Abuse of Chikara (book 1)

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Abuse of Chikara

Abuse of Chikara

Stanley Cowens

Copyright © 2015 Stanley Cowens

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Abuse of Chikara

Three of them are driving down the West Side, home of Chicago’s mean streets. Some called them the Wrecking Crew. To others they were called the Jump out Boys or the name Bill liked the most, the Landlords. They were so called the Landlords because they made thugs, gangsters, prostitutes, pimps, and others, pay to ply their craft on the streets of Chicago. They were better known around the city as Wild Bill, Psycho Boy and Dirty Red. Three of the most crooked cops to grace the city of Chicago.

Wild Bill was the leader of the group, he preferred the midnight shift honestly. There were fewer witnesses and many cameras had poor visibility when it is dark.

Bill knew it would be just a matter of time before they found a few of their favorite marks: drug dealers, pimps, and any known associates of punk gangsters. These were good targets because you could do could get away with robbing and assaulting a known felon. What judge would believe a criminal with a long rap sheet over a good honest cop?

See, Bill knew how to play the masses and come out looking like a hero. He had spent years taking classes and earning physiology degrees. Better yet, he had spent a few years in the Army as a second lieutenant, and he knew how to play people. It had not only given him experience in leading, but also how to manipulate people into getting them to do or think the way he wanted. He had learned a lot of things as a soldier in Iraq.

A man could learn a lot in war about people and the way they thought.

The Iraqi police were brutal and hard, but people did not care as long as they were safe and secure. Bill had taken that lesson and applied it to his police work ever since. The people of Chicago did not give a damn about him beating the dog shit out of a few thugs, and stealing their money, as long as they were safe and safety is what Bill and his crew offered, more so than any politician, honest cop, preacher or just about anyone else.

It was 3 a.m. It was a lovely moonlit night with few people around; a perfect night to collect some rent money. That is what Bill called it anyway. Any thug selling around the Crazy K's had to pay rent. This particular group of guys standing on the corner were late with their rent payments and were about to get evicted Wild Bill style. Three of them were on the corner now selling their poison to anybody that wanted it. They parked the car at the curb step out and identify themselves as cops. Bill stepped forward and stared at one of the thugs’eye-to-eye. Bill is a big black man about six feet 10 inches tall. He is heavy set with a muscular body. Years of working out and practicing martial arts had given him an incredibly intimidating physique.

“All right gentlemen, since you have not paid your rent this month you're getting your punk asses from this corner right now,” says Bill.

Psycho and Dirty Red began their search of the three thugs, directing them to stand up against the wall with their legs spread. A quick search turns up drugs, several switchblades and at least $5,000 in cash. Bill does not even want to waste the time taking these punks in. Better to let them set up shop someplace else close in the area so they can rob then again. Then one of the punks says something that pisses him off. It was the fat one wearing gray sweatpants and a white shirt, who is about six feet 1 inch.

“Man, if you take off that gun and badge, I would kick your fucking ass!”

Psycho Boy and Dirty Red laugh at the same time. These fools do not know what they just got themselves involved in. Bill lets out a deep, throaty laugh that sounds more like something coming out of a monster in a horror movie than a man. Bill smirks and responds to the fat thug wearing grey sweat pants.

“All right, I will take that challenge then. I will fight each of you one by one. If you beat me, you get to keep all your stuff and we will leave you alone for the rest of the year. If I win, we take everything, including your shiny brand-new car.”

The other two quickly agree to this proposal. They are stronger and more in shape than the fat thug. From their rap sheets, Bill knew the other two had been in jail before and had buffed up a bit. Their strength was a plus, but a trained fighter who knew how to utilize that power to full effect would always win out. The fat one with sweat- pants and a white t-shirt went first. He threw a right hook at Bill, which he quickly blocked with his left arm. Bill struck him in the gut as hard as he could, doubling fat boy over on his knees. A right knee to fat boy's face put him on the ground bleeding. The pig still has not learned his lesson and is on his back with his hands trying to stop blood streaming out of his nose. The overweight idiot is still cursing at Bill and saying how he is going to fuck him up. Bill proceeds to start stomping the shit out of him. Fat boy is rolling around on the ground trying to get up or protect his face and vital parts from Bill’s feet. Bill is hitting the fat thug’s face, back, hands, head, legs and every other part of his body. Pork boy finally gives up, stops moving, and starts whimpering like a dog while begging for mercy.

Next up is thug number two. He is about Bill’s height, with a similar build and complexion. This guy is younger than the other two and in his mid-20s.

Bill already knows how this is going to go down. Thinking he is strong because he crushed iron in prison, this person will try to wrestle him as if he were in the WWE or something. He charges at Bill, who suddenly moves out of the way and grabs him by the neck. He is a strong one all right, so Bill makes the odds more even. He kicks the thug’s legs out from under him, sending him to the ground. Bill then puts his foot on the young thug’s head. Bill proceeds to break the thug’s arm. All you hear is a wet snap like a chicken bone breaking. The punk cries like a little bitch, and he does not put up any fight after that. He does not talk any shit and is quick to give up. Guess at least one of these people has a bit of sense.

Thug number three is about five feet 10 inches with a medium build and a light brown complexion. He attacks. The fool charges straight at Bill and throws a wild right cross. Bill moves over to the right, grabs the punk’s arm, pulls the man to him and gives him a powerful uppercut. The blow is so powerful that it quickly stuns the man and has him reeling backwards. Bill grabs the punk’s arms and wraps both of his legs around the punk’s head, crossing both legs around his neck and head. He pulls the thug to the ground. Bill gets up quickly, pulls the punk up off the concrete, and throws a series of left jabs to the punk’s face, followed by a right hook. All the punches connect, leaving the punk bleeding and reeling backwards. Next, Bill gives a quick kick to the punk’s stomach, sending him flying back into the mud. Punk 3

is lying on the ground for at least two minutes, dazed. However, he finally gets up again and starts hurling profanities at Bill.

