Abuse of Chikara (book 1) (11 page)

“Sure thing, Bill, our guy is ready to go and is expecting us.” Red would have a guy come around and gain the trust of whatever gangbangers or thugs they wanted to infiltrate. The guy would join the gang and buy them beer, or food, or pussy. Many police used some type of plant like this. The only difference was that these guys worked directly for Red. When certain guys became problematic, these plants would be given the Order to get aggressive with whatever police officers Bill wanted to send. They would roll up to talk to the gangbangers and the plant would pull out a gun and fire a badly aimed shot, missing widely. This would give the officers justification to use excessive force. Any surviving members would never talk about the plant, thinking he or she was one of their friends. Of course, they would make sure no one survived though. Bill loved that stupid ass no-snitching rule. You could easily find ways to use these silly things to your advantage. The so-called Blue Wall of silence was just as stupid and often worked to his advantage as well.

They were a few blocks away from the gas station where the punks sell drugs on Madison and Kildare. Bill decided to go over it one more time.

“So, Red, the plant knows to fire when we pull up.”

“Yes sir, Bill. He knows he has to miss badly and not hit any of us. He knows if he hits any of us well blast his ass.”

“He’s pretty sure these guys aren’t packing anything?”

“He is fairly certain they aren’t packing anything nor have any hidden guns in the area. To be on the safe side, I had a patrol car drive by here a little while ago and pat the punks down. So we should be okay.”

“Good, and he knows to get the hell out of there after the first shot and where to go?”

“Sure thing, Bill, this guy has done this for me a few times before.”

“All right then, it looks like it’s almost time to rock then. These motherfuckers have been getting uppity. Guess they think Dudley Do-Right is going to stop us from kicking their asses. Well, motherfuckers are going to start back paying their fucking rent.”

They pull into the gas station around noon. It’s a nice, warm sunny day with a large number of people around. Hot days like this would have plenty of people buying juice and ice cream from the gas station’s convenience store. Plenty of witnesses to see that these thugs opened fire first. Bill didn’t really care if innocent bystanders got hurt. It’s not that he hates people or was particularly cold-hearted. At least that’s what he tells himself. Getting ahead in this world meant stepping on others sometimes.

They exit the police vehicle and the young punks, four in all, start-cracking jokes. They think it’s going to be like all the other times when they were paying their rent on time.

“Damn CJ, I feel like a donut man. Yo hommies, the Dunkin’ Donuts is on Lake and Cicero by the green line train station. Why don’t you ladies go shove your batons up each other asses?”

Bill gives the code word, “All right, you punks, get up against the wall!” Hearing this is the plant a young black guy of medium build about 6 feet tall. He’s known as Pac Man in the hood. He’s called Pac Man because he likes wearing yellow as his primary colors and he is constantly eating. But he never seems to gain any weight, which is partly why they call him Pac Man. Pac Man starts screaming and pulls out a gun. “Fuck you pigs, I’m tired of this shit!” Pac Man pulls out a 38 and shoots at Bill, but misses badly. The other punks stand there, shocked as Pac Man takes off.

Bill fires a shot at CJ, a short young African American about five feet, eight inches with a slim build. He bloodies up CJ’s white t-shirt sending him flying. Psycho is on the left of Bill; he shoots Rey and Chunk. He puts multiple shots into these punks’ heads and chest areas. He continues to shoot them even after they are on the ground bleeding. Nothing he likes better than killing people of any race. He really did not like Rey, who thought he was tough because he was 6 feet, 10 inches tall and had been in the county jail before. Chunk’s fat ass needed to lose some weight, and now the fucking worms would help his ass with that. Dirty Red quickly plants guns on all three guys. Red had done his homework on this one pretty well. The closest camera able to record anything in the area was in the gas station. He had gotten pretty friendly with the people working in this station. The camera was out of order and wouldn’t be fixed for weeks. In any case, Red was an expert at planting guns. He could do it and never get seen by anyone, no matter if they were being recorded or not. They would call it in and go through the normal review process. Witnesses would be interviewed, forensic evidence taken, reports would be made and examined. They wouldn’t find any smoking guns to prove them wrong. All the witnesses and camera film from their own vehicle would back them up. Time to call it in and get the show on the road.

