He needed to get home and clean off the blood on his shirt from those Mexican guys. The five of them had talked a big game. Too bad they could not back it up. This was going to be a good week. He could feel it in his bones as well as his stomach. Or he could feel something in his stomach at least. The mix of beer, wine and whatever else he had been drinking exploded out of him like a miniature volcano erupting. Unfortunately his equilibrium is off because of the alcohol, and he falls out of the car. Psycho tumbles around, rolling four times before he comes to a stop. Josh, of course, does not even register his buddy missing. As smashed as he was, he would not notice until tomorrow. His arms and legs seem okay, but his face is bleeding on the right side. Fuck, he did not have his cell phone on him to call anyone. He headed to the nearest underground train station and hops on a train. Good thing a local gas station sold gaze and bandages. He was no doctor, but he had not done a bad job. It was not even bleeding that much, so the gash must not have been that bad. He hated taking these slow-ass trains. Psycho often walked miles rather than take any train. They were always crowded and full of funny-smelling people. Not to mention that this headache was killing him.
He remembered hearing that women had sex to cure headaches. Maybe that would work. for him. He checks out the available broads on the train. Four chicks in all. A fat Hispanic chick, one hot African American, and two skinny white broads. He hated skinny woman, so they were out. The black chick was hot, but it would take too much time to throw his mack at her. Hot chicks were like that. They were full of themselves and you really had to up your game to get them. So that left the fat Mexican chick. He had to admit she did have some nice tits and an ass. He had never banged a fat chick before. She is real resistant at first, but he begins to see her resistance waning. Forget all that BS in the magazines and self-help books. There is no secret to getting a woman. It’s not about clothing, being smooth or any of that shit. Confidence was the only thing that really mattered. Many woman were weak willed and would do all manner of things if pressured. Judging personalities helped as well. This fat chick likely never had any dudes of any race kick it to her. The only boyfriend she ever had was battery operated. Money was a big incentive with women also. Looking at her worn-out clothing, it was apparent she did not have a ton of money. To seal the deal he offered her $1,000. He could shake down some drug dealers and make that back up in an hour or two. Soon she was lying on his coat on the train floor with her legs in the air. Psycho, with his butt exposed, was on top of her pounding away. Fat girl was nice, soft and hot. After this he might have to bang a few more fat broads. There were a few men and women on the train who had gathered around them to watch. To his surprise they were actually cheering him on. Shouts of go, go, go, go continued to the end of the line.
The train actually stopped a few times before reaching the end of the line. Maybe the operator was watching them or this was normal. By the time the train stooped, it had been 20 minutes at least. He would not want to be the one who had to clean up this mess on the train floor. Big girl had been a squirter. He made sure to get her phone number. It would be nice to hit this a few more times before moving on. He pulled his pants on and they went their separate ways. No one stopped him or called the police. It would not matter if they did to be honest. Actually, people on the train were still cheering them on as he was leaving. He had to give it to women. Sex really did cure headaches. He hoped that bitch did not turn up pregnant, as he had not used a condom. Never did to be honest. He hoped she did not have any diseases. Oh well, what the fuck? He was not going to stop going up in bitches’ raw no matter what. He hits the bed with his clothes and shoes on and drifts off to sleep.
Quinton was back in his flea market underground level licking his wounds. Actually, he was healed for the most part. The white hot light that he was hit with was powerful. It had burned his flesh just like the explosion caused by Dirty Red. Not to mention the kinetic force it caused pushing him back. Good thing he healed at such an accelerated rate. This could be a major problem concerning his revenge on Bill. He had no interest in fighting this man again. Waking up in the bottom of a river with third- degree burns was not fun. Being in the bottom of the river next too Union station had showed him one thing though. Either he could not drown or did not need to actually breath or could breathe water. He had been down their out of it for at least four hours. This might be something worth testing in the future. Now that he was thinking rationally he remembered something. This Asian guy was dressed exactly the same as Lucian. The office he was in was mostly white. Quinton had no idea what the obsession with white meant. This guy even had the same strange design on his cuff links and art work in his office. He would have to find some way to get at Bill when the man was not around. Problem is that Bill was not stupid. He would spend very little time away from his guard dog. At least the man could not be everywhere though. He would get at Bill the only way he could at the moment. He would hurt his pocketbook. The man was heavily involved with the Street Captains, drugs and human trafficking. Maybe he would bust up a few of their drug operations tomorrow. Like Robin Hood, he would take from the rich and give to the poor. For now he would eat his meal fit for 20 kings and their royal courts, and rest. Good thing he had a steady supply of thugs and drug dealers to rob. He normally ate far more than any average person. When he was seriously hurt, his hunger increased tenfold. This was a little over a hundred dollars worth of food. It would be gone tomorrow. Good thing there was a toilet down here still working. He tore into his food and started imagining what he would do to the Street Captains tomorrow.
