Abuse of Chikara (book 1) Page 18

  Here Psycho boy was thinking about his childhood growing up in Mexico. It has been a pretty crazy childhood for a kid. His weird journey may have started off with his mother. His mother had always wanted a daughter. She had made that clear to him repeatedly over the years. Wanting a child of a certain gender was not abnormal among parents. His mother refused to accept this.She had treated him like a little girl early on. She went so far as to make him wear dresses. He was even taught to walk like a girl and had the mannerisms down very well. As a child even his room was pink and his bed was decorated with cartoon characters popular with young girls. Psycho did not have a masculine build and could pass very easily for any woman if he wore female clothing. As he got older he refused the female identity his mother had created and started acting like a young man. He had started hanging with Mexican gangbangers to become tough. Many in school or the general area they lived in thought he was actually a girl. When he started dressing like a boy many teased him and began to bully him. Joining a gang was his way of becoming a man and getting respect from those around him. Even as a young boy he was shocked at the power working for thugs had given him. No more taking shit off people and being bullied. He was doing the bullying now. Mexican gangsters were more than happy to employ kids to do their dirty work. He started out doing low-level grunt work, but soon moved up to the rough stuff. It was in the service of a Mexican gang that he first learned the joys of killing. He had to admit that he did occasionally miss wearing woman's clothing. Once in a blue moon he would dress up as a woman for the heck of it.

  He spent a great deal of time working out and was very strong. It did not show in his physique though. Many assumed to their dismay that he was a wimp. He could not keep count of thugs he had manhandled on the street, who thought he would be a push- over. Tired of lying there he got up and looked himself over in the mirror. His blue dress, and black high heels went along well with his purse. No one would be able to tell he was really a man. He would go commit a crime or two, and everyone would be looking for a woman if he did it right. Good thing he had another car in the area. A little something they had taken from a drug dealer. The blue, top-down vehicle that was close to a Lotus 7 would serve his purposes well. The Lotus 7 design had spawned a number of imitations. These are usually called sevens or sevenesque roadsters. These vehicles were extremely popular and would easily get the attention of thugs and gangbangers. They liked flashy vehicles like this. He drove around for a while looking for a likely victim. He preferred killing assholes for some reason. True he was an asshole himself. He did like to have fun, but limited his killing to gang-bangers and jerks when possible. He did not kill respectable citizens like he used to in Mexico.

  No, Bill did not want him killing indiscriminately. He could kill thugs and punks, but the situations had to be favorable to them not getting found out. Cruising around, he finds himself in front of the home of a thug named Santiago . He did not care too much for the guy to be honest. Santiago abused his wife and smacked his kids around in plain view. The guy was some punk gang-banger wannabe hanging around in the streets. Psycho hated guys who abused females and kids. It always reminded him of his time in Mexico as a child, and the abuse his mother suffered. He would enjoy beating this guy to a pulp. Santiago had an eye for the ladies and was always screwing around. The guy was a dog who would fuck anything with a skirt on. It helped matters that Psycho knew a lot about him, but this guy knew very little about him. He had a friend that was in the know in this area and knew who Santiago was.. Psycho had observed the man from a distance. He always kept a pair of binoculars and a telescope to see what was going on around him. He had a lot of surveillance equipment. Some legal and some not so legal. There was no way this fool would recognize him or know he was a man. His imitation of a woman was flawless. He could do an excellent sounding female voice that was seductive and made men weak in the knees. He had learned to alter his voice years ago. There were techniques a person could practice to make their voice sound different. Many professional long-term voice actors used these techniques.

  It was a simple matter to drive by and get his attention. He pulled up to the curb, got out and pretended to drop something. Bending over and letting the group of horny men standing there get a good, long hard look was all he needed to do. Soon there was a crowd of Mexican guys around him trying to flirt and throw their corny Mack at him.