Finally, Nick was ready to start shooting his film. He had collected a group of thugs who would serve him well. All were Hispanic guys with ties to the Latin Monarchs. There were 15 guys in all. He had given five of them nicknames, which would appear on screen when they were introduced. Chopper was a large Mexican American with an axe. Saw was a skinny Mexican man with a chainsaw; Big Hombre, who favored long knives, and then Munchie and Cuervo. Nick had only given five of the 15 characters names as not to confuse the audience. These five would be front and center, and the others would be stock bad guys. They load up in a black van and head out to make his master piece.

Bill, Red and Psycho are sitting around a table in McDonald’s talking about yesterday. It’s early morning and the place hasn’t filled up yet.

“Damn, Bill, you guys blasted the fuck out those punks.”

“I gave those punks plenty of chances to pay their rent, and they just got evicted, Red.”

“Your not a bit worried about Quenton really looking into this Bill?”

“He’s got no real proof, and our friend Dudley Do-Right is going to be too busy to worry about us.” They both laugh knowing what is going to be happening soon. At the end of the table next to Bill, Psycho is shoving delicious Quarter Pounders down his throat like a starving man. He hardly stops to breath or even chew, consuming enough food for three people. Red was always embarrassed to eat out anywhere with Psycho, but Bill found Psycho’s behavior amusing. Bill thought too many people were concerned with etiquette and things that really didn’t matter instead of the big picture in our society. Psycho is pretty much oblivious to Bill and Red’s conversation. Bill was the brains, Red carried out the plans, and Psycho Boy was Bill’s crazy pit-bull. To be honest, Red was just teasing Bill a bit. He didn’t care about those thugs a bit himself, but he liked to hear Bill explain his thinking on things. He admired the way that Bill decided what he wanted and got it. Unlike other people, Bill didn’t think in terms of limits or what he couldn’t do. Bill sits there a minute and starts explaining why he doesn’t care about killing those punks or others.

“Those young punks did nothing but sit around all day selling drugs, loitering and harassing people. We did the city a favor by getting rid of those waste of flesh and bone. That bullshit about every one making the world go around is just bullshit. The world would be a better place if some motherfuckers got off. A lot of the people crying racism every time the police shot a minority wouldn’t want those motherfuckers in their house or apartment.”

Red laughs and notices Psycho get up and leave the restaurant.

“Where the hell is he going chief?”

“Don’t know, but don’t worry about it, Psycho can take care of himself.”

Psycho is heading toward the large garage shop on Lake and Cicero. Usually he doesn’t do this in uniform, but he was really in the mood right now. He enters the shop and unbuttons his shirt, rolls up his sleeves and gets to work. He grabs a sledgehammer and puts his favorite wrecking music on. He was a big Frank Sinatra fan and listened to many Sinatra tunes as he destroyed the property. He stands there in awe of the beauty of this beautiful looking car. He motions to Kim to bring him the rest of his tools so he can get started smashing a beautiful car that he had paid Kim to restore.

Kim loved seeing this crazy white boy come in. He would pay to have classic cars restored and then smash them to bits with a variety of tools. The white idiot would do this until the vehicles could no longer be repaired. Kim didn’t really care as long as the vehicle wasn’t put on fire and explosive devices weren’t used. He was a bit surprised that Psycho boy, as they called him, often played classic music when he did this rather then rap or heavy metal.