He just thought of the perfect target. Some random Street captain he had stopped from raping a teenage girl had mentioned this particular target to him. The clown was going around calling himself Big Boy. Big Boy was the second most powerful member of the gang. Quinton had taken him into an abandoned building and beaten the shit out of him. Big Boy had revealed a wealth of information about the gang’s drug locations in and around Chicago. This particular location was in a Cook County forest preserve around a northwestern suburb. Big Boy had been very helpful. Quinton was grateful for the information, so he did not kill Big Boy. He did have to teach the man a lesson for being a filthy rapist that he would not forget. Quinton had found a solid workbench that he had tied Big Boy to. After tearing off the man’s pants and underwear, he had applied lubricant to his anus with a toilet brush he had found. No reason to be mean he thought. For the next part he had collected three dogs from the area, all male. Wild dogs no one would miss, except perhaps the dogcatcher. A Doberman, German shepherd, and he did not know what the hell the other one was. It was big and black, and would do for his purposes. He would feed the dogs whenever he was around the area. He took the German Shepherd and lifted it over the man’s ass. The dog looked at him confused, but soon got the idea. Before long he had inserted himself into Big Boy’s booty hole and was pounding away. He had heard that they did this to shame enemies in Muslim nations. He did not know if it would really work, but the three dogs were taking turns making sweet doggy love to Big Boy’s booty hole. Guess dogs really would screw anything. So this is why they said all men are dogs. Dogs had a surprising amount of stamina. It had been about an hour and they were still going strong. Perhaps it was the fact that there were three of them and they could rest up between taking their turn.
Big Boy had learned his lesson enough for one day. He let the man go and did the same with the dogs 30 minutes later. He would get as close as possible to this forest preserve by bus. May as well preserve his energy for a possible battle ahead. No telling how many guys the Street Captains had around in the area. Riding the bus he began to think about his time in high school learning about forest preserves. These preserves were protected areas of land, used to conserve protected areas of wildlife and fauna. So funny that we had to conserve plant life because we are in such a rush to cut it all down. Man has a symbiotic relationship with plant life. As we destroy it we destroy our- selves. Cutting down so much vegetation re
duced the amount of oxygen in the air and killed off many species. It’s funny how the pursuit of money trumped everything else in the world. Soon he was at the forest preserve checking the place out from a distance. The Street Captains would be on alert for anyone matching his description of course.
Quinton could see much farther than the average person, but not through objects. He would need to get closer to check this place out. The information could be wrong or it could be a trap. His experiences with Dirty Red and the Asian man dressed in white had cleansed him of his feelings of invincibility. Luckily there was a large Muslim community living in this area. Dressed in his disguise, he would not seem out of place. The white clothing went well with the large fake beard and hair. To be honest, he had actually been mistaken for Muslim before without the beard and get up. The Street Captains would not be looking for him in any disguise anyway. They would expect him to come running in like a wild bull.
Walking around Quinton was astonished by how organized and advanced this operation was. The guys had thousands of marijuana plants in a clearing in a heavily wooded area not used much by the general public. Coyote urine hung from different trees to keep away other animals who might eat the crop. There was a sump pump and generator used to pull water from a pond to irrigate the crops. These plants were atleast 5 feet tall. Soon they would be ready to harvest and reap a king’s ransom in money. There was no way these guys set this all up without local police knowing what was going on. They had to be getting their cut from Bill on the side. Maybe the DEA was involved and getting their share also. He would wait for nighttime to come back and take care of his business. For what he planned it would be better if as few people were around as possible. Might as well limit the casualties to innocent people that the forest preserve was packed with in the daytime.
Quinton waited till nighttime and went back to the forest preserve. It was not difficult to go to different gas stations to get gasoline. There were also some canisters in the large tent the men were using. Creeping around and hiding behind trees, he sees a black van pull up and two white males get out. These guys were wearing street clothes, but it was the two cops he had tortured before. What were their names again? It was Chuck and Lenny if he remembered right. Guess Bill had given them this nice easy job monitoring the Street Captains. He debated torturing them again, but decided it would be a waste of time. Bill cared a lot more about money than he did people. He set about dousing the drug crop with gasoline. He did not notice any workers from the forest preserve in the area, except Street Captains in disguise. He went into the large blue tent and kills the sleeping Street Captains. He would normally make them suffer, but he wanted to do this fast. The three sleeping men all die in their sleep fast as he breaks their necks one by one. In the tent he finds more gasoline canisters, a few handguns, plenty of money and radio equipment. With these canisters he is able to douse most of the plants. He lights the plants with a match and gets out of there. By the time the nearest fire department gets their vehicles here, a large percentage of the crops would be ruined. He changes out of his get up into new clothing he had taken from the tent and heads home on foot. He could only imagine the look on Bill’s face tomorrow when he finds out how much money he had lost. A large percentage of the crops would be ruined.
