Abuse of Chikara (book 1) (22 page)

They were both white males with medium builds and brown hair. Their father was a legend on the force for handling dangerous situations. Quinton had never met the man as he worked in another station in his time as police superintendent. The man may have been corrupt, but had never let anyone find out what he was doing then. His sons had been easy enough to find. His contacts in the force said they liked to hangout at a predominantly black club named the Casual Encounter. His contact in the force could not tell him what happened to his sister. It would not matter as he would know soon enough. The Street Captains were a great source of income. Too bad he had not robbed them back in his earlier days. He had taken over $1,000 from two he'd killed yesterday. The store he had brought his $300 suit with their money would appreciate their sacrifice. He paid $200 to grease the guy’s palm at the front door and he was in.

Quinton had never been much of a club-type of guy even when he was younger. The noise, fights and nonsense had turned him off. The loud thumping music was giving him a throbbing headache. Even with ear plugs the noise bothered him. He hated loud noise, but it bothered him now more than usual. He wondered if this had something to do with his increased hearing. Perhaps his hearing was more sensitive now. He ignored the pain and mingled, keeping the brothers within sight. The trick was to see them without them seeing him. His stylish blue fedora hat helped a bit. The fact that they were both drunk and not paying attention helped also. Seems the brothers had a thing for chocolate. Nothing wrong with liking a little coffee in their cream. He waited patiently for over an hour. Soon his patience was rewarded. One of the brothers left the club with a thick sister. Using a car he had borrowed from a Street Captain, he tailed them. At this time of night there were not many people out on the streets. He pulled in front of James Billington’s car, cutting him off. Ofcourse the fool got out of the car screaming that he was a police officer and he would bust his ass. He walked up to the fool and stood eye-to-eye with him. Even this close, the man did not seem to recognize him. The alcohol and whatever else he was on could easily be affecting his mind. The fool certainly smelt like weed. Quinton had never done drugs, but knew what they smelt like and the effects on people. “Buddy, you don’t want any of this. Move on before I kick your black ass!”

“Oh no, sir. I definitely want some of this. As a matter of fact, I want all of it.”

Quinton punched James in the stomach, doubling him over. A quick punch to the head sends him to bed. He expected the female passenger to scream or make a commotion, but she just sat their staring at them. She kept squinting and did not seem to be fully cognizant. No doubt, she was stoned out of her mind as well. He did not bother knocking her out as there seemed little point. Throwing his prize in the back seat of his stolen vehicle, he pulled off. He drove for about five minutes and stopped by the nearest sewer cover. He then gives the car to a homeless man who is happy to take it for a spin. Climbing down into the sewer he escapes off into the underground. He did not care if they traced the car to him eventually. He just wanted a day at least alone with his prisoner. This ability to see other people’s memories seemed to leave him vulnerable, which was something he could not really afford at the moment.

Back in his hideout, he begins to question his prisoner. He already knew the man was a corrupt cop. He would not be walking out of here alive. He did want to try and question him the old-fashioned way before tasting his blood. He could have done it in reverse, but there was always a chance the fool could get free. In his memories watching state he would be easy prey for anyone. At the very least the idiot might get free, and tell people where he was. He would have to leave this nice hideout and find another place.

Here Psycho boy was thinking about his childhood growing up in Mexico. It has been a pretty crazy childhood for a kid. His weird journey may have started off with his mother. His mother had always wanted a daughter. She had made that clear to him repeatedly over the years. Wanting a child of a certain gender was not abnormal among parents. His mother refused to accept this.She had treated him like a little girl early on. She went so far as to make him wear dresses. He was even taught to walk like a girl and had the mannerisms down very well. As a child even his room was pink and his bed was decorated with cartoon characters popular with young girls. Psycho did not have a masculine build and could pass very easily for any woman if he wore female clothing. As he got older he refused the female identity his mother had created and started acting like a young man. He had started hanging with Mexican gangbangers to become tough. Many in school or the general area they lived in thought he was actually a girl. When he started dressing like a boy many teased him and began to bully him. Joining a gang was his way of becoming a man and getting respect from those around him. Even as a young boy he was shocked at the power working for thugs had given him. No more taking shit off people and being bullied. He was doing the bullying now. Mexican gangsters were more than happy to employ kids to do their dirty work. He started out doing low-level grunt work, but soon moved up to the rough stuff. It was in the service of a Mexican gang that he first learned the joys of killing. He had to admit that he did occasionally miss wearing woman's clothing. Once in a blue moon he would dress up as a woman for the heck of it.