Psycho swings the heavy sledgehammer, smashing the front windshield and then the back window. Next, he goes to work on the car door windows. He grabs the jackhammer and drills holes over the entire car, making it look like Swiss cheese. Next was the chainsaw, his favorite piece of destructive equipment to use. He saws into the car at every angle possible, cutting off pieces of the body. Of course, he doesn’t spare the interior his special attention. He uses the chainsaw to cut the front and back seats in half. Sweating like a pig, nothing is left but to put the icing on the cake. He pokes holes in the tires with some type of long, sharp metal instrument. Kim really didn’t get any of it to be honest. The repair bill for this car alone could send one of his kids to college. Psycho might be crazy, but Kim wished he had a few more customers like him. Sweaty and tired, Psycho collapses at the front of the car. He really loved his black Pontiac Firebird Trans Am , and that was why he had to destroy it. He had to destroy anything he loved. He could see the bemused expressions on Kim’s face and the looks on the workers’ faces. About six guys from different races. African-American, Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian. All had different facial expressions and reactions to his little outburst. Most of these guys often cheered him on. As fun as this was, it was time to go. He had left Bill and Red back at the McDonald’s for at least 45 minutes. Psycho Boy rubs the sweat off his face, fixes his shirt, pants and heads out. Soon the producer would be making his movie and Bill needed his main guys ready to take advantage.

Bill sat in his office thinking about the events of the last few months since the producer had gotten out of prison. Dirty Red had set the man up in the old, abandoned factory. He could still have Red call it off and have the producer go someplace else or go after other targets. While no love was lost between him and this new superintendent, getting rid of him could still be problematic. He could be discovered to be involved with it in any way, shape or form. Killing the man would be the final method, but there might be an investigation, and any clues could lead back to him. Therefore, the only options was to have him get himself removed from his position or try to make some type of pact with him. He had tried his usual brown nosing. He had taken the man out to lunch a few times, and even tried to give him gifts. He had taken Quinton to an expensive restaurant two days ago to try and explain his philosophy to him. Bill had tried make the man understand how the world really worked. Quinton had refused to understand the opportunities his position afforded him to benefit. Quinton had been nonresponsive to his advice about getting ahead. The fool talked about duty, honor and self-sacrifice. He had tried every tool in his book to suck up to Quinton. He tried massaging the man’s ego whenever possible. It did not work, and did neither material gifts or money. Instead of developing a rapport with the man, things gone in the opposite direction. Quinton had put the fear of god in the white shirts. Giving them write-ups and suspensions when they violated policy. Bill knew the man suspected him of being a dirty cop, but could not prove it. He had called Bill into his office for many tense, heated conversations concerning his actions. He could not get rid of Bill without proof and hard evidence to override his strong political connections. Quinton went out of his way to exercise his authority over Bill and show him who was boss. The man was the straightest arrow Bill had ever seen in his life. There was no way they would ever see eye-to-eye or cut any deals. If he did not destroy Quinton, the man would destroy him. Bill was a deep thinker who often sat around and thought about ways to overcome problems. He could study a person and size up their weaknesses. It had taken some time, but he has begun to understand Quinton’s weaknesses. His greatest strength was his greatest weakness. He took a great deal of strength from his relationships with his family. Once that was taken away, the man would crumble emotionally and destroy himself. He picked up the phone and gave the code word to Dirty Red to allow the producer to go ahead with operation: remove Dudley Do-Right. Quinton would pay his fucking rent one way or another.

Nick couldn’t believe his luck this night. Quinton’s wife, according to his source, was staying in the area with a friend. She was actually about a mile from the factory. Seems she was staying with a friend in a small single-family home. The place was located on Lake Street and was not directly connected to any other homes. The place had an empty lot around it. The closest home was at least three blocks away. This would make the chances of them not being detected even better. He didn’t care if they got caught, but he wanted enough time to finish the film.

They parked the black van on a side street and snuck over to the back yard of the house. He has the element of surprise, a good crew and all the streetlights were out. The power being out is not an uncommon thing between Lake, Cicero and Pulaski. Nick didn’t know if it was a blackout, rolling blackout or a brownout or something. The power seemed to be on in this home or maybe they had a back-up generator for power. That it had happened this night was another sign to him that he would ultimately succeed. Saw begins cutting around the lock on the back door, destroying it in minutes. Big Hombre kicks the door in and they all rush inside. They were inside of a small back porch area with a few stairs leading up to another door. Saw cuts this door open as well, cutting around the locks rather than the entire door. It was a little tip Nick had learned when shooting another one of his films. They finally enter the home going through the kitchen. He leaves two guys to guard this door and to make sure no one escapes. They split up and search the house.