Guess only one of them had the slightest bit of sense. He loved how gang-bangers and thugs thought talking shit and, being loud meant that were hard-core. Talk alone did not amount to shit and many of these young punks did not understand that. Without a weapon in their hands, most of them were as weak as a kitten. Their strength and health had long since been sapped by drugs alcohol and eating unhealthy foods. Thug three finally gets his unsteady body to respond, runs towards Bill and throws a series of wild punches, which Bill dodges using his extensive training in boxing. Dodging and weaving as if he were a professional fighter, Bill gives punk three two body blows, a punch to the solar plexus and an uppercut, knocking him out. For fun, Bill decided to knock the other two out as well. He grabs the other two one by one and gives them a quick series of blows to the head.

Psycho and Dirty Red gather up the drugs and money. Bill considers arresting the punks for a second, but decides against it; he would rather keep the car. It is a beautiful car and Bill's favorite color, blue. He likes the looks of the blue Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. He could keep it, sell it, or have it chopped up. Psycho and Dirty Red gather the three men in one spot. Psycho Boy unzips his pants, pulls out his dick and pisses on the three thugs. Damn, extra large Seven Up drinks at Burger King will do it every time. Hope these guys like waking up with the King. The long stream of yellow fluid has the desired effect. He gets it on their faces, down their noses and in fat boy’s mouth. It certainly wakes them up better than an alarm clock. He has been holding a full bladder for a long time.

“All right,” Bill says in a loud voice. “Get the fuck up and go in the house!”

Bill loves barking out orders. He has got a loud voice suited for it.

Back in Iraq, he would find some quiet place and practice yelling in a mirror. He would even make angry faces and facial expressions. He would often- times try them out on the soldiers under his command to see which ones worked best. He was doing his best, I am the general and you are the cannon fodder soldiers nobody gives a shit about voice now.

“We’re keeping the money, drugs, and the damn car! You motherfuckers want to sell drugs in this spot again; you had better have our fucking rent money next time!”

Bill and Psycho Boy got in the police Charger and drove off. Dirty Red takes the thug’s car; he knows what to do with it.

Dirty Red is driving down Cicero and Lake. There is a little chop shop masquerading as a garage and the guy running the joint is named Kenneth, but everybody calls him Ken or Crazy K for short. Ken is a short Japanese man five-foot, 6-inch, small frame. He is 50 years old with black hair and black eyes. Ken is wearing his gray overalls that he never seems to take off.

Dirty Red sometimes wonders if he has 20 pairs of the things. You would never figure Ken was as crooked as they come from his demeanor. He was always laughing smiling, and telling jokes. Red always thought he would have made a real good politician. Red and Ken go way back and have been friends for years.

They both share the same dislike of White people, and both loved drugs and heavy drinking; both even shared the same woman back in the day. Red loved orgies and partying even now. In fact, an orgy is how they had both met years ago. They had become good friends and the friendship was going strong. Ken always gave Red a good price on the vehicles he brought in, and Ken was a pro at chopping cars up. Of course he had legitimate customers as well and generally was a damn good mechanic, but ran his illegal business on the side. Red took the money thanked Ken and walked off heading south. He had left his police car two blocks from here. He would split the money three ways with Bill and Psycho Boy. Being a cop had its advantages. He did not really care about law and order, to be honest. He had become a cop just so he could fuck with White people and get away with it.

Dirty Red was Native American and damn proud of it. He had always wished he could go back to the time when Whites had first come to this land and fought against them. He had always dreamed of killing the white invaders with his bow and arrows and axe as a child. White kids played cowboys and Indians; he had played Indians and cowboys. Red traced his heritage back to the Hunkpapa of the Lakota Sioux tribe. He would have been right there fighting with Sitting Bull against the white invaders. He has often had violent dreams about killing white people. As a matter of fact, he was having one now. He had been sitting in the parking lot of his favorite liquor store, smoking weed before dozing off in his hot car, the sun beaming down on him. Red knew he was dreaming even in his impaired state. Everything was gray, the clouds, street, and even buildings were gray. The only thing in color was the people who were walking around. Red was walking down the street in the dream in Oak Park around Madison and Mason. He got off the train carrying a large black bag. He opened the bag and pulled out a shotgun and, then starts firing at every white person he sees. A headshot to an old lady, a shot to some random chick’s back. Even the children are not spared. Did they spare any of the Native American children they stole this land from Red thinks? Dirty Red is carrying a large amount of ammo and reloads again and again. He has killed about 70 people now.

Women are crying, people are screaming, and police sirens are going off. Red does not even spare the white police in his dreams. Switching over to his M-16, he lets police vehicles have it as well. The relentless stream of machine- gunfire sends multiple police cars swerving off the roads into buildings, other cars and even innocent bystanders. Red is about to reload his gun when he is awakened suddenly from his dreams by loud laughing and giggling. A group of white teenagers is pointing at Red making obscene gestures at him. There were three girls, two guys, all white. Red became pissed off to no end. Not only did they wake him up from his favorite dream, but also they have the nerve to disrespect him and to add insult to injury, they are white. Red takes the license plates, and vehicle make down. He could easily run the plates and get all the information he needed.