Abuse of Chikara (book 1)

by Stanley Cowens

  Bill is awakened out of his dream by a sweet savory smell of bacon, eggs, and ham. Wait, add hash browns and toast to that also. Etsuko is in the kitchen dishing up a breakfast fit for a king. Bill had always had a thing for Asian women since he was a teenager. To be honest, he really was fascinated with Asian culture in general with Japanese and Chinese cultures being his most favorite. Their men mistreated many women in different Asian cultures. Etsuko was Japanese and had been in a relationship with a man who slept around and treated her like his servant/concubine rather than his wife. He found many Asian women more than willing to date American men because they treated them better than they treated their Japanese counterparts did. He could see himself marrying Etsuko and having a few kids easily. Who would not want an attractive, intelligent woman by his side? The main thing that attracted him to her was her intelligence and drive to succeed in life. He could not stand lazy or stupid people, and took great pains to run people like that out of the force when possible.

  Bill flipped the TV on to watch the morning news, and to see if Red had taken care of that business. The local newswoman is an attractive white female and her two male co-hosts, who could pass for models, were talking about Brad Pitt and his latest adoption. Bill did not give a damn and could not understand what the obsession with celebrities was. He had worked security for a few concerts back in the day for a number of artists. He always found himself bemused by the screaming, fainting fans at these concerts. He was also shocked at the young women who offered their bodies hoping to be impregnated and have a meal ticket for life. What could they achieve if they spent more time trying to become great rather than worshiping these people? Stars indeed, these people had become our modern day gods. Why bother worshipping Jesus, Zeus or any of the Greek or Indian gods of centuries past. Instead of long forgotten gods many could not pronounce, we have Paris Hilton and Denzel Washington.

  Bill had a few stars he admired growing up to be sure, but saw them as models of what one could achieve and not something to be worshipped.. He had admired strong intelligent people like Bruce Lee, Sonny Chiba, Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. Finally, they were getting to what he wanted to hear about rather than being apostles for their celebrity gods. “This afternoon two men with a history of conflicts with police were arrested for abusing a young woman at the Navy pier. After being arrested, they managed to escape their handcuffs and get the drop on the officers escorting them to the local police station. The two men, Chuck Wagner and Michael Cahan were shot after attempting to shoot officers Dirty Red and Alfonso Rossi. Both men were killed after refusing to lower their weapons and pointing them at officers on the scene. The matter is being reviewed by the independent police review board at this moment.”

  “It seems to have worked out like you said it would Bill,” Etsuko says.

  “Of course, baby. Red always does good work for me. Once they review the film from that squad car coupled with their long arrest records, we are set. It does not hurt that these jerks were filmed by multiple people beating the snot out of a pretty young white girl. Nobody in the public will be marching on city hall demanding an investigation of the deaths of scum like this.”

  “Why do you care so much about public opinion Bill?”

  “My long-term plans are to run for office myself and it's important that people always see me as a hero. I cannot be connected with thug police officers or be seen as one. The truth does not matter, just what people see as the truth. Human beings want role models, heroes to emulate. I'm going to be that hero, father figure that people are craving for.”

  “You’re more like a wolf in sheep’s clothing than a saint buddy.”

  “True, but it doesn't matter; the anti-Christ will be all things to all people. And he will draw many to him even though he is, in fact, a deceiver.”

  “You really believe in good and the anti-Christ with the way you live?”

  “It doesn't matter, baby, there is knowledge to be learned in many books of religion. People want a strong leader who will solve all their problems and lead them. It does not matter if he or she has motives that are less than pure as long as you take care of their problems. Anyways lets eat some of this fine-tasting grub, we can discuss religion latter.”

  “You did a good job Alfonso. I knew you were ready for the big-time,” Red says.

  “I got to admit, it was kind of fun teaching those punks a lesson Red.”

  “It gets even better my young friend. We get paid a nice sum for doing this job, and the mayor himself is singing our praises for courage under fire; let us get something to eat over at the McDonald’s on Madison and Pulaski. Take a seat Alfonso I'll order the food, my treat.”

