Abuse of Chikara (book 1) (33 page)

Quinton was able to elude detection by going underground into the sewer system. No doubt they probably thought he had run away. By going under the streets he would catch them by surprise hopefully. He came up through the floor of a building across the street from the factory. It was a large building that had been abandoned because of a fire a year or two ago. He leapt upward crashing through the ceilings continuing towards the roof of this building. Perhaps from a higher vantage point he could get a better idea of where his attackers were at. Finally, he made it to the roof of the building and found two men looking in the opposite direction towards the factory. Before the two men noticed him, he pulled out his two handguns and let them have it. They had on bullet-resistant vest of course. This was no problem to someone with his eyesight coordination, to shoot at exposed areas of the body that the vest did not cover: necks, legs, feet and hands. No one could protect their entire body and still have any type of mobility. At least not in real life and this was real life. Not some type of science-fiction show like Farscape, Babylon 5 or Star Wars. After finishing them off at close range, he began sorting through their belongings. He found radios, handguns and some wicked looking sniper rifles. He was not a gun nut, but had a good knowledge of different types of weapons. These bad boys were nothing that a civilian could purchase. As a matter of fact, no Swat team would have something like this, either. He had been part of a Swat team before and had never seen anything like this. This had to be some military grade stuff. To be honest, he knew about military weapons as well. This looked like something that was experimental to him. Bill’s boys had gotten their hands on some killer stuff here. Looking through the scope, he could actually see through walls and other objects. He was able to see many of the other Swat officers posted on rooftops stores and other buildings around the factory. This gun was awesome as hell. He would be keeping these after he took care of business here. He began to open fire on Big Al’s buddies. Even worn-out and tired the normal officers could not move as fast as he could. They were not able to avoid his shots. Time and time again he found his targets. His shots easily pierced bullet- resistance vest, helmets to find soft, warm flesh to destroy. They were in total confusion. The expectation was he would not be able to fire back at them using their advanced weapons. Of course, they were not his equal in speed, manuverability or accuracy. They did not have surprise on their side anymore. Surprise and superior weapons were all they really had to be honest. With so many of them dead now, it was not hard for him to avoid the remaining snipers. He moved quickly like MC Hammer on speed, dodging all the return fire. His responding fire found his last five targets with little difficulty. Now the only thing left was to find his good friend Big Al and find the best way to express his gratitude for all his kind friendship.

Using the scope, he zoomed in on the insides of the factory. Using a spiral pattern, he found the man in some type of control room inside the factory. He probably could have just shot him from here. That would be too quick and fast. Big Al needed to suffer a bit before he died. He needed to beg and plead for his rotten life. He headed towards the office inside the candy factory, while avoiding shots being fired by Big Al from his special sniper’s rifle. The fact that only one person was shooting at him and that he could see the trajectory of the shots using his own scope on his special sniper’s rifle meant Big Al had no chance of hitting him. Eventually Big Al must have run out of ammo as he stopped firing. It was a simple matter to knock the heavy control room door off its hinges with his super strength. The door fell inward with a loud clanging as metal door hit metal floor.

He grabbed the fool and dragged him down the stairs. He knocked Big Al clean out with one of his fingers and made a quick search of his car. He turned up some rope and long black cords about twenty feet long. He had no idea what the man was using them for, but these cords were extremely tough. They would do nicely for what he had in mind. Using the rope and cords, he tied Big Al up. He used his fingers to poke large holes in the trunk of the vehicle and pulled the rope and cords through it. He made sure Big Al was connected to the car nicely and got into the driver’s seat. He waited for 10 minutes until Big Al woke up, and then he started the car. Big Al was cursing and swearing like a sailor as he drove off down the street. He drove all the way back towards the small house he had found Big Al in. It was a nice, relaxing ride, but Big Al did not seem to think so. After a few minutes, he looked back and saw Al’s face missing flesh and his clothing ripped off from rubbing against the road. Pretty soon there would be nothing left of the man, but bones when he got done. He was tempted to turn on his music. He would not be able to hear all the begging, pleading and cursing the man was doing. He put the pedal to the medal and laughed loudly as the friction tore Al apart. Soon Al was no longer whining or saying anything as a matter of fact. There was nothing left attached to the rope, except a skeleton with small bits of flesh and torn pieces of clothing. No one would be able to recognize who this person was from what was left. Finally, he arrived back at Al’s hideout and would take his time searching the place. Might as well load up anything of value as Big Al and his men would not have need of it anymore. Hopefully they had left some food and wine in the joint as he felt like celebrating. Maybe they had left a TV so he could watch Deep Space Nine and mourn the death of his old friend Big Al. He would chill here for a few hours and contemplate his next move.

