Abuse of Chikara (book 1) (30 page)

He actually grew to respect the pastor somewhat. He had no intention of reforming, but anything to keep out of prison or jail was good. Once he finished the program, he would move somewhere else and start some trouble elsewhere.The local cops thought they were involved with other home thefts, but could not prove anything. He and his boys would never give up any information to the flatfoots. He knew the cops would be watching them, and they often stopped by to see how they were doing. This, plus the parole officers, he had to deal with. He’d be walking down the street and a patrol car would follow him around keeping an eye on him. They were waiting for him or the others to screw up.

He met Bill through his father. Bill may have been a black guy, but he was into the same stuff they were into. Years later Bill talked him into joining the Army and they ran all kinds of drug deals and shit together. When Bill became a police sergeant he asked him to come join in the fun. They went way back. He turned on his favorite rock band, the Portland Cement, and thought back to how they used to get permission to leave the base and go find prostitutes and weed to smoke. Bill was the main reason he listened to rap music or what was considered black music. Although Bill listened to pretty much all types of music. The man spoke a number of languages, so he could understand the Asian singers he listened to. He thought back to one of the incidents that had helped Bill get his name Wild Bill. Bill got drunk one time, went into a bar and made a bet for $10,000 American dollars that no one could take him down in a fistfight. The Afghani people were happy to take him up on the bet. Bill must have spent half an hour body slamming, kicking, punching, and doing every martial arts move in the book. When he was done over 30 men lay on the ground, unconscious or in pain. The people in the bar simply cheered him on. The fool had put on some type of black leather face mask with eye holes. He had taken off his Army uniform as well to make it harder to identify him. Fights with locals was not something the Army welcomed or wanted. He did not even take the money the men had put up to challenge them. The bar owner was paid for all damages and they left just like that.

Those were good times. Bill may have been a black guy, but they had so much in common. He thought about all the fun they had as kids. Bill used to wait until his mother got drunk, and get her to hand over hundreds of dollars. Then they would go find prostitutes and get some beer. Bill had an older friend whose house they could use for the purposes of screwing and drinking as long as they paid for the drinks and prostitutes. The system worked as far as Big Al was concerned. Even then he knew Bill was a different type of guy. The dude always seemed to have a plan to make money somehow and not get caught. He felt a bit sorry for Bill now that many of his ambitions were ruined. He was sure that Wild Bill would find some new way to come back on top. Now it was time to figure out where their ambush of Quinton would take place, and how they would avoid civilian casualties. It also had to be a place were they could have some good locations to snipe from. As soon as he found a suitable location, he would have to figure out how to get Quinton there. Dudley Do-Right no doubt knew he had something to do with his sister’s death, considering he had killed and tortured all the other guys involved in the incident. Considering this guy was hell-bent on revenge that part would not be a big problem. Maybe he could fill Bill’s old spot as superintendent. He had the age and experience to do the job. He was also a highly decorated cop. Psycho Boy had been in the news as of late because of all the crimes he had stopped in progress. It’s almost like the man knew when the crime would happen before they did happen. Unfortunately, Psycho Boy was still too young to be considered for such a post. The idiot had really seemed more focused as of late. If and when he got Bill’s job, maybe Psycho could be one of his main guys if he kept up the good work.

Sitting back at his underground hideout, Quinton watched multiple TV programs about Bill and his troubles. This is one of the few times Quinton spent his entire day watching TV and reading the paper. There are so many articles about Bill, it’s amazing how the media loves tearing a well-known person down. Bill was always a media darling, mugging for the cameras. The good cop working the tough beats. The punk-ass bastard was getting roasted alive months after the DVD had been released to the public. There were rumors about other underage girls. Of course, they were not true.But it was fun to have the Carpenter put out false information through his informants and contacts to pile on Bill’s suffering. He still had trouble getting to Bill because of the man in white. The Asian man was always around and was even acting as one of Bill’s lawyers. Even in court the man wore his white suits with blue highlights. He had to admit that the man was a very good lawyer. It did not matter, though, as he was not trying to get Bill imprisoned. He just wanted to fuck with him and ruin what he cared about the most, his good name. No longer would he be “Bill the Hero” or “Bill the Savior” to the people of Chicago. Sooner or later he would figure out how to get Bill and his buddy Big Al.

A story in the newspaper did catch his eye. Someone, most likely a man, was killing young black men in upscale neighborhoods, but had also killed a few in poor neighborhoods.. In all of the cases the men had the initials “GZ” written on them or their clothing. There was always a bag of Skittles left on the body as well.The media had taken to calling the murderer “the rainbow coated killer” It was most likely the work of some white supremacist or maybe even a self-hating American of African descent. The fact that all of the murders were done out of view of any camera suggested the person had knowledge of what cameras were in the area. What was even more interesting is that no police cameras in the areas had picked up anything. It may be possible that the person was connected to the police somehow. Maybe an ex-officer or a police informant maybe. Over a dozen victims and not one attack caught on camera.

Quinton had a strong hatred of racist people and never hesitated to correct anyone making racist remarks. It did not matter whether the person was white, black, Asian or other. He had never subscribed the racist views that people accepted, and dated or hung out with people of any race. Hating someone because of the color of their skin made him sick. He would take a break from hunting Bill, and the Street Captains, to go after the rainbow coated candy killer. Unlike the forensics team, he did not have to waste time trying to find clues at the scene of the crime. No looking for hair fibers, body fluids or clothing fibers. All he would need is some blood from one of the victims. Granted, one of the victims actually saw the killer’s face before his death. At least the person’s viewpoint of what happened might shed some more light on the incidents. The victims were usually killed up close by being shot or stabbed. This one had been shot at almost point-blank range. He would contact one of his informants still left in the criminal justice field, who would help him out with information.

