Abuse of Chikara (book 1)

by Stanley Cowens

  Three hours later four masked white males pulled up in a unremarkable blue car. They watched the door as a young, slim white male propped the door open and walked away down the street. This resident had a habit of doing this as he often lost his keys. Bill had informed them that the man often went to hangout around this time. In any case, they had a copy of the key to the lobby door that Bill had made. It was better this way though. Bill had told them no one usually was in the lobby this late. Most of the units were not occupied yet, so not a large number of visitors to see anyone. No door man on duty made things even easier. They simply went upstairs to the door and opened it with the key. They would make it look like someone picked the lock of the unit. Big Al did not have to give any order as they had went over what had to be done. All four men knew how to pick locks and would pick the locks of other units and leave the doors open. Bill had been pretty thorough on which floor had no residents that he knew of. It had not been difficult to get a copy of the residents’ list. The building engineer working in the morning had a copy. Bill had taken the man out drinking on a number of occasions. Their friendship had allowed him access to all types of information about the building and its inhabitants. The floors that Big Al’s men would be breaking into had no residents on them. They wanted to make this look like random burglary and breaking and entry that lead to murder. Bill did not want it to look like someone had targeted Quinton’s sister specifically. Doors would be left open from different units. His guys knew how to cover their tracks and would not leave anything behind implicating them. In any case, they would be the ones doing the investigation, Bill would see to it. Forensic evidence could be lost in police lock up and workers in DNA labs could be paid off.

  Bills men found her knocked out sleep in the bed. They stole a number of valuable items such as a laptop, jewelry, money, and other expensive items that could be carried easily. No use to taking anything large that would bog them down. He made sure they left the place in looking like people were searching for things. Draws were open, beds ruffled about and were cabinets rifled through, clothing was thrown on the floor. There would be evidence left here linking her murder to a known criminal police were presently after. The guy was named B.E.K or BEK for breaking, entering, killer by the media. He broke into homes when people went on vacation and sought out condo buildings with poor security. He often just stole, but would kill if confronted by any resident. They would make sure this matched his modus operandi. Actually they had figured out who the guy was, but had not moved in to arrest him yet as he was good cover for crimes they wanted to commit themselves. Once they did arrest him, they would pin his crimes, plus theirs, on the guy. Sometimes BEK liked to use a gun, but often used a knife to stab his victims to death. Once Quinton’s sister had been stabbed to death in her sleep, they placed her body on the floor. Big Al knew how to bruise a person and made sure she had bruises and marks that would make it look liked she had been in a struggle. The deed was done, they left and went back to a safe house Bill owned. Here they would store the clothing and items they would use later to implicate BEK. Time to inform Bill and hit the hay for a big day tomorrow.

  Everything had gone according to plan. A close friend became worried about Quintons relative after a few days and called the police. With permission from the landlord, they entered the unit and found the body. Of course, they found evidence linking the murder to BEK. They had let him loose long enough. He would be brought in tomorrow to parade out to the media. He just had to figure out how he would let Quinton know he was really responsible without implicating himself. That super-powered motherfucker would learn that everybody had to pay their fucking rent!

  Quinton was sitting around drinking 10 strawberry milk shakes and watching the news. Seems that jackass Bill was busy preening on TV. They had caught some guy named BEK, who was accused of murdering women in their apartments. Bill sucked, but if this guy was guilty then he would get what was coming to him. Quinton jumped up, knocking his milk shakes to the floor. He grabbed the TV and held it to him eye level. His sister was one of the people who had been killed. He throws the TV against the wall, shattering it into little multiple parts. There was no way BEK was going to get away with killing his sister. He would find this man and exact revenge for his sister and the other women he had killed.

  Reading had been one of Lucian’s favorite pastimes for centuries now. It was not something members of his species was big on. They had no written language or spoken language, period. His ancestors communicated through telepathic thoughts. They simply learned to read and write later on to deal with humans. They learned the language of whatever particular race of humans they were dealing with. Lucian knew over 90 languages fluently some from extinct human cultures forgotten long ago. Human methods of sharing information are slow and primitive. He could find out anything he wanted to know in a matter of minutes. Communicating telepathically with members across the world was simplicity in itself. Unlike human cultures, there was no hidden knowledge from each other. Their leaders did not hide information from them so they could manipulate the situation. For the most part, their leaders worked toward the common good rather than try to enrich themselves at the public expense. Their leaders were not wealthy while the poor suffered. Human society was inferior to theirs in every way. He could not wait until the final battle when both sides had gathered their armies to fight. Then the earth would belong to those worthy of inheriting it. Lucian was reading an article about this BEK killer, seems he had killed the former superintendant’s sister. No doubt Quinton would kill the man. He hated this type of person and he no longer had any restrictions on how he dealt with people like this.