  Alfonso takes a seat by the window as Red does a quick scan of the restaurant. A lot of homeless guys and drug addicts, and a few dealers eat here. He had actually made a number of arrests here and in other restaurants in the area. A lot of people thought police work was extremely complicated, and it did take training and good knowledge of the law. However, anything in life was easier if you applied common sense to it. Criminals had to eat shop, do laundry and just about everything everyone else did. Red made a number of arrests by using his gut instinct and stopping those he felt like stopping. He rarely had probable cause, but it was a joke, anyway as most cops abused the hell out of it. The girl working the cash register snapped Red out of his musings.

  “Welcome to McDonald’s; how may I help you today sir?”

  “I'd like six Quarter Pounders ,two large fries and two 7 Ups.”

  “All right, dig in Alfonso.”

  “Hey, I thought they only served breakfast around this time?”

  “Me, Bill, and some other officers, did the manager a favor a few years back. We pretty much get whatever we want for free here.”

  “How did you guys manage that?”

  “They had guys selling drugs and prostitutes in the bathrooms. Every time the cops came, they'd just flush it down the toilets. Guys were standing in front of the store loitering and harassing people who just wanted to buy food. A few got taken into custody,but mostly misdemeanor stuff. They always came back, though, and caused problems again. It was like that at most of the gas stations around here, especially the one on Kilbourn. We got the store managers to mess up the camera system and get them repaired a week later. We'd go into the bathrooms and beat the shit out of those motherfuckers. Every time we saw them loitering on store property we would plant drugs or guns on them.”

  “Didn't they file complaints about the beat downs, bro?

  “There is a way around everything my man. You just have to think about it. I got guys who work for me in a lot of different places. They go around, buy drugs, make friends with the dealers and even sell for them or act as look outs.”

  “You mean like police informants or something?”

  “ No, see, these guys just work directly for me. When we walk upon a bunch of them, my guy pulls out a knife or sometimes an unloaded gun. That alone gives us the authority to use extreme force and beat some ass. If somebody does film it, they'll see a thug pulling a knife or gun, which pretty much puts us in the clear when it comes to giving out ass whippings. I got my name Dirty Red in these restaurants by putting guys’ heads in the toilet after the guys shitted in them. Lets go, it's time to go downtown and rip off some white boys.”

  Red and Alfonso drive downtown on Wacker Drive looking for some good victims to rip off.

  “Hey Red, why do you want to rip off white guys rather than all the races?”

  “First, white men have more illegal shit in their cars even though they don't get stopped as much, plenty of studies show that shit. Also, I don't fucking like white people unless they’re cops; they can go to hell. I enjoy taking a big shit on those mother- fuckers every chance I get. Look at that guy driving that grey four-door Toyota Camry. No way that dude is old enough to be even driving. I bet that's his father’s car he's driving to pick up some hoes. Dad probably doesn't even know he has his car. Let's pull him over
and check it out. I got this one watch a pro,” Red says.

  All right, license and ID please.” The driver hands it over looking extremely nervous and sweating at the site of Red. Just like he thought, this ID is obviously fake saying the kid is 26,but he's does not look a day over 14. “Alfonso, run this ID while I talk to my friend here. So Nick, who's car is this my man, bet you stole it.”

  “No officer, it's my dad's car.”

  “Does he know that you have it right now?”

  “Dude that's not your business, I got rights and we'll sue the shirts off your backs.”

  “I’ll take that as a no, Nick. Did you run the plates on the car?”

  “Yeah, it seems the car has been reported as stolen. This young punk went joy riding and didn't tell daddy he was taking it. Probably ran away from home or some shit. Man, this kids is so stupid I smell weed in the car, and I wonder what else he's got in there worth taking. Let’s arrest his ass and search the car,” Alfonso says.

  “Okay kid, this vehicle has been reported as being stolen; so I need for you to exit the vehicle slowly. “Look, you rent a cop, I told you this was my dad's car so you can call him and he can come get me, and then you can go back to eating doughnuts.”

  Red gives the kid a right to the jaw, reaches in to the car, opens the door, and grabs him by the hair and pulls him out. He slams Nick onto the hood of the car and cuffs him.

  “I can't stand white people Nick, especially young, arrogant punks like you. You stupid little upper class-white boy thinks he can't be touched. I'm going to put your ass in the torture chamber bitch!”

