Abuse of Chikara (book 1) (15 page)

He exits the vehicle and walks toward Quinton’s body at the front of his damaged car. He aims the gun point blank at Quinton’s body, emptying it at point-blank range. He bends down on both knees to inspect the damage from his 38. Upon closer inspection he does not see any wounds or bullet holes. This is damn peculiar he thinks. There is no vest of any type on Quinton’s body to protect him from Garcia’s shots. He goes to check for a pulse when there is movement that is so fast he cannot react. Suddenly Quinton’s right hands grabs him by the throat and lifts him six feet off the ground. It seems playing possum did work after all. Letting Garcia think he had the advantage had saved him the energy of chasing his car down.

“Well, well Garcia, you’ve been a bad boy. Robbing banks, shooting people, running people over and god knows what else.” Garcia tries to speak, but only manages unintelligible gibberish. “What’s the matter Garcia? Oh, you cannot speak with me choking you, huh? I’m going to sit you down, run and I’ll kill you.” He sits Garcia down who spends at least a minute hacking and coughing. “Tell me where those thugs were going and I’ll let you go.”

“Okay, but you promise to let me go.”

“Sure, I’ll let you…go.”

“I was supposed to meet those guys at a place they call the bolt house tomorrow morning to get my share of the loot. It’s one of their hangouts.”

“That’s all I need from you.”

“So, you are going to let me go then.”

“Sure I will, straight to hell!” Quinton grabs him by the throat and separates it from the rest of his body. Garcia’s head and body hovers there in the same position for a few seconds before collapsing to the ground. Now there would be no possibility of any doctor saving his life. By this time, there is a small crowd around the store and Quinton hears police sirens. A few hero wannabes try to restrain him and are shoved aside or knocked on their asses easily. In the past, he would have been one of them, but that was in the past. He starts running at full speed to the nearest sewer panel three blocks down and escapes underground. He could get used to being able to run as fast as a cheetah or greyhound. He would have to race one at some point and see which was actually faster. Even though his main goal was Bill, he still wanted to pay these Street Captains a visit. If memory served, the bolt house was an abandoned building on Madison and Kilborn. It’s a two-story brick building that once housed a convenience store. He had no idea why people in the area called it the bolt house, but it did not matter. That was a story for another day. He would mete out some street justice to those punks. He finds his way to the bolt house shortly. The distance was not that far from the scene of the crash actually. As he exits a manhole cover, he sees six Street Captains of various races, heights and body shapes selling drugs. He walks up to a tall, burly black Street Captain about six feet, 10.

“Yo dude, you look like you escaped from the county.”

“No dude, yo mama let me out of the prison in her pussy.”

“Keep talking shit and we’ll fuck you up bitch!”

“You bunch of bitch simp ass motherfuckers couldn’t fuck Jennifer Lopez if she was blind and unconscious and butt naked lying in the street.”

The tall Street Captain charges at him, throwing a punch with his right hand at Quinton’s head. He grabs the thug’s hand and tears his arm out of the socket, and knocks the punk’s head off his body. The other gang members were on him kicking and punching him. It seems what they just witnessed happening to their fellow gang member did not discourage them. Who knows, most of them were most likely high or stupid or both. He puts his right arm through one of the gang member’s chest, and backhands his entire head off its shoulders with his left hand. He grabs two thugs and smashes their heads together. Both heads shatter on impact with brains and blood all over the place. He picks the last one up by his throat and tosses him across the street. The impact with the pavement makes a sickening sound like a balloon bursting. The impact knocks the punk out, maybe kills him. Quinton did not really care at this moment. He does not waste any time playing around with the remaining thugs inside the building. These were a bit smarter than the ones outside at least. They had locked all the doors to the building. He kicks in a large chunk of the wall with his left foot and proceeds to the slaughter. After searching the building and bodies of various thugs, he hits the jackpot. He comes away with thousands in cash. He finds a thug about his size and takes his clothing. The black and white clothing of the street thugs might attract some attention, but it has to be less than a prison uniform. He finds an expensive IPhone on one of the bodies. With it he calls the police and informs them of the stolen money, and the mess that needs to be cleaned up. No sign of the bank worker, but she was not his main concern anyway. He hits the sewers again. He needs to find some place quiet were he can stop and plan out his next move. He stops in an area of the sewer and considers the most gruesome methods of revenge he can think of for his enemies.