Psycho Boy had been thinking about this for months now. He had to destroy things that he loved. That’s why he was busy cleaning the inside of his house up. Pile driver sledgehammers, you name it, he had it. He debated setting the place on fire or destroying it another way. Maybe a gas explosion or something. The place looked like a cyclone had been through it already. Windows were broken, holes in the walls, TVs broken. Water running out of gaping holes in pipes. It hit him how he should destroy his house. Why just destroy one thing he loved? Why not destroy the two main things he loved in life. It would take a little deception, a little work to get this place looking presentable, but it could be done. He would actually need $10,000 or maybe even $20,000 to repair the damage he had done. He would have his fix-it guy come over and take a look at the joint, and get to work on getting this dump back in shape.

Josef was a former Marine who enjoyed drinking, fucking and smoking. Hygiene was not something he cared about. Bathing and clean clothes were four letter words to him. The guy could fix anything, however. This man could do it all: stoves, cars, dry wall, electrical, plumbing. The best thing Psycho Boy liked that he was not expensive. Work that would normally cost maybe $100,000 would only cost $30,000 with this guy. Josef was in his late 60s and had a fat pension from some job he worked for over 20 years. Plus, he got Social Security and his military benefits. These little side jobs were his money to blow on beer, prostitutes, and plenty of Viagra. It would take some time to fix his place up well enough to have house guests over. He wanted it nice looking for the big moment.

He wondered how he would pass the time while Josef worked. He was on vacation so no police work. He could dress up as an old 70-year-old white man again and rob another bank. Doing it again would be kind of boring, though. It had been fun when he drove away and opened the bags of money letting all the cash fly out the window. The commotion had been incredible. All the traffic grinded to a halt as people of all races, creeds and colors fought in the streets over the money. They might investigate and possibly track it to him. He did not give a shit, though, as he believed in destiny and fate. If it was his fate to be caught he would get caught. He did not really feel like doing anything too wild. Guess he could go hangout with his buddy Josh at the funeral home and smoke some weed. He would hang out at Josh’s place for two weeks while Josef fixed his place up. He would pay the guy overtime to work around the clock. He would do something more subtle. Something that he did not need to hide his face for. He took a few of the Viagra pills Josef had left around the place. Twelve pills would do it. He grabbed a glass of Ecto-Cooler from the fridge and washed the pills down. He had his underage girl-friend give him head before he left. Of course, with this much Viagra pumping through his veins he would stay stiff for days. Psycho had a huge penis. Not something he dwelled on as it did not matter to him. He often paid for sex and his partners pleasure or enjoyment did not matter to him at all. Still, he was a good 13 inches and hung for a guy his size. Hell, men 6 foot 9 would kill to have a dick his size. He got dressed and found the tightest black dress pants he owned. He added a white shirt with blue jacket and vest. Last, but not least, some expensive black dress shoes Bill had given him. He looked like a very professional businessman walking down the street. The only thing that stood out was the black briefcase with large red dragon on it, and his huge dick poking against his pants.