  Alfonso searches the car to see what red riding hood has for these wolves.

  “Stay out of my fucking car, you can't do that unless you have a warrant.”

  “Sure we can because of those guns sitting in the front seat there and this vehicle has been reported as stolen.”

  “I don't have a gun!

  You do now white boy. I’ve found a wallet with $600 bucks, a couple of dime bags, some Quarter Pounders, a BlackBerry, and a black bag with some DVD box sets. Thanks white boy, you shouldn't have, and it's not even Christmas yet. Load the shit in the car Alfonso, the tow truck will be here soon.”

  Red and Alfonso pull up in an alley to eat the Quarter Pounders and to split their ill- gotten gain.

  “Let’s have a look at some of those box sets in that bag. Supernatural season 10, V, the original Miniseries and Berserk season 3. Good, we can watch these later, smoke some weed and bang a few chicks.”

  “I'm going to report you mother fuckers to the office of professional standards.”

  “You hear that Alfonso, he’s going to report us. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha oh, please don't do that!”

  “I know they have cameras in these police vehicles, you guys are going to get fired.”

  “Now Alfonso, this is what I like to call a teaching moment. You ever hear of something called waffling or going to Hollywood?”

  “No, I never heard of it.”

  “Okay then, I'll explain it to you with a nice demonstration.” Red pulls out of the alley and heads to the police station.

  “First thing you do is make sure the suspect is handcuffed to the back seat and can't use his or her hands. Check. Next, you drive at an extremely fast speed, which we are doing now, so check on that. Now you suddenly stop like this. That loud sound you heard was our friend Nick hitting the steel barrier in our police cruiser, which separates suspects from officers driving the vehicle. Let’s try that once more for effect.”

  Red repeats this over and over for the next 30 minutes until Nick is whimpering like a dog. His nose is bleeding and he has bruises on his forehead. Red and Alfonso check Nick into a cell and take care of the proper paper work.

  “Hey, let’s head back out Alfonso; I'm feeling lucky today.”

  It's a lovely sunny day with warm weather around 80 degrees. People are walking around in shorts and t-shirts, young girls are sauntering about looking like prostitutes. Alfonso has the window down letting the breeze blow in his face. He still gets motion sickness even now, and the air usually helps to stop him from hurling all over the upholstery. It's something that's bothered him for years. He used to get sick and vomit in his father’s car all the time when he was a kid. He looks over at Red and wonders about this eternally angry man who seems to delight in abusing others. He remembers hearing that Red was some kind of computer whiz, but who wanted a job working the streets to punish whites committing crimes whenever he could.

  “Hey Red, I was thinking about what that kid said.”

  “What about what he says?”

  “What if he does report us and they check the camera in the squad car?”

  “Simple, I'll just get Bill or somebody higher up to erase it for us. The camera system on our model of police vehicle has an authorized password to view, edit or delete recorded evidence. Bill even has a guy in the department who knows how to get around the system recordings when supervisors log in, so there is no record of any evidence being deleted. Once they erase it, it's our word against his; and even then his father reported it as stolen and the punk had no ID and refused to exit the vehicle. If it goes to trial, he won't win so don't worry about it.”

  “If you say so man, you've been doing it longer than I have.” Alfonso takes out his iPod and starts watching a movie by one of his favorite director’s named Nick the Producer.

  “What’s that you are watching, Alfonso?”

  “It's a film named the Vigilante. This guy goes around killing the drug cartel members for raping and killing his family. I hear all the scenes of burglary, home invasion and rape are filmed for real.”

  “That sounds like my type of director,” Red says.

  Quinton is sitting in his lawn chair watching the children next door play tag. He loves kids and always enjoyed playing with his before the divorce. Now he gets to see his child once a month or so, which isn't much. He doesn't blame his wife, however. The life of a cop isn't an easy thing for a woman.Worrying all the time about your husband getting shot, stabbed or killed. Oh yes, he had been stabbed twice, shot at and suffered many minor bruises and injuries over the years. To be honest, he hadn't been the most attentive husband for years becoming obsessed with his job. Well, better not to dwell on lost opportunities. He was reading some silly article in today’s paper about politicians blaming unions and public workers for budgets being out of whack. Wonder how many of the public or politicians wanted to get shot at by drug dealers or have to deal with child molesters or rapist. Milwaukee was a fantastic place and he'd miss it when he left to take the superintendant's job in Chicago. He'd miss his townhouse on North 43rd Street.