He spent a great deal of time working out and was very strong. It did not show in his physique though. Many assumed to their dismay that he was a wimp. He could not keep count of thugs he had manhandled on the street, who thought he would be a push- over. Tired of lying there he got up and looked himself over in the mirror. His blue dress, and black high heels went along well with his purse. No one would be able to tell he was really a man. He would go commit a crime or two, and everyone would be looking for a woman if he did it right. Good thing he had another car in the area. A little something they had taken from a drug dealer. The blue, top-down vehicle that was close to a Lotus 7 would serve his purposes well. The Lotus 7 design had spawned a number of imitations. These are usually called sevens or sevenesque roadsters. These vehicles were extremely popular and would easily get the attention of thugs and gangbangers. They liked flashy vehicles like this. He drove around for a while looking for a likely victim. He preferred killing assholes for some reason. True he was an asshole himself. He did like to have fun, but limited his killing to gang-bangers and jerks when possible. He did not kill respectable citizens like he used to in Mexico.

No, Bill did not want him killing indiscriminately. He could kill thugs and punks, but the situations had to be favorable to them not getting found out. Cruising around, he finds himself in front of the home of a thug named Santiago . He did not care too much for the guy to be honest. Santiago abused his wife and smacked his kids around in plain view. The guy was some punk gang-banger wannabe hanging around in the streets. Psycho hated guys who abused females and kids. It always reminded him of his time in Mexico as a child, and the abuse his mother suffered. He would enjoy beating this guy to a pulp. Santiago had an eye for the ladies and was always screwing around. The guy was a dog who would fuck anything with a skirt on. It helped matters that Psycho knew a lot about him, but this guy knew very little about him. He had a friend that was in the know in this area and knew who Santiago was.. Psycho had observed the man from a distance. He always kept a pair of binoculars and a telescope to see what was going on around him. He had a lot of surveillance equipment. Some legal and some not so legal. There was no way this fool would recognize him or know he was a man. His imitation of a woman was flawless. He could do an excellent sounding female voice that was seductive and made men weak in the knees. He had learned to alter his voice years ago. There were techniques a person could practice to make their voice sound different. Many professional long-term voice actors used these techniques.

It was a simple matter to drive by and get his attention. He pulled up to the curb, got out and pretended to drop something. Bending over and letting the group of horny men standing there get a good, long hard look was all he needed to do. Soon there was a crowd of Mexican guys around him trying to flirt and throw their corny Mack at him.

“Yo baby, looking for a Latin lover? Yo white girl, come jump on this dick. If you want a real man then come with big papa. Come sit on daddy’s lap little girl.”

Of course Santiago pushed his way through the crowd to get at him. “Hey mama, I’m your Latin lover Santiago; don't worry about these guys. You have a problem with any of them you let me know.”

“I like a big strong man who can protect me. I’m going for a ride, maybe you would like to come along and show me just how big and strong you really are?”

You could get many people, male or female, to do things by appealing to their ego. So many people had a bloated opinion about themselves. He found even homeless people thought they were superior to many others. He knew who and what he was. He was a fucked up individual and his goal in life was to run with it. This guy thought he was extremely intelligent and a real man. Soon he and this fool were embracing. He was really getting into it as Psycho groped him all over the place. Little did he know that he was really being frisked for weapons. Many gangs had a community gun hidden someplace. It would be well-hidden, but close enough to retrieve if needed quickly. Satisfied that Santiago was free of any weapons, he asked him to go for a ride. Soon they were locking the doors and he was starting the engine. Some thick young Mexican woman came running up to the passenger side door. He recognized her easily from his surveillance. This was Santiago’s girlfriend that he treated like shit and often abused physically and mentally.

