“Good afternoon, madam, can I have one for Battlefield Earth?”
He stops at the concession stand.
“Good afternoon, sir, how may I help you?” He looks at her name tag and sees Sandra. “I will have large popcorn and a large Seven Up, please.” He usually gets both in small sizes, but what the hell? The Girl Scouts were funding his entertainment today. He gets his popcorn and drink, stopping to admire Sandra’s body. She was African American, medium build with well-endowed breasts and buttocks. He would never been all that interested in blacks, but would definitely be back to hit on her. Who knows, it seemed to be his lucky day, maybe he’d score. He was sure the Girl Scouts wouldn’t mind paying for his hotel room. He finally heads to screen number 5. Sitting there he can’t help but laugh his fucking head off. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, .This would be the best movie he had ever seen. Rifling through the bag he’s got about $400 bucks left. Usually he limits himself to popcorn and a drink. Today he’d have some nachos and Goobers as well. He receives a few bemused stares in his direction. Probably wondering why he’s laughing as it’s not a comedy. If only they knew about the comedy he’d just starred in a few minutes ago. Time to lie back, watch his movie, and have a good old time.
Nick the producer is feeling much better now. A doctor has taken care of his hurt arm. A few months of rest hadn’t hurt, either. They had picked him up and hid him in the old abandoned candy factory on Lake and Cicero. He had only the barest of amenities here. A Crockpot, pens, pencils, TV, writing pads, large mirror and a generator for power. He had no illusions as to why he had been broken out. The fact that his target had been picked for him cinched it for him. This was a vendetta and he wouldn’t be walking away from it alive. He was fine with that though. He was perfectly willing to die for his art. Back when he first started film school, he didn’t really understand films. You weren’t just writing a story. No, you were creating a living, breathing world. He wondered if god was just a writer who could bring his stories to life. He examines himself in the large mirror and likes what he sees. He does not see the face of Nick. Before him is the face of a Mexican man with a nasty looking scar on the left side of his face. Not to mention the prosthetic nose, glasses and wig he wore. The fake stomach made him look fat and the cane was a nice touch. Incredible what you could do with movie makeup these days. Being involved in almost every aspect of making movies had come in handy. He had been a makeup artist for years before filming his first film. His script was almost complete now. All he had to do was to meet the people he’d be shooting. He always liked to get a little information on the main stars of his films. Walking around the inside of the factory, he practices his limp. You could not tell he did not have a real limp. When he was satisfied, he checks his old chain watch. It is 3 p.m. Time to hop on the green line Lake and Cicero train to meet his female stars.
Bill is walking towards Quinton’s office in the police station. He’s going to get rid of Quinton or help Quinton get rid of himself. Before that, he’s going to have a little fun, though. Maybe he can’t do anything directly, but he’s going to enjoy pissing him off until then. He knocks on the door, announces himself, even though Quinton has an open door policy, and keeps the door open.
“How’s everything doing, boss?”
“I’m doing fine, Bill. How’s everything going with you?”
“Just fine and dandy, sir! I just got through banging this fine-ass bitch. How good looking was she, Bill?”
“Sir, on a scale of one to 10 she’s a 12. She was a bit stiff at first, but once I hit it, it was on.”
“So, are we looking at the future mother of your kids?”
“Hell no, I don’t marry or impregnate sleazy-ass bitches who give it up easy. Don’t get me wrong she’s a bad-ass bitch. Not to mention letting me fuck her in the ass. She’s strictly one night stand material, though.”
“Well, sarge, I’m more into the type of girl you can take home to mother. Somebody you can be proud of showing off.”
Bill laughs at that shakes his head emphatically back and forward. “It’s slutty hoes for me all the way and my momma’s blind in both eyes. This broad is a total freak, sir. Me and a few guys ran a train on her. You should come outside and check her out. She’s chilling in my car right now.”