He was already getting admiring glances from some woman. Some men were cursing at him or even made threats when their girlfriend’s eyes lingered on his huge Johnson too long. He knew the best place to do something like this was downtown. Bet that small startup business taking walk-in applications would rethink that policy in the future. It was some type of temp agency. They had a space in one the office buildings. A receptionist desk and some chairs, and a nice blue carpet with various pictures on the walls of sporting events. He walked up to the receptionist with his huge penis poking forward. The young, medium-sized blonde-haired woman did not seem angry at all. In fact, she seemed mesmerized by his huge penis. So much that she did not pay any attention to people turning in applications or asking her questions. He heard a few women whispering among themselves, wondering if he was part African American.

He put in an application with made up information. Everything was fake of course. He got bored of this place and left. He spent hours going into different stores buying crap he did not need, and making sure as many people as possible saw his large manhood. The reactions people gave him amused him to no end. He decided to make a local church his last stop . It was a big blue and white building with huge steps leading to the door. A giant gold cross of Jesus stood on top. He did not even know what denomination it was and it did not matter to him. It was all a bunch of dumbasses telling others how to live their lives. In any case, there was no benefit for him to going to church. He was definitely going to hell if it actually existed. Why go to heaven if you could not have sex with prostitutes, do drugs, get drunk and kick people’s asses when they acted up? He walked right in and sat right down in the front row. Of course, people noticed his gigantic penis. He heard all the whispers and giggles. This place mostly catered to whites with a small number of African Americans and others races. When the middle-aged preacher asked if anyone wanted to come up on stage and confess their sins. He had a huge grin on his face like some demented cartoon character. This was just what he had been waiting for. He almost flew up on stage and grabbed the mic. “Hello fellow churchgoers. My name is Schadenfreude or at least that is what I had it changed to years ago. In case you are wondering, it’s German for getting pleasure from the misfortune of others. You see, I am a big-time sinner. I sin all the time from sun up to sun down. What I need is for you good churchgoers is to pray for me. See, I am sure you have noticed my rather large penis by now. Some would say I just have a big Johnson. True, it is large, but it has stayed that way erect for weeks now. I went to two doctors and they say there is nothing they can do. I know what is wrong with my penis. That dirty old bastard Satan is in my penis. That nasty old serpent has got a hold of my penis and won’t let go.”

He let that sink in for a moment as he scanned the crowd for Dirty Red’s spirit. Red had refused to go into the church at all. He could see Red across the street through one of the church windows. Guess evil spirits really did not like church, synagogues or mosques. Red would disperse until he got blocks away from any house of worship. He began telling the church the rest of his partially true story. “You see, I used to fornicate all the time and slept with prostitutes, and any woman who would give it up. Skinny, fat, young, old, race did not matter. I’ve knocked boots with chicks in their 60s. And not just humans, oh no. I’ve banged plenty of animals as well. Of course, bestiality is a sin.”

He was not lying about the bestiality part in any way, shape or form. He liked trying new experiences and a friend had gotten him into it years ago. He had screwed sheep, cows, young female horses, and even a female dog or two. The female dogs had seemed to be into it the most. The cows would try and get away, but a cart in front and back stopped them that easily. He thought he might have banged a dead cow before, but was high at the time and could not remember. He watched the expressions of shock on peoples’ faces. Some were angry, some laughed uncontrollably and others looked disgusted.

“I have even slept with married women, not to mention having three-somes with older woman and their daughters. One day I woke up and my penis would not go back to normal. I confess my sins and ask you good people to pray for my penis. Tell Satan to get his hand off my private parts. Tell Beelzebub to get his hands off my dick!! I need all of you to pray for my dick right now!”

The preacher was obviously creeped out a bit. He did keep his composure though. He actually led the church in praying to their lord and master to heal Psycho of his sexual affliction. He stayed around after services to speak to people. He might come back here again and mess this joint up for shits and giggles. Maybe bang some of the wives and do whatever he can to enjoy himself. The possibilities were endless. He eventually left and went around the rest of the day continuing to show his large erect penis from the Viagra overdose. He finally went to his friend Josh’s house to spend a few days . He would hit the hay and waste a few days before his final plan went into effect.