Abuse of Chikara (book 1) (27 page)

He let people of different races run away from him without firing a shot. There were people screaming and crying at different pitches and noise variables. He stopped a moment to take in their anguished wails. He moved from shop to shop, shooting random white people. Stopping to look in a mirror in one of the shops selling female underwear, he looks at himself. Instead of his face and body he sees Dirty Red in the mirror. He moves his arms and head, but the image in the mirror matches his movements exactly. He had been having many dreams lately about Dirty Red and killing white people. Personally, he did not have any particular hate against any one race. And he would kill people of any race equally. Soon the police arrived and he begins shooting at them and kills quite a few. The sniper’s rifle that he uses penetrates their squad cars and other vehicles. He grabbed a tall, stout white woman as a shield and exited the mall. Of course, some sniper would find an angle to shoot him at some point; but it did not matter. Fools run thinking they can hide inside stores, behind park benches or behind other obstacles. Unfortunately this .50 caliber rifle of his can pierce stone and many objects. He continues walking down the street, capping another dozen victims. Those hiding places do them no good and the bullets pierce brick, stone, walls and vehicles alike. Eventually some sniper hits him and he is shot down like a dog by the police.

Finally, he wakes up and goes into his bathroom to freshen up a bit. As he looks into the mirror the image of Dirty Red appears. Red did this often throughout the day. Sometimes he would appear in full form, standing beside him, or sometimes in a mirror or any reflective surface. It seems Red was telling him about a rape that would be taking place soon in a park in the area. Some cracker would be the one committing the crime. He did not mind Red’s intrusions into his personal life, especially considering the information he provided. Psycho boy had received many decorations and kudos the last few months. Knowing about crimes before they happened was not something to be sneezed at. He assured Dirty Red that he would get dressed and take care of this bit of business soon. He took a short tour of his little three floor house. It was so much better having your own place than renting. He was able to decorate his place anyway that he wanted without fear of anyone complaining.

He did not have to explain his large collection of swords and knives around the house. Large swords adorned the walls in most rooms. In his bedroom, he had an assortment of knives hanging from the walls all pointing down, even over his bed. If one slipped from its harness, considering the height of his ceiling in the bedroom, it could kill him. He did not think that would happen, though, and even if it did, so what? He believed in fate and did not worry about the consequences of his actions. After being involved in shootouts as a young boy in a Mexican gang, he had never been severely injured. In the Army, he had never received a major injury despite seeing combat. His time as a Chicago police officer had been no different despite plenty of conflicts. When it was his time to die, it would happen no matter what so there was no point in worrying about it.

He sat down to eat his breakfast of eggs, sausage, pancakes and grits. The same breakfast he ate every morning since he was back home from the Army. Soon he would go to kill Dirty Red 's rapist and continue being the hero cop. Maybe he would even get Bill’s job as superintendent at some point. It did not seem like Bill would be doing it for much longer. If he did not go to prison, his reputation would still be messed up. After finishing his breakfast, he went downstairs into his large basement to work out. He spent hours doing different exercises on different equipment, and taking breaks to watch different TV programs. He loved violence, watching cop dramas and detective shows. If he ever left the police force, being a private detective is something he could see himself doing. With the money he could make with Dirty Red’s help, he could afford to do any job he wanted and not worry about the money aspect of it. He could set up his own private investigation service, and only take the real tough cases. Dirty Red had claimed that he would give him the winning lottery numbers as long as he killed white people; so a change in profession was a distinct possibility. Hell, he still had connections in Mexico with the Mexican gang he worked for, and could go work for them. Maybe he would become a hit man or something. He worked out for hours until late in the afternoon before taking a shower and going to bed. He would be working the late shift tonight, and would head to this park Red was talking about later.

