Abuse of Chikara (book 1)

by Stanley Cowens

  It was time to pull his favorite trick. The lights would go out and the windows would turn pitch black. No type of electronic device would work in the office momentarily. The light would go back on and he would be standing there in the midst of them. A bit melodramatic, but then again he was a melodramatic person. Teleportation was one of the abilities he was actually allowed to use whenever he wanted to. It was draining and he could only teleport short distances. To his credit, Dirty Red did not allow his shock at his sudden appearance to show like the other men with him. Red simply turned, handed over the contracts signed in the men’s blood and left. The poor fools had most likely signed away their souls without even reading what they had signed.

  This was not the normal type of contract for money or some type of special ability. Bill wanted protection from his enemy Quinton. Unfortunately, Bill did not understand how these deals really worked. He thought Gang Jian was some type of normal mover and shaker who was into devil worship or witchcraft, who could supply him with special help. He did not fully understand what it was he was trading. It was not Jian’s job to inform Bill or his men, however. The contract he had written explained for three souls Bill could ask any thing within Gang’s power. Instead of asking for supernatural power or money, he had asked simply for someone who would protect him from Quinton. Driving home Red thinks about his meeting with Gang Jian. The guy had style and knew how to make an entrance. He still wondered how he made the windows turn jet black like that. He did not know what the obsession with white was about, though. Almost the entire office was white with some blue being the only other color. The man’s clothing was mostly white with blue trim. At that moment his car engine died and he pulled over to the side of the road. Red got out to check and popped the hood. This damn car was getting on his nerves. He knew he should have used one of the other guy’s vehicles instead of his. Unfortunately he did not have the good sense to have a spare tire on hand. At this moment an old white male named Ray pulled up. Ray had the same vehicle as Red did and offered to help him. out. Red pretended he did not know how to change a tire. Why not let this old fart do all the work? Ray went on and on about his Christian faith and how we should help each other. Red did not give a damn about religion or the white man’s God. What had Jesus done for Native Americans? British settlers had come to America, committed near genocide against Native Americans and forced their God and culture upon them. Religion was nothing but a way for people at the top to get over on idiots. Some preacher or pastor got plenty of tithe money and lorded it over the flock, who got fleeced like the idiots they are. He remerged back to his life as a youth as an altar boy. He hated Catholic school and going to church, but his mother had forced him. It had not been all bad, though. He had taken pictures of one of the most experienced priests molesting a younger boy. Guess Jesus did not teach people to lock the door all the way. Red had blackmailed the fool for months. The money had been spent on video games, comic books and movies. Those were good times, indeed.

  Ray was finally done changing the tire. He puts up his equipment and shakes Red’s hand. This man had helped him, but he still hated white people with a passion. He snarled at Ray touching him. He could not stop himself from thinking about striking the old overweight man repeatedly. How he would love to rip Ray’s old grey hair clean off his head. The old fool gets in his vehicle and takes off. Red takes a few minutes to puff on a cigarette before jumping back in his own vehicle and taking off. After 10 minutes some old white chick jumps in front of his vehicle crying hysterically. She runs over to the passenger side and he lowers the window.

  “Please help us young man, my husband is having a heart attack.”

  “Well that sounds like a personal problem to me honey child.”

  “Sir, please, my husband helped you, can you please call an ambulance?”

  “See, that's what is wrong with this nation. People are overweight and out of shape. I didn’t tell his fat ass to eat like a fucking whale. I didn’t tell his Wally walrus looking ass not to exercise.”

  Red looks over at Ray clutching his chest in pain and laughs, “Bitch that sounds like a personal problem. I will pray to his boy Jesus to help him. Peace, you old ass White Sea hag.”

  Red closes the driver side window and pulls off laughing. What a wonderful day this had turned out to be. That old white fool fixed his car and he got the opportunity to screw him over. What else could you really ask for in this situation? He is still laughing minutes later when he sees someone running out side of the car by the passenger side. “Well, it was that bitch Quinton!”

  Quinton rips the passenger side door off the hinges and pulls the officer on that side out. Red looks out again and does not see Anthony. Rather he hears the door being torn off on the other side of the vehicle’s passenger side. Screw trying to fight this dude. Red was doing 60 and Quinton was still keeping up with him. Luckily, Red had paid to have this engine souped up. This car could do well over 100 miles an hour. He guns it to 90 miles an hour and Quinton increases his speed. The fool was pretty fast he had to admit. However, he had his limits. After a minute or two Red guns the car up well past 100 mph. He was doing 130. Quinton slowed down and Red left him in the dust. The problem is someone like Quinton would try again. He was fortunate the attack was on the road in his special car. On foot he would have been Quinton’s bitch. No one could ride around in a car all day. No, he would have to take care of the man soon. He would need a location that gave him an advantage. Some place that he could arrange a conflict of his time and choosing. Quinton was not invincible and had become arrogant. Red could use that to his advantage. He had no intention of walking around scared of this motherfucker for the rest of his life. The dude could fuck with those other pussies on the force, but Red was not having that bullshit. Red was the type of guy to meet anything head-on and he would not change now.