“Baby, where are you going with this woman?”

“Don’t worry about that bitch! I told you I go where I fukcing want to go. Take your ass back in the house.”

He put his hand on top of her head and shoved her in the forehead, pushing her down to the ground. They pulled off as she was sobbing and crying. You could see from the bruises and swollen eye, he had not been a gentleman in the past. As they drove to a secluded area, Santiago told Psycho more about himself. All he did was talk about how smart he was, and how he was going to do this and that. Of course, he bad-mouthed women and African Americans. Psycho never really got sexism or racism to be honest. Sure, he would kill minorities if they got in his way. He did not have any special dislike toward any race or females.

As they drove he went over his cognitive scripts in his mind. Cognitive scripts are mental maps, a type of mental processing to store, recall or decode information. People used it to recall locations and things. He had been going over this plan in his mind for at least two days now. He thought that term was the right one. Psycho was not sure. After all, Bill was the one who was always talking about shit like that. It was Bill who he had first heard the term from. He was not stupid, but had no need for anything that did not benefit him in his everyday life. He had not paid attention to any of that shit in high school or college. He had paid motherfuckers to do his homework and take tests for him. He was too busy getting high, drinking and fucking. Looking over at Santiago in the driver seat, he doubted this punk ever thought about stuff like that. Psycho wondered how it would be if he could be as intelligent as Bill was. The man had four associate degrees, ran legitimate and illegitimate businesses. Bill had plans of retiring in his early 60s and becoming a scientist or doctor or something. Not because he would need the money. Bill just believed in expanding oneself. He knew he would never be that person, but his life was not so bad.

They had finally reached a secluded area. This was actually out of the city limits in between Chicago and Milwaukee. This area would do fine. There was a long road here with trees and lots of vegetation. There was not a lot of traffic on this road, but he would still make this quick. He drove the car off the road and got out. The fool followed him.. Soon they were getting hot and heavy by a tree. He was on top of Psycho taking off his pants. He reached his hand down Psycho’s pants and jumped up in surprise when he felt a long sausage. Psycho jumped up laughing hysterically at his shock.

“You fucking fag, I’ll kill your ass. Sick ass faggot bitch, I’m going to fuck you up good.”

The wimp tried throwing a right cross at him. Psycho grabbed the arm and pulled the fool close to him. He drove his left finger up into Santiago’s left eye. A knee to the groin, a couple of jabs and uppercuts, and the fool was down on the ground. Always one to kick a man when he was down, Psycho began to stomp the hell out of him. Bloodied and bruised, he begged for mercy. Psycho continued to stomp him until he was just whimpering like a dog. He picked the punk up and threw him 6 feet face first into a tree. Most people did not know how strong he was by just looking at him. He had a slim, effeminate build, but was strong as an ox. Countless hours of hitting the gym and practicing martial arts with Bill had granted him this strength. He had practiced a number of different fighting styles over the years with Bill. His favorites were Nippon, Kenpo and Chun Kuk Do. Of course, he did not give a rat’s ass about the personal honor codes that came with these fighting styles. He tossed the bastard into a few more trees, laughing the entire time. This was fun, but he had other things to do. The devil’s work was never done. Retrieving a gun from his car, he shoots the punk in the head, heart, stomach, and other parts of the body. He made sure to puncture major arteries. A person could bleed to death from a wound to any part of the body if a major vein was punctured. Emptying the gun in the man, he makes sure he will not survive. He breaks the neck of the already dead body.

He jumps back in the car and jets off after putting the body in the trunk. He would have to dispose of the car and dress as soon as possible. Simple child’s play from one who had learned from a guy like Bill. Bill had taught him how to get rid of almost any type of evidence. He had learned even more ways in his time as a police officer. The cool thing is people would say he went off with an attractive white woman. No one would be looking for a male, but rather this hot female chick who did not exist. He had not forgotten about the man’s girlfriend and child though. The punk had deserved to die, but they had not done anything to him. He would send them a package special delivery. This package would contain a million dollars. Hopefully the woman would use the confiscated drug money to get out of the crappy neighborhood. If she was smart, she would invest it.