by Skinzz
Gia smiled and hugged Bo tighter.
"Then what? You gonna marry me to keep me quiet?"
Bo laughed.
"Maybe. They can't force a wife to testify against her husband."
There was a loud knock on the door. Bo and Gia jumped then stared at each other, eyes wide, mouths open. A chill raced the length of Bo's spine.
"The police?" Gia asked.
"Maybe."
There was another knock. This one was even louder.
"What if it's Little Davey?"
"Then I ain't opening the door. I told you. I'm done with him."
Bo pulled on some pants and tip-toed to the door. He was just about to peek through the peephole when he heard the yell from the other side of the door.
"This is the Trenton Police Department! Open the door!"
The door exploded. Six officers in riot gear charged into the room with guns drawn.
"Don't move, you Nazi piece of shit!"
One of the officers, a slender black man in his fifties with graying hair who appeared to be the leader, a Captain or a Sergeant or something, smiled gleefully as he pointed his gun between Bo's eyes.
"Show me your hands, asshole! Your ass is goin' to death row for what you did, Beuregard or Bocephus or whatever the fuck your name is. What the fuck is Bo short for anyway?" The cop laughed.
Bo raised his hands in surrender and one of the other officers tackled him. Two more police officers jumped on top of him. Their combined weight crushed the air from his lungs. It felt like they were squeezing the life from him. They rolled him over on his stomach and sat on his back. They jerked his arms behind his back so hard it felt like both shoulders dislocated as they attempted to handcuff him. Bo struggled to free himself from under them, trying to get some air.
"Don't resist! Stop resisting!" one of the police officers on his back said.
"I can't breeeeathe!" Bo wheezed.
One of the officers struck him with his baton and soon punches, kicks and batons were raining down on him. Bo felt one of the officers lodge his Billy club beneath his chin and pull. The guy was sitting on Bo's back and he was pulling so hard that he was both choking him and straining Bo's back. A gurgling sound came from his throat. He heard Gia scream.
"Let him go! You're killing him!"
Then everything went black.
Epilogue
Somewhere in New Jersey, 9:22 am.
Little Davey sat outside the tattoo parlor, watching two little black kids play up and down the boardwalk. They were both wet and covered in sand. They had just come up from the beach and were waiting for the boardwalk's amusement rides to open. Mickey sat in his stroller, playing with a G.I. Joe action figure. He wore tiny Doc Marten combat boots and a little, white Agnostic Front t-shirt. His head was completely shaved except for a single patch of blond hair at the very front.
"How you doin', Sport?"
Mickey looked up at his father and smiled. Davey reached down and ruffled his son's hair.
Davey remembered talking with Skinner once about the Atlanta Child Murders and how that guy had the right idea. Killing little black kids would fill the entire race with mortal terror of the white man...as it should be, he thought.
"Hey buddy, you're up."
Little Davey stood up and walked inside the tiny tattoo shop. It was just barely larger than a walk-in closet. There was only one chair, a barber's chair. There were pictures of tattoos all over the walls. The big bald guy who owned the place had a confederate flag tattooed on his neck along with an iron cross on the back of his hand and a plethora of other tattoos in between, mostly skulls, heavy metal lyrics, and naked women. That's why Davey chose this filthy rundown tattoo parlor among all the other tattoo shops on the boardwalk. He looked like the kind of guy who could relate to Davey's cause.
"My name's Hank," the big bald guy said. He didn't offer to shake hands.
"David. Pleased to meet you, brother."
Hank nodded toward Davey's son.
"Cute kid. So what do you want?"
Davey climbed into the seat and rolled up his sleeve. He handed Hank a piece of paper.
"I want this, in two inch gothic lettering, all the way up my arm."
"You want this symbol too?" Hank asked.
"Oh yes. Absolutely," Davey replied.
Hank shrugged.
"You're the customer."
Davey was in the chair for five hours. Hank, played Slayer, White Snake and Hank William's Jr. on a stereo set up by the front door while he inked the big letters on Davey's skin from the inside of his elbow to his wrist. When he was done, Davey stood up and admired the design in the mirror.
There was a swastika tattooed on his wrist and another in the crook of his arm. In between, in big, two-inch gothic lettering, just as he'd requested, were the words "The Unrest Lives!"
"Beautiful. You do good work."
"Yeah, thanks. That'll be two hundred dollars."
"Take a check?"
"Fuck no!"
"I'm just kidding. Here you go." Davey counted out two hundred dollars in twenties and handed it to Hank. Hank grimaced.
"Is that blood?"
The twenties had turned brown, stained with old blood. Davey smiled.
"Does it matter?"
Hank scowled.
"I hope these ain't marked bills. I don't need that kind of trouble."
"I didn't rob a bank if that's what you mean."
Hank eyed him suspiciously then nodded his head and shoved the brownish red bills into the cash register.
"Okay. You have a nice day." He held the door open and Davey stepped out into the sunlight, pushing the stroller ahead of him. Spring was just a few weeks away and it was going to be a glorious one.
"You might want to put some Neosporin on that. And don't scratch or you'll fuck it all up. Good luck."
Davey smiled.
"Thanks, Hank."
He looked down the boardwalk, searching for the two black kids he'd seen playing earlier. It was still early and the boardwalk was mostly empty. The rides had just opened and a small line was beginning to form for the rollercoaster. He spotted the two kids a block away, heading toward the Ferris wheel. Their parents were nowhere in sight.
Little Davey reached into his pocket and gripped the hilt of his new bowie knife as he started down the boardwalk with his son. He leaned down and whispered in Mickey's ear.
"You're about to learn a valuable lesson today son, how to deal with the lesser races. They need to be put in their place. You watch, daddy will show you."
There were lots of dark isolated places once you got off the boardwalk. There were alleys and side streets where nobody ever went. It might take a few hours, but eventually he knew they'd leave the boardwalk and he'd be right behind them. He looked down at his new tattoo and smiled, feeling that old excitement and anticipation, that rush of adrenalin.
The Unrest lives, he thought. The Unrest Lives!
Demon Child
By Maxwell "Mack" Johnson
Some demons haunt our nightmares
Others inspire us to dream
to mischief and sin
dark music and pleasure
violent combat and dance
Some demons embarrass us
And some amuse us.
My demon child is a wild thing
Full of fire and love
He makes me forget my pain
Makes me feel invincible
Makes me laugh when I should cry
Makes me live when I want to die
My demon child is a crazy thing
Full of rage and joy
He fights for me
and I for him
He'd die for me
And I for him
He lives for me
And I for him
My demon child
is my best friend.
Unstoppable
By Jason "Demon" Sadler
You can't stop him when he's rollin'
Run
nin down skins like an eighteen wheeler
When he's runnin' or he's strollin'
Racists all flee from the black death dealer!
Unstoppable!
Like a Mack truck Irresistible!
Like a Mack truck Runnin' 'em down!
Runnin' 'em down!
Runnin' 'em down!
He's runnin' 'em down!
When he's on the scene
Stompin' through the pit in his big black boots
He's a moshin' machine
Stompin' on skins with his big black boots
Unstoppable!
Like a Mack truck
Irresistible!
Like a Mack truck
Runnin' 'em down!
Runnin' 'em down!
Runnin' 'em down!
He's runnin' 'em down!
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