Susan Shingothe was the supervisor for the police crime lab. Quenton always had mixed feelings about a crime lab being financed by the police. Too often he had seen prosecutors try to influence the finding of the lab technicians. He remembered one prosecutor forcing lab techs to run a particular test over and over, until the results were more favorable. He’d always felt justice was served better when no part of the criminal process could be called into question. They spent so much time documenting evidence properly. Most police departments had a record of every person who handled evidence and tried to store it properly. Why jeopardize that by playing with results of test? Furthermore, the idea was to seek out justice, not get whatever poor SOB charged at any cost. He had seen too many prosecutors chase cases that they should really drop when the evidence did not support it. He had not been a fan of many prosecutors in his time to be honest. Though he did have a soft spot for Aneja Patron. She was a prosecutor interested in justice. Perhaps this straight-laced Hispanic woman might be someone he could form an alliance with in the future. Since he had sold his soul, he should make the most out of his time on earth. Working with someone with that level of authority could be beneficial to him. He would have to figure out how to go about convincing her that even though his actions were wrong, his motives were not. He had dealt with the woman in his past as superintendent. She was not someone who thought the ends justified the means. It would be difficult, as she would see him as just another thug. It would be difficult, but worth the risk. At some point in the future, he would make the attempt if he was still alive.

It was good that Susan did not take every story in the news at face value, and made up her own mind about things. She had accepted his explanations about his motives and why he did what he did. Mostly she was not some bleeding heart like he was at one time. As long as he kept killing corrupt cops and thugs on the street, she would keep helping him. It was dangerous meeting him considering all the heat on him. If she were found out, her career running any crime lab would be over. Not to mention, she would end up in prison for helping a known fugitive. Meeting him on on Lake Street at night in the cold was more than he could ask. The cold weather gave him an excuse to wear a scarf over his face and cover up in concealing clothing. Susan did the same. They did not stop to exchange greetings or talk about old times. They both slowed down and she quickly passed a vial to him, which he pushed into his coat pocket quickly. Neither of them stopped or acknowledged the other as they went their separate ways. He would have to give her a nice gift for Christmas. After all, she was an old, heavyset white woman in her 60s coming out in biting cold to commit crimes, helping him. Yeah, she had earned an excellent Christmas present. He was quickly back in his hideout studying the small vial of blood. Sitting back in a beat up old recliner someone had thrown out, he leaned back. Once he’d cleaned up and restored it a bit, it was not so bad. You could find out how to do pretty much anything on the internet these days. He had no previous experience fixing furniture and was not some handyman. He could fix a few things, but he seemed to understand things better now. He could watch or read instructions on anything and do it well. He had repaired some computers watching online instructions. This was not something he was able to do in the past. Maybe he would explore his abilities in this regard more once Bill was dead.

Sitting back in his chair, he downs the blood. Like last time, the experience was surreal. He might never get used to seeing memories through another person’s view point. He was walking to a gas station late at night and buys some junk food. Walking home, a tall man about 6 foot, 9 inches with a muscular build starts walking behind him quickly. He experiences panic at this man’s presence. He is like something out of a horror movie like the tall man from Phantasm or Jason from Friday the13th. This man has a menacing aura. With these memories it was more than just experiencing memories, rather he felt the person’s emotions as well. He felt the terror as the young man started to run to no avail. The tall, muscular man easily overtook him and wrestled him to the ground with little effort. Soon the large man was holding him down and aiming a gun at him. Three shots later he felt his life fading away. Before he died the man took out a bag of Skittles candy and poured the contents on his chest and lower stomach. This was the main reason they had dubbed the killer the rainbow killer. He was fading out when the man started carving something into his forehead. As he knew from the police reports, this had been the initials GZ. No one knew what these stood for. The tall, muscular man took off the mask he was wearing. Some type of black and red mask. It looked like something a Mexican wrestler would wear. The young man, seconds from dying, briefly studied the man’s face, which seemed to be Hispanic. Then the memories were over and he was back in his chair once again. He sat there for a few minutes, still disturbed by the experience. He had killed people before, but it was another thing to experience death through the eyes of another person. At least he knew that the killer was Hispanic, tall and muscular. What was the connection to Skittles candy though? Pretty much all of the young men killed had no criminal records, and they did not seem to have much in common except race and age group. He would mediate and think on the images more, and start investigating tomorrow.

Using his perfect memory, he had a sketch artist make up a picture resembling the man he saw in the young kid’s memories. This computer artist was provided by the Carpenter. This man was proving to be very useful. Of course he always was, but now his help was even more important since he did not have many of the resources he once did. He would have the Carpenter’s people looking for this man. The Carpenter would come up with some type of cover story as to why they were looking for him. In this day and age, computers were so advanced that you could find people this way as well. The computer artist was also running some type of programs that might locate this person’s name and address using his picture. Of course, this could take hours or even days. He would go and check out the crime scene. Maybe he could find some evidence the police had missed. It was not unheard of for vital clues to go unnoticed.

The young African American man had gone to a gas station convenience store in the area. Most of the crimes had taken place around the West Side of Chicago near the Crazy K’s, Kildare, Kilbourn and Kedzie. Checking out this particular convenience store, he did not notice anything unusual. Most likely the killer was maybe someone who frequented the place. There were so many customers going and coming that he could have easily gone unnoticed. The rainbow killer or rainbow-flavored monster as someone in the black community called him, had killed many around different gas stations. However, it seemed that the police were not doing all that much to investigate the crimes. It was possible that the killer was a police officer or a former cop. They would have to do something at some point, of course, to show that they gave a shit about the black community. However, he wanted to get to the punk first. He purchased a few bags of chips that he munched on as he scanned the area around the gas station for clues. His enhanced eyesight meant that he did not have to move around all that much to get a close-up look.