  “Yo baby, looking for a Latin lover? Yo white girl, come jump on this dick. If you want a real man then come with big papa. Come sit on daddy’s lap little girl.”

  Of course Santiago pushed his way through the crowd to get at him. “Hey mama, I’m your Latin lover Santiago; don't worry about these guys. You have a problem with any of them you let me know.”

  “I like a big strong man who can protect me. I’m going for a ride, maybe you would like to come along and show me just how big and strong you really are?”

  You could get many people, male or female, to do things by appealing to their ego. So many people had a bloated opinion about themselves. He found even homeless people thought they were superior to many others. He knew who and what he was. He was a fucked up individual and his goal in life was to run with it. This guy thought he was extremely intelligent and a real man. Soon he and this fool were embracing. He was really getting into it as Psycho groped him all over the place. Little did he know that he was really being frisked for weapons. Many gangs had a community gun hidden someplace. It would be well-hidden, but close enough to retrieve if needed quickly. Satisfied that Santiago was free of any weapons, he asked him to go for a ride. Soon they were locking the doors and he was starting the engine. Some thick young Mexican woman came running up to the passenger side door. He recognized her easily from his surveillance. This was Santiago’s girlfriend that he treated like shit and often abused physically and mentally.

  “Baby, where are you going with this woman?”

  “Don’t worry about that bitch! I told you I go where I fukcing want to go. Take your ass back in the house.”

  He put his hand on top of her head and shoved her in the forehead, pushing her down to the ground. They pulled off as she was sobbing and crying. You could see from the bruises and swollen eye, he had not been a gentleman in the past. As they drove to a secluded area, Santiago told Psycho more about himself. All he did was talk about how smart he was, and how he was going to do this and that. Of course, he bad-mouthed women and African Americans. Psycho never really got sexism or racism to be honest. Sure, he would kill minorities if they got in his way. He did not have any special dislike toward any race or females.

  As they drove he went over his cognitive scripts in his mind. Cognitive scripts are mental maps, a type of mental processing to store, recall or decode information. People used it to recall locations and things. He had been going over this plan in his mind for at least two days now. He thought that term was the right one. Psycho was not sure. After all, Bill was the one who was always talking about shit like that. It was Bill who he had first heard the term from. He was not stupid, but had no need for anything that did not benefit him in his everyday life. He had not paid attention to any of that shit in high school or college. He had paid motherfuckers to do his homework and take tests for him. He was too busy getting high, drinking and fucking. Looking over at Santiago in the driver seat, he doubted this punk ever thought about stuff like that. Psycho wondered how it would be if he could be as intelligent as Bill was. The man had four associate degrees, ran legitimate and illegitimate businesses. Bill had plans of retiring in his early 60s and becoming a scientist or doctor or something. Not because he would need the money. Bill just believed in expanding oneself. He knew he would never be that person, but his life was not so bad.

  They had finally reached a secluded area. This was actually out of the city limits in between Chicago and Milwaukee. This area would do fine. There was a long road here with trees and lots of vegetation. There was not a lot of traffic on this road, but he would still make this quick. He drove the ca
r off the road and got out. The fool followed him.. Soon they were getting hot and heavy by a tree. He was on top of Psycho taking off his pants. He reached his hand down Psycho’s pants and jumped up in surprise when he felt a long sausage. Psycho jumped up laughing hysterically at his shock.

  “You fucking fag, I’ll kill your ass. Sick ass faggot bitch, I’m going to fuck you up good.”