They go outside where Bill is parked on the street. Quinton stops in shock, sitting in Bill’s car is his sister. She’s wearing a black dress that looks like it belongs to a streetwalker. “Quinton, this is Chastity; Chastity, this is Quinton.” It takes every ounce of willpower Bill has not to laugh. It wasn’t all that hard to find out Quinton has a sister. He used a private investigator rather than one of his guys in the department. The investigator had spent a great deal learning Chastity’s personality and habits. She pretended to be a good girl to her relatives, but was really an alcoholic, pill-popping slut. Bill had easily gotten her to do anything he wanted. All he had to do was feed her addictions. He looks at Quinton’s face and sees veins popping everywhere.
Chastity starts talking to Quinton and they converse for a few minutes. Bill can tell that Quinton doesn’t want to get into an argument with her in front of him. Of course, they would be having a family feud later on.
“So you two know each other then?”
“Yes, Bill, Chastity is my younger sister.”
“Wow, what a small world, sir. I guess when we get married that will make us relatives then. Well I have to ride sir, have a good day.”
Bill jumps in his car and pulls off quickly. Chastity is completely oblivious to what just transpired here. Bill can imagine that Quinton’s entire day has just been ruined. It was almost too bad the Producer would soon rock Quinton’s world. Bill rather enjoyed pissing him off. Maybe he could think of something else to do that Quinton had no authority to punish him for.
He stands there seething as Bill pulls off. Quinton wasn’t a fool. Somehow Bill had figured out he had a sister living in Chicago. He didn’t want his sister hanging out with garbage like Bill. No good brother wanted to see his younger sister get hurt. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do. It didn’t appear that Bill was holding her against her will. No doubt Bill would spread it around the force that he had ran trains on the superintendent’s sister. He’d have to grit his teeth and bear the jokes. Sooner or later Bill would slip up, and he’d be on him like white on rice.
The information Nick had received from his contact is very good. Quinton’s wife and daughter do, in fact, frequent the park on Ashland a great deal. Lucky for him a green line train was close. He wasn’t lazy, but wanted to limit his time out in the open. A good director needed to get a sense of the people starring in his films. He had talked to the young girl first. Children were pretty easy to get a sense of. This wasn’t a bad park to be honest. There’s a basketball court in the middle of the park, and a baseball field at the end. The small tennis court next to the basketball court didn’t hurt, either. He began his fake limp and walked up to the young girl about six or seven years old. He’s no friend of the family, but has engaged the mother in conversations a few times. She feels comfortable letting him buy her daughter ice cream or giving her snacks. Of course, who would feel threatened by him? He was a sweet-talking guy with a limp and scar. His cane and limp engendered sympathy not fear.
He had given her a sob story about getting hurt in Iraq. Some insurgents had captured him and tortured him for days. His prosthetic nose and scar had come form that torture. Sitting back enjoying the sunny day, he’s almost tempted to just sit here and enjoy the weather. The girl seems happy and well adjusted. The mother is attractive, full- figured, long black hair down to her shoulders. She would play well on camera without any makeup at all. She had beautiful light brown skin, and smelled like sweet perfume. She was a rare beauty, full-figured and with a sunny disposition. If he was a different type of guy, he would hit on her. She was easily the type of woman men would like to date. She would work fine on film, so would the young daughter. Their deaths would really tug at the hearts
trings of the audience. Gentle doves getting torn apart by a pack of wild hyenas. Of course, he still had to meet the protagonist of his film “Quinton.” He’s a lifelong straight arrow who had been given the name Dudley Do-Right by his men. He needed to see it for himself, needed to get a real sense of the man himself. Nick wanted to see if he really fit the heroic good guy he wanted for this film. He would arrange a little test tomorrow to see what Quinton's character really was. He said his good-byes and heads back to the factory to work on his script some more.