Quinton was back in his hideout in the old flea market. It was early morning and he had just awakened from a good night’s sleep. Turning on the TV, he watches news programs talking about the fire at the forest preserve. Of course the cops in the area and the DEA had to make a show of destroying any crops that survived. No doubt they were pisssed about losing their share of the considerable cash. What he wouldn't give to see the look on Bill’s face. No doubt the punk knew who had done it. His powers and abilities gave him a real sense of satisfaction right now. The only real drawback was some of the side effects he had to deal with, and of course selling his soul. The amount of food he had to eat to keep his strength up was incredible. He had not eaten anything last night, jazzed up over the exhilaration of what he had done. He had actually started having waking dreams about food. These dreams were more like full-blown hallucinations about food. He was seeing himself riding on a giant cupcake. All around him the houses and the entire environment was made out of different types of food. He could still feel his body and appendages moving around normally. What he was seeing was not reality; However, after a few minutes he came out of the waking dream or hallucination or whatever you wanted to call it. Time to go get some grub and plan his next move. He might try and go after Bill again or at least kill someone close to him. Problem was the man did not seem to have anyone he really cared about. That could wait until tomorrow he thought. Time to rest and relax a bit.
Bill was sitting in his temporary office at Union Station considering the current situation. Someone had set fire to the drug plants in the forest preserve, causing millions of dollars in profit to be lost. That was not the worst of it though. A fire that big in a public area had caused a lot of attention where there was none before. Local cops and the DEA had to make a show of burning the other plants that did escape the original fire. There would be questions and investigations now that the media had gotten involved in this mess. This would really hurt his reputation with the DEA and local cops in the area. They let him get away with murder because he could be counted upon to bring home the bacon quietly. Not to mention his knack for dealing with troublemakers. The only one who could have done something like this was Quinton. Yes, he had other enemies, but they would have stolen the drugs and not burned them. That rat bastard had switched his tactics.
Since he could not harm him directly, he was going after his income sources. Gang Jian would protect him from Quinton, but refused to actually help hunt the man down. He had been studying all the reports of Quinton’s different adventures so far, and studying his strengths and weaknesses. If he could get the man in a situation where he could use his abilities against him, maybe he could still prevail. As he got his plan together, he thought Quinton would need to be taught a lesson. When people hit Bill, Bill hit back. He really did not enjoy killing women, but he could not let anyone make him look weak. He would call Big Al and his right hand man James Billington. With Dirty Red gone, Big Al had become Bill’s right hand man. Big Al was a large, round white man that had the look of a mobster. Big Al, as people called him around the city, was corrupt; but he was also focused and had his mind on the big picture. If Bill had a son he would have been like this man. James was somewhat sick in the head, but not to the extent, that Psycho was. He also had two sons on the force who did whatever daddy told them to. By tomorrow Quinton would see that motherfuckers had to pay their rent, even if they had superpowers.
It was a simple matter to take back up with Quinton's sister. She was someone who craved attention and affection. To be honest most of us did crave those things aswell. Some were more obsessive about it than others. She had jumped at the chance to start dating again. If he played this right it could actually help him. The new police chief’s girlfriend gets killed. He would be the hero whose loss everyone could connect with. He had thought about doing this sooner, but did not want it to look suspicious. He could have had this done on the street, but preferred a controlled environment with as few witnesses as possible. They could remove incriminating evidence as needed with no prying eyes. Hanging out in her building let him get a firsthand view of the layout. This was a new condo building, it had just been built. There was no security officer on duty. The camera system was not yet installed. Best of all, many of the units were not even occupied yet. Only two of the thirteen units on her floor were occupied. The other resident was often away on exotic trips to other countries. Mr. Leo Benbensity was a white African who had made large sums of money dealing in the diamond trade. Not a bad fellow to be honest. He was intelligent and willing to share his business knowledge. Bill made a mental note to look him up when this business was done. The next closest building did not have security cameras pointed toward the front entrance of thi
s building. The front door was often propped open at night by residents exiting the building. In any case, he had made a copy of her key to the front door. He loved doing recon work. It almost made him feel like he was back in the army, setting up plans for his unit to go into battle. Quinton would get his message loud and clear. This would take place in a few days. He wanted to hit that hot vagina a few more times before it was time to take action.
Most people did not care about crime prevention through architectural design. The people who had made this building obviously did not know or care about it. There were areas a person could hide that were not well lit. There were no physical gates around the building. There were no symbolic separations or defined zones from what he could see. Even territoriality could not apply here as the building was mostly empty. Our ancestors had been using the environment to influence human behavior for years. Prisons painted walls pink as it was thought to calm people. In Tokyo, benches were made with armrests to make it harder for homeless people to sleep on them. Even the trees and shrubbery blocked the view of the building grounds. Bet they thought the tall trees and shrubbery gave the building a unique look. It also made it easier to commit crimes without being seen from any passing vehicles on the street. The main lobby door was open once again, and they had not hired any security personnel even yet. There was no natural security to speak of here. The only real physical barriers like doors were often left open. He went upstairs and visited her for a while. Bill knew she liked to get wasted to the point she could not function. He brought her favorite drink and came over and cooked her a great dinner. She deserved a nice last meal. If those facing execution got a last meal, then so should she. Even though she did not know it, she had been judged guilty of a horrible crime. She was related to someone who was getting in his way. A horrible crime of which there could be no forgiveness. Bill was her judge, jury and Big Al would be the executioner. A good hot meal was not too much to receive for someone about to die. If murderers, rapists and gangbangers got a last meal, then she easily deserved a good meal; and a last night of enjoyment, courtesy of yours truly. They drank heavily until she was out of her mind. Bill put her to bed and left.
Abuse of Chikara (book 1) Page 16