Two days later Bill is reading a newspaper at one of his favorite restaurants Baba’s Palace. The food was not bad, but that was not the reason Bill came here. He loved being out amongst the people. He loved arguing and debating things with people on a number of subjects. Bill was a voracious reader and was knowledgeable on a number of topics. To be honest there wasn’t much he was not informed about. Today his normal routine of debating did not bring him his usual joy. There were a few incidents that he found somewhat disturbing. First, Garcia had been killed. Garcia was not in Bill’s inner circle, but Bill had liked the man nevertheless. Garcia was easy to get along with and always sided with his fellow cops. You always knew he had your back. Garcia had joined the force at 23 years of age and was going to retire soon. He had learned a lot from the man as Garcia was his first partner. He was an old soldier and old soldiers were supposed to fade away, not die. The second issue was equally troubling and a bit confusing. The Street Captains had been hit hard at one of their locations and not by a rival gang. According to a survivor, it was one man with superhuman strength. Of course, you could not take the word of gangbangers hyped up on drugs and god knows what else. This man was said to be wearing a prison uniform and matched the description of the former superintendent. The former superintendent had escaped from jail supposedly using similar methods. Bill had no doubt both situations got blown out of proportion by the Street Captains and prison guards. Quinton was in excellent shape, peak for a human being. And to many of the overweight slobs and weaklings who never picked up a dumbbell, he might seem super strong.

The question now is what he should do about it? There was no way Quinton could know about his involvement concerning The Producer. He was not the type of person to leave anything to chance, though. Quinton had given him a perfect chance to get rid of an annoying pest. Bill could not stand the man and just thinking about him made him ill. He had never been a person who took to anyone trying to control him. He often found whatever was needed to get his own way in life. Kissing ass or getting dirt on people in power, it did not matter. Quinton had been the first person to be firm with him and not let him have his own way. There was no brown-nosing or blackmail that would work with the man. He had actually had the audacity to direct Bill as if he was some common man.
Maybe he was not royalty
he thought,
but he was damn near rich like royalty.
He had been involved in drug sales, shake downs, prostitution and other illegal ventures all over Chicago. He was not some comic book villain or movie character though. Bill laundered his money and invested it through third parties who could be trusted. He actually owned a number of restaurants and small businesses around the globe, but none of them were in his name. You would never know that he had these large sums of cash from looking at what he wore or owned. He would take care of Quinton soon. The man represented an unknown element and he did not like unknown elements. It was time to locate this clown and put him out to pasture.

Three days later in a nice three-bedroom condo, Quinton is surveying his handiwork. Blood and pieces of skin were scattered around the condominium. These pieces of body parts belonged to Judge Wang He had committed the exact same act to a number of crooked people Bill was involved with: judges, bailiffs, police officers, prosecutors and defense attorneys. He had been very busy these last few days racking up a list of murders that would make any serial killer jealous. With his knowledge of forensics and police procedures, he knew how to leave very little evidence. His new- found abilities make this type of thing very easy. Eating a sandwich he made from the judge’s fridge, he sits and cuts on the flat screen TV. An attractive Asian newswoman speaks about the gruesome murders. Of course, the newswoman’s account of left out certain details. The police never give the media the entire story. They always keep something back that only the real killer would know. He figured he might be a suspect, but they would be looking for him anyway because of his jailbreak. He goes into one of the bedrooms and lays down for a little nap. A queen-size bed with red silk sheets. Judge Wang knew how to live well off all the bribe money he had taken over the years. This condo was just one of the places the judge spent his time at. Or rather one of the places he brought his male and female sluts at least. Who would want the wife and kids to find out about all the skeletons in the closet? He was in no rush to leave as he had taken precaution to make sure he would not be disturbed. He’d forced Judge Wang to tell the doorman to allow no visitors to his unit. Funny how compliant people were after you broke a few bones. It was about time to start hitting Bill’s inner circle, and he knew who he wanted to start with. His dear friend Bill would love this one. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. God help anyone who had the unfortunate luck to wake him up.