  The wimp tried throwing a right cross at him. Psycho grabbed the arm and pulled the fool close to him. He drove his left finger up into Santiago’s left eye. A knee to the groin, a couple of jabs and uppercuts, and the fool was down on the ground. Always one to kick a man when he was down, Psycho began to stomp the hell out of him. Bloodied and bruised, he begged for mercy. Psycho continued to stomp him until he was just whimpering like a dog. He picked the punk up and threw him 6 feet face first into a tree. Most people did not know how strong he was by just looking at him. He had a slim, effeminate build, but was strong as an ox. Countless hours of hitting the gym and practicing martial arts with Bill had granted him this strength. He had practiced a number of different fighting styles over the years with Bill. His favorites were Nippon, Kenpo and Chun Kuk Do. Of course, he did not give a rat’s ass about the personal honor codes that came with these fighting styles. He tossed the bastard into a few more trees, laughing the entire time. This was fun, but he had other things to do. The devil’s work was never done. Retrieving a gun from his car, he shoots the punk in the head, heart, stomach, and other parts of the body. He made sure to puncture major arteries. A person could bleed to death from a wound to any part of the body if a major vein was punctured. Emptying the gun in the man, he makes sure he will not survive. He breaks the neck of the already dead body.

  He jumps back in the car and jets off after putting the body in the trunk. He would have to dispose of the car and dress as soon as possible. Simple child’s play from one who had learned from a guy like Bill. Bill had taught him how to get rid of almost any type of evidence. He had learned even more ways in his time as a police officer. The cool thing is people would say he went off with an attractive white woman. No one would be looking for a male, but rather this hot female chick who did not exist. He had not forgotten about the man’s girlfriend and child though. The punk had deserved to die, but they had not done anything to him. He would send them a package special delivery. This package would contain a million dollars. Hopefully the woman would use the confiscated drug money to get out of the crappy neighborhood. If she was smart, she would invest it.

  Finding the other brother had not been hard at all. Quinton knew all of their favorite spots to hangout. These guys lived hard and loved night clubs. It was nothing unusual for young men actually. Most guys their age spent all their time partying like there was no tomorrow. A few hours wait outside a bar, and he had this fool back in his hideout and was paying him back for what he had done. The dumbass had come back to the same bar he picked his brother up at for the casual encounter. Guess these white boys could not resist the dark meat as the majority of females who frequented the club were sisters. The other brother had suffered horribly and so would this one. He had been reading up on different methods of torture the last few days. Dental torture had piqued his interest. It was easy enough to get a large drill. He had spent the last hour drilling inside the man’s mouth. He screamed and begged for mercy, but Quinton had none for Mr. Ron Billington here. He had to admit that he did enjoy the sound of this drill boring into teeth. He had never been much of a handyman, but maybe that could be his m.o. or something.Everytime he’d kill a guy, he could use carpenter tools or something.

  This bastard was going to pay for what he had seen in his brother’s mind. They had both been involved in his sister’s death. After the dental torture, he tried cutting the man all over his body with a hot knife. He cut on his body for at least 10 minutes. He had to give the guy credit for his ability to stay awake. He took a long funnel that he had made especially for these type of moments. It could be forced down a person’s throat, and held down so they could not close their mouth or push it out. He finished forcing it down the man’s throat. He took a gallon of bleach and poured it down the man’s throat. There was choking and gagging. But it eventually all went down. He had read up on this type of funnel on the Internet. Amazing what you could read up on that thing. He was not about to leave anything to chance, so he chopped up the punk’s body into pieces with an axe he had acquired. He would dispose of the body like he had done the brother’s. Now the only person left was Big Al and Bill, of course. He had his informant trying to get Big Al’s location.. Bill would be a problem that he would have to think about more. In the meantime, he shoved the remains into garbage bags and cleaned the blood up. Being a former police officer, he knew how to dispose of bodies and leave little to no evidence. He would take care of this and then get some sleep

  It was nice in Milwaukee at this time of year. Big Al loved sunshine and warm days. The hotter the better in his opinion. It wasn't just that he liked warm weather. When it was hot things were jumping. In the warm summer weather things jumped off. It was a well-known fact that good weather meant more people out on the streets interacting. More interaction meant more dumbasses abusing each other. It meant more excitement, conflict and more things for him to do. It meant more illegal opportunities for him to exploit, and he was always on the lookout for more opportunities. That was why he was here waiting outside this particular house. Bill had money, influence and power. All the things Big Al wanted and would do anything to get. He would kiss the black off Bill’s ass if he had to. Murder little kids or rape nuns if the man asked him to. The only thing he cared about was himself. Even as a child he had not given a shit about anyone other than himself. He would kill his own family members if someone offered him the right sum of money. He was not going to end up like his father had. His father had not been a bad man or abusive in any way. He was a loving husband and father, but never had two cents to rub together.