  He enjoyed the friendly banter with many of his neighbors early in the morning. He especially had stimulating conversations with one neighbor. What was this guy’s name? In the few weeks they had talked, he had never asked the man his name. This slender African American man about six-feet, one-inch tall and always wore a white suit and hat. Even the rims around his round glasses were white. This man sometimes wore a mostly white uniform with blue trim. He always reminded him of Snoop Dog or whatever he was calling himself these days.

  “Hello Quinton! Have you decided on taking that promotion in Chicago you told me of?

  Yeah, I have accepted it. I'll be starting a week from now.”

  “Perhaps we'll bump into each other as I do a lot of business in Chicago.”

  “You never did say what type of business that you do Mr.?”

  “The name’s Lucien Pike and you could say I provide counsel to those in need.”

  “You mean like a preacher or holy man?”

  “Yes, one could say I'm a prophet doing my lord’s work.”

  Quinton noticed the beautiful gold cuff links Lucien wore on both sleeves. An upside down triangle with lines going through it on both sides, and a large v at the bottom.

  “That's an unusual symbol on your cuff links.”

  “Oh yes, the symbol represents the brin
ger of light.”

  “Well, I was never much of a man for religion myself, but whatever gets you through the day I say.”

  “We all need to call on a higher power to get through the day, my friend. I've heard the situation in Chicago isn't the greatest with a number of officers running wild. You might find that you need my lord’s help. Let me give you my card, if you need help or just want to talk.”

  Quinton took the card and placed it in his wallet. He spent at least three hours talking to this well-travelled and informed man. This Lucien knew a great deal about a variety of topics, wars, health, the stock market, science, it didn't matter. Quinton rather enjoyed talking to someone so intelligent. And his proper speech was refreshing as well. Too often people around him used so much slang and profanity. He didn't care for slang much, something he'd inherited from his father who was an English teacher. Dear old dad never used slang and always emphasized proper language and writing. A loud chirping sound pulled him out of reminiscing about his father. Lucien was taking a call on his cell phone, which was also solid white with blue trim around the edges.

  “It appears I have to take care of some business my friend. Perhaps we'll talk later.”

  “Nothing bad I hope?”

  “Oh, not at all, just a sick member of my flock needs my guidance. Well, duty calls. I've enjoyed speaking to you perhaps we can do so again.”

  They shake hands and Lucien walks off to be picked up by a large limo, which is white as well. Well, he's definitely consistent with his color schemes. Tired Quinton gets up and walks toward his door to turn in for the night. Fumbling with the keys, he drops them when he hears a familiar voice behind him. Son, don't be deceived by this foul creature. Turning around he doesn't see anyone. He walks around his house looking for the voice. “Mom, is that you?” Son, don't give into hatred, don’t go down that path. Looking around he doesn't see anything, but the same children of varying races playing. “Man, I'm hearing things now.”

  He sits down in his Lazy Boy recliner in the living room and turns on the TV. Flipping through the channels, finally he finds one of his favorite shows Babylon 5. Don't be fooled by him my son. Again, he hears his mother’s voice, but louder this time. He gets up and does a check of the interior of his town house, hoping he is not going insane. After being unable to locate anyone in the house, he chalks it up to nerves or his imagination. Crap, I'll take a sleeping pill to help me get some rest before I go crazy. The sleeping pills did help him sleep, but he did nothing but toss and turn the entire night. His sleep was filled with visions of hell and demonic beings torturing wayward human souls. He dreamt of a large whole opening in his bedroom connecting to another world filled with screams and pain. He didn't want to go, but his feet had a mind of their own. Shuffling forward he entered the hole and immediately falls, plummeting for what seems like an eternity. He closes his eyes preparing to die. When he opens his eyes he's on solid ground. Before him is a vast open space with doors on each side leading to large rooms. There are hundreds, no thousands, of these chambers. He walks into the closest one to his right and sees a large white man being stabbed over and over by women of different races.