuffling forward he entered the hole and immediately falls, plummeting for what seems like an eternity. He closes his eyes preparing to die. When he opens his eyes he's on solid ground. Before him is a vast open space with doors on each side leading to large rooms. There are hundreds, no thousands, of these chambers. He walks into the closest one to his right and sees a large white man being stabbed over and over by women of different races.

Behind him he heard his mother's voice again. Unlike the other times she was there when he turned around. He instantly knew that he must be dreaming since his mother had been dead for years. Mom, where are we, and why are we here? We’re in hell son and I'm here to warn you. So what's the story with the guy getting stabbed over and over by those ladies? This man was a rapist in life. This is his own personal hell. This place is big, but I thought hell would be larger than this. Hell isn't one place, but rather a lot of locations all connected together. They vary in size from chambers as small as a holding cell to ones as large as a city. To enter different parts of hell you just have to concentrate and you'll appear there. Different cells in the room had people of different races and ages in them. Let me show you another part of hell.

She grabbed his hand and they appeared on the shore of a vast sea. The sky was red and he saw no trees or vegetation in sight in any direction. He could see people bobbing up and down all connected by some type of chain. They were crying, screaming and cursing. He wanted to help them, but couldn't figure out how. The heat from the lake was incredible warming his skin from 20 feet away. She took his hand again and they went to many areas of hell, witnessing all manner of torments from people being tortured in every conceivable way. The one that stood out to him was the woman who had maggots, worms and different insects feasting on her flesh. Many of these insects were eating her from the inside out, crawling in and out of her eyes, nose and other orifices. Some forms of hell were different than just people being tormented by demons or monsters. In this hell a white man was running from a large crowd of about 20 women of different races. These people had bats, ropes, sticks and other sharp instruments capable of inflicting pain and harm. Puzzled, Quenton looked over at his mother for an explanation. This man was extremely wealthy and used his position of power to abuse people of other races. Now he experiences the lives of people who have been abused by racial crimes over the centuries. The particular life he's living now is that of a slave about to be lynched.

She takes his hand once more and they appear in another large chamber about the size of a football field. In the center of the chamber is a large hole about 20 feet wide and in any direction from what he can tell, as he has no way to get a better measurement. Stepping closer he looks down, but can't see a bottom to this hole. He does hear over powering screaming that sounds like it’s coming from a multitude of people. My son this is what's in store for you if you give in to anger and bitterness. Better to die a good man than to destroy whom you are and what you stand for to get revenge. At that, his alarm clock ringing madly on his dresser wakes him up. “Man, I better stop eating pizza before bed, what a dream.” His mother had looked the same as he remembers her: a medium-sized, light-skinned African American woman with long black hair flowing down to the shoulders. His subconscious mind even had her height of five foot, nine correct. The only thing that was off was the multicolored robes she wore. Well, no point in thinking about a pizza- induced nightmare; time to get up and get about my daily chores

It's 1 p.m. on the West Side of Chicago on Madison Street. Bill, Psycho, Red, Alfonso and six other officers are getting ready to stage a raid on an electronics store.

“All right, Red, Alfonso, Clark, Bruce and Hal come with me through the front. Psycho, you take the rest around back and make sure nobody leaves the store; when you get in position let me know. Okay gentlemen, let’s do this.”

They move in through the front door quickly taking control of the shop with precise ease. Most of these guys are just your average Joes trying to make a living. He didn't anticipate any resistance of any type from the Asian shop owner, workers or African American security guard.

“All right Hal, lock that front door, and get those customers up against the wall. I want them searched and patted down for any weapons. Bruce, cut the wire to that camera and make sure there are no other ones around.”

The store owner Mr. Yei, a short Japanese American, comes from behind the counter to get an explanation as to what's going on.

“Your being served a search warrant for selling drugs Mr. Yie.”

“This is bullshit! I've never sold drugs in my life. You won't find any drugs here, go ahead and search. Red, he says we won't find any drugs here. HA, ha, ha, ha, okay, then what's this behind the counter here?”

“Red pulls a number of dime bags from behind the counter. Any thing interesting on any of those customers yet?”

“Yeah, the guy here has an outstanding warrant for assaulting an officer and Mr. Michael Larson here is wanted for drug dealing. Hey Bill, it must be our lucky day, I found some more drugs here in this guy’s pockets.”

“Good, load them up and let the others out and lock the door again. Red, get all the money in the cash registers.”