  Growing up poor had not been a pleasant experience. Other kids teased you and shunned you. People treated you like garbage. No, he would become one of the one percent, no matter what it took. How come he could not have been blessed with athletic ability like NBA players or a mental ability like that Gates guy. Fuck it, he would become a member of the one percent no matter what it took! Bill had given him pictures of the people he was waiting for. Not that he would have forgotten them anyway. Big Al had an excellent memory and could remember things years back. He often practiced memory exercises to keep his mind sharp. It was nice of the Milwaukee Police to help out on this. Then again, those rather large payments of money from Bill may have had something to do with it.

  Finally, they were coming out after hours of him sitting there patiently. An elderly woman, two grown men and two young boys maybe 9 or 10. He put on his ski mask and got his handgun ready to handle his business. He put a bullet in the elderly lady’s head and one in the older male’s head before they even reacted to the first shot. The other adult male tried to shield the two kids. This was exactly what he was hoping the man would do. Instead of running for cover, he had kept himself a stationary target. He put one shot in the man’s head and one in his back. Next he targeted the two kids. Some whinny ass people would be complaining about some thugs killing kids tomorrow. He did not give a shit, honestly. It would not be the first time he had killed children. During his years of combat in Iraq and Afghanistan, he had inadvertently blasted a number of kids. Hell, how many kids had gotten smoked in the crossfire with enemy insurgents. People did not care if he killed children in other nations. It was really so hypocritical to be honest. He might even be doing these two kids a favor. The world was a mean, hard place filled with motherfuckers like him. Now they would die and go to heaven or whatever holy place their family believed in. He blasted both kids and yelled out some Mexican gang slang for the people gathered in the area now. Hopefully they would think it is gang related.

  He pulled off and rolled up his windows. No one would be able
to identify his face with the ski mask on or get an idea of his body type in the car. Even when the mask was off, his tinted windows would make memorizing his face difficult. Even the license plates on the vehicle would not help them. They belonged to a Mexican thug with a rap sheet a mile long. This punk would be committing suicide tomorrow over his guilt of having killed two kids. Or was he going to be shot after running from two officers looking to question him about the shooting. He could not remember which scenario they were going to use. They already had the punk they were going to pin it on in custody. Not in an official police holding cell of course. He was being held somewhere else in a safe house. What he had yelled out was what these guys said when they killed someone. This would go to help the illusion. The guy they had grabbed was heavy into that particular gang.

  He sped off heading to a predetermined area where he would turn the car over to other officers who would knew what to do with it. The good things is he had hung around long enough for people to take pictures of the vehicle with their cell phone cameras, and people would see the license plates. They would, of course, find the man’s fingerprints and personal material in the car. Paid informants in the general public, who could be trusted, would swear to seeing the man driving around in the area. The dude was screwed. And he had no chance of getting off. Bill did not just want to kill Quinton’s relatives. He wanted to really piss the man off. The story would be that one of the young men was involved in drugs. This would be some type of drug retaliation thing. After what Quinton had done to his guys that had felt good as hell. What made the story more plausible was that one of the man’s ’cousins had actually been in a shoot out with this gang. It was a simple matter to add two plus two. That is what he loved about Bill. Nothing the man did was off the wall or unbelievable. He came up with plausible scenarios to commit crimes based on things that had actually happened. Even if the Feds brought him up on charges, they could never prove anything. He was sure a man like Bill had an escape plan in case that happens any way.