Abuse of Chikara (book 1) (3 page)

It is 12 midnight on the dot, and they stopped the modified bus and departed it. Psycho goes up to the front door and blasts off the lock with his breach-loading shotgun. Other tactical special weapons and tactics officers would be doing the same. The back and side doors were shot off around the same time. Bill had decided against tear gas, as he wanted a firefight. As a matter of fact, everything done here was being done to assure that would happen. No-knock warrants had a much higher chance of conflict, even with normal people, much less heavy armed thugs. The informant had given them very good information about the weapons these people carried, and even took pictures.

Psycho was inside now being fired upon and was returning fire. He switched over to his m1911 pistol and shot one thug in the head and another in the neck. Swat officers were all over the house, giving orders for people to get down on the ground. They were checking every room, nook and cranny. Psycho headed upstairs to check the top floor. Running up the stairs, he sees something out of the corner of his left eye and ducks instinctively. Some thug shoots where his head was a second ago. Psycho shoots him in the stomach twice and once in the chest. Other Swat team members come up the stairs and Psycho directs them to check the other rooms. There are two Hispanic-looking women on the floor crying. Psycho shoots both of them in the head, chest and stomach. One was an older looking heavyset woman, maybe in her mid-50s. The other is a younger girl, maybe in her early 30s with a medium-sized frame. Both look alike and are most likely related. He goes into the bathroom across from the bedroom and quickly kicks the door open. He shoots a teenage boy in the chest. The boy falls back into the tub, splashing water everywhere. Seems he had been in the process of taking a bath. He would not have to worry about ever being clean again thinks Psycho. He goes around the house shooting four more people. An officer goes after him placing a gun in people’s hand after Psycho shoots them. The funny thing is most of the guns did actually belong to these thugs and already had their fingerprints on them. Their informant told them that they had gotten most of the guns from a crooked dealer.

Finally, mostly Psycho Boy alone disposes of 10 more people. “All right, bring me the so-called Beast over here,” says Bill.

“Sure thing, Bill,” one-officer responds.

“All right, Beast, this is just a little taste of what happens when you get out of line. From now on, play ball or we will be back to take care of business again,” Bill says.

The ambulances are on their way and so is the cleanup crew. “Let’s book this animal and go home for the night.”

Psycho is driving home for the night and stops off at the local McDonald’s drive-thru to get something to eat. Of course, it is surrounded by the local low lives at 5:30 a.m. These people include drug addicts, prostitutes and the homeless. A few cars are going through the drive-thru with their loud energetic kids.

“Mommy look that man is crying in his car” says a small young white girl.

“Mind your manners, Monica, that man must be mentally ill. It's not nice to point dear.”

Psycho pulls up to the drive-thru window to order his customary meal.

“Hi, my name is Charice; how may I help you today?”

Can I get four Quarter Pounders, small fries, and a large 7 Up?”

“Are you all right, sir?”

“I'm fine; I just have real bad allergies.”

“If you say so, sir that will be $12, okay.”

He pulls out of the drive-through and rides down Madison Street, heading west. He does not feel like going home, so he pulls into the driveway of a large Laundromat to finish his food. Some homeless looking guy in dirty-looking clothing walks up toward the driver side seat. Psycho goes for his gun. This guy probably just wants some cash, but you never know.

“Yo bro, can you spare a buck or two, you all right man? Why are you crying? Your woman leave you or something?”

“I'm fine, here’s $20, my man.”

The bum walks off to get something to drink at the liquor store across the street. Psycho turns on the ignition and pulls out of the lot to go home for the night. It will feel good to go to sleep in his king-sized bed while watching one of his favorite cable shows: Punked. He does not even take off his clothing or shoes. He just hops into the bed, pulls up the covers and drift into sleep in a few minutes. Psycho wakes up in the morning, gets some coffee and sits down to read the Chicago Sun-Times. Damn, he just woke up a few minutes ago and he is bored already. He almost hates having off days, but the body does need some rest now and then. He is bored, so he decides to go to the local library on Madison and Addams. He puts on a fake beard, mustache, wig and his fake foam belly, which he ordered on-line weeks ago. He goes into the library, gets on the computer, and begins watching porn, of course, with the volume turned up loud as possible.