“Wait, you can’t do this; it is illegal and this is my store. I earn all this money you crook.”

Well, he's shocked, guess the store owner does have some balls after all.

“Look here Mr. Yie, you've been given the search warrant and I guess you understand what's going on here. Now let’s look at this from a logical perspective. You can live through this and claim it on your insurance or you can get crazy and end up in the hospital and still get ripped off.”

“This isn’t right. I pay my taxes! You’re supposed to protect us from thugs

“Everyone’s got to pay their rent money Mr. Yie, and it's your turn right now.”

Bill sees that a bit more force is needed to get the proper respect here. He does not care for hitting elderly Asian men, but fear can be a healthy thing. He does not plan to kill anyone here, but they need to think he may go that far. Bill hit's the old man square in the chest, sending him flying 15 feet backward.

“All right, listen up, this is Wild Bill talking! Anybody else who's got a problem can come over here and take it up with me right now.” Well, he didn't seem to have any takers, not that he expected any.

“Hey Psycho, how we looking back there?”

“All clear out here, Bill.”

“ All right, we've got what we came for here; let’s head back to the station.”

Clark and Hall grab DVD players, digital cameras, cell phones, Mp3 players and other electronic equipment, wrapping them up in black bags. Bill loves this type of work, busting drug dealers and looking like a hero to the masses while being a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

After they load up the shop owner’s son and two African American customers, Bill looks over their ill-gotten gain in the back of the paddy wagon. There was no need to bring it other than to carry all the crap they had stolen through out the day from many different stores. Next to Bill, on his right, is Alfonso, the youngest member officer on the force as far as he knows. Alfonso was a likeable enough guy and seemed generally interested in learning. However, Bill had noticed hesitation on his part when it came down to taking care of business. The last thing Bill needed was a sheep in wolf’s clothing, who’d rat them out if pressured by the FBI or internal affairs. He'd have to arrange a test for Alfonso, and if he failed he'd have Red arrange a funeral instead.

“So, Bill, are we going to keep all this stuff?”

“No, Alfonso, we’re going to share it with the other officers back at the station.”

“Why should we share it with them if they didn't come out with us and earn it?”

“First of all, I need to share it with all the officers to maintain my big man image. Second, we get away with a lot of shit and get all types of perks because we take care of the other officers and even the white shirts. Looks, it's like primitive cultures where you have hunters who capture meat that is more prized than any thing their farmers can grow. However, the hunters may not be able to catch game all the time. The people who stay home and tend crops usually have a good knowledge of where to find herbs and other vegetation. These crops and vegetation are a more constant source of food than the meat the warriors bring. The warriors share their meat because they may need those people to reciprocate in the future. We may be the baddest motherfuckers on the force, but we'd be up shit creek on our own. If we do end up shit creek, we will need these mother-fuckers to bring us a paddle.”

Damn, he's bored just sitting here in his apartment watching TV. Psycho never thought of it before, but he does not have much to do outside of work. He's been fucking that hot teenage redhead, but he is bored of even that now. He could go smoke some weed at the funeral home with Josh, or put on one of his disguises and have some fun. The thought of dressing up intrigues him, and he hasn't harassed his bible- thumping neighbor in the apartment next to him for some time. Yeah, that's what he'll do, time to break out his costumes. Psycho has a number of fake beards, faces, wigs, fake stomachs, glasses, platform shoes and other stuff to make him look different. He has just the thing to liven things up today. Cara doesn't mind dressing up either, nothing elaborate, but just enough to throw off people so they don't have a good description of him.

“Hey let’s go sit on the porch outside and smoke some weed.”

“Okay, Psycho baby. I have a pizza on the way.”

They’re sitting on the porch of his building eating pepperoni pizza from Luigi's Pizza. It’s a rinky-dink little pizza place they order from on the West Side of Chicago. The pizza man is a young African American male, medium build, maybe early to mid-20s. “Hey bro, take a break and have some pizza with us.”

“Oh, I don't know sir, we’re not allowed to; but what the hell. I never turn down weed or free food.”

“Hey pizza dude, can I see that Sun-Times for a minute?”

“Sure, no problem.” The teenage girl notices a strange look on his face as he reads and becomes concerned.

“Hey, what's the problem Psycho, what's so bad?”

“This article is about that new super intendant. Quinton Collins has been confirmed by the Chicago City Council as superintendant of police for the police department during a traditional swearing in ceremony. He takes the oath of office as the 51st police superintendent. So that damn Dudley Do-Right got the job after all.”