  There was a pharmacy nearby on Madison and Pulaski named Shannon's Health. The place was owned by a friend of his who wanted to unload it. There had been no buyers so far. It was insured, so he would not mind the damage Red had in store for this fool. He did not know if he would survive this confrontation or not, but this shit was going down nevertheless. Red pulled up to the pharmacy and removed a special briefcase out of his trunk. Now how would he get the asshole here where he wanted him. Soon Quinton actually called him on his cell phone. It made sense that Quinton had checked the bodies of the officers he had assaulted.

  “Yo, Dirty Red, I thought you were supposed to be hard-core. You ran like a little bitch about to get fucked!”

  “Sorry to leave your slow ass high and dry. Well, big man, I am not as much a bitch as your bitch was when she got fucked and killed by all those large Mexican dicks. You could say she is mixed as she got a lot of Mexican in her now. I’m at the pharmacy at Madison and Pulaski, bitch! Come on over here if you got half as many balls as your bitch wife had in her.”

  That seemed to get Quinton riled up as he spent at least three minutes cursing Red out before he hung up o him. He did not have to wait long for his guest to arrive. The former superintendent reached his location in 15 minutes in great haste to crush his prey. The man smashed through the store door like a wild rhino. Red got off a few shots aimed at Quinton’s eyes, but he missed wildly. He doubted anything, but the strongest guns at point-blank range to the eyes, would do anything. Quinton was not taking any chances, dodging the shots easily. Soon he had Dirty Red up in the air by one hand. This was not working the way Red had planned. He needed Quinton to take more time than he was. He would need to stall the fool for his plan to work. “I heard those Mexicans banged the shit out of your wife. Heard that bitch was begging for more. Heard they turned out that little slut daughter of yours also.”

  Quinton becomes enraged and slams Red against every surface he can find. After minutes of abuse as a human ping pong ball, Red is bloody all over. He starts laughing uncontrollably shocking Quinton out of his rage. “What the hell is so funny you crazy bastard?”

  “The fact t
hat you are still stupid as hell. I guess those superpowers did not go to your brain.”

  Quinton continued abusing Dirty Red and thought about that for a moment. It did not make much sense, but what could this guy really do in this situation.?He had no chance of out fighting him with physical strength or any weapons that he had on hand. If Red had anything more powerful he would have used it already. Quinton decided the man was bluffing to buy time. Maybe Red had friends on the way to back him up. “Nice try jackass, but it is time to say good night!”

  Red keeps laughing and tries to punch and kick Quinton repeatedly to no avail.

  “You're going down today, Dudley Do-Right, and I am the bad-ass motherfucker who did it!”

  “Like a fucking mouse taking down a lion!” Quinton became tired of the fool rambling and kills him. He sticks both hands into Red’s chest and tears his body into two separate pieces. The jackass was still laughing even as he tore him apart. He had to almost admire the balls on this guy. Trash talking in a situation like this even to his death. His eyes happened to fall on a black suitcase with a picture of a large red dragon on it. He seemed to hear a ticking sound and looked at the nearest clock on the wall. It was not one of those old clocks that made a ticking sound. He looked over at the briefcase and it finally dawned on him what was in the case and why Dirty Red was so confident. He never expected to get out of this alive. The entire world exploded at that moment and he slips into blackness

  Bill was off work today relaxing at a small apartment he had rented downtown. He had a couple of these places, though they were owned through other people. Soon he would be moving his operations into Union Station and Gang Jian would deal with Quinton. That is if everything went according to plan. Unfortunately things often did not go according to plan. Usually Bill could deal with whatever came his way, but this was not normal times. Dealing with superhuman beings was not his normal thing. For the first time in his life he was not entirely confident he could handle a situation. Switching on the TV, he turns to the news. Watching the news usually calmed his nerves when he was upset. Actually anything that helped him focus on something else helped. It was one of the main reasons he loved martial arts so much. Seems there was some kind of explosion on Madison Street around the area they called the Crazy K's. Not surprising in the least bit as these people were shooting and killing each other all the time. Bill mused on what would happen in the USA if minorities got their act together? Prejudice and discrimination did still exist, but was not as bad as it was decades ago. An intelligent, committed Black or Hispanic could really succeed in today's America. If minorities could focus and get committed to beneficial goals rather than negative, unproductive stupidity, things could be different. Gangbanging, selling drugs, shooting and robbing each other was not the way. Let’s not even get into the treatment of women or children. Minorities could be big-time movers and shakers if they would get off the stupid shit. Amazing how people could be so unaware of their true potential. Bill had been around many highly educated, successful whites who were not all that smart to him. The thing is they always seemed so focused on positive goals that would benefit them. Unfortunately, rudeness and ignorance often ruled the day when it came to minorities. No point in worrying about Red. If anyone could take care of themselves, Red was that person. He put his mind at ease and channel surfed until he found one of his favorites shows, Babylon 5, and let his mind ease into the story.