He finally woke up, hopped into his car and headed towards Garfield Park. This is where the rapist would be, he would attack this chick in the park late at night. Why some dumb broad would be jogging this late at night by herself is beyond him. A number of white people had moved into the area, and they did not seem to understand that this was not a nice, friendly place, full of people who wanted to be friends. Not that Psycho had any stereotypes about African Americans, but this was a low-income area, and people in these areas did not act like people in higher-income areas. You simply had a higher percentage of thugs and negative people in lower-income communities, be they black, white or other. Bet this dumb bitch had housewarming parties when moving into a new area, and could not figure out why all her shit was missing the next day. He had seen it happen with people who had parties. Hell, he knew first-hand as he had ripped off a number of things from dumb members of his race during parties. Usually when there were mixed parties, they immediately suspected the Blacks or Hispanics of the theft. Sometimes the fools thought he had done it and asked him about the missing items, as if he really was going to admit that shit. Of course, he had stolen their crap; but they must have been dumb as hell if they thought he was going to tell the truth. This guy was so much into what he was doing that he did not see Psycho Boy creep upon him from behind. Dirty Red had informed him that the man was carrying a hand gun. He could have shot the man from a distance and been justified, considering that he was a known felon and was assaulting this lady. He would not even have to plant a gun on him. He proceeded to do this up-close and personal. If destiny meant for him to die by this man’s hands then that is what would happen no matter what.

This blond-haired, white chick did not know what had hit her. She was on the ground out of it and prime meat for this ex-con to pound away on. The punk had made things even easier by dragging her into the park bathroom with four stalls. There would be no prying eyes to contradict his version of events. The sleeping woman would most likely go along with whatever he said, since she would be happy the punk had been killed. She would be very happy that she had not woken up with him inserted inside her. He crept up and tapped the man on the shoulder. As soon as the cracker turned around he hit him on the chin. He followed this blow up with four other strikes to pressure points on the man’s body. After that it was a simple matter to disarm him and pin him face down on the floor. The fool started cursing and running his mouth like they all did. He never understood what people thought getting loud was actually going to accomplish in a fight or argument. In any case, no one was around this area at this late hour. No point in taking chances so he simply broke one of the man’s fingers easily. He would not be using that index finger anytime soon. Psycho waited a few minutes until the punk calmed down. Examining the thug’s gun, he finds it to be a .38 revolver. He removes all the bullets, except one. “Okay, white boy, we’re going to play a little game. This game is called Russian roulette. You don't get to refuse to participate. If I die, you’re to free to go provided your dumb white ass can get away. If you lose then, well that's self-explanatory even for white trash like you.”

He picked up the thug and propped him against the wall. The man did not try to run away, but stared in shock as Psycho raised the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger. When he put the gun to the man’s head, he started to whimper like a small dog or puppy. Funny how these hard-core thugs were punks when they dealt with someone who could go toe-to-toe with them. He put the gun to the thug’s head and smiled as he pulled the trigger and heard the gun go click. There was no fear in him as he felt his fate was to live on. Perhaps the God of this world still had plans for him. He was not much of a religious man, but he remembered reading that Satan was God of this world. Since he was fucking evil, then he would probably live to a ripe of age no matter what. Finally they got down to the last two shots. He went first and even put the gun in his mouth before pulling the trigger. The gun simply clicked.

“Oh damn dude, guess that means this last shot is for you then.”

The thug did get some courage finally. He tried to get up and run away, but the attempt did not last long as Psycho gave him a quick flurry of punches that a professional boxer would be proud of. The fool ended up right back slumped against the wall. He moved away a bit and pulled the trigger, hitting the man dead in the head. He checked to make sure he was dead and called it in. The story would be that he had noticed this felon who resembled someone a warrant was out on and went to question him when he saw him assaulting a white lady. Of course, he followed the man into to the bathroom were the punk pulled a gun. They fought for it and the man got killed. The female would be more than happy to agree with his version of events, considering the fact that she had been attacked by the white trash bum. That and the fact that he was a felon, repeat offender, and had a warrant out on him would make this easy. To be honest, he had really performed a public service for the people.