  The entire affair had been over shortly for Quinton. Grabbing this fool off the truck had not been all that hard. The machine guns used on him had no effect, and the officers other weapons also had no effect. Batons, mace or flashlights were not going to make him flinch. He had picked up a little something from one of the officers. A nice stun gun. This would make his meeting with BEK go more smoothly. He did not need the stun gun to inflict pain, of course, but liked playing with his toys. Nothing wrong with having different options. He had a nine millimeter he had stolen and would add this to his collection as well. Using the drive stun setting , a person could inflict damage to one area of the body, but not harm the central nervousness system. Using a Taser in this manner is considered a pain compliance tool. He just wanted to inflict pain with a tool. This bad boy could cause involuntary muscle control when used normally. This model was mounted with a laser sight and digital camera. He could torture fools and record it for his viewing pleasure. Quinton uses drive stun all over BEK’S body. So far the fool refused to admit killing his sister. He admitted killing the other women credited to him, but not her. Funny that he would admit to the other murders, but not this one. He went on shocking the fool for hours, especially in his sensitive areas like the genitals. He tires of this and breaks BEK’S neck. He had no intention of letting this man go at any point. Even if this pasty face middle age, blond white man had killed his sister or not, he had robbed other peoples’ homes and taken lives. He hated people like this who were just parasites on society’s ass.

  On the man’s arm he sees a small cut. For some strange reason he has a strong desire to taste the blood coming out of the wound. Quinton does so and is hit by a rush of images. He sees all manner of images from the last few days. He is in a armored car guarded by law enforcement officers when the vehicle breaks down. One officer investigates and finds one of the rear tires torn off completely. This officer is knocked out by a masked man in all black. Gunfire fills the air, but it is no use. The masked man shrugs off the gunfire like it’s water. The other officers are easily dealt with just like their fellow officer. The masked man flings him over his back and runs off with him. He is bouncing around unable to resist. He realizes that he is watching himself from someone else's perspective. Someone else who had been there when he committed the kidnapping. Now he saw himself standing over a white wo
man with dark black hair. This woman was shaking violently and chained to the wall. She screamed as he cut her. The more she screamed the more he laughed. Quinton knew these were not memories from him.

  He had killed and tortured people, but not women. His rampage of violence had pretty much missed women. Sure, he had knocked a few out, but not much more than that. He saw different women from different races suffering the same treatment in a old brick room that looked like a basement. The windows had been painted over with black paint and covered with thick curtains. He wondered how the man kept people from noticing the noise from the women screaming. These were no doubt memories from BEK. The question was how was he seeing them. It must have been the blood he had tasted. Somehow, information such as memories must be stored in the blood. Wish there was some way to pick which memories he saw. This all seemed so random. He finally found something that caught his full attention. The man had been arrested by some white cops. They had questioned him for hours about killing different women. This man did not seem to be involved with his sister’s death. The question was who had. He was beginning to get an idea of who had been involved, and it pissed him off. The only way to know for sure would be to gather more information. Police often had more information than they released. Perhaps the arresting officers or detectives who did the questioning knew more. If her death had been ordered, he knew Bill had to be involved with it in.

  Quinton was lucky that the breaking and entering killer had seen badges as well as faces. He was not familiar with these officers, but he had not been involved with police personnel for months. No doubt Bill had new officers running around. Unfortunately, he did not know how to stop these images provided. After two years’ worth of memories the images stopped. He was shocked to find out an entire day had passed. It was a good thing he had not drank a large quantity of the man’s blood. Another thing to consider was this had left him vulnerable. If someone had found him he could easily have been killed. He would have to make sure he was in a safe location in the future when doing this. Taking a cellphone he had taken from a Street Captain the other day, he started making calls. The Street Captain was dead and his body torn to pieces. The remains had been fed to wild dogs in the neighborhood. The man would not miss the phone. Quinton would call different police stations and ask for the names of these officers. Police officers names are public record. They have to admit the officer works at the station. After 20 minutes of calling around, his suspicions are confirmed. All three men work at his old police station. He would have to figure out the best way to locate them and catch one some way.