  Quinton wakes up under a pile of rubble and dust. It is dark outside. When he confronted Red, it was in the early afternoon. No telling how many days had passed since. Looking around the pharmacy, it looked like a hurricane had hit the place. There was broken glass and bottles of pills all over the place. The entire area has been taped off and no doubt checked for survivors. Good thing they had missed him. In his current condition, he was in no position to fight anyone right now. Taking stock of himself, he was bleeding from multiple wounds over his body. His hair was burnt, clothing torn and he felt weak. He would not be getting revenge on Bill or anyone in this state. A number of stores next to the pharmacy had been destroyed or damaged to varying degrees. He could only imagine how shocked anyone passing by had been by the explosion. Dirty Red had not gone down easy. Quinton had learned a valuable lesson about being overconfident. Red had planned on taking them both out from the start.

  Looking around he sees that this entire block has been taped off. Across the street he sees a small convenience store partially damaged, but still structurally sound. The front door is hanging off its hinges and obviously some looting has taken place. Entering the store he finds bottles of alcohol, duct tape and other materials. Back over on the other side of the street was a large flea market store with two levels. The top level was blown to bits by the blast. Most of the stores next to the pharmacy suffered a similar fate. Clearing some large pieces of rubble, he finds the bottom level is actually in good shape. He puts some of the rubble back in place to conceal the entrance and heads down the large stairs to the bottom floor. The bottom level was in really good shape. Many of the booths and materials were in good shape. There was enough food, water and other materials for him to stay alive for months. He could see why the workers could not work here though. This place would suit him well for a few days at least. He was unable to locate any rubbing alcohol so he uses a bottle of vodka he found. He could have found some, but was in a haste to get off the street. Picking up the large piece of rubble blocking the entrance had almost made him faint. He pours the vodka over his wounds to sterilize them. Next he uses pieces of cotton torn from a new mattress, he found down here. He places duct tape over the cotton to keep it from moving too much. Then he rips up pieces of bed sheets to tie it all off. The damage was not as bad as he thought at first. The bleeding was not heavy and no major arteries seemed to be hit. He finds another new mattress and lays down on it to rest. Most of the food stuff he found was junk food, but it would have to do for now. Candy bars, chips and popcorn was better than nothing. At least he had plenty of bottled water to wash it down. Time to lay back and try to recuperate a bit.

  It has been five days since his date with Dirty Red. Most of his wounds had healed. He had giant burn marks on his arms and legs. The areas he was bleeding from were hardly noticeable. If he were a normal human, he would have needed skin grafts. Only a hospital would have been able to stop the deep bleeding. Yet he had been able to bandage his own wounds using tape, cotton and old mattress stuffing. A normal person would have bled to death or most likely died from shock. Lying here on this soft mattress doing nothing, he was actually feeling pretty good. He had been doing nothing, but killing and hiding the entire time since escaping from his jail cell. He had spent much time reading old newspapers. Funny enough, there had been an article about the man who invented the first bandages. Apparently his wife was a bit of a klutz who would always cut herself in the kitchen. The guy took cotton and some type of tape to dress the wounds.

  Incredible what people could do when they applied their energy to positive things rather than nonsense like Bill. He had found out at least one new thing while playing with his abilities. He knew that his hearing had been augmented, but by focusing he could tune out background noise and hear any one particular conversation very well. Almost like the people were standing next to him. It worked on any noise, but certain other sounds like vehicles were hard to make out from one and another. He had done this once before when listening in on Garcia and the Street Captains. He did not know how he had done it at the time, but practice had helped. He could hear the conversations of people up on the street talking, discussing their daily lives. Being under the ruins of this store and a level underground did not bother his hearing. There was Leon arguing on his cell phone with his girfriend. Apparently, he did not think the baby was his. There was a bus driver on the Pulaski route calling the police to remove a rowdy passenger. He refocused again and heard a couple having sex. He assumed it was taking place inside a car on the street as there were sounds of vehicles passing that he had tu
ned out.

  He decided to eat again and lay back down. Might as well wait until nighttime when there would be fewer people around. Waking up he stretches and checks a cheap wristwatch he had found. It is 12:30 a.m. and the perfect time to get his groove back. He heads back up to the first level and easily moves the large slab of concrete, which gave him problems when he was still hurt. He places it back and heads out with no real destination in mind. He had found new clothing in the old underground flea market. Hopefully these blue jeans, black t-shirt and black gym shoes would not attract much attention. He could handle any police officer in Chicago who did not have powerful military weaponry like grenade launchers or bazooka. He did not want to hurt any good cops, though. His battle was with Bill and any corrupt officers who acted like him.