How sweet life was for him right now. He got to kick peoples asses, had plenty of stolen drug money and property, and had his own evil spirit that gave him information concerning future events. Of course, Dirty Red only gave him information about crime committed in the future by white people. He did not know if Red was limited to only this particular topic or only just cared about this particular thing. He pretty much figure Red had the ability to tell about other stuff, but was only motivated about what interested him. They would have to come to some agreement about this; he really wanted the winning lottery numbers. He would not be greedy and try to win all the time, but at least once. Hell, next week was worth $100 million! No idea what that would be after taxes, but whatever he got would be all right with him. Red would have to do things his way or not at all. Obviously his former partner had chosen him to reveals himself to for some reason. There had to be more to it than just his low level of moral character. Why did he not show himself to Bill or someone else? Surly he could not be the only morally bankrupt person Dirty Red had come in contact with since his death. He'd bring the matter up with Dirty Red tomorrow.

Right now he was enjoying the ride just cruising around in his car with the windows down. He did not even have a particular destination in mind. Sometimes he just liked to drive around the city. Finding his was back was no problem as he had an excellent sense of direction, and knew how to get back home no matter where he went. One of these days he would get rich and purchase a large boat, and go someplace remote away from society. He'd get some hot chick and live free of the bullshit that was society. There would only be his wife and kids in some large type of complex or something. Maybe he would buy a small island. That would be when he was older and tired of his current lifestyle.

Dirty Red was sitting next to him in the passenger seat telling him stories just like they did back in the day when they were still alive. He had not heard this one before or at least did not remember it. Dirty Red was on patrol downtown. There was a blind man going through an alley. Red knew the street and shops like no one else. He made it a point to visit different shops and strike up friendships with store workers and managers. It made people feel safe, and gave him a chance to find out where all the cameras were. There were no cameras in this particular alley. In any case, he made sure there were no witnesses. The cool thing about this alley is that the view from either end was obscured from both ends. There was a chance he might be seen, but he was working undercover and did not have a uniform on; and he was wearing a ski mask to cover his face. He walked up in front of the blind white man and stood there. The man quickly bumped into him and tried to go around the obstacle. Red pushed him down, turned him around and went through his pockets. The punk tried to scream as he shoved a cloth over his mouth and then pocketed the money. He ran out the other end of the alley so the blind man could hear him running away. He went around the other end and came back, assisted the man telling him he was a police officer. The blind man told him the entire story as Dirty Red drove him to the police station to fill out a police report. This was not the first time Dirty Red had abused a blind or elderly white person. This was something he did infrequently, but it had been done a number of times. Dirty Red’s spirit was sitting next to him, laughing while recalling how he had pretended to show such concern for the blind, old fool at the police station. Of course, they would never find the made up person they were looking for. He would simply blame it on whatever thug got killed down the road. Maybe even have a dude in prison say the guy confessed to the crime. That old, blind white dude had a wad of cash. Why the fool was carrying $1,000 around was beyond him. The prostitutes had sure appreciated the cash. Robbing blind old bastards was almost as much fun as stealing from Girl Scouts.

That ride was fun, but it was good to be home now. Hanging out with an evil spirit was pretty cool actually. It was nothing like the exorcist, or poltergeist movies. Would have been cool to see Dirty Red smashing through doors like that evil spirit in the first two Evil Dead films. No, Dirty Red just appeared and disappeared and gave him insider’s information mostly. Red had agreed to give him the winning lottery numbers as long as he kept screwing over white people. Red told him that Bill’s days were numbered and that he would have to look for a new gig. Sorry about Bill, but the show must go on. He had no reason to doubt this spirit whether it was really Red or not. Red told him that Bill would either be put in prison for years or get killed by Quinton. All possible futures for the guy were pretty grim. He started to drift off to sleep and noticed the spirit of Dirty Red entering his body and disappearing. Guess his body was Reds home or house. He never did understand the difference between the two or were they the same thing. In any case, Red seemed to abide in his body somehow. It seemed like Red usually entered his body when he went to sleep. Did that mean spirits needed to regenerate as well? Or maybe Red saw no point in being active when he was not awake to converse with. Then again, maybe he was just crazier than usual and was imagining Red’s spirit. That would not explain how he knew of the exact moments people were going to commit crimes, though. He finally drifted off to sleep and again dreamed that he was someplace with lots of trees. He was somewhat aware that he was dreaming. Of course, he must be dreaming again, but this dream seemed so vivid. All his dreams were different.