Driving home from the police station, Bill was getting more concerned. A number of judges, lawyers and cops had been killed. What was really disturbing is that all the people were either on his payroll and deeply connected to him. They had all died gruesome deaths. Bodies ripped apart, heads torn off. Forensics test seem to point to another human being doing the damage. It would have taken an unbelievable amount of strength to do things like that. Perhaps the Street Captains had not been exaggerating after all. Maybe he would need to take steps to secure his own life. Fumbling with his keys, he opens the door and stops immediately. There was a strong, foul odor coming from his apartment. He was so caught up in his thoughts he had not noticed it before. Pulling out his gun, he checks the room in a spiral pattern. The blanket to his queen-size bed is lying in the middle of his living room. There seems to be something under it. Standing there he debates if he really wants to see what it is. Those lumps under the blanket cannot be anything good. He snatches it off in a fast motion and sees a female body chopped to pieces. There is an axe stuck in the floor with a note attached to the end of it. It reads: Dear Bill, just wanted you to see how it felt. Soon it will be your turn! Love, Quinton. He shoves the note in his pocket and begins to call this in. No need to examine the body as he already knows whose remains they are. Somehow Quinton knew Bill had a hand in killing his wife, and he had taken his woman Etsuko in revenge. Things like this did not happen to him. Lesser men suffered indignities like this. In truth, he had not really loved Etsuko. The only person he truly loved was himself. He had been comfortable with Etsuko and considered her a member of his inner circle. Etsuko belonged to him and people did not take things that belonged to him. Bill did the taking, not the other way around. Quinton had displayed a weakness that he might be able to exploit. Rather than kill him and be done with it, he had killed his girlfriend. The fool had given him time to learn and adjust, maybe find a solution to this problem. He obviously wanted to make him emotionally nervous or afraid. Quinton may be a killing machine, but he was still thinking like his old self. He would contact some of his old friends in the military to see about evening up the sides here. The final battle would need to be at a place of Bill’s choosing. While the idiot killed his underlings, he would plan to destroy him once and for all.

One month later Lucian is cruising around in his limo admiring the chaos. It seems there is a police strike. The Chicago police were not happy with a number of things going on in the city:. The closing of police stations, and a battle with the acting mayor over raises, policy changes, and officers being disciplined for using excessive force. Of course, they would not vocalize to the public one of the biggest reasons. Quinton, the former superintendent, had been killing dirty cops left and right. The ones he killed were corrupt, of course, but that did not matter to the police. At first they had thought local gangs were responsible for the increase in dead officers. When they learned differently, they wanted the mayor to order a state of emergency and allow them to ignore many constitutional laws. Of course the mayor refused, and already incensed by other issues, the police went on strike. Chicago’s streets were filled with loiters and people breaking every type of law imaginable. The Order loved this type of thing: civil unrest, rape, assault, theft. A large number of god’s laws were being broken today.

It sent goose bumps up Lucian’s body. Chicago had become a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah if it was not one already. All thanks to Quinton’s actions these last few months. Usually when he made deals with people they wanted money, property, some type of ability like increased intelligence or writing skill. Not many had been this destructive or had such a profound effect on those around them. Groups of young men were turning over cars and pulling the occupants out and abusing them. A rather large group had surrounded his limo. As much as he hated to spoil the wonderful abuse, he had no intention of being on the receiving end of it. Raising his left hand he strikes any one in a five-mile radius with blindness. The young and old group around his car trying to find their way by groping around on the ground. As far as those in front of his limo, it was just their tough luck as he ordered his driver to run them over and be on their way. How frustrating to only be able to use his awesome powers when he was under threat of harm. Rules were rules of course. Members of The Order could bend or find loopholes. There were quite a few loopholes that would allow one to bend the rules without breaking them. Even the worst offenders among them never violated the rules directly. The Order’s mission was to acquire souls and power while spreading chaos and confusion. There were many ways one could go about this though. Many members took different approaches towards this goal. They could assist, coerce or imply, but never force anyone to do anything directly unless they were in jeopardy of bodily harm or protecting extremely valuable secrets of The Order. The Order also has a competing organization that also acquired souls and had similar rules they had to follow as well. Today was a good day, and the next few months would be just as good, if Quinton kept up his current habits of devastation.