Laughing too much, he is thrown out by the library security guard and walks down the street. He picks up his baseball bat that he has hidden in an alley. He proceeds to break the window of at least four cars and runs away laughing like some classic cartoon villain when he runs away. Psycho runs into an alley a few blocks away, and jumps into his police vehicle parked there; he pulls off the costume he is wearing. He hears the call on his police radio a few minutes later and answers it.

“Psycho to base, I am in the area. I will take that call. Psycho heads back to the library and talks to the African American security guard on duty there. Man this homeless looking white dude came in here watching porn and broke the windows on all these cars the guy says.

“What did he look like, sir?”

“He was about five feet 10 inches with a beer belly an Afro, black glasses and blue jeans with a black shirt.”

Psycho talks with the manager and takes down the make and registration of each vehicle before talking with the people who handle the finger printing and such. He goes back home laughing; once again he has gotten away with some real funny shit.

Bill loves jogging early in the morning when it is still dark. About 4 a.m. is his favorite time and jogging at the Tilton Playground Park alone helps him clear his head. He likes jogging on grass or a treadmill rather than concrete, as jogging is tough on the joints and concrete can easily help you get shin splits. Tilton Playground Park is a small park near Lake, and Cicero with two basketball courts, and a swing set for the kids; a black fence surrounds it. Bill also likes this park because it is a place where many dealers sell and people go to get their fixes. It is a good place to shake down drug dealers and even shake down the buyers. He and some of the guys banged a number of young, thick white chicks rather than taking them to jail. He usually meets a few of the sergeants here in the morning; they trade information about events going on in the force, and problems that have to be dealt with. This morning he was talking to Etsuko, a young-looking middle age Asian female who had been a sergeant for years before Bill even joined the force. She is in better with the white shirts than even Bill is, and gets information before even he does. Bill made it a point to get in bed with Etsuko, literally and recognizing her as a powerful force for helping him achieve his plans within the force.

“Bill, we may have a problem with this new police superintendent, who’s taking over at the end of the year. This guy been an officer before, unlike that FBI guy we have now, but he is strait-laced and is already talking about cleaning the department up,” says Etsuko.

“I make it my business to keep up with all the possible replacements that could get the position, but I did not know who would be picked,” says Bill. “I am not going to let some Dudley Do-Right looking motherfucker ruin what I got going on here, baby.”

“What the white shirts got to say about this shit? Most of them are ready to retire, Bill, and do not give a fuck; and it is up to the mayor anyway. Haven’t I done enough favors for that asshole to get somebody in place who will play ball said Bill? The mayor is tired of all the negative press, Bill, especially in an election year, so he needs a person like this. Bill thought for a minute and started talking again. In the Army, they taught us to stay calm and come up with multiple solutions to problems. This guy is just another problem that needs to be solved. I will dig up what I can on this guy and see what I can do to get rid of him; and then I will get somebody in place who will play ball. This is my fucking city, and anybody who wants to do business here had better learn to pay their fucking rent no matter who they think they are! How about you stop by and come see me later? I'm off work today, and we can go see a movie and have dinner.”

Bill does not refuse as Etsuko is hot as hell, and he is a people person who understands the need to socialize to get things done in society. That’s' what separates those who know how to play the system and those who do not. How many unqualified people are unqualified in our society to have the position or jobs that they hold, but they have them regardless? Nepotism could be a powerful tool if used right, and besides, Etsuko is a hot Japanese woman more than willing to put out. Who would turn down sleeping with a 5-foot, 9-inch buxom Asian woman? Everybody had to pay their rent money, but rent money came in different forms to Bill. It could be money, sex, material goods, land, or even respect. This superintendent, Mr. Dudley Do-Right was going to pay his rent one way or another.