  Bill was sitting around thinking about more ways to piss off that punk Quinton. He had been thinking of a more permanent solution to the problem. With his connections in the military FBI, and criminal organizations, he could get his hands on things. He had some stuff on the way that should take out this fool. Once that rat bastard was out of the way things could go back to normal. Some did not approve of his methods, but he did not care. He had a few relatives who knew what he was really like that had disowned him. Those former friends and relatives did not understand. His actions were more society’s fault than his. Society put these ideas in people’s heads of the American dream. Two cars, and a nice home and fancy clothing. If you did not have nice material things, you were not worth shit. We put the vision of living high on the hog in people’s minds. The problem is many did not have the ability to reach those goals. Not everyone had incredible athletic ability. Not everyone was smart like Bill Gates or had acting ability or could sing. How many Michael Jacksons or Elvis Presleys were born every year? Sure, there were plenty of talented people in all walks of life. But compared with the overall population, the number was really small. When people did not have the talents or opportunity to reach the American dream those ways, they found other ways. They turned to crime to get money, power and status. It was society’s fault for being so materialistic and worshiping wealth above everything else. It was actually hypocritical to treat poor and powerless people like shit, and condemn them when they did anything to move up in life. Bill did not blame a person for anything they did to make paper. As long as they did not get his. Whatever crimes he committed or had committed were not his fault. He was blameless for any of it. He followed the real rules rather than that bullshit leaders told the sheep. His mind often wandered and he thought of things like this when he had little to do. He was on vacation from his job as superintendent for a few weeks. Not much was going on with his criminal pursuits right now that required his attention. He was an action man and needed something to do. Watching Quark’s schemes on Deep Space Nine on TV was not enough, however, amusing he found Quark’s antics. The small Ferengi was the only realistic character on the show besides the Klingons, Bill felt. He rather liked the Klingons, who were powerful and concerned only with expanding their empire. Like Quark, they were beings mainly concerned with self-interest. Unfortunately, this was diluted with their often hypocritical sense of honor. Quark was a deep character that was what real people were really like. He was what we are all like, even though we do not want to admit it. People who only do things to get something in return. The people who went around doing charity work only wanted to feel good about themselves. They were trying to buy their way into heaven or assuage their guilt from having a lot while many had nothing. Ofcourse, Bill did not have that issue. This world was built on working your way to the top. It did not matter what system it was: capitalism, communism, or socialism. You had to work hard to move up to the top. Those who were poor were that way because they were too stupid and unmotivated to do anything in life. He was not ashamed of being superior to idiots.

  They were both white males with medium builds and brown hair. Their father was a legend on the force for handling dangerous situations. Quinton had never met the man as he worked in another station in his time as police superintendent. The man may have been corrupt, but had never let anyone find out what he was doing then. His sons had been easy enough to find. His contacts in the force said they liked to hangout at a predominantly black club named the Casual Encounter. His contact in the force could not tell him what happened to his sister. It would not matter as he would know soon enough. The Street Captains were a great source of income. Too bad he had not robbed them back in his earlier days. He had taken over $1,000 from two he'd killed yesterday. The store he had brought his $300 suit with their money would appreciate their sacrifice. He paid $200 to grease the guy’s palm at the front door and he was in.

  Quinton had never been much of a club-type of guy even when he was younger. The noise, fights and nonsense had turned him off. The loud thumping music was giving him a throbbing headache. Even with ear plugs the noise bothered him. He hated loud noise, but it bothered him now more than usual. He wondered if this had something to do with his increased hearing. Perhaps his hearing was more sensitive now. He ignored the pain and mingled, keeping the brothers within sight. The trick was to see them without them seeing him. His stylish blue fedora hat helped a bit. The fact that they were both drunk and not paying attention helped also. Seems the brothers had a thing for chocolate. Nothing wrong with liking a little coffee in their cream. He waited patiently for over an hour. Soon his patience was rewarded. One of the brothers left the club with a thick sister. Using a car he had borrowed from a Street Captain, he tailed them. At this time of night there were not many people out on the streets. He pulled in front of James Billington’s car, cutting him off. Ofcourse the fool got out of the car screaming that he was a police officer and he would bust his ass. He walked up to the fool and stood eye-to-eye with him. Even this close, the man did not seem to recognize him. The alcohol and whatever else he was on could easily be affecting his mind. The fool certainly smelt like weed. Quinton had never done drugs, but knew what they smelt like and the effects on people. “Buddy, you don’t want any of this. Move on before I kick your black ass!”

  “Oh no, sir. I definitely want some of this. As a matter of fact, I want all of it.”

 
; Quinton punched James in the stomach, doubling him over. A quick punch to the head sends him to bed. He expected the female passenger to scream or make a commotion, but she just sat their staring at them. She kept squinting and did not seem to be fully cognizant. No doubt, she was stoned out of her mind as well. He did not bother knocking her out as there seemed little point. Throwing his prize in the back seat of his stolen vehicle, he pulled off. He drove for about five minutes and stopped by the nearest sewer cover. He then gives the car to a homeless man who is happy to take it for a spin. Climbing down into the sewer he escapes off into the underground. He did not care if they traced the car to him eventually. He just wanted a day at least alone with his prisoner. This ability to see other people’s memories seemed to leave him vulnerable, which was something he could not really afford at the moment.

  Back in his hideout, he begins to question his prisoner. He already knew the man was a corrupt cop. He would not be walking out of here alive. He did want to try and question him the old-fashioned way before tasting his blood. He could have done it in reverse, but there was always a chance the fool could get free. In his memories watching state he would be easy prey for anyone. At the very least the idiot might get free, and tell people where he was. He would have to leave this nice hideout and find another place.