It’s been a good last few weeks, but sleep is still a problem. It could have something to do with Bill. Stress from the job was no doubt a factor. Quinton just awakened from a very disturbing nightmare. Bill was on a street corner in a organ grinder’s outfit. He was saying “hurry, hurry, hurry, get your pussy here.” He had his sister in a large cage with a curtain in front. Men would pay to screw his sister. After a few minutes, the monkey dancing around took a wad of cash and gave it to Bill. The monkey went into the cage and his sister started giving it oral sex. He looked at the full moon, which started dripping blood. He heard something laughing and turned around to see the trees with large mouths with jagged teeth. The men having sex with his sister also started laughing at him. Bill simply shook his head with a large smirk on his face
Quinton had woken up at that point and went to watch some TV. A few hours in front of the so-called boob tube usually helped him get back to sleep. He starts flipping through the channels, over 100 channels and nothing to watch. Not much on this early in the morning to be honest. Finally, he finds something on that catches his interest. The Sci Fi channel is having a Star Trek marathon with the original show. The first one was always his favorite. Next Generation was good, and he did get into DS9 in the third season. The original series was still the best. He had wanted to be Captain Kirk when he was younger. In truth, he had turned out a bit like Kirk, the good guy fighting against the villains and getting the girl. Getting the girl hadn’t always worked out for him, though. Slowly he drifted off to sleep. He woke up at 6:30 a.m. With the sun beaming in his face through the window in the living room. He starts to get up off his Lazy Boy and his legs have gone to sleep. He starts stretching exercises, trying to get some blood flowing back through his body. Might as well go for a little jog since he’s up already. He throws on his black sweatpants, white t-shirt and grey running shoes. He hops in his car and drives to the Ashland Park. This was always a nice quiet place to jog. Right now, a few kids were playing basketball, and the sound of curse words reached Quinton’s ears, but there were no fights or gunplay involved. A few families were having picnics and some old people were sitting on benches.
Bill definitely kept good track of the superintendent and his family. He had been told that Quinton liked to jog in this park in the morning. Nick didn’t keep any type of pattern if he could help it. He only ate at a restaurant twice. He stayed in a house, motel or hotel two or three days in a row. He used different routes when possible. Under normal circumstances, he would be changing cars once every week. He kept all his equipment in a van when he was in Mexico, so he didn’t have a fixed address where anybody could find him. Enough thinking, time to put his little test into action. He would test Quinton’s character for himself. Nick sits down by a tree on the south end of the park. He hopes the young kid doesn’t screw it up.
Jogging is one of Quinton’s favorite exercises. It really helps him take his mind of the problems going on his life. A young Hispanic boy jumps out in his path. The kid looks about 7 to 8 years old. “Watch out little guy, I almost ran you over.”
“Sorry Mr., I found this on the ground.” He hands Quinton a black leather wallet. He goes through the contents and finds an ID card, some credit cards and at least $7,000 in cash, He isn’t hurting for money, but wouldn‘t mind pocketing it. He checks the name on the ID. Guess this guy must be some type of high roller to have this much cash in his wallet.
“Thanks for turning this in little guy. What’s your name, kid?”
“It’s Miguel, sir.”
“Where did you find this wallet at Miguel?”
“Over by the baseball field, over there.” Miguel is pointing towards the south end of the park; someone must have dropped it there. Quinton heads off toward the baseball field.
He heads off towards the baseball field. Maybe someone had dropped it over there. He finds a Hispanic man sitting under a tree who looks like the person on the ID. With Quinton now heading in his direction Nick was taking something of a chance here. Of course his disguise was good, but he might recognize him. He hadn’t actually thought of a contingency plan if he did recognize him. He had been in prison and sentenced long before Quinton became superintendent. He doubted Quinton would recognize him to be honest. It was really amazing how little attention people really paid to the average person out on the street. Of course, they recognize superstars and people that truly stand out. Most guys who had been in jail or prison got noticed by doing stupid things or dressing like hoodlums. He wondered how many people actually walked right by wanted people every day and didn’t know it.
Quinton finally reaches his tree and starts to address him. “Excuse me sir, but I think I have something of yours Mr. Darnell.” It was a fake name he had come up with. He wondered if Quinton even knew what the name meant. Nick made a show of pretending to search his pockets for his wallet.