Nick, the producer, loved making his films; and to him they were a work of art. Never mind that his actors acted out many of the most violent scenes. He could recall back in the day when he had first started writing his first movie script about a Mexican gangster named Aranya. He had gone to film school to learn his craft at the age of 37, but found it somewhat lacking. Yes, he had learned to use a camera, write scripts, work with actors, and made contacts in the film industry. He had directed a few films and at least two big-budget movies, but he found the experience tiring. Where to start on the things he hated, big-name actors who whined about everything, stupid producers meddling with his scripts, and the rating system that forced him to edit the heart out of his films. He had gone to Mexico after film school and hooked up with a Mexican drug cartel to help finance a film about a local drug kingpin. He was shocked at the brutality of these drug dealers, but being there, and filming acts of violence had a profound effect on him. No longer did he have to pull emotions out of actors or worry about a budget, stupid producers or a rating system.

He released his films on DVDs for free and at YouTube. He never cared about money as he came from a wealthy family to begin with. Being born with a silver spoon in your mouth had its advantage to be sure. He had hated how some of those no-talent hacks in Hollywood had rewritten his scripts robbing them of their heart and soul. It had started with the Latin Monarchs paying him, now he paid them to be in his films. They were very eager to rape, murder or kill for money, not to mention being in the films spread the fear and notoriety of their gangs. Of course, the Mexican government did not like them, but the right payments to the right people took care of that. His violent films were well-known in Mexico, but something of an underground sensation in the United States of America. His fans had started calling him “Nick the producer” or simply just the producer. Many saw his films as works of art, and some were just excited to be watching something taboo by many. Nick was, however, getting a bit bored shooting in the same locations in Mexico, China and parts of Africa. He really wanted to shoot something in the United States, but it would not be so easy to get away with there. Certain elements in the American government was crooked, but not as corrupt as the places he shot at; and even gobs of cash wouldn't erase the risk of prison if caught. That is what enticed him about shooting there, the threat of being caught. Nick gets the same feeling from shooting his films that people had when having sex in public or tagging buildings with graffiti and other similar activates. Nick was not the type of person that looked like he did such things to other people. He was five-foot, 11-inches tall with an athletic build and a face that looked like anybody. The fact that most people could not recall what he looked like had worked to his favor a number of times in the past though.

Psycho is walking to the closest cemetery in the area thinking about his past life in Mexico. He was a teenage hit man in Mexico and called loco boy for some time until they finally started calling him Psycho Boy. His signature was cutting off people’s heads. Some people were kidnapped by the cartels, doped up on drugs, and forced into becoming teenage hit men. Psycho had sought them out and joined them willingly. He enjoyed getting high and killing people. Cutting off heads was a fun job in his opinion. Killing his abusive adopted father had awakened a joy in him that he never knew existed. Perhaps abusing others was only perpetuating the cycle of violence, or perhaps it was his way of getting back at his adoptive father somehow. He did not just cut off the heads, though; he often kept some of them and talked to them about a number of topics of the day. It was not unusual to see him talking to a head about politics, religion, the war on drugs or any number of personal problems. If you kept organs refrigerated properly, they could be maintained for a good amount of time.

As Josh handed him a joint, he snapped out of his reflections of the past and remembered where he was. The local cemetery was one of his favorite places to unwind with his friend Josh. They had got drunk here a number of times and even fucked prostitutes here a few times. Psycho believed that people lingered around their graves for three days before leaving this earth. When they got high, he would often see people rising out of their graves. The spirits would be of all races, creeds and colors; Psycho was not a racist guy and would hang with any of them. Some of his best nights had been spent smoking weed and drinking with various spirits here. He did refuse to give any of the children alcohol or drugs, though, no point in stunting their growth even if they were dead.

Josh looks at Psycho and sees his somewhat depressed expression. “What’s wrong dude you seem kind of down today?”