“Oh my, I didn’t even realize I had dropped that. Thank you, it was very kind of you to return that to me.”
Quinton hands him the wallet. Nick makes a quick scan of the wallet and sees that all the money is still in there. Perhaps I can buy you a drink to show my gratitude? Quinton thinks it over in his mind. He didn’t like taking food or drink from strangers. It was a general rule he had adapted years ago as a teenager. One of his closest cousins often partied and ate or drank what was offered to him. This cousin had found himself with his drink spiked, and getting turned out by two older guys in the back of a van. The experience had left a lasting impression on Quinton. There was also something strange about this man. He hadn’t done anything out of order, but Quinton trusted his instincts. There was something phony about the way he acted.
“Thanks, but I’m going to finish my run, maybe some other time.” Quinton continued on jogging around the park. Nick was impressed by what he had seen so far. He was tall, athletic, and handsome even. He even had the heart of a hero and had proved his honesty by not stealing the large sum of money in Nick’s wallet. He had seen everything he needed to see here. Time to head back to the factory and finish his script to start shooting. He headed toward the green line station eager for the events that would play out in the next few days.
Bill, Red and Psycho are cruising around the West Side on Madison and Damon. Bill is going off on one of his many rants. “I’m telling you, Red, these motherfuckers aren’t showing us any respect! I can’t believe they think they can refuse to pay their monthly payments and keep selling drugs. This is our fucking territory and motherfuckers better pay their rent. It’s time to evict some punk-ass motherfuckers permanently. Did you get everything ready like I told you, Red?”
“Sure thing, Bill, our guy is ready to go and is expecting us.” Red would have a guy come around and gain the trust of whatever gangbangers or thugs they wanted to infiltrate. The guy would join the gang and buy them beer, or food, or pussy. Many police used some type of plant like this. The only difference was that these guys worked directly for Red. When certain guys became problematic, these plants would be given the Order to get aggressive with whatever police officers Bill wanted to send. They would roll up to talk to the gangbangers and the plant would pull out a gun and fire a badly aimed shot, missing widely. This would give the officers justification to use excessive force. Any surviving members would never talk about the plant, thinking he or she was one of their friends. Of course, they would make sure no one survived though. Bill loved that stupid ass no-snitching rule. You could easily find ways to use these silly things to your
advantage. The so-called Blue Wall of silence was just as stupid and often worked to his advantage as well.
They were a few blocks away from the gas station where the punks sell drugs on Madison and Kildare. Bill decided to go over it one more time.
“So, Red, the plant knows to fire when we pull up.”
“Yes sir, Bill. He knows he has to miss badly and not hit any of us. He knows if he hits any of us well blast his ass.”
“He’s pretty sure these guys aren’t packing anything?”
“He is fairly certain they aren’t packing anything nor have any hidden guns in the area. To be on the safe side, I had a patrol car drive by here a little while ago and pat the punks down. So we should be okay.”
“Good, and he knows to get the hell out of there after the first shot and where to go?”
“Sure thing, Bill, this guy has done this for me a few times before.”
“All right then, it looks like it’s almost time to rock then. These motherfuckers have been getting uppity. Guess they think Dudley Do-Right is going to stop us from kicking their asses. Well, motherfuckers are going to start back paying their fucking rent.”
They pull into the gas station around noon. It’s a nice, warm sunny day with a large number of people around. Hot days like this would have plenty of people buying juice and ice cream from the gas station’s convenience store. Plenty of witnesses to see that these thugs opened fire first. Bill didn’t really care if innocent bystanders got hurt. It’s not that he hates people or was particularly cold-hearted. At least that’s what he tells himself. Getting ahead in this world meant stepping on others sometimes.
They exit the police vehicle and the young punks, four in all, start-cracking jokes. They think it’s going to be like all the other times when they were paying their rent on time.
Abuse of Chikara (book 1) Page 8